His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts)

by Hutton, Callie

  “And what was that?” Bridget asked.

  “Making him look like a fool. You are his ward, you know.”

  Bridget raised her chin. “I am his ward, not his possession. I am one and twenty years and legally an adult. If Papa hadn’t made that ridiculous clause in his will, I would have nothing to do with Lord Campbell.”

  Constance sat, picked the book up from Bridget’s lap, looked at the cover, and smiled. “Ah, but unfortunately he did make that clause, and knowing my brother as I do, he will do his duty to ensure you are well settled.”

  Bridget let out a deep breath. “That is the trouble. I don’t want to be well settled.” She thumped her hand on the book. “When I reach three and twenty, I can inherit my father’s wealth and then do as I wish. I won’t have to depend on a husband to tell me what to do, where to go, and how to live. I want to travel. Not just to Italy or France, but other places: India, the Orient, maybe even America.”

  “My goodness. You are ambitious.”

  “My lady.” Fenton stood at the doorway. “Lady Penrose and Lady Esther have arrived.” He stepped aside so the ladies could enter.

  Constance stood and embraced the older woman, then turned to Bridget. “Lady Bridget MacDuff, this is my dear friend, Lady Penrose.” She waved in the direction of the younger woman. “And her daughter, Lady Esther.”

  After they exclaimed over one another and settled into their seats, Lady Penrose said, “I have heard much about you, Lady Bridget.”

  There didn’t seem to be much to say to that remark. Either Lady Penrose had heard she was Lord Campbell’s much unwanted ward or that she was a woman hardly bothered with fashion. Either way, it could not have been good.

  Lady Esther viewed her with wide eyes. “Is it true you wore a dressing gown to Lady Benson’s dinner party?”

  For goodness’ sake, the ton gossipers were at it again. Nothing ever resembled what had actually happened. “I am sorry to put a squash to that story, but no, I did not wear a dressing gown. I doubt very much if Lord Campbell would escort me to a dinner party dressed that way.”

  “My lady, Lord Calvert, Mr. Pemberton, and Lord Chadwick.” After Fenton made his announcement, he returned to the door.

  The three men headed to her corner, two of them taking a seat alongside her, and Mr. Pemberton on a low bench in front of her that he dragged almost completely across the room. Before she could even welcome them, Lord Campbell stepped into the room.

  He glanced around then frowned when he saw her with the three men surrounding her. Why was he frowning? She hadn’t even started her ruse yet.

  “Good afternoon, my lady.” Campbell bowed to her, then glared at Calvert, Pemberton, and Chadwick.

  The men nodded.

  The time had come. Bridget opened the book and looked at Lord Calvert through the spectacles. At least she thought it was him. She was practically blind with Papa’s old glasses on. “My lord, have you read this exciting book?” She held it up and all four men stared at the copy.

  “No, my lady, I am afraid not,” Calvert said. The other three shook their heads.

  “Oh, but it is so very interesting. Here, let me read a passage for you.”

  “The orangutan is indeed an animal to teach humans many skills. Also called pongo, as was used to describe all great apes, the species was identified in the eighteenth century. A remarkable fact about the orangutan is that their faces resemble humans to an eerie degree. It is even said their expressions are quite human, as well.”

  She looked up over the top of the spectacles at the four men who stared at her with expressions of shock and puzzlement.

  She continued.

  “When first discovered as a species in—”

  Lord Campbell reached out and snatched the book from her hand. He closed it and placed it under his arm. “Lady Bridget, a word, please.” He motioned toward the door. “This way.”

  She stood and excused herself, maneuvering around Mr. Pemberton, and then tripped over the edge of the bench, went sprawling toward the floor, and was scooped up by Lord Campbell before she landed on her face.

  “Take those ridiculous spectacles off before you kill yourself,” he growled at her.

  She smoothed her gown and, with her chin up, walked alongside him to the door, barely missing the doorframe as he pulled her away from it. He gripped her elbow and walked her down the corridor to the library.

  “What are you doing?” He released his grip on her elbow and walked in circles, running his fingers through his hair. “No. Forget I asked that. I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”

  With as frazzled as he was, she thought the opposite. Her plan was working quite well, since her intent was to discourage any gentleman who might be interested in her, and at the same time impress upon Lord Campbell that she would not bow to his wishes.

  She looked at him over the rim of the spectacles and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t seem to hear me, my lord. I do not want a husband, and I refuse to do whatever it is other girls do to obtain one.”

  He ran his palm down his face, then studied her for a minute. She wasn’t certain she liked the look on his face. Annoyance turned to thoughtful, then turned to a tight smile and a slight nod. “Very well. Let us work out a compromise.”

  Chapter Five

  “What is your idea of a compromise?” Bridget eyed him warily, confident that any compromise Lord Pompous presented would not be to her benefit.

  “Bridget, you have made it quite clear you do not wish to marry.”

  She glanced at the ceiling, as if speaking to a higher power. “It appears His Majesty has sufficient hearing after all.” She smirked at him.

  Ignoring her comment, he continued. “I don’t wish to encourage your desire to be independent. However, I’m afraid you are not looking at the future.”

  “It is my future I am concerned with. I don’t want a man dictating my life.”

  “I agree.”

  Her jaw dropped, and her arms fell to her sides. “You do?” What sort of game was he playing now? Was he trying to outflank her?

  Campbell nodded. “I agree to the extent that you do not want another person dictating your life. Even though that is a woman’s plight—right or wrong—it is how things are.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “However, keep in mind you are an only child, with no closer relative than a second cousin in Scotland who you claim is useless and rude. I want you to think on this. In later years you will be alone. Completely alone. No family. No children. No one who cares for you more than anyone else in the world, whose life would be diminished by your absence.”

  She chewed her lips as his words sank in. “I have friends…”

  “Yes. Who, from what you’ve told me, have lives and families of their own. Husbands and children who will always come before you. In fact, as far as I know, you have not seen any of them since you’ve arrived in London.”

  Suddenly, she felt unbalanced—not so sure of herself. He certainly had a way of making her feel forsaken. She wanted to disagree, but she realized she truly hadn’t thought about that part of her life. In her mind she would always be young and healthy and able to travel and do other things as she pleased. She would never be old, sick, or lonely.

  “The same could be said for you, my lord. I don’t see you making a race for the altar.”

  He shook his head. “Not so. I have two sisters, two brothers-in-law, and nieces and nephews. I am very involved in their lives.” He leaned forward. “In other words, I have family.”

  Tears sprung to her eyes, reminding her of Papa. He had been her only family, and she was truly alone in the world. She’d been so busy attempting to resist Lord Campbell and his plans for her, and making her own plans for herself, she hadn’t given that any thought.

  Annoyed at showing weakness, she swiped at her cheeks. “What has this to do with a compromise?”

  He reached out and took her hands in his. “As your guardian, I would be remiss in
my duties if I did not look out for you. Not just this week, this month, or this year, but to make sure you are well settled—as much as you loathe the term. I am sure that is what your father intended when he named a guardian. He cared very much for you.”

  “If this is your idea of a compromise, it falls quite short. We are back to you insisting I find a husband.”

  “No.” His thumb rubbed over her knuckles, not only calming her but also making her take particular notice of Lord Campbell as a man. Not her nemesis or jailer. A handsome man, a reprobate, who probably spent a great deal of time rubbing women’s knuckles—as well as other parts of their bodies—to get his own way.

  His broad shoulders blocked the rest of the room from her sight. His now familiar scent of bergamot and leather wafted in the air between them. He eyed her with a tenderness she had never seen in him before. Almost as if he truly cared about her future.

  She shoved that thought to the back of her mind. The cretin! He would not confuse her with his rakish ways the way he did other women. She attempted to pull her hand free, but he held on.

  “The compromise I offer is this. You will discontinue presenting yourself in such an unflattering manner and give potential suitors a chance. Who knows, you might enjoy the attention.” His grin did unfamiliar things to her insides that she tried to ignore.

  “And?”

  “And I will not push anyone toward you. I will allow you to accept or reject suitors as you see fit. However, you will make an effort to determine if you truly want to reject every man who presents himself.”

  “This still sounds like I’m the only one compromising. What do I get out of this?”

  Lord Campbell dropped her hands and took a deep breath. “I will investigate whatever properties you wish to purchase to help women in difficult circumstances.”

  “You will?” Her heart thumped with excitement. It would be so much easier having someone help her with her project.

  “Yes. I happen to feel a certain, shall we say, understanding of what these women suffer.” His lips tightened, as if annoyed with himself for revealing such a thing.

  Well, that was a surprise. How in heaven’s name would a peer of the realm, raised with money, a family, and every opportunity know anything about “difficult circumstances?” As quickly as the pain in his eyes shifted to caution, she knew he would not offer any more information.

  Perhaps she was being foolish to consider his offer. Not that she didn’t trust Campbell to keep his word, but truth be known, she was afraid of the idea of suitors. She’d never planned on one and wasn’t even sure she knew how to play the part of the demure marriage-mart young lady. It all seemed so frivolous and featherbrained. The girls at boarding school had spent many hours planning their come-outs, discussing slippers, ball gowns, and hair ribbons.

  She had spent her time dreaming of returning to her father’s estate and riding over the hills of Scotland on Champion, the horse her father had gifted her with when she’d turned fourteen years.

  “I accept your compromise. On one condition.”

  “What is that?”

  “You will not investigate; we will investigate. This is my project. I already have an idea of where the building should be and what size I will need.”

  “I am assuming this building is not in the best part of London.” He narrowed his eyes. Again the pompous, overbearing, arrogant man had resurfaced.

  “No. Even though I had a friend who was abused, most of the women who need this particular sort of help do not reside in Mayfair.” She crossed her arms, ready for an argument.

  “There are dangerous sections of Town that, as your guardian, I cannot condone you venturing into.”

  “Had I inherited my father’s money right away, I would have done it all on my own anyway.”

  Lord Campbell leaned in close. “But he put a stop to that, did he not?”

  Oh, the man was intolerable. “Then there will be no compromise, and I will return to the drawing room.” She pointed to the table behind him. “With my book.”

  “No.” He shook his head and placed his hands at his hips. “Very well. You may go with me to investigate. However, you will obey every order I give you.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Obey? Order?” She shook her head. “No. This is not going to work.” She spun on her heels, scooped up the book, and marched toward the library exit.

  Before she could open the door, a large hand slammed against it.

  “Please allow me to leave the room, my lord.” She’d had enough of Lord Campbell.

  He removed his hand but leaned his shoulder against the door, facing her. “That was a bit heavy-handed of me. But you must understand, if we go together I will be watching for any danger, and if I need to be concerned about you not following my instructions”—he grinned—“it could put us both at risk.”

  Her body relaxed and she said, “I understand. I promise I will do nothing to place us in danger.”

  Campbell nodded, and they left the library to rejoin the others in the drawing room.

  …

  Two days later, Cam stood in his sister’s entranceway and chatted with his brother-in-law Lord Dunmore as he awaited Bridget. This time, they were attending an informal dinner party at Lord and Lady Preston’s home with a musicale to follow. Most of the gentlemen guests were those he knew from Parliament, still in Town, working on various bills they aimed to present at the next session.

  “I’m glad to hear you have sufficient sponsors for the Welfare of Veterans and Families bill.” Dunmore had been a proponent of the bill from the start.

  “It has been a bit of an uphill battle, I’m afraid, but we finally do have enough votes for when we return next spring. I only hope those who have committed do not change their minds in the interim. I wish we had been able to have the vote before Parliament recessed, but we’ll have to see.”

  Dunmore turned at the sound of rustling. “Ah, here is Lady Bridget now.”

  Cam’s attention was taken by the beautiful young lady descending the stairs. His mouth dried up, and his jaw dropped. This was not the chit who had dressed like a grandmother. This woman could bring the ton to its knees.

  She wore a pale-blue muslin gown with a netting overlay that shifted in the candlelight, giving the garment an ethereal appearance. The neckline was in no way immodest, but nothing like what he’d seen her in before. The expanse of glorious pale skin rising above the neckline, moving with every breath she took, made his heart thump.

  Her magnificent red hair had been pulled back from her face, but not into the tight chignon or a horse’s tail. Her lady’s maid had gathered the tresses to her crown, the locks fixed with a small bouquet of flowers, causing a riot of curls to cascade down her back.

  Her blue eyes were bluer, her smile warmer, and her reddish-gold eyebrows raised. That was when he realized he’d been staring at her like a muddleheaded youth with his mouth agape.

  He coughed to cover his unease, but not before he saw the grin on Dunmore’s face. Blasted man. He would catch Cam staring. “You look lovely, Lady Bridget.”

  “Thank you.” She offered him an extremely graceful curtsy. Both men’s eyes dipped to her chest.

  Fenton placed a shawl around her shoulders, and before Cam embarrassed himself, he extended his elbow. “Shall we?”

  “I wish you a pleasant time.” Dunmore continued to grin as they left the house.

  By the time they settled into his carriage, Cam’s heart had returned to normal, but his senses certainly had not. He couldn’t help but stare at her—her beautiful face and the swell and dip of her breasts as the soft glow of the carriage lantern cast enticing shadows on her. The scent of something flowery and intoxicating drifted his way.

  Then the thought crossed his mind that other men at the dinner party would see Bridget like this. Blood pooled from his face, and his stomach muscles tightened. He would need to stand guard over her the entire night to see that she was not taken advantage of.

 
Some of the men in attendance had reputations. It would be up to Cam to make sure she wasn’t ruined by some blackguard who was interested in her money.

  And her body.

  The carriage drew up to the townhouse, and Cam readied himself for battle. ’Twas a good thing he kept up his appointments with Gentleman Jackson. He just might have to flatten a man or two. “Are we ready, my lady?”

  The door was opened by one of Preston’s footmen, who moved back when Cam stepped down and turned to assist Lady Bridget. Cam bent toward Bridget’s ear. “Watch out for Lord St. Clair, Lord Manning, and Mr. Webster.”

  She turned to him and frowned. “Why?”

  “They are rakes.”

  “So are you.”

  He waved his hand. “I am your guardian. Whether I am a rake or not is unimportant. I am here to guard you.”

  She smoothed out her gown. “Guard me? You sound like I am a prisoner.”

  Here they were, back to that again. “You know that is not what I mean. Some gentlemen are not gentlemen at all, and those with pockets to let are looking for a wealthy bride.”

  She tossed her head, the red curls bouncing against her back. “I shall be no one’s bride. I am merely doing this as my part of our compromise.”

  “Bridget, you gave your word that you would give this a chance.” Bloody hell, he had to get the chit married. Not only did he want done with this duty, but looking the way she did, he would spend all his time in the next several weeks guarding her every minute. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

  It occurred to him tonight that the quicker he married her off the better it would be for his own mental health. She stirred things in him he did not want to feel. Then again, the idea of her being in another man’s arms—and bed—confused him. He’d never felt this way with his sisters, and the entire thing had him so tied in knots he wanted only to get this duty over with and return to his life.

  “I am willing to give this a chance. However, please note that I will not change who I am to pacify some arrogant, full-of-himself lord.”

  He looked into her eyes to see the concern there. “I do not want you to be anyone but yourself. However, just be careful.”