“Why are you here, Bridget? I told Davidson to turn away anyone who came to the door.” Minerva turned her face to the side and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Bridget moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Minerva, this is the third day I’ve called, and I refused to be turned away again. I’m afraid I was quite rude to your doorman, but I had to see you.”
“Please go away.” Her soft, shaky voice twisted Bridget’s heart. She’d suspected for some time that all was not well between Minerva and her husband. But this?
Bridget reached out and covered her friend’s hand. “Please tell me how I can help.”
“You can’t.” Minerva wiped the tears dripping from her eyes. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Davenport for a larger allowance.”
“He did this to you because you asked for more money?”
“Just forget it, Bridget. Please. Just…” She yanked the covers over her head, her soft sobs shaking the blanket.
Not wishing to upset her friend further, Bridget rose and left the room, swearing she would do something to make sure Davenport couldn’t do this to his wife again.
…
Bridget tossed aside the book she was pretending to read, her ugly memories of Minerva crowding out any attempt to enjoy the new story by Miss Austen. That visit to Minerva had been one of many like it during the two years she and Davenport had been married.
She tried, instead, to focus on the evening’s entertainment with Lord Campbell, or Cam as she’d begun to think of him, since that was the moniker used by Constance and her husband. At her insistence, Cam was escorting her to Vauxhall Gardens. He’d been reluctant to do so. The so-called pleasure gardens had a reputation for couples escaping to the dark pathways, but Bridget was anxious to see the tightrope walkers, concerts, and fireworks. Her guardian had arranged to meet several other friends for supper and the entertainments following. As anxious as she was to visit the notorious place, the prospect of being in Cam’s presence again also made her uneasy.
She’d managed to suffer through the informal dinner and musicale at the Preston townhouse without causing physical harm to the obnoxious men who had been breathing down her bosom, but instead of being pleased with how she’d conducted herself, Cam had attacked her, accusing her of encouraging the cretins who had almost drooled over her chest.
The man was beyond the pale. Although she’d calmed down after they’d arrived home and had shared stories and drinks with the Dunmores, her anger had returned when she retired to her bedchamber and had attempted to fall asleep.
He had been the one to push her to meet and consider men for marriage, even though she had no intention of marrying. Then, when she’d complied with his request—doing so only to gain his assistance with her abused women project—he’d acted like she’d done something wrong.
The most disturbing part of the entire evening had been the strong attraction she’d felt toward him. Even though he’d sat as far from her as possible in the carriage, she’d still felt the warmth radiating from his body, smelled the now familiar scent of bergamot and leather, and had heard his deep breathing matching her own as they’d sparred words. She refused to be attracted to him. He was arrogant, overbearing, and intolerable.
She leaned her chin on her hand as she studied herself in the mirror over her dressing table and sighed. He was also handsome, charming, and captivating. If the rumors she’d heard in the short time she’d been in London were true, his skills in the bedchamber had left many a woman smiling.
A light tap on her door drew her from her musing. “Yes?”
Fiona stuck her head inside. “Lord Campbell has arrived, my lady.”
“Thank you. Is Mrs. Dressel ready to join us?” Following the lecture she’d received from Cam about having a lady’s maid with her, she’d decided tonight’s adventure would be more suited to her companion and chaperone instead.
“Yes, my lady.”
They descended the stairs together, her heart beginning its foolishness after she spotted Cam lounging against the wall at the entranceway, speaking with Lord Dunmore. He straightened and looked up at her, his eyes brightening. “You look lovely this evening, Lady Bridget.”
“Thank you.” Lord, her voice was so breathy it sounded as though she had caught an ague on the way down the stairs. He certainly looked quite well himself. Dressed in dark trousers with a red-and-black waistcoat, a snug-fitting jacket, and stiff white cravat against his tan skin, he looked like sin waiting for a place to call.
She scolded herself for her ludicrous thoughts and silently thanked her decision to bring Mrs. Dressel along. One thing her guardian had been correct about. She did need protection from him. Or, rather, the feelings he evoked in her. ’Twas no wonder he had such a rakish reputation. The man had only to look at her with those smoldering green eyes and wicked smile and she was ready to fall into his arms.
Or his bed.
It was a balmy evening, so she elected to carry a shawl instead of wearing her pelisse. Sometimes the night could grow chilly, but she thought the shawl would be sufficient. Cam took her arm, and they made their way to the carriage.
He did not comment on Mrs. Dressel’s presence.
“I am most eager to see the fireworks.” Now that she was settled in the carriage with her companion safely by her side, her prior excitement returned.
“They are very impressive, to be sure.” Cam rested his foot on his knee and grinned at her. “They can be quite loud as well, so be prepared.”
“Tell me about the entertainments.” Her eagerness was somewhat childish, but with most of her life spent either in school in London, with very few jaunts outside the walls, or at her father’s estate in Scotland, there was much she’d never experienced.
“It varies. Some nights there are circus performers, other times a concert will be offered. We will have supper with about seven or eight people. Strolling the gardens is also a pleasant way to pass some time.”
Her brows rose. “I thought the gardens were off-limits?” She’d heard tales of couples who took those strolls and ended up forcibly married. Or disgraced.
“They are indeed off-limits with another man.” He appeared to be sorry he’d even brought the gardens to her attention. “If you and Mrs. Dressel wish to stroll the gardens, I will be happy to escort you.”
She had no wish to be forced to marry any of the men she’d met so far, therefore avoiding the gardens was best. None of the would-be beaus seemed worth her time. In her one and twenty years, she’d had limited contact with men, a situation she had fully intended to continue. Her life would be one of service to unfortunate women who had placed their happiness and lives in the hands of the men who abused them.
Like Minerva.
She cast off those somber thoughts as the carriage pulled up in front of Westminster, where they would take the boat to the Vauxhall Stairs on the south bank. With the heat of the summer behind them, the boat ride was pleasant, the cool night air not carrying the nasty scent from the river so prevalent in summer. Once they alighted from the boat, they made their way through the main entrance, Bridget’s hand on Cam’s arm.
The building and surrounding walls were quite large and impressive. “This is The Grove, and as you can see, the supper boxes line both sides of the walkway.” Cam waved to the dining areas.
At the thought of dining, Bridget’s stomach rumbled. “When does supper begin?”
He must have heard her unladylike display because he patted her hand and smiled. “Around nine, when it begins to grow dark. We will be treated to the famous Vauxhall ham and other cold meats, salads, cheeses, custards, tarts, and cheesecakes—quite an array. Then when you hear a whistle blow, thousands of lamps will be lit to illuminate the area. It is quite spectacular.”
“And very exciting.” She could hardly keep the wonder out of her voice, but she’d never seen anything like this before.
“Come, let us join our group.” With Mrs. Dressel trailing along behind them, they st
epped up to a nice-sized area where several people already stood. She recognized Lord Hyatt, Lady Priscilla, and the annoying Lord Chadwick, chatting with a few others she did not know.
“Allow me to introduce you to those unfamiliar to you.” Cam led her over to the group. “May I make known to you my ward, Lady Bridget MacDuff?” He waved at three people standing to Lady Priscilla’s right. “Miss Lockhart, Mr. Davies, and Lord Barclay.”
The men bowed and Miss Lockhart made a slight curtsy. “You are such a lovely young lady,” the young girl gushed. “I imagine it will take you no time at all to find a husband.” She turned her attention to Cam. “I’m sure his lordship will be delighted to see you happily settled with a husband and no longer his worry.”
…
Cam inwardly groaned at Miss Lockhart’s rudeness and thinly veiled suggestion that he would be happy to blithely pass Bridget off to another man without a second thought. Even though that had been his intention from the start, Miss Lockhart made it sound like a warning to Bridget that she need not consider him a potential husband. Not that he had any ideas along that line. Nor did Bridget, he was certain. But a couple of the other guests looked startled at her impolite inference.
Miss Lockhart had been tossing not-so-subtle hints to him about wedded bliss ever since her come-out two years before. She’d been an Incomparable her first Season, and rumor had it she’d turned down several proposals, claiming that with her beauty she was deserving of either a marquess or a duke. And plenty of money, of course. He’d had a few near misses with the scheming chit and had stayed as far from her as he possibly could.
“I don’t believe I am Lord Campbell’s worry at all,” Bridget said with the sweetest smile. “Furthermore, I don’t need someone to see me happily settled. I can attend to my own happiness and make my own choices.” Bridget could definitely hold her own with the snippy Miss Lockhart.
The chit shook her head and laughed. “Oh, my dear Lady Bridget. How very naive. You will certainly not have whomever you choose. And you certainly must know your guardian is on the very short list of Most Eligible Lords.”
“Indeed? Then perhaps it is a good thing I don’t read lists. In fact, I find it quite odd that people have nothing better to do than invent lists on which to place people.” Bridget turned to Cam. “May we take the promised stroll in the gardens, my lord?”
Cam almost choked on his laugh. With her chin held high, Bridget sailed off on his arm, smiling and nodding at those she passed.
“Well done, my lady.”
“Ha! I spent enough years at a girls’ private school where I was not accepted because of my heritage. Miss Lockhart had no chance.” Bridget’s wide smile turned into a soft laugh.
The soft laugh did something to his insides. The huskiness of her voice reminded him of sighs and moans in the bedchamber. Is that how Bridget would sound as he pleasured her? Would her face flush with passion, her blue eyes darken with desire?
Cam took in a deep breath and held it, willing himself to think of other things, which was difficult with Bridget right next to him and the scent of her hair wafting toward him. “I don’t believe your chaperone has followed us.” He looked behind them at a few couples, but no Mrs. Dressel.
Bridget laughed. “I saw her take a seat at the back of the supper box. I am sure she is fast asleep by now.”
“Wonderful chaperone.” He shook his head.
After about another ten minutes, Cam turned them around. “It is getting close to suppertime. I believe we should return. You do not want to miss the performers and the fireworks.”
“No, indeed.” She tugged on his arm. “Let’s hurry.”
The others had taken their places at the table, leaving only two openings. As soon as they arrived, Lord Chadwick stood and pulled out a chair. “My lady, would you be so kind as to join me for supper?”
Although he was quite annoyed at Chadwick, Cam left Bridget and headed to the only other empty seat. Right between Miss Lockhart and Lady Mallory, a charming elderly woman who was almost deaf.
Bloody hell.
Miss Lockhart smiled brightly as he sat. “My lord, I am very excited about the fireworks. They are always so entertaining, are they not?” She patted him on the hand and leaned toward him. “I hope you will escort me to the Prince’s Pavilion, where the view is so much better.” Her eyes narrowed as he glanced down the table at Bridget and Lord Chadwick conversing.
“Have no fear, my lord. There are several men here who would be more than happy to escort your ward. Besides Lord Chadwick, she has garnered a great deal of interest among the other gentlemen. I am sure your duties as a guardian do not encompass minding the young lady like a child.” She tittered.
Actually tittered.
He hated being manipulated, and Miss Lockhart was quite adept at it. Naturally, he wanted other men in the group to escort Bridget to the fireworks display. That was the reason they were socializing—so she could find a man tolerable enough to marry. Then his duties would be finished.
“Yes, Lady Bridget will no doubt find a partner to escort her.” He would be sure Mrs. Dressel kept her eye on Bridget. Right now the woman was looking a bit peaked. She should leave off the wine. It would make her drowsy.
They enjoyed the food offered, and Miss Lockhart kept up a constant chatter about London, the upcoming holidays, and how very, very bored she was with just about everyone who was anyone off to the country.
A horn sounded and illumination from gaslights began to appear throughout the area. “Oh, it’s time to go, my lord!” Miss Lockhart jumped up as the others all rose to move to the Prince’s Pavilion. He caught a glance of Bridget being led by Lord Chadwick. Bloody hell, didn’t she know he was the worst choice as an escort?
Miss Lockhart practically dragged him to the area where hundreds of others had gathered. Within minutes he’d lost sight of Bridget, and then reminded himself she was a fully grown adult—with a chaperone—and he had no cause for concern.
What he should be more worried about was the woman on his arm. She would like nothing more than to have them discovered in a compromising situation. He shuddered at the horrifying thought of being attached to Miss Lockhart for the rest of his life.
He instead chose to enjoy the entertainment. The fireworks were wonderful, as usual.
The always-present ladies of the evening made their way among the crowd, disappearing with a gentleman for a while then returning to search for a new patron.
Over the years, Cam had certainly had his share of paid women, but the thought of shagging a woman in the open, both clothed, then fastening his flap and returning to the fireworks certainly did not appeal. His women of choice were courtesans or mistresses who had belonged to him exclusively during their association. And whom he’d bedded in a much more elegant and gentlemanly manner.
Perhaps the reason he was finding it hard to ignore his attraction to Bridget was the recent dismissal of his mistress, who had started to talk about marriage.
Marriage was simply not for him. He’d accepted that fact and was quite comfortable with his decision. Until of late, and the reason for that was not something he wished to examine.
As he and Miss Lockhart returned to the supper box area, Mrs. Dressel approached him. “My lord, a word, please?”
Miss Lockhart continued to cling to his arm. He turned to her. “If you will excuse me, I need to speak with Mrs. Dressel.”
The chit stuck out her lip and pouted in a way she surely thought was attractive but reminded him only of his young niece when she did not get an extra biscuit. “But I had hoped to enjoy a stroll in the gardens. It’s such a pleasant evening.”
“Please, do not forego such an enjoyable experience on my behalf. I am sure there are several men who would be delighted to escort you.”
He left her glaring at him as Mrs. Dressel led him from the group. He was forced to lean in to hear what she had to say, a bit concerned at the worry in her demeanor.
“I cannot find Lady Bridge
t.”
Chapter Eight
Bridget could not believe how stupid she’d been to allow Lord Chadwick to lead her into the dark garden pathways.
Once the exhibition had ended, she’d chattered on and on about the spectacle, not paying attention to where they were headed, mistakenly assuming he was leading her back to the supper boxes.
However, after about five minutes, she finally took note of her surroundings and realized he was not going in the direction she’d assumed but had proceeded on a semi-lit path. Several couples were tucked away in small alcoves, the sound of soft laughter and slight moans telling her all she needed to know.
“My lord, this is not where we should be. I wish to return to the supper boxes.” She stopped walking and attempted to pull her arm free.
His heavy-lidded gaze raked her from her toes to the top of her head, with an explicit stop at her breasts. “My dear, you cannot return to the supper boxes by yourself. You are unfamiliar with the area and will easily become lost.” He attempted to pull her farther along the way, but she dug in her heels.
“If that is true, then I demand you turn around and bring me back. Immediately.”
Chadwick raised his hand and traced his finger down her cheek. “You are so very lovely when you are angry. I enjoy spirit in a woman.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “That is especially entertaining in the bedchamber.”
Bridget sucked in a breath. “My lord! This is an entirely inappropriate conversation. I demand you return me directly!”
He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and the other one about her waist, drawing her against his chest. “My little firebrand. I cannot wait to feel you underneath me, naked and writhing. We will give each other such pleasure.”
She wrestled against his hold, but his strength kept her in place. Beginning to panic, she placed her palms against his chest and pushed. She did not move.
Chadwick placed his two fingers in the neckline of her gown, running them along the edge. “Such smooth, lovely skin.” He bent to place his disgusting lips on her chest, but with the release of his one hand, Bridget yanked back, and the front of her gown tore where his fingers gripped it. In the dim light, Chadwick’s eyes grew wide, as did his smile. He licked his lips while he studied her breasts rising above her stays. “My dear, how very unfortunate. Now no one will believe you have not been compromised.”
His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts) Page 6