Angrier than she’d ever been in her life, she no longer cared if she made a spectacle of herself. Papa’s stable master had made sure she was well prepared for such a situation. Bridget gripped Chadwick’s shoulders and brought her knee up to his groin with all the strength she had.
“Ahhh!” Chadwick immediately sucked in a deep breath and released her. He dropped to the ground, holding his private parts and glaring at her. “Bitch! Don’t think you won’t pay for this.” His voice was raspy as he tried to suck in air.
Bridget turned and fled down the pathway, holding the front of her gown up with her hand. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and it did not take her long to realize she was totally turned around. She dared not call attention to herself by asking for aid with the condition of her gown, so she continued, ignoring more sounds of pleasure and hoping she would eventually find a way out.
She rounded a corner and ran smack into a seemingly brick wall. A warm brick wall. She pulled back, terrified Chadwick had found her. She began beating his chest. “Stop!”
Strong hands gripped her upper arms. “Bridget!”
“Let me go.” She wriggled, attempting to run again.
The man who held her gave her a slight shake. “Stop. It’s me.”
Bridget stared up into Lord Campbell’s shadowed face, his lips tight, his eyes narrowed, and she collapsed against him. “Thank goodness.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his comforting chest. She was having a difficult time catching her breath and wished her stays to perdition. Why were women forced to wear these horrible things?
She pushed against his chest. “I can’t breathe.”
He released her, and a growl emanated from his chest as he glanced at her bodice. His words, “I will kill him,” reminded her of the torn gown.
She shook her head, wanting to be far away from Vauxhall Gardens. “No. Please, just take me home.” The panted words barely made it past her cold lips.
“Of course.” He removed his jacket and placed it on her shoulders. “We must get you out of here with no one seeing you. Then you can explain to me exactly what happened. But I will still kill him.”
Their hands joined, he began to move her forward, but she stopped. “I s-s-still can’t b-b-breathe.” She was growing more lightheaded by the moment. If she collapsed here in the middle of Vauxhall Gardens she would be disgraced, ruined, and unable to spend another day in London. Her plans for a safe house for women would go up in smoke.
Cam dragged her into one of the darker corners of the garden and spun her around, his jacket sliding from her shoulders and landing on the soft earth. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead as she continued to pant while he quickly undid the back of her gown, untied her stays with remarkable speed—he must have had a great deal of practice—then pulled the garment over her head, and tossed it into the bushes.
She took in her first full breath of the evening. The lightheadedness disappeared, and she leaned her palms against a tree as he refastened her gown. “Thank you, my lord.”
Cam retrieved the jacket, shook it out, and helped her into it. He pulled the front of the jacket together and buttoned it.
“We still need to get you out of here as quickly and discreetly as possible.” His words were clipped as he placed his arm around her shoulders and turned in a different direction. Anger radiated from him, his body stiff, his stride determined.
“Where are we going?” She had a difficult time keeping up with him but was anxious to leave the cursed place.
“Out another exit with which I am familiar. I will hire a hackney and escort you home then send one of my footmen to notify my driver to return to my townhouse.”
“What about Mrs. Dressel?”
He stopped and ran his hand down his face. “I forgot about her. However, for the way she neglected you tonight, I have every mind to just leave her here.”
When she opened her mouth to argue, he continued. “However, I will secure the services of a servant and send a note to Lord Barclay to escort her home.”
“What will he think?”
“He will think nothing, because he is a close friend and very circumspect. No one will know anything about this from his mouth. I very much doubt Chadwick will have anything to say about it when I am through with him.”
Bridget smirked. “I left him with a message, also.”
As they continued down the path, Cam turned to her. “What was that, sweeting?”
“I kneed him in the groin. He was quite uncomfortable when I left him rolling, moaning, and cursing me on the ground.”
Cam winced, then threw his head back and laughed.
…
He might have been laughing, but he was seething inside. He never should have allowed Miss Lockhart to distract him from his duty to Bridget. He’d known Chadwick had ill intentions regarding his ward. Everybody knew she would come to a marriage with a fortune, and Chadwick needed a wealthy wife.
Chadwick was due for a thrashing, which Cam was more than happy to administer. Apparently, his initial threat to the man had not discouraged him. If anyone learned about the incident tonight, Bridget would be ruined. No suitable match would be made for her, and he would see her initial plan to remain a spinster before he allowed Chadwick to claim her.
Second on his list was Mrs. Dressel, who would receive a talking-to after he calmed down. If she could not act as a proper chaperone, then she should be dismissed. He glanced at Bridget, next on his list for reprimands. She knew better than to permit any man to haul her off into the dark gardens.
After they gained the pavement, he hailed a hackney and scribbled a quick note to Barclay, paying a Vauxhall servant coins to be sure his message was delivered. He followed Bridget into the vehicle, sat alongside her, and pulled her against his chest. She snuggled against him, her body shaking, either from a chill or nerves.
He pushed his anger aside as he registered the softness of her body against his. Despite the impropriety of it, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Are you well?”
She took a deep breath and cuddled in to him. “I am now.”
Not the proper time to question her on how she ended up where she did, he merely held her, the fierce protectiveness that swamped him a bit unsettling. ’Twas time to admit his feelings went beyond the normal guardian and ward connection. He would be just as livid had this happened to one of his sisters, but truth be known, he would be much more detached—thinking only about their welfare. His anger would have been focused on the addlepated idiot who dared to touch his sister and how to avoid a scandal.
On the other hand, when he’d seen the destruction of Bridget’s gown and the distress on her face, it was like a fist to his gut. To see this strong, capable woman in such a state moved him like nothing else in his life. He would have beaten the scoundrel of his sisters’ senseless, but the rage he now felt for Chadwick went beyond rational thinking. He didn’t want the man pounded senseless; he wanted him dead.
Bridget had stopped shaking by the time they arrived at Dunmore’s townhouse.
He studied her as she shifted from his lap. “Are my sister and her husband home this evening?” He didn’t want to leave her off with no one to look after her. She needed a warm bath to stop the chill, a bit of her favorite Scotch whisky to help her sleep, and a woman’s shoulder to cry on.
“Yes. I believe they said their calendar was clear.”
“Excellent.” He stepped out of the hackney, paid the driver, and escorted her up the stairs. Fenton had the door opened by the time they reached the top stair.
“Good evening, Fenton, where is my sister?”
The butler took a quick glance at Bridget, and his lips tightened. “She is in the drawing room with his lordship.”
His arm wrapped around her waist, Cam led Bridget down the corridor, entering the drawing room after Fenton opened the door.
“Oh, goodness. Whatever happened?” Constance put aside the piece of embroid
ery she was working on and came toward them.
“Lady Bridget had a mishap. I believe a warm bath, a spot of whisky, and a good night’s sleep will do wonders.”
“Where is Mrs. Dressel?” Constance helped Bridget remove Cam’s jacket and handed it to him, her eyes growing wide at the ruined gown. His sister knowing him as well as she did, he had no worries that she’d think he had anything to do with Bridget’s dishevelment.
“She will arrive shortly.” He bowed to them both. “I have an important errand to see to. Lady Bridget will no doubt explain her condition to you.”
Once he arrived at the door to the drawing room, he turned and looked at Bridget. “I will call tomorrow morning around ten o’clock. Please be ready.” With those words echoing in the room, he strode the length of the corridor, past the door Fenton held open for him, and down the stairs.
With his carriage still at Westminster, where they’d left it to take the boat to Vauxhall, he walked the distance to his home, going directly to the mews. The sprint did nothing to assuage his anger, only increasing it, as he remembered the terrified look on Bridget’s face when she’d thought Chadwick had found her.
After his horse was tacked, he headed in the direction of one of his clubs. He would find Chadwick if it took all night. Even if he had to haul the man out of his bed.
After visiting White’s, Brooks’s, and Boodles, he finally found Chadwick at the Rose Room, the newest gambling hell that had become the place to be. Apparently recovered from the blow to his bollocks, Chadwick sipped a brandy and sat at a card table run by the only female dealer in the house. From the lack of coins in front of the cur, he was getting himself only deeper in debt.
Cam walked up behind him and slammed his hand on his shoulder. Grabbing the cards from the man’s hands, he threw them down. “He’s finished for the night.”
“What the devil?” Chadwick turned and grew paler than new milk when he saw Cam.
Cam fisted his hand in the back of Chadwick’s jacket, hauled him up, and gave him a push. “Outside.” In case the man decided to evade him, Cam walked behind him, ignoring the looks and smirks from other players in the room.
Having spent considerable time at the club himself, Cam was familiar with the establishment’s layout and was friends with the brothers who owned the place. He left the main room, proceeded down a corridor that housed the offices, pushed Chadwick to the back door, and shoved him through.
Chadwick turned to face him. “Now see here, Campbell, you cannot just drag me from the table. I had a good hand—”
Cam’s fist crashed into Chadwick’s face, and the man went flying, landing on his arse. “You broke my nose!”
“That’s not all I’m going to break.” Cam reached down and dragged Chadwick back up, landing two punches to his middle and one to his jaw before releasing him to crumple back onto the ground.
Even more annoyed that Chadwick would not fight back so Cam could give him a thorough hammering, he leaned over and pulled the coward up by his cravat. “I told you to stay away from Lady Bridget.” He twisted the garment, enjoying the red flush that rose on the man’s face. “You not only ignored my warning but put your filthy hands on her.”
Cam released Chadwick, who landed back onto the dirt, smacking his head on a rock. ’Twas too bad the rock didn’t kill him, because he lay there, holding his nose, staring up at him, the hatred in his eyes a living thing.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself so he would not kill the man, Cam straightened his jacket, his eyes boring into Chadwick. “If I hear one word, even a whisper or a smirk directed at my ward because of the incident tonight, I will find you, and I guarantee you will regret it.”
Chadwick said nothing, only shook his head as if to clear it.
Cam placed his hands on his hips and stared at him, his jaw so tight he thought it would snap. “Do I make myself clear this time, Chadwick?”
The cretin slowly nodded.
“Do not make me come back for you.” With those words, Cam turned on his heel and strode down the path to the club’s mews to retrieve his horse. He threw a coin at the stable boy and mounted, turning Nettles toward home.
Tomorrow he would deal with his ward.
Chapter Nine
Bridget’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise, and Constance gasped as Lord Campbell came stomping thorough the door to Lady Dunmore’s sitting room the morning after the Vauxhall Gardens debacle.
Without checking the pink-and-white china clock sitting on the fireplace mantel, Bridget knew it was precisely ten o’clock.
“Cam, for heaven’s sake, you scared me to death. Whatever is going on?” Constance took a deep breath and laid aside the letter she was writing.
Bridget closed the book sitting on her lap and prepared herself for the anger radiating from her guardian.
“My apologies, ladies. I did not mean to frighten you.” He bowed in Bridget’s direction. “I would have some time alone with you, Lady Bridget.”
“Is that wise, Cam? I feel I should call one of my burlier footmen to stand guard.” Constance smirked. Despite her words of concern, she knew her brother would never harm Bridget.
Bridget, on the other hand, was not so certain. Not that he would physically hurt her, but her ears would certainly be blistering after his lecture.
“No cause for worries, Sister. I am merely going to remind my ward of the rules of safety and propriety.”
“Oh, Cam, leave off. Bridget is certainly aware of those rules, and from what she told me last evening, her chaperone did not do her duty, and Bridget was manipulated by one of the best. And—she took care of it herself.” Constance rose from her place at the escritoire and joined Bridget on the settee. A show of strength, no doubt.
Cam ran his fingers through his hair and rested his hands on his hips. “If last night’s adventure becomes known, she is ruined.”
“No one will find out—”
Bridget held up her hand. “Please stop speaking of me as if I am not present.” She stood and shook out her skirts and regarded Constance. “While I appreciate your support, I have no problem speaking with his lordship.” She turned to Cam. “I am happy to join you in the drawing room.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“No?” Her brows rose. Had that been the only lecture he intended to give her? Speaking with his sister in front of her?
“We are headed to central London. I suggest you fetch your bonnet and pelisse. It is chilly out today.” When she continued to stare at him, his posture eased. “My man of business, Mr. Dunston, has found two buildings he feels might be suitable for your project. We will see one of them today.”
Bridget broke into a smile and clapped her hands, like a small child being offered a treat. “I didn’t know he was searching.”
He placed his knuckle under her chin and tilted her head up. “I promised you I would help if you attempted to find a man who appeals. I don’t renege on my word.”
Something inside her shifted, and her heart did a tap dance. His closeness disturbed her. The oh-so-familiar scent of him drifted between them. Why does this man affect me so?
She licked her dry lips, and his eyes flew to her mouth.
Constance cleared her throat, and as if a bucket of cold water had been dropped on them both, they quickly stepped back.
“I will gather my things and meet you at the front door.” Bridget fled the room, not sure if her excitement was due to whatever had just passed between her and Cam or the idea of actually seeing one of the buildings that might make her dream come true.
Less than ten minutes later, Bridget, Cam, and Mrs. Dressel climbed into the carriage and headed away from Mayfair.
“Where are these buildings?” Bridget was only too happy that Mrs. Dressel had been forced to accompany them, since the lecture she knew was coming from Cam could be postponed. Maybe even forgotten.
Not likely.
“One is close to, but outside of, St. Giles, and the other is nearer to Burro
ugh’s Market. Not the best neighborhoods to be sure, but not the worst, either. The one we are seeing this morning is just outside St. Giles. You mentioned your women would be employed to maintain themselves, so I thought closer to the business areas would be a good choice.”
“Yes, indeed. I recently had a note from a woman who had learned of my idea for a safe house. She was the sister of a woman who works in a millinery and was most grateful for someone who took an interest in unfortunate women’s plights. The poor woman’s sister was so very worried about her. I believe she will be one of our first residents after the house is up and running.”
A thought occurred to her that she should have considered long before now. “A question, my lord. What’s to happen if we find a building? My money is still tied up until I turn three and twenty.”
“Or marry,” Cam added.
“Yes. Well, how will I buy a building?”
“I am interested in this project myself. I will loan you the money to purchase the building and get it set up.”
Bridget gasped. “Oh, my. That’s wonderful.”
His eyes softened. “As I said, I am interested in this project myself. While I have been focusing on veterans’ concerns, I am grateful that you brought this problem to my attention.” He shook his head. “I had no idea women were at such a risk from those who had sworn to protect them.”
Her smile grew brighter. “I am glad to hear that. Unfortunately, too many men who are in a position to actually help merely turn a blind eye.”
“However,” he added, with a smirk. “I intend to hold you to your part of the bargain.”
“Considering suitors?”
“Precisely.”
At least he didn’t demand she settle on someone. He was a generous man, and despite his arrogance and overbearing attitude, he did have a soft heart.
His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts) Page 7