Slowly his hand crept up her back, around to her front, until he was cupping her breast, massaging the softness, flicking his thumb over her nipple. A soft moan escaped her as his thumb kept stroking until she wanted to tear her gown and undergarments off so she could feel his caresses skin to skin.
“Tell me to stop, Bridget.” His voice was hoarse with need.
She shook her head. She didn’t want all these new and wonderful feelings to end. If anything, she wanted more. Much, much more. She must be a wanton; that was the only explanation for her behavior.
Cam pulled away from her mouth and rested his forehead on hers. They were both panting as if they’d run a race. “We must return to the ballroom before we are missed.”
She kissed him along his jawline. “No one is paying us any attention.”
“Davenport probably did. He was concerned that you and I…”
Bridget leaned back to look at him. “That you and I what?”
He waved his hand between them. “Most likely this very thing.” His hand dropped to his side, leaving her bereft at the loss of his touch.
“’Tis no concern of his.”
“No. But we don’t want to discourage him at this point in our plan.” He wrapped his arm around her to keep her from falling, while he reached down and picked up a few hairpins from the floor. “Although I must admit my last conversation with him had me thinking there might be a faster—and more painful—path to revenge.”
Bridget took the pins from his hand and did her best to rearrange her hair so it wouldn’t look quite so disreputable.
Cam leaned against the gazebo wall and crossed his arms as he watched her. “I told Davenport I would set up an interview with him to discuss marriage contracts after we return to London. He is to bring his financial records with him.”
“Is that normal?” She held a few pins between her teeth as she continued to twist her locks, attempting to anchor them again.
“Yes. A man must look out for the women under his care. I did the same for my sisters. After I have my hands on the information, I will find a way to ruin him financially as well as socially.”
“How?”
Cam grinned. “I have a lot of friends who should be willing to help. Especially when I relate your story to them.”
Bridget sighed and climbed off his lap. Her skirts swirled around her ankles, and she immediately felt the loss of his warmth. She pulled his jacket closer around her body. “I sincerely hope so. It has troubled me ever since Minerva’s death that he remains free and unpunished for what he did.”
Cam took her hand in his and led her down the steps back to the garden pathway. “Do not fear, my sweet. Believe me when I tell you that he will have his comeuppance. I promise.”
“Then Minerva can rest in peace.”
Chapter Fourteen
The day after Cam returned from the house party, he stood at the window in his library, watching the last of the leaves fall from the trees in his small garden. His mind was in a whirl over the very improper kiss he and Bridget had shared in the Banfields’ gazebo.
It had been quite painful in many ways to wrench his mouth from hers and insist she right herself so they could return to the ballroom. Never before had he been troubled with controlling himself. With Bridget, it had taken all of his resolve to not open his flap and enter the moist warmth mere inches from him.
Precisely the behavior he’d scorned other men for doing at Vauxhall Gardens. He had to make certain they were not alone again. Apparently, his attraction to her was growing stronger. Lust had turned into something more, something he didn’t want to consider. She’d been handed to him to be cared for, and his duty as her guardian was to see her happily settled. Not ruined by his hand.
Despite her claim to want nothing to do with marriage, it was in her best interest to wed. And that did not involve him beyond granting approval of her intended husband and making certain her needs were covered in marriage and in the event of early widowhood. Why, then, did the thought of her making her vows with another man annoy the hell out of him?
His footman Croft entered the library and coughed softly to gain his attention. The staid and formal footman always appeared as though he’d just sniffed something unpleasant. “Lord Davenport to see you, my lord.”
Yes, indeed, something unpleasant. Cam leaned back and rubbed his eyes, sore from studying ledgers for a couple of hours. “Please send him in.”
“Shall I send for tea?”
“No.” He was not going to offer any refreshment to the man. What he needed was a drink of brandy to deal with his guest, but that would surely loosen his control and result in him jumping across the desk and thrashing him. However, the method he’d decided to employ would be more punishing to Davenport than the short-term results of a beating.
Davenport strode into the room with a bright, arrogant smile on his face. No doubt thinking about the beautiful, gracious, and wealthy young lady he thought would soon be his.
Over my dead body.
“Good morning, Campbell. Lovely day, is it not?” Davenport settled his bulk into the chair and placed a portfolio on his lap. He was not a bad-looking chap but had the telltale countenance of dissipation, which would grow only worse with age.
“Good morning. I see you have brought your documents with you.” He nodded at the folder in Davenport’s hand. No point in small talk. He wanted the information and the bloody man gone.
“Yes. Anxious indeed to get the matter settled, don’t ya know. No point in dawdling when one’s mind is made up, eh?”
“And you are so very sure Lady Bridget would be amenable to this arrangement?”
Davenport waved his hand in dismissal. “Women never know what they want. It’s up to men to guide them and tell them what’s what. I’m certain once she understands that marriage to me is in her best interest, she will consent.”
Cam leaned back and laced his fingers together, resting on his middle. “And you are also so very sure that I agree a marriage to you is in her best interest?”
“Naturally. The gel isn’t getting any younger, and from what I saw at the house party, she is a little light on the ton idea of English womanhood.” He shook his head. “Breeches and shooting will make it hard to get her off your hands.”
Davenport leaned in farther, tapping the desk with his finger. “I have an old title. My estate is not flushed with coin, but steady enough. I am discreet in my liaisons, so she would never be embarrassed by me parading my mistresses in public.”
“So you intend to keep a mistress when you marry? No clinging to marriage vows?”
Davenport threw his head back and laughed. “We all know wives are for breeding and mistresses are for passion. Of course I would keep a mistress. That is the way of it, eh?”
He leaned back, a smug smile on his face that Cam itched to slap off. “Not much more a chit can ask for, don’t ya know?”
A life filled with beatings and a husband possibly bringing home the pox from sleeping with whores? Davenport truly thought there was not much more that lively and spirited Bridget could hope for in life. The conversation was making him sick to his stomach.
“And your deceased wife? Was she happy with all the wonders of being married to you?”
For a moment Davenport looked surprised, then a tad nervous. Did he think that Lady Davenport had not told Bridget, her closest friend, how she’d been treated by her husband?
There was a good chance he did not think so, because oftentimes women who were subjected to such treatment somehow got it into their heads that they were the cause of their husband’s ill humor. If only I hadn’t said that, or mentioned this, he would not have struck me, so why complain? And that fact had only been reinforced by what Bridget had relayed to him.
After Bridget had told him about Lady Davenport, he’d read as much as he could on the subject. Unfortunately, there was not a great deal of information to be had. He finally unearthed the little bit he had learned from a physician. Eve
n the doctor had been reluctant to admit he’d seen women who’d been battered by their husbands.
Worst of all was the accepted belief that a man had the right to put his hands on his wife in anger, and if he did, it was no one’s business. Something Cam had never agreed with. As far as he knew, his father had restrained himself when it came to his wife. He never learned what it had been, but apparently his mother held some sort of sway over his actions where she was concerned.
“I can assure you Lady Davenport was quite content in our marriage,” Davenport said, breaking into Cam’s thoughts. “It was regrettable that she was unable to bear me an heir. That was indeed a great sorrow for her.”
If he had to sit and listen to any more nonsense spew from Davenport’s mouth, he would lose control. Best to get on with it so the man could leave. He reached out across the desk. “I will take your information and have my man of business look it over.”
Davenport’s brows rose. “I thought we would go over the documents together.” He looked around as if he missed something when he came in. “You said your man of business and solicitor would be here also.”
Cam offered him a tight smile. “I have another appointment soon, and it would be best if my man could go through this at his leisure and offer insight to me.”
With a great deal of reluctance, Davenport handed him the portfolio. “When shall we meet to draw up the contracts?”
Cam stood, announcing the interview had ended. “Give me a week or so.”
Davenport rose. “A week?”
“Or two.” Cam walked toward the door and opened it. If he didn’t rid himself of the bloody dastard, he would smash him in the face.
Once Davenport was well on his way out the door, Cam returned to his desk and stared at the papers Davenport had left. “Croft!”
The footman returned. “Yes, my lord.”
“I must leave for an appointment. Please send a note to Mr. Dunston and ask him to attend me first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Cam opened the folder and paged through a few sheets. Then he closed it with a snap and shoved it into his middle drawer. He had to get out of the house. The taint of Davenport was still in the room.
…
He was pleased to see Hawk, Bedford, and Templeton seated in a comfortable grouping of chairs near the fireplace when he arrived at White’s.
Cam waved at a footman to bring him a drink and settled across from Bedford. “A group meeting and I wasn’t invited?” He grinned at his three friends. They’d been inseparable since Eton. The other three had all married, leaving him at sixes and sevens when it came to male companionship.
“Believe it or not, Cam, we all just happened to show up here at the same time.” Templeton took a sip of his drink. “It must be the camaraderie we enjoy.”
“Ah, but our comradeship is no longer, seeing as how we have all married, and our friend Cam is holding out.” Bedford smirked in his direction.
Cam shook his head. “No marriage for me.”
“Oh come now, Cam, don’t try to tell us you still believe that nonsense about turning out to be the sort of pater you endured?” Hawk learned forward, dangling his almost-empty glass between his spread knees.
“I do not wish to bring a child into this world and then mistreat it.”
Templeton regarded him. “I can understand your fear, but what I don’t understand is where you got the idea that you are anything like your father. In any way.”
“I agree. There is no ‘like father, like son’ behavior of yours I’ve ever witnessed.” Bedford shook his head. “You would never treat a child the way you were treated.”
“Or a woman,” Hawk added.
Cam sipped his drink and pondered what his friends said. True, he was not like his father in any way. Maybe he wouldn’t be the ogre he’d had to deal with in his childhood. Although that thought had recently drifted in and out of his head, he never faced it square on. Why that idea immediately warmed his insides and brought Bridget to mind troubled him.
“Ah, something has made you smile,” Bedford said.
“Nothing.” Cam waved them off. Until he could consider their remarks in private, he wanted the conversation far away from him. “I have most of the votes I need for my bill to assist veterans.”
His three friends laughed.
“What?”
…
Fiona stuck her head into Bridget’s room. “Milady, Lord Campbell has arrived.”
“Thank you, I will be right down.” Bridget took one final look in the mirror, tied her bonnet ribbons under her chin, and picked up her reticule.
She was excited that she and Cam were going to look at the second house his man of business had found. He’d told her Mr. Dunston felt this building was more amenable to what they wanted to use it for.
She was a little annoyed that she could not purchase a house outright and had to depend on Cam to loan her the money until she married—horrors—or received the funds on her twenty-third birthday. She had not met any man who appealed to her enough to give up her freedom.
Except Cam.
Who, of course, was out of the question. Not only had he made it clear he had no intention to ever marry, she didn’t think his arrogance and protective tendencies would make for a pleasant marriage for her.
She smiled. In short, she could not control him.
Cam’s and Dunmore’s voices drew her to the library where she found them chatting away. Her brother-in-law appeared to be on his way out, as well. They both looked toward the door as she entered the room.
Her breath caught at the sight of Cam, as it often did. It was not only his handsome visage, but also the way he held himself that spoke of confidence and everything an English lord should be. No sign of overindulgence marred his appearance. What amazed her more than anything was, even with all he had to offer a wife, he’d managed to escape the parson’s noose for so long.
She would love to have a conversation with Constance about where his aversion to marriage came from. Most titled gentlemen were anxious to marry and fill their nursery with an heir and a spare. Cam seemed to not care a whit about duty to his title. Not that she cared about his reasons, either, she hurriedly assured herself. It would just be interesting to know.
Bridget pulled on her gloves and looked behind her. “I’m not sure where Mrs. Dressel is. I told her to be ready by ten o’clock.”
Fiona stepped into the room. “Mrs. Dressel sent word that she is suffering from a megrim and begs to be left at home today.”
Bridget glanced at Cam. He didn’t need to say anything, with her knowing his thoughts on her chaperone. But Mrs. Dressel was such a dear, and she’d been with her from the time she’d returned from school in London a few years ago. Perhaps she could consider pensioning her off, but until she had use of her own money, she could not do that and wouldn’t ask Cam to do so, either.
“Since you are conducting business, I believe it would not be improper for you to view this property without Mrs. Dressel,” Dunmore said. “I would offer up my wife’s services, but it appears Lady Dunmore is again increasing, and she’s feeling a bit under the weather.”
The man’s face glowed with joy and a bit of smugness. Bridget felt a twinge of longing. If she never married, she would not ever hold her own child in her arms. Would not feel the tug on her breast of an infant’s mouth or inhale the unique perfume of a newborn after its bath.
But she would have her independence. She could travel, assist women in need, grow old.
Alone.
She shook off her melancholy thoughts and smiled at Dunmore. “Congratulations, my lord. I am very happy for you and Lady Dunmore.”
“Well done, old man.” Cam slapped Dunmore on his back, then extended his elbow to Bridget. “I believe we shall be on our way, then.”
There was a slight awkwardness between them during the carriage ride, which Bridget attributed to their passionate kiss in the gazebo. She hadn’t seen Cam si
nce their return home, and because he’d ridden his horse most of the way back while she had chatted with Fiona in the carriage, they’d not had a chance to discuss their lapse in propriety.
“Bridget, there is something of which we must…” Apparently Cam felt the tension as well.
She smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her gown. “Yes, my lord.”
He grinned, breaking some of the strain. “My lord? Have we returned to such formal address, then?”
She lifted her chin, preparing herself for his apology. She did not regret their kiss, and if he did, then she would have to swing her reticule at his arrogant head. No woman wanted to hear that kissing her had been a mistake.
He reached across the space between them and took her hands in his. “I am not going to apologize for kissing you.”
Hmm. He must have read her mind.
“But it must not happen again. There is no future for us, because I am committed to remaining unmarried.”
“I see,” she sniffed. “It may surprise you to know I am not—as I am certain most every young woman in the ton is—yearning to become your marchioness. I have no desire to trap you or finagle a way to be compromised.”
She pulled her hand away, annoyed at his attitude. “However, I wish to point out that, while you consider it quite proper for you to remain unwed, when I declare the same, I am told how unrealistic such a thing is. How I will need someone in my old age.”
“We’ve been over this before, Bridget. You have no one in this world, while I have family members.”
How painful that statement was. Until Cam had raised the point, she’d never given much thought to her future, except for what she wanted to do for ill-treated women. It had also been her intention to travel. Husbands were oftentimes tied to their estates or Parliament, unable to take a journey. But why would he make her confront what she’d never concerned herself with before?
Perhaps because it’s true?
Maybe she would change her mind one day. Sometime in the future after she had done all the things she wanted to do.
His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts) Page 12