His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts)

by Hutton, Callie

  Thinking of her energy and vitality, he said, “Yes. I know.”

  They continued on, dodging the small groups of people gathered in the lobby. Everyone wanted to see who was with whom and then gossip behind spread fans about their discoveries.

  Sometimes he grew weary of the whole thing. Once Bridget was married off, he would return to his country estate until the next Parliamentary session. By now he would have done that very thing, but keeping her in London to squeeze in as many social activities as possible to find her a husband had kept him anchored in Town. Surprisingly, the thought of escape to the country didn’t bring the contentment it generally did.

  Was his lack of enthusiasm due to the fact that he would be all alone again, or was it from the idea of marrying Bridget off?

  “Campbell!” The rather loud shout interrupted his musing and had not only Bridget and Cam turning, but also several people looking their way.

  Davenport practically shoved Lord Kendall off his feet as he barreled past the older man. Thankfully, the man’s son was with him and kept him from tumbling to the floor as he cast a scowl at Davenport. “I’ve been looking for you.” He barely gave Bridget a glance with his focus completely on Cam.

  “What is it?” Even from a few feet away, Cam could smell the odor of alcohol on the man’s breath.

  “I thought I would hear from you by now.” When Cam continued to just stare at him, he added, “About the proposal.” He nodded in Bridget’s direction. “You know.”

  Good lord, the man had no sense of proper manners or even decency. How Lady Davenport’s father had allowed her to marry this oaf was a puzzle he would never understand. From what Bridget had told him and what Dunston had discovered in his investigation, there was nothing about Davenport to recommend him, regardless of his title. Someone whom a dutiful father should never have entrusted his daughter.

  “I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss this.” Cam turned to move away, when Davenport grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “I know you’ve been looking into my affairs. I’d like to explain some of it to you.” He hiccupped and swayed on his feet.

  Totally disgusted with the drunken lout and the exchange, Cam continued to walk away and spoke over his shoulder. “You may call on me Thursday at ten.”

  Seemingly mollified, Davenport gave him a sloppy salute and took a sip from a flask he withdrew from his pocket, spilling some of it down his jacket.

  “How is the investigation going?” Bridget asked when they were far enough away from the rest of the crowd that they would not be overheard.

  “From my point of view, wonderful, which is not good news for Lord Davenport.”

  “That bad?”

  “It’s amazing he hasn’t had to leave the country already. But when I am through with him, he will be headed to the first ship out of Southampton.”

  “I would rather see him hanged for murder.”

  Cam covered her hand with his. “I know, sweeting, and I would like to see such an event myself. But without an actual witness to him shoving Lady Davenport down the stairs, we would never be able to prosecute him. Lords protect their own.”

  “And wives are possessions with no rights.” She shook her head, golden-red curls bouncing against her cheeks.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  A footman stepped into the center of the lobby and announced the play was about to resume. A mass of people headed back to their seats.

  Bridget eyed him speculatively. “I would like to see someone in Parliament propose a bill to protect women from men such as him.”

  “If you are hoping that someone would be me, you might be interested to know the subject has come up before. I had supported the idea of protecting not only women but children as well.”

  “You are a good man, Lord Campbell.” She grinned at him.

  “Now see here, Lady Bridget. First you call me sweet and now you offer another compliment. It leaves me wondering if you’ve forgotten my overbearing arrogance.”

  She laughed softly as he held the curtain open for her to enter the box. “Oh, believe me, my lord, I have not forgotten that at all.”

  …

  Three days later, Bridget spent the morning answering correspondence from the women she’d remained friends with from school. All of them were married now, with two of them already embracing motherhood. She sighed. They were her age, barely past one and twenty. It was a shame that Society expected young girls to go directly from the schoolroom to the marriage bed.

  That thought had her squirming in her seat. After the few kisses Cam had bestowed upon her, she would not mind discovering what the marriage bed was all about. She’d had no mother to provide information on how different it was for men and women, as opposed to how farm animals did it—please, God, she prayed it was—so she was left pretty much in the dark on that subject.

  She laid her pen down and stared out the window. Yesterday Cam had had his appointment with Lord Davenport. Hopefully, the man had been threatened enough by what Cam had uncovered about this finances that he was already on a ship to somewhere else. Far away.

  America, with any luck.

  Tonight they were to attend a small soiree. Cam had indicated that social events were growing slim with most everyone of importance already retired to their country estates. Constance had indicated on the way home from the theater that she and Lord Dunmore were returning to his estate, where they would stay until the new babe was born.

  When Bridget asked about Catherine, who had become a permanent part of the household, Constance had merely shrugged and said the child would remain with them until such time as the mother claimed her. Based on the terror on the woman’s face when she’d shoved the child at them, it was unlikely the child would ever be reclaimed. Despite losing a mother’s love, the child was much better off where she was.

  She sighed and her thoughts drifted to Lord Campbell and where they were in their relationship. If there was a relationship at all. If he was remaining in London with the hope of marrying her off, it would be quite some time before that happened. Absolutely no man had appealed to her in a way that could result in marriage.

  No one at all?

  Liar.

  With them so close to setting up a house for needy women, she did not want to leave London, anyway. Once the place was established and fully staffed, she could merely oversee her project and begin the business of soliciting funds from others. Maybe set up a board of directors to see to running the endeavor, so it did not fall completely on her shoulders.

  However, every day the country beckoned her. Shooting, riding, fresh air, and long walks. Cam might be amenable to helping her finance the women’s house until her twenty-third birthday, but he would certainly not do the same for her to purchase a house outside of Town.

  “My lady, you have a visitor.” Fiona stood at the door to the sitting room Constance generously shared with her. Her host and hostess, along with their entourage, had departed for the country the day before.

  “Who is calling?” Bridget glanced at the dainty pink-and-white china clock on the fireplace mantel. Fifteen past one. Quite early for callers, and Fridays were not Constance’s normal calling days.

  “Lord Davenport.”

  “Indeed.” That was peculiar. Apparently, whatever had passed between the men yesterday, it had not encouraged the cad to hop on a ship. Perhaps something had come up and they hadn’t even had the meeting.

  She really didn’t want to deal with him, but until she heard from Cam she would need to pretend all was well between them. “Very well. Put him in the front parlor, please, and tell him I will be right down.”

  After returning to her bedchamber and taking very little time and effort with her appearance, she made her way downstairs.

  Davenport studied her carefully as if searching for something, then smiled brightly and took her extended hand. Thank goodness he kissed only the air above it. “You look charming this morning, my lady. As always, I might add.�
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  No. Apparently Cam hadn’t told Davenport yet about his discoveries, so she must play along as the interested potential bride. “Good morning to you as well, Lord Davenport. Shall I send for tea?”

  “That would be lovely, but I had in mind a nice ride in the park this morning. With the weather so delightful, I have my phaeton with me for our pleasure.”

  She glanced out the window. “It is a bit chilly for a phaeton ride, is it not?”

  “Ah, but the fresh air will do us good, and I have several nice woolen blankets to cover us.”

  She almost lost her breakfast at the idea of being cozy under a blanket with Lord Davenport. The thought of leaving the house with him unnerved her, but he certainly did not behave like a man who was about to be ruined. She would do this one thing and send a note to Cam to find out when the meeting would take place. “Very well, I will get my things.”

  She headed to her bedchamber. Fiona was in her room, going through clothes in her closet. “I will need my warm Bishop’s Blue redingote with the fur trim. Lord Davenport is insisting on a ride to the park in his phaeton, and I am sure it will be quite chilly.”

  “Then you won’t need me to accompany you?”

  “No. And even if I did, the vehicle seats only two.”

  Taken by surprise by his visit and so certain that the meeting had taken place, it hadn’t occurred to her to claim a megrim and say that she was unable to receive him or go for a ride when he’d first arrived. But now that she had, it was better to take a short drive, plead a headache, and have him return her. Until she heard from Cam, she would not allow herself to be in Davenport’s company again.

  She forced herself to hold onto Davenport’s arm as she made her way down the stairs to the phaeton, standing proudly—and most likely unpaid for—at the end of the pathway. He assisted her into the carriage, climbed into the other side, and snapped the ribbons for the two horses to move forward.

  Despite her reluctance to take the ride and her disgust with the person accompanying her, it was quite nice outdoors, the pale sunlight adding some warmth to the cool November air. She breathed in deeply as they made their way through Mayfair and into Hyde Park. As expected, there was light traffic in the park, because those still in Town took their afternoon ride much later in the day.

  “I should probably not speak of this yet, given that your guardian and I are still working out the settlements, but you must know I intend to claim you as my bride.” He turned to her, offering such a sweet smile that she was taken aback.

  “Yes. Lord Campbell did speak with me about that. I thought you were to meet yesterday.”

  Davenport shook his head. “No. Campbell sent word to change the meeting to tomorrow.”

  He patted her knee, and she immediately withdrew from his touch by moving as close to the edge of the vehicle as she could without falling to the ground. Her initial reluctance returned. She should not have agreed to this ride. The fresh air suddenly seemed stale, and she wanted to return home and never set eyes upon Lord Davenport again. Whatever had kept Cam from confronting the cad with the evidence of his pending ruination worried her.

  “Ah, it looks as though someone is in need of our help.” Davenport pulled on the reins, and the horses stopped behind a carriage resting in the middle of the pathway. A man stood alongside the carriage, his hands on his hips as he studied the front wheel. With it being the more secluded part of the park, whatever problem the driver had would not become evident to anyone else for some time.

  “I am not comfortable with you up there while I see what the issue is.” Davenport walked to her side of the vehicle and helped her down. “Why don’t you wait by the side of the path while I see what the fellow needs?”

  Botheration! This was only going to extend their time together. After he finished with this mishap, she would definitely tell him she had a megrim and wished to return home.

  The thought was barely complete in her mind when her head exploded with pain and everything went black.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The afternoon following his meeting with Lord Davenport, quite pleased with his success in scaring the life out of the bastard, Cam arrived at his sister’s house to speak with Bridget. He hoped Davenport had begun to make arrangements to flee the country.

  When Cam had presented Davenport with the evidence of his poor financial state, and all the vowels Cam had acquired that he demanded immediate payment for, or he would have the man thrown into debtor’s prison, Davenport had acquiesced and agreed to leave the country.

  When he’d pressured Cam to know why he’d been set up, Cam took a great deal of delight in sharing with Davenport what Bridget had told him about the man, straight from his deceased wife’s mouth.

  Of course he denied it all, but that was no matter. The deed was done, the man would be on the next ship out of Southampton, and he and Bridget could move on from this problem and get the women’s house set up.

  Then what?

  He shoved the next step out of his mind. He still thought marriage was not for him, and still believed Bridget needed a husband, although those two thoughts had become intertwined and muddled of late.

  The door to Dunmore Townhouse was opened before he even hit the top step. “Good afternoon, my lord.” Fenton stepped back to allow Cam entrance.

  “Good afternoon. Will you please advise Lady Bridget that I have arrived and will meet her in the library?”

  “Lady Bridget is not at home, my lord.”

  Cam came to a stop. “When did she go out?”

  “Lord Davenport called for her earlier this afternoon, and they went on a carriage ride. I had thought they would have returned by now, but they are still out and about.”

  “Lord Davenport?” Cam’s heart thumped, and his stomach muscles tightened. What the devil was Davenport doing here? Why wasn’t he headed for the nearest ship? And why would he take Bridget on a…

  Bloody hell!

  “How long ago did you say?”

  “It was right after luncheon, I’m sure.”

  He checked his timepiece. About three hours. With a quick nod, Cam barreled down the steps and raced to the mews to retrieve his horse. There was no doubt in his mind that Davenport was headed to Gretna Green. How he would force Bridget to consent to an anvil marriage was not something he wished to dwell upon. The man was desperate, and desperate people did desperate things.

  Even though Davenport had a lead on him, they would be traveling by carriage, which was slower than a man on a horse. Cam took the time to stop by his house to pick up funds and a warmer coat. The air had turned quite chilly, and with the speed he intended to travel, it would be a cold ride. A carriage would be better to bring Bridget home in, but it would slow him down.

  With brief instructions to his valet, Markham, Cam set off to run Davenport to ground.

  …

  Bridget awoke with a headache and her stomach roiling. She was in a fast-moving carriage and very confused. She groaned as she sat up and looked across the way.

  Lord Davenport.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” She placed her hands on her head to stop the pounding.

  “Tsk, tsk, Lady Bridget. Language, my dear. I do not want my countess to be considered foul-mouthed.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “We are on our way to Gretna Green, dearest, where we will declare our intention to marry.” He grinned, and she wished she had the strength to slap his face, but she still felt weak.

  “I will never agree to marry you. You killed my best friend.”

  His eyes grew dark, and in a flash, his demeanor went from jolly to dark. This must have been how poor Minerva had lived. Davenport was obviously mentally deranged. Cheerful one moment, frightening the next.

  “Your best friend was a weak, whining, waste of a woman.”

  Bridget drew herself up. “She was not. You are a monster, and you beat her and ultimately killed her. I saw her bruises.”

&nbs
p; She shrank back on the seat when he pulled a pistol from his pocket and aimed it at her heart. “Remember, my dear, once you are mine and I have all that wonderful money your father left, I will no longer need you.”

  “You will never get away with this. I will refuse to speak the words that will marry us.”

  “Yes. You will speak the words.” He settled back on the seat. “I suggest you take another nap. We will be on the road for a couple more hours until we reach my favorite inn, where I will announce to all and sundry that we are eloping.”

  She raised her chin. “I will deny it.”

  Davenport waved his hand at her. “No matter. You will be ruined anyway, so you will be forced to marry me.” He leaned over, the odor of alcohol emanating from his breath. “I will give you a bit of laudanum before we arrive, so you will be—shall we say—more cooperative?”

  Bridget fought the lingering effects of the knock on her head she’d already received but was unable to stop him from pouring laudanum into her mouth, seeing as he held the gun to her head while he did it. “Swallow, bitch. Or I will kill you the minute our wedding is over.”

  As long as she stayed alive, there was always a chance of escaping his clutches. She had to figure out how to get away, because if he managed to drug her enough that she could not resist marrying him, all of Papa’s money would go to him, and that would be the end of her plans for the women’s shelter, which was nothing compared to the life she would be subjected to with Davenport. She also had no doubt that were she forced to live in his house—with no money, where else could she go?—it would not be long before she met with an “accident” herself.

  It mattered not what she needed to do. She had to keep that disaster from happening. She yawned, and despite her best efforts, her eyes drifted closed.

  …

  Cam took the time to stop at every coaching inn along the well-traveled road to Gretna Green. The ride to the infamous marriage town was a lengthy one, taking several days even when the weather was good. Davenport would be forced to change horses and spend the night at inns along the way.

  His lips tightened at the idea of Bridget in Davenport’s hands and subjected to stopping at inns with him. Even if they never reached Gretna Green, she would be ruined and expected by Society to marry the man who’d ruined her.