His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

Chapter One

Northern England, September, 1818

Donald, the Marquess of Campbell, known as Cam to family, friends, and lovers, climbed from the carriage he’d spent the last five days in, pressed his hands against his lower back, and stretched. Despite the annoyance at being summoned to his estate for a mysterious package, he could not help the smile that covered his face as he looked at Campbell Manor. For as much as he preferred to be in London for Parliament, he loved his home estate.

After greeting the staff as they lined up in front of the Manor to greet their Lord, he made it into the entrance hall and turned to his valet, Markham. “I would like a hot bath, clean clothes, and dinner. In that order.”

Markham nodded and followed Cam into the house, giving orders to the footmen for a hot bath to be brought to the master’s bedchamber directly.

Cam took the stairs to the first floor two at a time. This comfortable home was the place he had been raised with his younger sisters, Constance and Maryann.

Cam had been a mere twenty years when his father died ten years before, leaving Cam head of the family and guardian for the young girls, who were then twelve and fourteen. After sufficient grieving time, he’d enrolled them in a fashionable boarding school in London, which allowed him to see to his Parliamentary duties and stay close to them.

At the end of their first Seasons, thanks to his concerted efforts as their guardian, both girls had become betrothed to acceptable men whom they had foolishly fallen in love with and were now enjoying marital bliss, bringing children into the world at an alarming rate.

His bedchamber welcomed him, as though it had held its breath for his return. The chunky dark furniture had been his father’s, but the wall coverings, bedcovers, and draperies had been his own choosing. The deep brown and blue print coordinated well with the dark wainscoting and blue-striped paper on the walls.

He’d kept the furniture to preserve the memory of his father, the man who’d made Cam’s childhood one miserable event after another. Beatings, starvation, and other cruel means of discipline had comprised Cam’s daily life. He wanted this reminder so he would never have children of his own and end up like his father.

His only escape from the brutality had been when he was sent to school, where he’d met his friends, Hawk, Templeton, and Bedford. They had become his family.

Cutting into his musing, footmen appeared with a large tub and buckets of steaming water, a reminder of his plan to have a bathing room installed in the house. It had been on his list of improvements for at least two years. All his time spent in London had forced him to put those projects on hold.

After a bath, fresh clothes, and a quick brush of his hair, he descended the stairs, cheerful to be out of the coach and ready for one of his best brandies before a delectable dinner.

He opened the door to the library, walked about two steps, and then came to a complete stop. A young woman he’d never seen before stood in the center of the room, staring at the doorway. Her flashing crystal-blue eyes regarded him with a combination of fear and anger, and golden-red curls falling from her poorly constructed hairstyle landed on soft white shoulders.

The young lady’s face was perfection. High arched brows, creamy skin, a tiny nose, and full lips. Lips that looked ready for kissing. On second glance, the way they were pursed, maybe not kissing.

“Who are you?”

“I am your ward.” She tilted her chin up. “And not happy about it.”

…

Bridget stared at Lord Campbell as all the blood seemed to drain from his face. She wasn’t upset that she had shocked him. That was precisely how she’d felt when she’d learned her fate.

“My what?” The man struggled to get the words out. “Please don’t tell me you are the package I was sent to retrieve.” He glared at her. She returned his regard. Fine. If he was as unhappy about this arrangement as she was, then he would most likely be willing to find a solution. One that would give her leave to do as she wished.

She regarded him coolly. “I believe so. Your man told me you would most likely not come if you knew you had a ward waiting for you.”

“Smart man. And in a vast amount of trouble.” Lord Campbell strode to the sideboard and poured a brandy. “Would you care for a drink? Or perhaps send for tea?” At least he had manners.

“Tea is for invalids and old ladies. I would like a drink, but none of that sherry. Whisky. Scotch whisky.”

Although his eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, he poured the brown liquid from the bottle he held into a crystal tumbler. He recapped the bottle—French brandy, she noted—and picked up another bottle, then splashed two fingers’ worth into a second glass. He strolled across the room and handed one to her. Motioning to the settee in front of the fireplace, he said, “Sit.”

Her jaw dropped. “Is that an order, Lord Campbell?”

He sighed and dipped his head. No doubt he considered a minor nod a replacement for an apology. “Please have a seat.” He swept his hand i

n the direction of the settee.

Bridget settled herself and took a sip of the whisky. For all her bravado, she was shaking inside now that she finally faced her guardian.

Guardian!

She was ever so annoyed and angry at this turn of events. Her dear papa had died only two weeks before. At the reading of his will, she’d been astounded to find that he had left her care in the hands of the Marquess of Campbell. For three days she’d cried, railed, and, yes, cursed her beloved father.

The problem was, as his solicitor, Mr. Manning, had explained with a flushed face, Papa had not changed his will in years, and the Lord Campbell he’d meant to be her guardian was this Lord Campbell’s father. Papa had not identified her guardian in any other way, therefore, by law, this young, handsome, and—from what she understood—rakish man, was her guardian.

“I will begin by telling you I am more than happy to break this ridiculous arrangement and allow you to return to London and do whatever it is you do that makes the gossip columnists so very happy.” She took a deep breath, hoping he would agree with her.

He narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps, before you showed your poor manners by not introducing yourself properly, you might have explained exactly who you are and what this guardianship means.”

As his words rolled over her, her face heated with shame. She had been quite rude, and this man was as much a victim of her father’s will as she was. But if she were to gain some control, she had to stay strong. She took a deep breath and offered him a smile. “I apologize. I did not mean to be ill-mannered. I merely wanted to advise you that I do not want, nor do I need, a guardian. My name is Lady Bridget MacDuff, I am one and twenty, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Apparently, your father did not think so.” He took a sip of his drink, and she tried very hard not to notice how his lips covered the rim of the glass, making her wonder what they would feel like pressed up against her own lips. She mentally chastised herself at her foolishness. This was not the time to admire the man who was her enemy, and she best ignore any silly attraction she felt toward him.