His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

Her so-called guardian was a tall man and quite broad-shouldered. His curly ginger hair skimmed the top of his cravat in the back. The locks also covered his forehead, right above the greenest eyes Bridget had ever seen, surrounded by shining bronze, gold–tipped eyelashes. She imagined the gossip columnists were correct, and he gave many a young lady heart palpitations and something to dream about at night.

Certainly not her, though. He was her worst nightmare. “My father was getting on in years and refused to acknowledge that I was quite grown up.”

“Nevertheless, he chose to name a guardian for you. I do not know you, nor your father, so perhaps you can enlighten me on how this all came about?”

Unable to sit for long periods of time, especially when she was unsettled, she placed the now empty whisky glass on the table in front of them and stood. Lord Campbell rose as well. Yes, very good manners. But then again, anyone who spent so much time seducing the ladies must possess the very best of polished manners. And charm.

“Papa and your father were schoolmates who apparently kept up a correspondence over the years. Although the former Lord Campbell visited our estate a few times, I don’t remember him, as I was quite young the last time he did.”

“But my father has been dead for ten years. Your father must have known that. Why was a new guardian not named?”

Bridget shrugged. “I asked Mr. Manning, Papa’s solicitor, the same question, and he told me he had urged Papa to change his will, but he always had an excuse.”

Lord Campbell wandered over to the heavy wooden desk in the center of the room and rested his hip against the edge, swinging his booted foot. She most certainly did not notice how his breeches tightened over his muscled thighs. “Where can I find this Mr. Manning?”

“He lives in the village near Papa’s estate.”

“Where is that?”

“Scotland. Right across the border in Dumfriesshire.”

“Scotland? I do not detect a Scottish accent.”

“I spent a few years in London, where I attended a boarding school that beat the accent out of me. Papa wanted me to enter into London Society to find a husband.”

“And did you attend a Season? I don’t remember you.”

She grinned. “No. I’ve been able to skip that torment for the past three years. I did not like London. ’Tis a dirty, smelly place, and I missed Scotland far too much.”

“What happened to your father’s estate?”

She raised her chin and scowled at the memory of the heir’s response to her summons. “A very rude second cousin from the Highlands inherited Papa’s lands. He didn’t even come for a visit, just sent word that he was much too busy and would attend to the estate in a few months.”

Lord Campbell studied his empty glass. “I will contact Mr. Manning, but I’d like you to tell me the terms of this guardianship. If you are already one and twenty, I don’t understand the need for it.”

Praise the saints! Maybe the man would be gracious enough to cancel the entire thing. She nodded furiously. “I agree. Papa’s will states that I am to have a guardian until I am three and twenty. At that time, if I have not married, I will inherit his fortune.” And she had plans for that money, plans that could not wait another eighteen months.

Lord Campbell’s eyes lit up. “Married?”

Her heart sank to her knees. Blast it. Was that joy she saw in his eyes? Surely, he would not attempt to marry her off? She sucked in a breath. Or, worse yet, force her to marry him? A rake? Someone after her inheritance, perhaps?

She blurted out, “I will not marry you.”

Once again, his brows rose. “I am happy to hear that, Lady Bridget, considering I have no intention of marrying you. Or anybody, for that matter.”

Chapter Two

Marry her! The chit had to be a featherbrain. On the other hand, if he married her off—to someone else—she would no longer be his unwanted and unexpected ward. He’d done a good job finding the men who had turned into husbands for his sisters.

“Are you saying you will not marry me—just to be sure, please know I am not asking—because there is another gentleman who has captured your heart?” He tried to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

“No. Like you, I don’t wish to marry at all. Ever. No husband. I intend to be a very happy spinster.” She narrowed her eyes. “All I have to do is break the will or wait until I reach three and twenty years.”

“I thought all young ladies wanted a husband.”

Lady Bridget sniffed. “Spoken like a true rake who has probably been beating off would-be wives and their persistent mamas for years.”

“Why are you so angry?” Why he asked that, he had no idea, since he didn’t know the chit, didn’t want to know her, and in most cases, never wondered how or why a woman felt the way she did. His lovers and mistresses had been for one purpose only.