His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

In one way, Lady Bridget was correct. For years, he’d been fending off the women—and their mamas—who had attempted to make it appear as if he’d compromised them. He shuddered at the memory of all the times he’d been in the direct line of their determined glares.

To his horror, Lady Bridget’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked several times to deny them, but one lone tear tracked down her cheek. “I’m not. Angry, that is.” She took a shuddering breath. “I am normally a happy, pleasant person. But when I learned what my father—whom I absolutely adored—had done to me with his will, I felt as though all the trust he’d placed in me over the years had been false.”

Thankfully, Croft, one of the footmen, entered the room at that precise moment to announce dinner. To her credit, Lady Bridget swiped at her cheek and offered a smile. “Thank you, Croft.”

“You know his name?” Cam extended his arm to her to head into

the dining room.

“Yes. I’ve been here for a week now.” She glanced at him, but this time without the scowl. “Awaiting your arrival.”

Another bit of information about his ward. She was not all angst and ill-humor. She had a soft side and was the sort of lady who learned the names of staff members. Not that he cared, of course. He planned to marry her off as quickly as possible, so he would not have the duty of guarding her from hordes of men when they arrived in London. Her auburn hair and crystal-blue eyes would stand out at any ton event. And after her fortune was known, every man in London with a bundle of vowels would line up.

He certainly understood her irritation at being treated like a child under her father’s will. But with her inheritance tied up until she turned three and twenty, and with her home already passed on to the heir, she was virtually homeless and possessed no money to call her own. The only solution was a husband.

“Did you travel with a maid, a companion?” He pulled out a chair for her and took the one at the head of the table, to her right.

“Yes. My lady’s maid, Fiona, and my companion, Mrs. Dressel, arrived with me.”

He nodded his approval as the footman poured wine into their glasses. At least he did not have to trouble himself with hiring women to travel with them. Her reputation would remain intact, and she should be able to attract a good match.

He would have to send a messenger to each of his sisters to see which one of them was willing to offer a spot to Lady Bridget, since she could not live with him. Maryann and Constance would also have a list of coming events suitable for Lady Bridget, since, like him, both their husbands were involved in Parliament and preferred to stay in London.

Although the Season was well over, there would still be the smaller Autumn Season with numerous affairs in Town and house parties in the country where Lady Bridget could mix with acceptable gentlemen. Although she was in mourning, smaller events would not be considered improper. He began to feel better about it all. A quick marriage for his ward, and then back to his unencumbered life. He took a sip of Cook’s renowned white soup.

“Just so we are clear, my lord. I wish to reiterate that I have no intention of marrying. I have a use for the money I will gain on my twenty-third birthday. However, I need access to the funds now to complete my plans.” Lady Bridget calmly sipped her soup and regarded him with the most innocent-looking blue eyes he’d ever seen. He was not fooled. Behind those eyes was an intelligent, determined woman.

“And why would a young lady who has obviously been raised with more than sufficient money need a great deal of blunt? Are you in debt to the gambling houses?” Although he’d meant to be witty, hopefully that was not the case. He didn’t need that sort of trouble with the lass.

She placed her spoon next to her plate, her hands in her lap, and stared him straight in the eye. “I wish to open a house for women who are suffering at the hands of their husbands.”

Had she said she wished to start a brothel he would not have been more surprised. “A house for women? Living by themselves? Without the protection of a man?”

Lady Bridget laughed. “My lord, I said these women are being abused at the hands of men.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that would work.”

“Why not?”

“Because a man can fetch her and bring her back home. Whether you like it or not, a wife is a husband’s property.”

Her face flushed a bright red, and he was surprised to not see steam coming from her ears. In the short time he’d known her, Lady Bridget had managed to touch something inside him buried long ago. He hated to acknowledge that her fire and passion, along with the quickly squelched vulnerability he’d witnessed, and the warmth he’d noticed between her and the staff, appealed to him in a way that threatened to disturb his well-ordered world.

Perhaps that was the reason he was in such a hurry to marry her off. He didn’t need distractions from a woman. Especially a woman who was not easily dismissed from one’s mind.

“And that, my lord, is precisely why I do not wish to marry.”

“Never marry? Not even if you found your own true love?” What the devil was he doing asking her such ridiculous questions? He barely knew the chit, had no desire to be responsible for her, yet he found himself truly interested in this woman who had invaded his life. She was a mixture of vulnerability and fortitude, which he loathed to admit he found intriguing.

She rolled her eyes. Another unladylike trait that strangely appealed to him after years of young girls who were so very conscious of their appeal to potential husbands that they were never truly themselves.

“True love? Surely you jest, my lord.” She leaned forward. “Do you believe in true love?”

He hesitated long enough for her to smirk at him. “Yes. Yes, I do. For others.”

She burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling and her very kissable lips in a bright smile. “Ah, so marriage and true love are for the, what, weaklings?”

“I didn’t say that.”