His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

She shook her head and took another sip of soup. “You don’t have to say anything to get your point across.”

…

Three days later, as the sun was just making an appearance on the horizon, Cam assisted Lady Bridget into the travel carriage. Their luggage, along with Markham and Fiona, had left earlier to meet them at the Cock and Bull Inn, where they would stop for the night. The companion, Mrs. Dressel, traveled with Cam and his ward.

He reached under his seat and pulled out a blanket, which he then handed to Lady Bridget. “Here, you might want to sleep a bit more.”

She nodded and took the blanket. He could not say things were pleasant between them, but they had at least stopped quarreling. She had not been happy when the will had arrived by special messenger and he’d informed her there did not seem a way to cancel the guardianship.

He thought he’d been quite obliging, however, when he’d told her he would have his own solicitor go over the document when they arrived in London. He’d been met with a very unladylike snort.

Other than meals, they hadn’t spent any time together. He’d been busy visiting a couple of tenants and meeting with the man he’d hired to add a bathing room to the Manor.

“How long will it take us to arrive in London?” Lady Bridget asked.

“Five days if the roads are good and the weather holds up.” He drummed his fingers on his thighs, already restless. He did not travel well, and as soon as the sun was fully up, he would ride Nettles for a while.

Within minutes, Lady Bridget and Mrs. Dressel were sound asleep. Lady Bridget was curled onto her side, facing him, the blanket wrapped around her all the way up to her chin, leaving only her bonnet-covered head exposed.

He studied her as the light grew stronger. She was a beautiful woman, and he would have no problem finding someone to take her off his hands. His chest tightened when he thought of this unknown man. He assured himself he’d felt the same when he’d considered beaus for his sisters.

Except he was as honest with himself as he was with others. He’d already acknowledged the strange appeal Lady Bridget held for him, and any thoughts he had about her being led to another man’s bed were anything but brotherly.

Once they had full light, he tapped on the ceiling of the carriage, signaling for the driver to stop. He preferred to ride his horse, breathing in the fresh air. He’d always suffered a bit of melancholy when he left his estate and headed back to Town, but London was where his life was, and where he would, with any luck, find a proper husband for his ward, and thus resume his normal, happy existence.

Why did the thought of returning to his normal, happy life not bring the same feeling of satisfaction it had in the past? He snorted. No mystery there. With Bedford, Templeton, and Hawk all married, life was quite different now. He shook his head. He didn’t think his friends were wrong to submit to the parson’s noose, but it wasn’t for him.

Even if he found the right woman. Especially if he found the right woman. There was no right woman, he reminded himself.

…

Bridget’s eyelids fluttered open and she frowned, wondering why her bed was moving. Then she remembered the carriage ride from Lord Campbell’s manor home to London. She glanced across the carriage to where he’d sat when she’d fallen asleep. Empty.

“Lord Campbell is riding his horse,” Mrs. Dressel said.

“Oh, I wish I had a horse to ride.” She sat up and stretched. “I’m not terribly fond of traveling in carriages.”

“At least you don’t get sick, as I do.” Her poor companion did look a bit green.

Almost as if he heard them, Lord Campbell rode his horse to the window and bent down. “We are stopping for luncheon.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the carriage began to slow down. It rocked quite a bit as it entered the coaching inn’s front yard. Bridget folded the blanket and picked up her reticule. “Is my bonnet all askew?”

Mrs. Dressel adjusted it and turned as the door to the carriage opened. The driver took her companion’s hand, and Lord Campbell stepped up and held out his hand. Bridget accepted his grip, and her eyes flew wide open at the near crackle that sizzled between them. She looked at him as he frowned, seemingly as confused as she was. This was not the first time she’d touched him, having taken his arm into dinner each evening, so the jolt was troubling.

What was also troubling was the almost itchy feeling she’d experienced when he studied her with those intensely green eyes, like he wanted to look right into her soul. No man had ever held an appeal for her, so it was unlikely Lord Campbell, of all people, would be the one to cause those unwanted feelings. Most likely she needed to change her bath soap.

As soon as she was on solid ground, she removed her hand.

“Take my arm, Lady Bridget. The ground is bumpy.”

With reluctance, she did as he bid, relieved when she felt nothing. It must have been her imagination.

The common room of the inn was filled with locals who appeared to be drinking their luncheon. The crowd was loud and boisterous. Lord Campbell led them to the private dining room at the rear of the inn.

A fire burned brightly, and the table was set with three places. When Bridget viewed him with raised brows, he said, “Markham arrives ahead and leaves instructions at the inns we will visit along our journey so they are ready for us.”

She smirked at him. “The privilege of rank.”