“Take those ridiculous spectacles off before you kill yourself,” he growled at her.
She smoothed her gown and, with her chin up, walked alongside him to the door, barely missing the doorframe as he pulled her away from it. He gripped her elbow and walked her down the corridor to the library.
“What are you doing?” He released his grip on her elbow and walked in circles, running his fingers through his hair. “No. Forget I asked that. I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”
With as frazzled as he was, she thought the opposite. Her plan was working quite well, since her intent was to discourage any gentleman who might be interested in her, and at the same time impress upon Lord Campbell that she would not bow to his wishes.
She looked at him over the rim of the spectacles and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t seem to hear me, my lord. I do not want a husband, and I refuse to do whatever it is other girls do to obtain one.”
He ran his palm down his face, then studied her for a minute. She wasn’t certain she liked the look on his face. Annoyance turned to thoughtful, then turned to a tight smile and a slight nod. “Very well. Let us work out a compromise.”
Chapter Five
“What is your idea of a compromise?” Bridget eyed him warily, confident that any compromise Lord Pompous presented would not be to her benefit.
“Bridget, you have made it quite clear you do not wish to marry.”
She glanced at the ceiling, as if speaking to a higher power. “It appears His Majesty has sufficient hearing after all.” She smirked at him.
Ignoring her comment, he continued. “I don’t wish to encourage your desire to be independent. However, I’m afraid you are not looking at the future.”
“It is my future I am concerned with. I don’t want a man dictating my life.”
“I agree.”
Her jaw dropped, and her arms fell to her sides. “You do?” What sort of game was he playing now? Was he trying to outflank her?
Campbell nodded. “I agree to the extent that you do not want another person dictating your life. Even though that is a woman’s plight—right or wrong—it is how things are.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “However, keep in mind you are an only child, with no closer relative than a second cousin in Scotland who you claim is useless and rude. I want you to think on this. In later years you will be alone. Completely alone. No family. No children. No one who cares for you more than anyone else in the world, whose life would be diminished by your absence.”
She chewed her lips as his words sank in. “I have friends…”
“Yes. Who, from what you’ve told me, have lives and families of their own. Husbands and children who will always come before you. In fact, as far as I know, you have not seen any of them since you’ve arrived in London.”
Suddenly, she felt unbalanced—not so sure of herself. He certainly had a way of making her feel forsaken. She wanted to disagree, but she realized she truly hadn?
?t thought about that part of her life. In her mind she would always be young and healthy and able to travel and do other things as she pleased. She would never be old, sick, or lonely.
“The same could be said for you, my lord. I don’t see you making a race for the altar.”
He shook his head. “Not so. I have two sisters, two brothers-in-law, and nieces and nephews. I am very involved in their lives.” He leaned forward. “In other words, I have family.”
Tears sprung to her eyes, reminding her of Papa. He had been her only family, and she was truly alone in the world. She’d been so busy attempting to resist Lord Campbell and his plans for her, and making her own plans for herself, she hadn’t given that any thought.
Annoyed at showing weakness, she swiped at her cheeks. “What has this to do with a compromise?”
He reached out and took her hands in his. “As your guardian, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not look out for you. Not just this week, this month, or this year, but to make sure you are well settled—as much as you loathe the term. I am sure that is what your father intended when he named a guardian. He cared very much for you.”
“If this is your idea of a compromise, it falls quite short. We are back to you insisting I find a husband.”
“No.” His thumb rubbed over her knuckles, not only calming her but also making her take particular notice of Lord Campbell as a man. Not her nemesis or jailer. A handsome man, a reprobate, who probably spent a great deal of time rubbing women’s knuckles—as well as other parts of their bodies—to get his own way.
His broad shoulders blocked the rest of the room from her sight. His now familiar scent of bergamot and leather wafted in the air between them. He eyed her with a tenderness she had never seen in him before. Almost as if he truly cared about her future.
She shoved that thought to the back of her mind. The cretin! He would not confuse her with his rakish ways the way he did other women. She attempted to pull her hand free, but he held on.
“The compromise I offer is this. You will discontinue presenting yourself in such an unflattering manner and give potential suitors a chance. Who knows, you might enjoy the attention.” His grin did unfamiliar things to her insides that she tried to ignore.
“And?”