His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

The man who held her gave her a slight shake. “Stop. It’s me.”

Bridget stared up into Lord Campbell’s shadowed face, his lips tight, his eyes narrowed, and she collapsed against him. “Thank goodness.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his comforting chest. She was having a difficult time catching her breath and wished her stays to perdition. Why were women forced to wear these horrible things?

She pushed against his chest. “I can’t breathe.”

He released her, and a growl emanated from his chest as he glanced at her bodice. His words, “I will kill him,” reminded her of the torn gown.

She shook her head, wanting to be far away from Vauxhall Gardens. “No. Please, just take me home.” The panted words barely made it past her cold lips.

“Of course.” He removed his jacket and placed it on her shoulders. “We must get you out of here with no one seeing you. Then you can explain to me exactly what happened. But I will still kill him.”

Their hands joined, he began to move her forward, but she stopped. “I s-s-still can’t b-b-breathe.” She was growing more lightheaded by the moment. If she collapsed here in the middle of Vauxhall Gardens she would be disgraced, ruined, and unable to spend another day in London. Her plans for a safe house for women would go up in smoke.

Cam dragged her into one of the darker corners of the garden and spun her around, his jacket sliding from her shoulders and landing on the soft earth. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead as she continued to pant while he quickly undid the back of her gown, untied her stays with remarkable speed—he must have had a great deal of practice—then pulled the garment over her head, and tossed it into the bushes.

She took in her first full breath of the evening. The lightheadedness disappeared, and she leaned her palms against a tree as he refastened her gown. “Thank you, my lord.”

Cam retrieved the jacket, shook it out, and helped her into it. He pulled the front of the jacket together and buttoned it.

“We still need to get you out of here as quickly and discreetly as possible.” His words were clipped as he placed his arm around her shoulders and turned in a different direction. Anger radiated from him, his body stiff, his stride determined.

“Where are we going?” She had a difficult time keeping up with him but was anxious to leave the cursed place.

“Out another exit with which I am familiar. I will hire a hackney and escort you home then send one of my footmen to notify my driver to return to my townhouse.”

“What about Mrs. Dressel?”

He stopped and ran his hand down his face. “I forgot about her. However, for the way she neglected you tonight, I have every mind to just leave her here.”

When she opened her mouth to argue, he continued. “However, I will secure the services of a servant and send a note to Lord Barclay to escort her home.”

“What will he think?”

“He will think nothing, because he is a close friend and very circumspect. No one will know anything about this from his mouth. I very much doubt Chadwick will have anything to say about it when I am through with him.”

Bridget smirked. “I left him with a message, also.”

As they continued down the path, Cam turned to her. “What was that, sweeting?”

“I kneed him in the groin. He was quite uncomfortable when I left him rolling, moaning, and cursing me on the ground.”

Cam winced, then threw his head back and laughed.

…

He might have been laughing, but he was seething inside. He never should have allowed Miss Lockhart to distract him from his duty to Bridget. He’d known Chadwick had ill intentions regarding his ward. Everybody knew she would come to a marriage with a fortune, and Chadwick needed a wealthy wife.

Chadwick was due for a thrashing, which Cam was more than happy to administer. Apparently, his initial threat to the man had not discouraged him. If anyone learned about the incident tonight, Bridget would be ruined. No suitable match would be made for her, and he would see her initial plan to remain a spinster before he allowed Chadwick to claim her.

Second on his list was Mrs. Dressel, who would receive a talking-to after he calmed down. If she could not act as a proper chaperone, then she should be dismissed. He glanced at Bridget, next on his list for reprimands. She knew better than to permit any man to haul her off into the dark gardens.

After they gained the pavement, he hailed a hackney and scribbled a quick note to Barclay, paying a Vauxhall servant coins to be sure his message was delivered. He followed Bridget into the vehicle, sat alongside her, and pulled her against his chest. She snuggled against him, he

r body shaking, either from a chill or nerves.

He pushed his anger aside as he registered the softness of her body against his. Despite the impropriety of it, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Are you well?”