His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

…

Cam glanced at Bridget, who had turned ghastly white as she tightened her hold on his arm.

“What is it?” He frowned as she licked her lips and continued to stare across the room. He looked in that direction and didn’t see anything until a man moved to one side, and he spotted the person who had her so rattled.

Lord Davenport. The man Bridget was sure had killed her friend.

“Take a deep breath, sweeting.” He nodded to Lady Newell. “If you will excuse us, I believe we will take a stroll about the room.”

Lady Newell nodded and turned her attention to Mrs. Breakstone next to her.

Cam led Bridget to the far wall and began to stroll, nodding to those they passed.

“What is he doing here?” Bridget snapped.

“I would venture to say he is a guest. Have you not seen him since your friend’s death?” Bridget appeared so discombobulated that he could only assume she had not.

“No. After Minerva died, he returned to his country estate. He might have been in London for a while, but I was in Scotland until a few weeks ago, and therefore have no way of knowing.” She looked up at Cam. “I can’t stay here. I must go home.”

Startled at first by her request, since Bridget had no home after her father’s estate had passed to the cousin she had claimed to be rude, he assumed she meant Constance’s house.

“I feel ill.”

“Calm down. Let’s go out to the patio.” He opened the French doors to a chilly evening. “Put on your wrap.”

She grasped the thing in her hands but seemed unable to function. He, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to drag the man from the house and beat him senseless. Prying the wrap from her tight-fisted hand, he wrapped her in the garment and led her down to the garden.

They walked a few steps as Bridget took deep breaths. “I apologize for my behavior. It is just that…”

“I understand. However, if we leave the party to return to London, there will be questions asked, speculations made, and rumors started.”

They came to a stop, and Bridget wrapped her arms around her middle. “He is such a horrible man. What he did to Minerva… The first time I visited her after one of his beatings, she was embarrassed. Can you imagine that? She was embarrassed, and he was the culprit. She tried to take the blame for his actions and hid herself from me.” She shook her head. “Eventually, she allowed my visits when she was ‘under the weather.’ No matter how many times I begged her to leave him, she refused to even consider it.”

“This was in London?”

“Yes. At my father’s request, I lived with my mother’s aunt after I finished school. I think he hoped I would enjoy London so much I would not want to return to the country and wither away as a spinster. After he became ill, I returned to Scotland. It was there that I received word of Minerva’s ‘accidental fall’ down the staircase.” Her voice broke.

Cam pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. The poor girl shook like a leaf in a windstorm. He ran his palm up and down her back as her shuddering continued. He told himself what she needed was a distraction. He tilted her head up with his knuckle and kissed her.

As wrong as he knew this was, he couldn’t stop himself. She was warm and pliant in his arms. Her lips tasted sweet and minty, the scent of her hair like spring flowers. He gripped her head and turned it so he could go deeper.

No shrinking violet, she touched his lips with her tongue, and he gladly opened to her. A fast learner, she matched him touch for touch, soft moans coming from her. Realizing anyone could walk out and see the two of them, he pulled back. By the glazed look in her eyes, she’d forgotten all about Davenport.

“We should return to the house.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “You must be quite cold.”

“No.” She smiled at him. “I am rather warm, actually.” As she took his arm, she said, “Your distraction worked quite well. But I will not tolerate being in the man’s presence, nor will I speak with him.”

“There are enough guests here that I believe you’ll be able to avoid him. If he troubles you in any way, let me know and I will speak with him.”

About ten minutes after they returned to the drawing room, a butler announced dinner, and they filed into the dining room. Lady Banfield indicated to the guests that it would be an informal dinner, so there was no need for them to line up according to rank, which pleased Cam, because he escorted Bridget and kept her far from Davenport.

He had never thought of the man one way or the other, but after Bridget’s revelation, he took a second look at the devil’s spawn. There was, indeed, something shifty about him. If he was correct, Bridget’s friend had been his second wife, and the only reason the man was at this house party was to find another one.

As a good hostess, Lady Banfield had steered Cam and Bridget to different ends of the table. It was time for him to stop thinking of his ward in any other way than a responsibility. The kissing needed to stop, as it could lead nowhere.

Cam sat between Miss Lovett, obviously on a prowl for a husband, and Lady Dumfries, a recent widow aged about thirty years, who kept touching his arm every time she spoke to him. Neither woman appealed to him. At one time he would have been receptive to Lady Dumfries’s overtures, but tonight she seemed abrasive and almost desperate. As far as he knew, she’d warmed the beds of most willing men, well before her husband had even cocked up his toes.

On the other hand, Miss Lovett was everything a gentleman wanted in a wife. Pretty, sweet-tempered, well-mannered, and obviously skilled in all the traits of a gently bred lady. She also came with a nice dowry. Why the chit was still unmarried was a puzzle, but not one he wished to discover.