Cam pulled away from her mouth and rested his forehead on hers. They were both panting as if they’d run a race. “We must return to the ballroom before we are missed.”
She kissed him along his jawline. “No one is paying us any attention.”
“Davenport probably did. He was concerned that you and I…”
Bridget leaned back to look at him. “That you and I what?”
He waved his hand between them. “Most likely this very thing.” His hand dropped to his side, leaving her bereft at the loss of his touch.
“’Tis no concern of his.”
“No. But we don’t want to discourage him at this point in our plan.” He wrapped his arm around her to keep her from falling, while he reached down and picked up a few hairpins from the floor. “Although I must admit my last conversation with him had me thinking there might be a faster—and more painful—path to revenge.”
Bridget took the pins from his hand and did her best to rearrange her hair so it wouldn’t look quite so disreputable.
Cam leaned against the gazebo wall and crossed his arms as he watched her. “I told Davenport I would set up an interview with him to discuss marriage contracts after we return to London. He is to bring his financial records with him.”
“Is that normal?” She held a few pins between her teeth as she continued to twist her locks, attempting to anchor them again.
“Yes. A man must look out for the women under his care. I did the same for my sisters. After I have my hands on the information, I will find a way to ruin him financially as well as socially.”
“How?”
Cam grinned. “I have a lot of friends who should be willing to help. Especially when I relate your story to them.”
Bridget sighed and climbed off his lap. Her skirts swirled around her ankles, and she immediately felt the loss of his warmth. She pulled his jacket closer around her body. “I sincerely hope so. It has troubled me ever since Minerva’s death that he remains free and unpunished for what he did.”
Cam took her hand in his and led her down the steps back to the garden pathway. “Do not fear, my sweet. Believe me when I tell you that he will have his comeuppance. I promise.”
“Then Minerva can rest in peace.”
Chapter Fourteen
The day after Cam returned from the house party, he stood at the window in his library, watching the last of the leaves fall from the trees in his small garden. His mind was in a whirl over the very improper kiss he and Bridget had shared in the Banfields’ gazebo.
It had been quite painful in many ways to wrench his mouth from hers and insist she right herself so they could return to the ballroom. Never before had he been troubled with controlling himself. With Bridget, it had taken all of his resolve to not open his flap and enter the moist warmth mere inches from him.
Precisely the behavior he’d scorned other men for doing at Vauxhall Gardens. He had to make certain they were not alone again. Apparently, his attraction to her was growing stronger. Lust had turned into something more, something he didn’t want to consider. She’d been handed to him to be cared for, and his duty as her guardian was to see her happily settled. Not ruined by his hand.
Despite her claim to want nothing to do with marriage, it was in her best interest to wed. And that did not involve him beyond granting approval of her intended husband and making certain her needs were covered in marriage and in the event of early widowhood. Why, then, did the thought of her making her vows with another man annoy the hell out of him?
His footman Croft entered the library and coughed softly to gain his attention. The staid and formal footman always appeared as though he’d just sniffed something unpleasant. “Lord Davenport to see you, my lord.”
Yes, indeed, something unpleasant. Cam leaned back and rubbed his eyes, sore from studying ledgers for a couple of hours. “Please send him in.”
“Shall I send for tea?”
“No.” He was not going to offer any refreshment to the man. What he needed was a drink of brandy to deal with his guest, but that would surely loosen his control and result in him jumping across the desk and thrashing him. However, the method he’d decided to empl
oy would be more punishing to Davenport than the short-term results of a beating.
Davenport strode into the room with a bright, arrogant smile on his face. No doubt thinking about the beautiful, gracious, and wealthy young lady he thought would soon be his.
Over my dead body.
“Good morning, Campbell. Lovely day, is it not?” Davenport settled his bulk into the chair and placed a portfolio on his lap. He was not a bad-looking chap but had the telltale countenance of dissipation, which would grow only worse with age.
“Good morning. I see you have brought your documents with you.” He nodded at the folder in Davenport’s hand. No point in small talk. He wanted the information and the bloody man gone.