Chapter Eleven

Stunned, Bridget placed her hands on Cam’s chest to push him back. Then he touched her lips with his warm tongue, and she gripped his jacket instead, pulling him closer. His arms surrounded her, as she opened her mouth and allowed him entry.

The entire world around them disappeared as she felt only the touch of his body against hers, the scent of his soap, and the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. He slanted his head to take the kiss deeper, and she was quite sure she moaned. Or someone moaned.

She touched the tip of his tongue with hers, and his hands moved to her lower back, then her bottom, pulling her against something very hard and unfamiliar. Her breasts were smashed against his chest, and her lungs struggled to breathe.

Just when she thought she would swoon from the lack of air, Cam pulled away and cupped her face with his hands, leaning his forehead against hers. It seemed, between the two of them, there wasn’t one lungful of air to be had. He closed his eyes and whispered, “I have no idea why I did that.”

Her stomach plummeted, and she tightened her fists on his jacket. Had he not enjoyed it as much as she? “Please don’t say you’re sorry.”

Cam smiled. “No. Not at all sorry, but certainly surprised.” He pulled back and studied her, as if searching for something. Their breathing had returned to normal, and a slight awkwardness set in as she dropped her arms and stepped back, then winced.

“Are you injured?”

“I didn’t think so, but apparently I am. My back is sore, as is my…” Goodness, she certainly couldn’t tell him her bum was hurting like the devil.

“You took quite a fall. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re sore for a few days.” He took her by the elbow. “Come, let us return to the house and break our fast.”

She took one step and stumbled. Her legs felt weak, and her foot hurt. “I think I must have landed on my foot.”

Cam wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to the horse. With one swift movement, he lifted her to the saddle. “We will take it slow on the way back.”

Bridget nodded and moved the horse forward once Cam was alongside her. The ride back was painful. She hurt in various spots, one of which made sitting in the saddle quite uncomfortable.

They arrived at the stable, and Cam was off his horse in a flash and standing next to her. “Do you think you can walk all right? I don’t want to upset Lady Banfield by carrying you into the house.”

“No. I don’t need to be carried.” She made to swing her leg over and stopped. “Ouch.” But then it hurt more when she sat back down.

Cam took her by the waist and gently drew her down. “We will walk slowly, as if we are enjoying a leisurely stroll after our ride. When you get to your chamber, send Fiona to my room. My valet has creams that she can rub on your sore spots.”

“I’m starving. What about breakfast?”

“I will have a tray sent up.” He grinned. “I am familiar with your appetite.”

He took her hand in his, and they made their way to the house. She was grateful that the women seemed to still be abed and the men had gathered in the breakfast room, so they attracted very little notice.

Bridget bit her lip as she made her way upstairs, her back hurting with each step. The only good thing about the pain was it took her mind off the kiss they’d shared and how it had affected her.

She did not want to be attracted to Cam and did not want him attracted to her. She hadn’t changed her mind about marriage and was only going through the motions of pretending to look for a husband to keep Cam working on her project.

Not that she thought Cam was interested in marriage, either. He’d made that quite clear from the start. Therefore, she reasoned, there was nothing about the kiss to cause her or him any problems.

But it had been oh-so-good. Something she wouldn’t mind repeating again.

And again.

…

After spending most of the day in bed, with Fiona rubbing her sore spots with the horrible-smelling cream from Markham, Cam’s valet, she felt well enough to bathe and dress for dinner. Earlier in the day, she’d sent word to Lady Banfield that she suffered from a megrim. Her hostess came to visit and assured Bridget that she was not missing much. The weather had turned drizzly, she reported, and the ladies were spending the day chatting and working on their embroidery.

Bridget could not imagine any punishment more severe than sitting with a bunch of gossiping women while they tore apart whichever woman was not in the room at the time. Which today would be her.

“I think I would like the deep-rose gown tonight, Fiona.” Bridget rubbed her hair with the drying cloth in front of the fire while Fiona laid out her undergarments for the evening. More than ready to be out of bed and the room, she looked forward to a bit of socializing.

Would Cam mention their kiss? Would he pretend it never happened? She still felt a twinge of something pleasant in her lower parts when she remembered his warm lips on hers and the feel of his powerful chest pressed up against her.

She was quite pleased when she examined herself in the mirror over the dressing table in her bedchamber. Fiona had pulled her hair back into a loose topknot, leaving several curls to rest alongside her head and at her nape. The color of the gown went well with her golden-red hair, a combination most said was not good but looked just fine on her.

She picked up her gloves and wrap and headed to the door. Fiona had a cot in the room, so she would sleep until Bridget returned and then help her out of her clothes. She felt like such a ninnyhammer unable to undress herself, but in London one must always wear stays and other garments that required assistance.

The sound of lively conversation greeted her as she arrived in the drawing room at the direction of a footman. She immediately spotted Cam and headed in his direction. He was speaking with Lady Newell, an older woman whose company Bridget had enjoyed before. Married with four children, she and Lord Newell spent the entire year in London to be near her parents, who were aged.

“Good evening, Lady Bridget. You are looking well.” Cam bowed in her direction, running his eyes up and down her person, most likely looking for visible bruises. She hoped Lady Newell hadn’t noticed. It would be awkward, indeed, if he was thought to be ogling his ward in public.

“Thank you, my lord. I am feeling quite better.”

“Were you ill, Lady Bridget?” Lady Newell regarded her with the concern that came from raising four children.

“I had a bit of the megrim earlier, but I feel much better now.”

“May I get you something to drink?” Cam asked.

“Yes. I would like a sherry.”

He smiled at her, no doubt remembering that Scotch whisky was her drink of choice, but she didn’t think that would be appropriate with all the other ladies watching every move everyone else made, just looking for some interesting gossip to enliven the party.

She took the glass from his hand and was about to take a sip when her eyes wandered the room and stopped at the man who had just entered. She gasped and reached out to grip Cam’s arm.

…

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.

Despite his best intentions, he kept glancing down the table to where Bridget sat between Lord Devonshire and Mr. Michaelson. Both men were single, wealthy, well-connected, and seemed to show an interest in Bridget. Either would be a perfect husband for her. He tried as hard as he could to think of a reason why one or the other would not suit and came up with nothing.

Bloody hell.

The dinner came to an end, and Lady Banfield invited the ladies to join her in the drawing room for tea, leaving the men to their port. The gentlemen stood as they exited and settled back in their seats as bottles of port, whisky, and brandy were placed on the table.

Just as Cam took a sip of his brandy he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Campbell, I would have a word with you.”

Cam looked up into Lord Davenport’s eyes. He immediately tensed, grateful that Bridget had left the room. “What is it?” Perhaps he came off cold, because Davenport seemed taken aback, but with what he knew about the man, he had no desire for niceties.

Davenport pulled out the chair next to Cam and reached for the brandy bottle. He poured a good half glass of the liquid, then held it up to him in a salute and downed most of it in one gulp.

“What can I do for you, Davenport?” He had no time for friendly banter with the man who had most likely killed his wife and gotten away with it.

“I understand Lady Bridget is your ward.”

What the devil was the man up to? The last thing he wanted to do was discuss Bridget with the blackguard. “Yes.”

“Good. Good. I understand you are hoping to find a match for the chit.”

“I have no idea who passed that information along to you, Davenport. While I am open to offers for the lady’s hand, I am in no hurry to marry her off.”

“Well, I would like to be considered.”

Cam almost spit out his drink. “What?”

Davenport offered Cam a smile that he wanted to wipe from his arrogant face. “Yes. I’d like to offer for Lady Bridget. I think she and I would suit quite well.”