His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts) Read online

  “Thank you. You are very kind.”

  Lady Banfield nodded. “Please join us for tea when you are settled. Unless you prefer a sleep-in before dinner. If you’d like to join us, merely ask any one of the footmen to show you where we are.”

  “Thank you once again.”

  Bridget turned to take in the room. A nice size, the chamber had pale-rose and green window coverings and bed hangings. The rose carpet under her feet was plush and matched the paint on the upper part of the wall, with wainscoting on the bottom.

  “Will you be changing for tea, milady?” Fiona shook out one of her gowns and placed it on a shelf in the armoire.

  “Yes. I would love to get out of this gown. If there is something not wrinkled, I will don that one and refresh myself before joining the others.”

  After Fiona unfastened and removed her gown to find something for her to change into, Bridget moved to the window and looked out at the expanse of Banfield Estate. Even though she was expected to “look over” the men at the party for a potential husband, she was happy to be here, with the smell of the country air, fresh grass, and the light scent from the stables coming in through the window.

  She turned to Fiona. “You did bring my breeches, did you not?”

  …

  The next morning, Cam strode from Banfield Manor, heading to the Viscount’s renowned stables for a morning ride. He breathed in the cool, crisp air, remembering how much he enjoyed the country. After the bill to help the veterans passed, he would retire to the country for a while and spend the time there occupying his hours as a gentleman farmer. A role he relished more and more each year.

  Perhaps I am getting old.

  Somehow, the life he’d planned did not seem as appealing as it once had. In his push for Bridget to marry to avoid a lonely old age, he’d begun to question his own decision not to do that very thing.

  He surely didn’t object to having a warm, willing woman in his bed every night—someone like Bridget, he was annoyed to acknowledge—but he refused to reproduce. He still wanted his bit of revenge on the man who had revered his title above all else. Also, the fact that he did not seem to have his father’s nastiness had never been a strong enough reason to dissuade him from remaining childless.

  Until recently.

  Shoving those uncomfortable thoughts to the back of his mind, he entered the stable to choose a horse to ride. He’d promised to meet Bridget, who was anxious to race through the countryside, as she’d put it.

  He was finishing tacking Delphi, the horse he’d chosen, when Bridget arrived at the stables, and Cam almost swallowed his tongue. “What the devil are you wearing?”

  She looked down at her body, covered in a man’s shirt and breeches that outlined every single curve of her arse and legs. All the blood left his head and proceeded to his lower parts.

  “Go change into something appropriate.” He turned quickly, not wanting to torture himself further.

  “What? We’ve been through this before, my lord, you will not dictate to me how to dress.”

  He turned back and had to grit his teeth to suppress the urge to grab a blanket from the tack room and throw it over her before anyone else entered the stable.

  “Lady Bridget, ladies do not ride in breeches. You surely have a proper riding outfit that will accommodate a sidesaddle nicely. Please go change into it. I am asking, not ordering.”

  “I don’t have a riding habit. And I don’t ride sidesaddle.”

  Good Lord, the situation was worse than he thought. “You ride astride?” Although he’d heard rumors of a few ladies of the ton—the more daring ones whose husbands seemed to dote on them—known to ride astride, he’d never seen such a sight.

  She nodded, her cute little chin sticking out. “That would be correct. I never learned to ride sidesaddle and I am of the opinion that it is stupid and dangerous.”

  Cam ran his palm down his face. “This is unbelievable.”

  “Nevertheless, I intend to ride this morning. If you do not wish to be seen with the likes of me, I will go alone—”

  “You will not go alone. These are unfamiliar grounds, and you could very well get lost or into some other type of trouble.” The woman caused him more indigestion than a spicy meal.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you ridden here before, Lord Arrogant?”

  Ignoring her insult, he answered. “No.”

  She smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you concerned about getting lost or into trouble?”

  “Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why is it a ridiculous scenario for you to get lost or into trouble, but an issue for me?”

  His jaw tightened to the point where he thought it might snap. “You. Are. A. Woman.”

  Her eyes flashed and she leaned forward, her fisted hands again at her waist. “I. Know. That.”

  “Excuse me, my lord, will the lady be requiring a mount?” The stable groom looked between the two of them glaring at each other, his face bland, as a good servant’s should be.

  Cam was tempted to forbid the groom to tack a horse for her, but Bridget was not the sort of person to accept his edict and return to the house. In fact, based on the look on her face, he was afraid she was about to swing her fist at him.

  Bloody nuisance of a woman.

  Since it was quite probable others would be arriving soon for a morning ride—most likely men, because most proper ladies remained abed with their chocolate until mid-morning—he decided it was best to get her away from the house and off where she would not be seen. “Yes. The young lady will be requiring a mount.”

  Bridget brushed past him. “I should like to choose my own horse, if you please.”

  Cam dropped his head. “Of course she does.”

  At last, they rode peaceably side by side toward a large acreage behind a field of fruit trees. Banfield had a productive and well-tended estate. Looking around, Cam felt a bit of unease at the neglect of his own estate. He really needed to spend more time there. The regular reports from his land steward were encouraging, but a man needed to see for himself how things were proceeding. Plus, the construction on his bathing room should have started by now, and he wanted to view the progress.

  Without saying a word, Bridget kicked her horse’s sides and took off. Cam grinned and chased after her. They cantered through the field, the sun warm on their backs, the air pleasantly scented with autumn foliage.

  “Let’s take that wall.” Bridget pointed to a stone wall about half a mile distant.

  “That seems a bit high,” he shouted back.

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you afraid you’ll fall, my lord?”

  He hadn’t meant the height was a problem for him, but for her. She seemed to enjoy placing herself in precarious situations. She must have been quite a trial for her father. He was beginning to understand why the man had thought she needed a guardian. “No. I am not afraid, but you are not familiar with that horse,” he hollered as they continued to race toward the barrier.

  Cam held back a bit to watch Bridget as she sailed over the wall. Shaking his head, he followed her over, then rode the distance to where she had slowed her horse to a trot and then a walk to cool him off.

  “Very impressive, Bridget. But still foolhardy.”

  She patted her horse’s neck and snorted a very unladylike sound that caused him to smile. “On my father’s estate I used to take jumps riding bareback.”

  He felt his face pale at her confession. “Your father allowed you to ride that way?”

  “He didn’t know. Our stable master taught me to ride and used to look the other way when I would jump on my horse without a saddle.” She sighed and looked out at the grounds. “I do miss Scotland.”

  They picked up a trot again and headed toward the village, tucked away in a valley, looking peaceful and serene.

  “Isn’t that lovely?” Bridget turned to him, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling with happiness. Ignoring the scene in front of them,
he instead watched her, trying very hard to keep his eyes on her face and not travel down to her bouncing breasts and glorious legs.

  “Indeed, it is.”

  “But ’tis not Scotland.” There was definite sadness in her tone, and her expression changed.

  “Do you miss it so very much?” He hated the desolate look on her face and tried to understand. He’d never thought about being uprooted from his home and deposited in another country. Of course she would miss her homeland. Watching her touched him in a place he’d kept well-hidden for years. He wasn’t even sure if there was a word for it and didn’t want to examine it too much, anyway.

  They continued their ride and after about ten minutes, they turned the horses and headed back. “Let’s take the wall again,” Bridget said.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You were lucky the first time.”

  “Lucky? I just told you how experienced I am at jumping.”

  He immediately regretted his words. The worst way to discourage Bridget from doing anything was to allude to a lack of skill.

  Without another word, she threw him a pointed look and barreled toward the wall, taking the horse over with grace, then flying off the saddle, into the air, as the horse landed.

  “Bridget!” Cam raced to where she had fallen and jumped from his horse. He went down on one knee next to her, his heart thumping. “Are you well?”

  The annoying chit was holding her middle, rolling on the ground, and laughing.

  Laughing!

  His heart had traveled to his throat when he saw her sail through the air. He stood and bent to pull her up by her forearms, right into his face. “You little fool. You could have been killed.”

  He shook her, the smile still on her face, her breath coming in gasps, her eyes snapping with humor and life. Before he gave a thought to what he was doing, he crushed her against his chest and covered her mouth with his.

  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, r
unning 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.”