His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts)

by Hutton, Callie

  Her heart sped up, and her breathing increased. “That was no proposal.” Lord, even her voice had turned deep and raspy. “You simply stated that I would marry you.”

  “Very well. Then a proper proposal. Will you make me the happiest of men and consent to be my wife?”

  “Do you realize you look as though you just tasted something nasty?”

  Instead of taking the bait for an argument, he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her forward. His head descended, and he touched his soft, warm lips to hers.

  Big mistake.

  She melted against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her entire body flush against his. Warm, hard, his heart beating as fast as hers. Her hands slid up his chest to encircle his neck. She moved her fingers forward and with a slight tug, untied his cravat.

  Cam’s lips pulled away from her mouth, and he scattered kisses on her jawline. “Say yes.”

  She shook her head, unable to form a coherent response. His hand moved down from her neck and brushed across her neckline. He dipped his finger into the edge of her gown, sliding it along, going deeper until the tip of his finger touched her very sensitive nipple. She drew in a breath at the sensations that ran through her body. With a quick tug, he pulled the gown from her shoulders, exposing her chemise and stays. Another quick move and the chemise was pulled from her breasts. His hands molded the flesh, his thumb flicking over her beaded nipples.

  “Umm, that feels so good.” She threw her head back and pushed her body closer to his.

  She whimpered when his hands left her breasts and moved behind her. Within seconds her stays loosened and fell to her lap. The man was an artist in seducing and undressing women.

  “Let’s get these things out of the way.” He pushed all her garments to her waist. “Lift up.”

  As if completely in his power, she shifted, and he pulled her stays, chemise, petticoat, and gown down her legs and off, dropping them on the floor. The innkeeper’s wife had already removed her half boots, so Bridget was left with only her stockings and the pink ribbons holding them up.

  Cam smoothed his hand down her body, over her curves, resting on the top of her thigh. “So beautiful.”

  His hand wrapped around her waist, and he drew her to him. Unclothed and pressing up against his fully clothed, strong body brought a new sensation to her already over-sensitized skin. His lips covered hers again, and he nudged with his tongue to make her open to him.

  The only sounds in the room were their slight moans and shallow breaths as he caressed her body. He pulled back and stood, leaving her cold and confused.

  “Don’t worry, my sweet, I am merely dressing—or should I say undressing—for the occasion.” He made quick work of his clothes, and they landed in a pile on the floor.

  Bridget was mesmerized by his member, swollen and moving, as he climbed next to her on the bed. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her down so they were lying face-to-face. “Almost from the time we first met, I can’t remember a minute when I didn’t want you. You have been wreaking havoc with my senses for weeks.”

  The power she felt at having this man, this arrogant, overbearing lord—a known rake with quite the reputation with the ladies—admit he’d wanted her for so long was a heady feeling, indeed. Before she could comment on his remark, he took her mouth, demanding complete surrender, taking back the power she’d just felt.

  Curiosity had her moving her hand down his muscled chest, past the curly hair below his belly, to the object of her interest. She wrapped her hand around his member and squeezed, eliciting a slight moan from Cam. Her thumb circled the slit at the top of it and encountered a slick substance.

  Before she could ask him about it, his own fingers had found their way down to her woman’s core, where he circled and teased the swollen flesh there. Oh my, such wonderful feelings. Yes, this was quite pleasurable and very different from what she’d seen animals do.

  Cam was kissing her again as his finger slid into her opening. First one finger, then two. “You’re so warm and tight.”

  “Is that good?” she panted.

  “Oh yes, sweetheart. Very, very good.” He continued his ministrations until she began to feel restless, as if she were climbing a hill and struggling to reach the top.

  “Relax, don’t tense up,” Cam mumbled as he pulled her closer and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. His warm breath tickled her skin, but all her attention was focused on where his fingers circled and pressed, bringing her somewhere wonderful.

  He slid down her body and took her breast in his warm mouth, suckling hard. Within seconds an explosion ripped through her body, rocking her, causing her to stop breathing as the most wonderful feeling in the world swept over her, from her head to her curling toes.

  “Cam!” She squeezed her legs together and pressed hard against his hand as the ripples continued, and then slowly stopped. Her muscles relaxed and all her bones melted. She didn’t think she could walk if someone screamed “fire.”

  Turning her head, her eyes slowly opened to see Cam next to her, his head resting on his propped-up hand. He reached out and ran his fingers down her cheek.

  “Is there more?”

  His smile brought back some of the feelings she’d just experienced. “Only if you want it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Cam held his breath as Bridget studied him.

  “Yes. I want to experience the entire thing.”

  He swooped in and reclaimed her lips, crushing her warm, soft body against his. It was past the time to admit he’d been fighting this strong attraction for weeks. As improper as it was, he desired his ward like no other woman.

  Compared to the young ladies thrust in his pathway since he’d walked into his first ton ballroom, Bridget was a diamond among lumps of coal. Her fire, passion, caring, and desire to assist helpless women set her apart from her peers in a remarkable way.

  Now she was here, in his arms, offering herself to him, a humbling moment. He loved the mewing sounds she made as he touched her body in places he knew would bring her the greatest pleasure. Her soft moans, hitching breath, and the slight scent of flowers that belonged only to her ravaged his senses.

  His ministrations brought her back to readiness for his entry. He rolled onto her, nudging her knees with his until she was open and ready. “Sweetheart, this might hurt for a few seconds, but after that no more pain, I assure you.”

  His cock nudged her opening and slid right into her warm moistness.

  He stopped.

  No barrier.

  He drew back and regarded her, but she seemed oblivious to his discovery. Not the best time to address her lack of virginity, so he continued on, pushing unpleasant thoughts to the back of his mind, soon lost in the pleasure of her body. It took a great deal of effort to hold himself back, and eventually he gave in and with one final thrust, growled her name as he poured himself into her.

  The scent of their bodies and the sound of their panting filled the room. Still disturbed with the realization of her lack of virtue, he moved to her side and pulled her close. Had there been a man she’d loved dearly, who, after taking her innocence, had left her?

  Had all the fire and spirit he’d seen in her been directed at more than one man? His heart continued to pound in his chest, but this time from anger. He’d been trying to find a husband for her, and all this time she didn’t have the required virginity to make a suitable match. He snorted. Either the man she’d given herself to was an idiot, or she was one fine actress to pretend she didn’t know if there was anything more to their lovemaking.

  No wonder she claimed to have no interest in marriage. Unable to hold in his ire any longer, he turned to her. “Who was he?”

  She shifted so she could see his face, a warm smile gracing her plump-from-his-kisses lips. “Who was who?”

  He moved away from her and pulled himself up to lean against the headboard. “The man you lost your virginity to.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she
stared at him for a full minute. She yanked up the blanket to her chin and joined him against the headboard. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  He snorted. “Yes. You do.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Bridget, you cannot hide something like that. Well, I guess you could if you were prepared for your marriage bed with a vial of blood and some acting abilities.”

  She shook her head. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about? I have never done this”—her hand swept the bed where they sat—“with anyone else.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I am a man, and I know what I felt. Or didn’t feel.”

  “Well, seeing as how you’re a man and you know what you felt or didn’t feel, perhaps you can enlighten this mere woman and explain yourself.”

  Cam ran his fingers through his hair. This was unbelievable. She could not be so ignorant to not realize that after her virginity was taken there was no way for it to return. And any man following her first lover would know someone had been there before him.

  “All right. If you want to play this out, then I shall explain it to you. There is a barrier inside your body that a man breaks through the first time a woman takes a lover. Once that barrier is broken, any other man who takes her to bed after that knows he was not the first.”

  She looked genuinely confused, which angered him further. She should be treading the boards on Drury Lane with her acting ability. “I know nothing about barriers, or breaking through them, or vials of blood. You forget I had no mother to instruct me in all of this. What I do know is this is the very first time I have experienced this…whatever, and now I hope to never do so again.” She glared at him, her arms crossed over her breasts.

  “Calm down, Bridget. We will not discuss it further. It doesn’t matter, since Davenport’s antics ruined you already. And I didn’t help,” he mumbled the last part, acknowledging his part in her disgrace, should their time here together become known. You must marry me to save your reputation, anyway.”

  The screech coming from her sweet little mouth should have awakened the entire inn. “Get out!” She jumped from the bed, dragging the only blanket with her to cover herself.

  He sat openmouthed, chilled to the bone, with the sweat drying on his body from their lovemaking, staring at her. “What the devil is the matter with you?”

  She walked to the door and flung it open. Thank heavens there was no one passing by. “I. Said. Get. Out.”

  “Close the door.” He’d had enough experience with women, particularly those who were throwing him out of their house—mistresses came to mind—to know when it was best to retreat. He slid off the mattress, gathered his clothes, and quickly dressed.

  Bridget tapped her foot, looking like a waif wrapped in the blanket. Her snapping eyes and stiff body told a different story, and he beat a hasty retreat when he was almost fully clothed. “I will see you in the morning.”

  “Not if I see you first.” The door slammed, and he winced.

  He made his way down the corridor to the room he’d rented. What a mess. Here he was trying to find a proper husband for the girl and all that time she knew she did not have the required body part to keep her new husband from crying foul.

  Truth be known, he could have handled it better. Although she’d been genuinely surprised, puzzled, and angered, the evidence was there.

  He snorted. Or not there.

  Weary after a long day of chasing her, dealing with Davenport, and making love to the woman he thought he knew but didn’t really, he was exhausted. Tomorrow would be a trying day with them returning to London in the same carriage.

  He slowly undressed, thinking of how wonderful the joining with Bridget had been, despite his discovery. She was as passionate in bed as she was about everything. Her eager innocence—which proved to him she didn’t have a great deal of experience, most likely one lad who she had imagined herself in love with—was worth more to him than all the skills of the best mistresses he’d had.

  If nothing else, this only fortified his decision to marry her. They’d made love; she could be carrying his child. She was not a virgin before, and certainly not now. They were facing a major scandal when they returned to London, and it was his duty as her guardian to protect her by giving her his name.

  Once they were married, the ugliness would eventually die down. No one would want to insult the Marchioness of Campbell. He held a great deal of weight in Parliament and counted on his peers to keep their wives from snubbing his wife.

  With those thoughts running through his tired brain, he dropped his clothes to the floor and climbed into bed.

  …

  Bridget walked to the bed, picked up one of her half boots, and threw it at the door. It bounced off and hit her in the face. Twice as mad now, she picked it up again and pitched it even harder but moved sideways to avoid getting hit again.

  The little outburst of childishness didn’t relieve much of her anger at that pompous, arrogant, overbearing… She couldn’t even think of enough horrible words to describe the man. To accuse her of not being a virgin because of a ridiculous reason about something missing. He must think she was stupid. Granted, she did not know that much about sexual congress, but she would certainly know if she’d ever done that with anyone else.

  Realizing how chilled she was, she cleaned herself up and pulled on all her clothes, including her redingote with the fur trim, gloves, and bonnet. Her anger had slowly ebbed while she did all of that, so when she climbed into bed she fell instantly asleep.

  The next morning, sunlight crept over the windowsill and through the slats on the wooden shutters opposite her bed. Bridget covered her eyes with her gloved hand and rolled over with a groan. Memories from the night before flooded her brain. How in heaven’s name was she going to ride in a carriage with Cam without hurling insults and projectiles at his head?

  In her heart, she knew her anger was hiding the enormous hurt at Cam’s casual mention of her not being a virgin and then refusing to believe her when she said she’d never lain with a man.

  The experience had been so wonderful, she’d begun to hope that possibly a marriage between them would work. There were so many impressive things she’d learned about him since he’d first walked into the library at his Manor and she’d stunned him with her announcement that she was his ward. Then he had appeared arrogant, overbearing, and an arse.

  It seemed as if her first impression of him had been correct, and he was all those things. That depressed her even more.

  She climbed from the bed and looked at herself. If nothing else caused her a scandal, arriving back in London looking like she’d slept in her clothes—she chuckled, since she had slept in her clothes—would certainly set tongues wagging.

  What a mess Davenport had created. She smoothed out her coat as best she could, removed her bonnet to comb her hair with her fingers, and pinned it up with the few pins she could find. A splash of water on her face and a quick brush of her teeth with her finger and she was ready to go.

  Her stomach growled as she left the room and descended the stairs. Mrs. Trenton greeted her as she carried plates of food to diners at the tables in the common room. “Lord Campbell awaits you in the private dining room, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” Bridget pushed open the door to see Cam sitting at a table, looking no better than her with a cup of coffee in front of him. He spotted her and stood. She crossed the room and took the seat across from him.

  “Good morning.” His voice was raspy. Hopefully, he hadn’t had enough sleep either and would be nodding off on their trip back.

  Instead of responding, she merely dipped her head in acknowledgment, too weary to pick the argument back up, and unable to say anything else with his cruel words and her deep hurt at the forefront of her mind. Mrs. Trenton had followed her in. “May I get you breakfast, my lady?”

  “Yes. A full breakfast, please.” She didn’t care how undignified she appeared, eating like a working-class man, but she’d had no food
since early the day before.

  After Mrs. Trenton left the room, Cam cleared his throat. “I have rented a carriage for our trip back. As soon as we are through with breakfast we will begin our journey.”

  “Very well.”

  He added, “I have already spoken with the magistrate. Davenport will be escorted back to London to face charges.”

  She nodded again.

  “Are you not going to speak to me?”

  “Eventually. Right now I need time.”

  His lips tightened. “It will be a long day on the road. Once we arrive in London, I will have the driver go directly to the mews and slip you into my sister’s house from the back door. Hopefully, no one will see you enter, and we can avoid any additional gossip.”

  Bridget rubbed her tired eyes as Mrs. Trenton returned with a plate full of potatoes, bacon, eggs, toast, tomatoes, and sausage. Her stomach growled and her mouth watered at the feast. Studying Cam’s stiff back as he left the room, she dug into her food.

  After finishing her meal and enjoying a second cup of tea, she rose and made her way to the front of the inn. The common room held a few men nursing glasses of ale, but she’d seen no sign of the Ambrose family. She could just imagine how excited Lady Ambrose would be to return to London and spread the story of Bridget’s fall from grace. No doubt her two daughters were also anxious to create as much damage as they could.

  With nothing more than the clothes on her back, there were no trunks or other items to be loaded onto the boot of the carriage. Cam held the door of the carriage open and extended his hand to help her in. Her pride would love more than anything to ignore his outstretched arm, but she would probably fall flat on her face getting into the vehicle and only cause embarrassment for herself.

  After settling in with Cam across from her, he tapped on the roof of the carriage and they were off.