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She wore a pale-blue muslin gown with a netting overlay that shifted in the candlelight, giving the garment an ethereal appearance. The neckline was in no way immodest, but nothing like what he’d seen her in before. The expanse of glorious pale skin rising above the neckline, moving with every breath she took, made his heart thump.
Her magnificent red hair had been pulled back from her face, but not into the tight chignon or a horse’s tail. Her lady’s maid had gathered the tresses to her crown, the locks fixed with a small bouquet of flowers, causing a riot of curls to cascade down her back.
Her blue eyes were bluer, her smile warmer, and her reddish-gold eyebrows raised. That was when he realized he’d been staring at her like a muddleheaded youth with his mouth agape.
He coughed to cover his unease, but
not before he saw the grin on Dunmore’s face. Blasted man. He would catch Cam staring. “You look lovely, Lady Bridget.”
“Thank you.” She offered him an extremely graceful curtsy. Both men’s eyes dipped to her chest.
Fenton placed a shawl around her shoulders, and before Cam embarrassed himself, he extended his elbow. “Shall we?”
“I wish you a pleasant time.” Dunmore continued to grin as they left the house.
By the time they settled into his carriage, Cam’s heart had returned to normal, but his senses certainly had not. He couldn’t help but stare at her—her beautiful face and the swell and dip of her breasts as the soft glow of the carriage lantern cast enticing shadows on her. The scent of something flowery and intoxicating drifted his way.
Then the thought crossed his mind that other men at the dinner party would see Bridget like this. Blood pooled from his face, and his stomach muscles tightened. He would need to stand guard over her the entire night to see that she was not taken advantage of.
Some of the men in attendance had reputations. It would be up to Cam to make sure she wasn’t ruined by some blackguard who was interested in her money.
And her body.
The carriage drew up to the townhouse, and Cam readied himself for battle. ’Twas a good thing he kept up his appointments with Gentleman Jackson. He just might have to flatten a man or two. “Are we ready, my lady?”
The door was opened by one of Preston’s footmen, who moved back when Cam stepped down and turned to assist Lady Bridget. Cam bent toward Bridget’s ear. “Watch out for Lord St. Clair, Lord Manning, and Mr. Webster.”
She turned to him and frowned. “Why?”
“They are rakes.”
“So are you.”
He waved his hand. “I am your guardian. Whether I am a rake or not is unimportant. I am here to guard you.”
She smoothed out her gown. “Guard me? You sound like I am a prisoner.”
Here they were, back to that again. “You know that is not what I mean. Some gentlemen are not gentlemen at all, and those with pockets to let are looking for a wealthy bride.”
She tossed her head, the red curls bouncing against her back. “I shall be no one’s bride. I am merely doing this as my part of our compromise.”
“Bridget, you gave your word that you would give this a chance.” Bloody hell, he had to get the chit married. Not only did he want done with this duty, but looking the way she did, he would spend all his time in the next several weeks guarding her every minute. That was the last thing he wanted to do.
It occurred to him tonight that the quicker he married her off the better it would be for his own mental health. She stirred things in him he did not want to feel. Then again, the idea of her being in another man’s arms—and bed—confused him. He’d never felt this way with his sisters, and the entire thing had him so tied in knots he wanted only to get this duty over with and return to his life.
“I am willing to give this a chance. However, please note that I will not change who I am to pacify some arrogant, full-of-himself lord.”
He looked into her eyes to see the concern there. “I do not want you to be anyone but yourself. However, just be careful.”
She raised her chin. “I can take care of myself.”
Before he was able to remind her that he was referring to a different sort of taking care, the footman announced them, and they entered Preston’s drawing room.
About twenty other people stood in small groups around the room. A footman passed out glasses of some sort of beverage. Cam took two from the tray and handed one to Bridget. “Allow me to introduce you.”
“Well, who have we here?” Before they’d even taken two steps, Mr. Webster stepped in front of them, eying Bridget from head to toe in a manner that had Cam fisting his hand at his side. This nodcock would be the first to approach them.
Cam stiffened and turned to Bridget. “My lady, may I present to you Mr. Anthony Webster, son of Lord Everhardt. Webster, this is Lady Bridget, my ward.”
