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She tried, instead, to focus on the evening’s entertainment with Lord Campbell, or Cam as she’d begun to think of him, since that was the moniker used by Constance and her husband. At her insistence, Cam was escorting her to Vauxhall Gardens. He’d been reluctant to do so. The so-called pleasure gardens had a reputation for couples escaping to the dark pathways, but Bridget was anxious to see the tightrope walkers, concerts, and fireworks. Her guardian had arranged to meet several other friends for supper and the entertainments following. As anxious as she was to visit the notorious place, the prospect of being in Cam’s presence again also made her uneasy.
She’d managed to suffer through the informal dinner and musicale at the Preston townhouse without causing physical harm to the obnoxious men who had been breathing down her bosom, but instead of being pleased with how she’d conducted herself, Cam had attacked her, accusing her of encouraging the cretins who had almost drooled over her chest.
The man was beyond the pale. Although she’d calmed down after they’d arrived home and had shared stories and drinks with the Dunmores, her anger had returned when she retired to her bedchamber and had attempted to fall asleep.
He had been the one to push her to meet and consider men for marriage, even though she had no intention of marrying. Then, when she’d complied with his request—doing so only to gain his assistance with her abused women project—he’d acted like she’d done something wrong.
The most disturbing part of the entire evening had been the strong attraction she’d felt toward him. Even though he’d sat as far from her as possible in the carriage, she’d still felt the warmth radiating from his body, smelled the now familiar scent of bergamot and leather, and had heard his deep breathing matching her own as they’d sparred words. She refused to be attracted to him. He was arrogant, overbearing, and intolerable.
She leaned her chin on her hand as she studied herself in the mirror over her dressing table and sighed. He was also handsome, charming, and captivating. If the rumors she’d heard in the short time she’d been in London were true, his skills in the bedchamber had left many a woman smiling.
A light tap on her door drew her from her musing. “Yes?”
Fiona stuck her head inside. “Lord Campbell has arrived, my lady.”
“Thank you. Is Mrs. Dressel ready to join us?” Following the lecture she’d received from Cam about having a lady’s maid with her, she’d decided tonight’s adventure would be more suited to her companion and chaperone instead.
“Yes, my lady.”
They descended the stairs together, her heart beginning its foolishness after she spotted Cam lounging against the wall at the entranceway, speaking with Lord Dunmore. He straightened and looked up at her, his eyes brightening. “You look lovely this evening, Lady Bridget.”
“Thank you.” Lord, her voice was so breathy it sounded as though she had caught an ague on the way down the stairs. He certainly looked quite well himself. Dressed in dark trousers with a red-and-black waistcoat, a snug-fitting jacket, and stiff white cravat against his tan skin, he looked like sin waiting for a place to call.
She scolded herself for her ludicrous thoughts and silently thanked her decision to bring Mrs. Dressel along. One thing her guardian had been correct about. She did need protection from him. Or, rather, the feelings he evoked in her. ’Twas no wonder he had such a rakish reputation. The man had only to look at her with those smoldering green eyes and wicked smile and she was ready to fall into his arms.
Or his bed.
It was a balmy evening, so she elected to carry a shawl instead of wearing her pelisse. Sometimes the night could grow chilly, but she thought the shawl would be sufficient. Cam took her arm, and they made their way to the carriage.
He did not comment on Mrs. Dressel’s presence.
“I am most eager to see the fireworks.” Now that she was settled in the carriage with her companion safely by her side, her prior excitement returned.
“They are very impressive, to be sure.” Cam rested his foot on his knee and grinned at her. “They can be quite loud as well, so be prepared.”
“Tell me about the entertainments.” Her eagerness was somewhat childish, but with most of her life spent either in school in London, with very few jaunts outside the walls, or at her father’s estate in Scotland, there was much she’d never experienced.
“It varies. Some nights there are circus performers, other times a concert will be offered. We will have supper with about seven or eight people. Strolling the gardens is also a pleasant way to pass some time.”
Her brows rose. “I thought the gardens were off-limits?” She’d heard tales of couples who took those strolls and ended up forcibly married. Or disgraced.
“They are indeed off-limits with another man.” He appeared to be sorry he’d even brought the gardens to her attention. “If you and Mrs. Dressel wish to stroll the gardens, I will be happy to escort you.”
She had no wish to be forced to marry any of the men she’d met so far, therefore avoiding the gardens was best. None of
the would-be beaus seemed worth her time. In her one and twenty years, she’d had limited contact with men, a situation she had fully intended to continue. Her life would be one of service to unfortunate women who had placed their happiness and lives in the hands of the men who abused them.
Like Minerva.
She cast off those somber thoughts as the carriage pulled up in front of Westminster, where they would take the boat to the Vauxhall Stairs on the south bank. With the heat of the summer behind them, the boat ride was pleasant, the cool night air not carrying the nasty scent from the river so prevalent in summer. Once they alighted from the boat, they made their way through the main entrance, Bridget’s hand on Cam’s arm.
The building and surrounding walls were quite large and impressive. “This is The Grove, and as you can see, the supper boxes line both sides of the walkway.” Cam waved to the dining areas.
At the thought of dining, Bridget’s stomach rumbled. “When does supper begin?”
He must have heard her unladylike display because he patted her hand and smiled. “Around nine, when it begins to grow dark. We will be treated to the famous Vauxhall ham and other cold meats, salads, cheeses, custards, tarts, and cheesecakes—quite an array. Then when you hear a whistle blow, thousands of lamps will be lit to illuminate the area. It is quite spectacular.”
“And very exciting.” She could hardly keep the wonder out of her voice, but she’d never seen anything like this before.
