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She took a deep breath and cuddled in to him. “I am now.”
Not the proper time to question her on how she ended up where she did, he merely held her, the fierce protectiveness that swamped him a bit unsettling. ’Twas time to admit his feelings went beyond the normal guardian and ward connection. He would be just as livid had this happened to one of his sisters, but truth be known, he would be much more detached—thinking only about their welfare. His anger would have been focused on the addlepated idiot who dared to touch his sister and how to avoid a scandal.
On the other hand, when he’d seen the destruction of Bridget’s gown and the distress on her face, it was like a fist to his gut. To see this strong, capable woman in such a state moved him like nothing else in his life. He would have beaten the scoundrel of his sisters’ senseless, but the rage he now felt for Chadwick went beyond rational thinking. He didn’t want the man pounded senseless; he wanted him dead.
Bridget had stopped shaking by the time they arrived at Dunmore’s townhouse.
He studied her as she shifted from his lap. “Are my sister and her husband home this evening?” He didn’t want to leave her off with no one to look after her. She needed a warm bath to stop the chill, a bit of her favorite Scotch whisky to help her sleep, and a woman’s shoulder to cry on.
“Yes. I believe they said their calendar was clear.”
“Excellent.” He stepped out of the hackney, paid the driver, and escorted her up the stairs. Fenton had the door opened by the time they reached the top stair.
“Good evening, Fenton, where is my sister?”
The butler took a quick glance at Bridget, and his lips tightened. “She is in the drawing room with his lordship.”
His arm wrapped around her waist, Cam led Bridget down the corridor, entering the drawing room after Fenton opened the door.
“Oh, goodness. Whatever happened?” Constance put aside the piece of embroidery she was working on and came toward them.
“Lady Bridget had a mishap. I believe a warm bath, a spot of whisky, and a good night’s sleep will do wonders.”
“Where is Mrs. Dressel?” Constance helped Bridget remove Cam’s jacket and handed it to him, her eyes growing wide at the ruined gown. His sister knowing him as well as she did, he had no worries that she’d think he had anything to do with Bridget’s dishevelment.
“She will arrive shortly.” He bowed to them both. “I have an important errand to see to. Lady Bridget will no doubt explain her condition to you.”
Once he arrived at the door to the drawing room, he turned and looked at Bridget. “I will call tomorrow morning around ten o’clock. Please be ready.” With those words echoing in the room, he strode the length of the corridor, past the door Fenton held open for him, and down the stairs.
With his carriage still at Westminster, where they’d left it to take the boat to Vauxhall, he walked the distance to his home, going directly to the mews. The sprint did nothing to assuage his anger, only increasing it, as he remembered the terrified look on Bridget’s face when she’d thought Chadwick had found her.
After his horse was tacked, he headed in the direction of one of his clubs. He would find Chadwick if it took all night. Even if he had to haul the man out of his bed.
After visiting White’s, Brooks’s, and Boodles, he finally found Chadwick at the Rose Room, the newest gambling hell that had become the place to be. Apparently recovered from the blow to his bollocks, Chadwick sipped a brandy and sat at a card table run by the only female dealer in the house. From the lack of coins in front of the cur, he was getting himself only deeper in debt.
Cam walked up behind him and slammed his hand on his shoulder. Grabbing the cards from the man’s hands, he threw them down. “He’s finished for the night.”
“What the devil?” Chadwick turned and grew paler than new milk when he saw Cam.
Cam fisted his hand in the back of Chadwick’s jacket, hauled him up, and gave him a push. “Outside.” In case the man decided to evade him, Cam walked behind him, ignoring the looks and smirks from other players in the room.
Having spent considerable time at the club himself, Cam was familiar with the establishment’s layout and was friends with the brothers who owned the place. He left the main room, proceeded down a corridor that housed the offices, pushed Chadwick to the back door, and shoved him through.
Chadwick turned to face him. “Now see here, Campbell, you cannot just drag me from the table. I had a good hand—”
Cam’s fist crashed into Chadwick’s face, and the man went flying, landing on his arse. “You broke my nose!”
“That’s not all I’m going to break.” Cam reached down and dragged Chadwick back up, landing two punches to his middle and one to his jaw before releasing him to crumple back onto the ground.
Even more annoyed that Chadwick would not fight back so Cam could give him a thorough hammering, he leaned over and pulled the coward up by his cravat. “I told you to stay away from Lady Bridget.” He twisted the garment, enjoying the red flush that rose on the man’s face. “You not only ignored my warning but put your filthy hands on her.”
Cam released Chadwick, who landed back onto the dirt, smacking his head on a rock. ’Twas too bad the rock didn’t kill him, because he lay there, holding his nose, staring up at him, the hatred in his eyes a living thing.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself so he would not kill the man, Cam straightened his jacket, his eyes boring into Chadwick. “If I hear one word, even a whisper or a smirk directed at my ward because of the incident tonight, I will find you, and I guarantee you will regret it.”
Chadwick said nothing, only shook his head as if to clear it.
Cam placed his hands on his hips and stared at him, his jaw so tight he thought it would snap. “Do I make myself clear this time, Chadwick?”
