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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. T
herefore, 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, running 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.
