He wants to marry her off quickly. She says absolutely not.
When the Marquess of Campbell inherits a fiery, red-headed Scottish beauty as his ward, it’s his job to marry her off. No problem. She comes with a fortune. Lady Bridget MacDuff will have suitors falling all over themselves to wed her.
Not so fast. Lady Bridget has plans for that fortune and they involve helping unfortunate women. And she has no intention of helping her devastatingly handsome guardian in his quest to get her off his hands. He doesn’t plan to marry, either. Why should she?
Bridget and Cam are now on opposite sides of a war that neither one plans to lose. Even if Cam’s rakish presence throws Bridget’s heart into turmoil and the marquess can’t deny that his ward sets his heart afire. And then Cam makes a bold proposal...
About the Book
His Rebellious Lass
by Callie Hutton
Series
Scottish Hearts Book One
Genre
Adult
Historical Romance
Publisher
Entangled Scandalous
Publication Date
July 8, 2019
Purchase Your Copy Today!
Excerpt:
London, England
September, 1818
Donald, The
Marquess of Campbell, known as Cam to family, friends, and lovers, gripped the
missive he’d received from his land steward and frowned.
My
Lord,
It
is imperative that you return to Cumberland as quickly as possible to retrieve
an item of utmost importance.
Mr.
David Sterns
He
stared at the paper and read it over several times. No matter how hard he
tried, no other words to clarify the statement appeared. He shook his head.
Surely a more puzzling note did not exist. What the devil was “an item of
utmost importance”?
He
strode down the corridor to his bedchamber, none too happy. As he tossed items
into a small satchel to make a quick trip in answer to the nebulous summons, he
dwelled on the work in Parliament awaiting his attention. Although Parliament
was no longer in session, having struck the final gavel for the year in June,
Cam was, nevertheless, attending meetings and discussions with other members
who had remained in Town. Meetings had been necessary to consider bills he was
working on to assist veterans and their families. Taking the time to travel all
the way to the Scottish border was frustrating. Especially when he had no idea
why he was being summoned.
He
had also planned to squeeze in a rousing couple of weeks of fun, frolic, women,
and liquor to soothe himself, as the last of his three life-long friends had
just married. While happy for the men and their newly acquired spouses, the
last thing he wanted was a wife. He gripped his satchel and left the house.
A
wife.
Just
the thought made him itchy.
…
After
five days of travel, Cam was more than ready to end his trek. Even though he’d
spent time out of the carriage and on his horse, Nettles, he wanted to sleep in
his own bed, eat Cook’s food, and drink a glass of decent brandy in front of his
own fireplace.
He
and his valet, Markham, had traveled together in Cam’s large and comfortable
coach. He had no intention of staying any longer than it took to retrieve this
“package.” Even if he stayed only a few days in Cumberland, he would miss
several important meetings in London.
Wearily,
Cam climbed from the carriage, pressed his hands against his lower back, and
stretched. He could not help the smile that covered his face as he looked at
Campbell Manor. For as much as he preferred to be in London for Parliament, he
loved his home estate.
The
Manor staff awaited him outside, lined up to greet their master. Ralph, the
head butler, introduced two new footmen. Mrs. Bromley, his housekeeper, had
hired one new chamber maid. He always made it a point to greet each member of
his staff and had learned their names, spouses’ names, and children—although
that changed somewhat dramatically visit to visit. His servants were quite
prolific in their ability to reproduce.
After
they made it into the entrance hall, Cam turned to Markham. “I would like a hot
bath, clean clothes, and dinner. In that order.”
Markham
nodded and followed Cam into the house, giving orders to the footmen for a hot
bath to be brought to the master’s bedchamber directly.
Cam
took the stairs to the first floor two at a time. This comfortable home was the
place he had been raised with his younger sisters, Constance and Maryann.
Cam
had been a mere twenty years when his father died ten years before, leaving Cam
head of the family and guardian for the young girls, who were then twelve and
fourteen. After sufficient grieving time, he’d enrolled them in a fashionable
boarding school in London, which allowed him to see to his Parliamentary duties
and stay close to them.
At
the end of their first Seasons, both girls had become betrothed and were now
enjoying marital bliss, bringing children into the world at an alarming rate.
His
bedchamber welcomed him, as though it had held its breath for his return. The
chunky dark furniture had been his father’s, but the wall coverings, bedcovers,
and draperies had been his own choosing. The deep-brown and blue print
coordinated well with the dark wainscoting and blue-striped paper on the walls.
He’d
kept the furniture to preserve the memory of his father, the man who’d made
Cam’s childhood one miserable event after another. Beatings, starvation, and
other cruel means of discipline had comprised Cam’s daily life. He wanted this
reminder so he would never have children of his own and end up like his father.
His
only escape from the brutality had been when he was sent to school, where he’d
met Hawk, Templeton, and Bedford. They had become his family.
Cutting
into his musing, footmen appeared with a large tub and buckets of steaming
water, a reminder of his plan to have a bathing room installed in the house. It
had been on his list of improvements for at least two years. All his time spent
in London had forced him to put those projects on hold.
As
he climbed into the tub and washed the road dust off, he considered not spending
as much time in London. He missed it here, and there were many projects with
the house he’d like to begin.
He
looked around the room as he washed, dried off, and dressed. As always, he
insisted on tying his own cravat, as every gentleman should do. A quick brush
of his hair and he descended the stairs, cheerful to be out of the coach and
ready for one of his best brandies before a delectable dinner.
He
opened the door to the library, walked about two steps, and then came to a
complete stop. A young woman he’d never seen before stood in the center of the
room, staring at the doorway, her chin in the air. Her flashing crystal-blue
eyes regarded him with a combination of fear and anger, and golden-red curls
falling from her poorly constructed hairstyle landed on soft white shoulders.
The
young lady’s face was perfection. High arched brows, creamy skin, a tiny nose, and
full lips. Lips that looked ready for kissing. On second glance, the way they
were pursed, maybe not kissing.
“Who
are you?”
“I
am your ward.” She placed her fisted hands on her hips. “And not happy about
it.”
…
Bridget
glowered at Lord Campbell as all the blood seemed to drain from his face. Good,
she’d shocked him. Precisely how she’d felt when she learned her fate.
“My
what?” The man barely got the word out. Not that she cared if he was upset. She
wanted her freedom—and money—and he could go to the devil.
“Please
don’t tell me you are the package I was sent to retrieve.” He glared at her.
She glared back. Fine. If he was as unhappy about this arrangement as she was,
then he would most likely be willing to find a solution. One that would give
her leave to do as she wished.
She
regarded him coolly. “I believe so. Your man told me you would most likely not
come if you knew you had a ward waiting for you.”
“Smart
man. And in a vast amount of trouble.” Lord Campbell strode to the sideboard
and poured a brandy. “Would you care for a drink? Or perhaps send for tea?” At
least he had manners.
“Tea
is for invalids and old ladies. I would like a drink, but none of that sherry.
Whisky. Scotch whisky.”
Although
his eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, he poured the brown liquid from the
bottle he held into a crystal tumbler. He re-capped the bottle—French brandy,
she noted—and picked up another bottle then splashed two fingers’ worth into a
second glass. He strolled across the room and handed one to her. Motioning to
the settee in front of the fireplace, he said, “Sit.”
Her
jaw dropped. This man is insufferable. “Is that an order, Lord Campbell?”
He
sighed and dipped his head. No doubt he considered a minor nod a replacement
for an apology. “Please have a seat.” He swept his hand in the direction of the
settee.
Bridget
settled herself and took a sip of the whisky. For all her bravado, she was
shaking inside now that she finally faced her guardian.
Guardian!
She
was ever so annoyed and angry at this turn of events. Her dear papa had died
only two weeks before. At the reading of his will, she’d been astounded to find
that he had left her care in the hands of The Marquess of Campbell. For three
days she’d cried, railed, and, yes, cursed her beloved father.
The
problem was, as his solicitor, Mr. Manning had explained with a flushed face,
Papa had not changed his will in years, and the Lord Campbell he’d meant to be
her guardian was this Lord Campbell’s father. Papa had not identified her
guardian in any other way, therefore, by law, this young, handsome, and—from
what she understood—rakish man was her guardian.
“I
will begin by telling you I am more than happy to break this ridiculous
arrangement and allow you to return to London and do whatever it is you do that
makes the gossip columnists so very happy.” She waved a dismissive hand at him.
He
narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps, before you showed your poor manners by attacking
me the minute I walked into my own library, you might introduce yourself
properly and explain exactly what this guardianship means.”
Oh,
he is repugnant. Then as his words rolled over her, she cowered with shame. She
had been quite rude, and this man was as much a victim of her father’s will as
she was. But if she were to gain some control, she had to stay strong. She took
a deep breath and offered him a smile. “I apologize. I did not mean to attack
you. I merely wanted to advise you that I do not want, nor do I need, a
guardian. My name is Lady Bridget MacDuff, I am one and twenty, and I’m
perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Apparently,
your father did not think so.” He took a sip of his drink, and she tried very
hard not to notice how his lips covered the rim of the glass, making her wonder
what they would feel like pressed up against her own lips. She mentally
chastised herself. The man was her enemy, and she best ignore any silly
attraction she felt toward him.
Her
so-called guardian was a tall man and quite broad-shouldered. His curly ginger
hair skimmed the top of his cravat in the back. The locks also covered his
forehead, right above the greenest eyes Bridget had ever seen, surrounded by
shining bronze gold–tipped eyelashes. She imagined the gossip columnists were
correct and he gave many a young lady heart palpitations and something to dream
about at night.
Certainly
not her, though. He was her worst nightmare. “My father was getting on in years
and refused to acknowledge that I was quite grown up.”
“Nevertheless,
he chose to name a guardian for you. I do not know you, nor your father, so
perhaps you can enlighten me on how this all came about?”
Unable
to sit for long periods of time, especially when she was unsettled, she placed
the now empty whisky glass on the table in front of them and stood. Lord
Campbell rose as well. Yes, very good manners. But then again, anyone who spent
so much time seducing the ladies must possess the very best of polished
manners. And charm.
“Papa
and your father were schoolmates, who apparently kept up a correspondence over
the years. Although the former Lord Campbell visited our estate a few times, I
don’t remember him, as I was quite young the last time he did.”
“But
my father has been dead for ten years. Your father must have known that. Why
was a new guardian not named?”
Bridget
shrugged. “I asked Mr. Manning, Papa’s solicitor, the same question, and he
told me he had urged Papa to change his will, but he always had an excuse.”
Lord
Campbell wandered over to the heavy wooden desk in the center of the room and
rested his hip against the edge, swinging his booted foot. No. She did not
notice how his breeches tightened over his muscled thighs. “Where can I find
this Mr. Manning?”
“He
lives in the village near Papa’s estate.”
“Where
is that?”
“Scotland.
Right across the border in Dumfriesshire.”
“Scotland?
I do not detect a Scottish accent.”
“I
spent a few years in London, where I attended a boarding school that beat the
accent out of me. Papa wanted me to enter into London Society to find a
husband.”
“And
did you attend a Season? I don’t remember you.”
She
grinned. “No. I’ve been able to skip that torment for the past three years. I
did not like London. ’Tis a dirty, smelly place, and I missed Scotland far too
much.”
“What
happened to your father’s estate?”
She
raised her chin and scowled at the memory of the heir’s response to her
summons. “A very rude second cousin from the Highlands inherited Father’s
lands. He didn’t even come for a visit, just sent word that he was much too
busy and would attend to the estate in a few months.”
Lord
Campbell studied his empty glass. “I will contact Mr. Manning, but I’d like you
to tell me the terms of this guardianship. If you are already one and twenty, I
don’t understand the need for it.”
Praise
the saints! Maybe the man would be gracious enough to cancel the entire thing.
She nodded furiously. “I agree. Papa’s will states that I am to have a guardian
until I am three and twenty. At that time, if I have not married, I will
inherit his fortune.” And she had plans for that money, plans that could not
wait another eighteen months.
Lord
Campbell’s eyes lit up. “Married?”
Her
heart sunk to her knees. Blast it. Was that joy she saw in his eyes? Surely, he
would not attempt to marry her off? She sucked in a breath. Or, worse yet,
force her to marry him? A rake? Someone after her inheritance, perhaps?
She
blurted out, “I will not marry you.”
Once
again, his brows rose to his hairline. “I am happy to hear that, Lady Bridget,
considering I have no intention of marrying you. Or anybody, for that matter.”
Tour Wide Giveaway
To celebrate the release of HIS REBELLIOUS LASS by Callie Hutton, we're giving away a $25 Amazon gift card to one lucky winner!
GIVEAWAY TERMS & CONDITIONS: Open to internationally. One winner will receive a $25 Amazon gift card. This giveaway is administered by Pure Textuality PR on behalf of Entangled Publishing. Giveaway ends 7/12/2019 @ 11:59pm EST. CLICK HERE TO ENTER!
About Callie Hutton
CALLIE HUTTON, USA Today bestselling author writes both Western Historical and Regency romance with “historic elements and sensory details” (The Romance Reviews). Callie lives in Oklahoma with several rescue dogs, two adult children, a daughter-in-law, twin grandsons and her top cheerleader husband (although thankfully not all in the same home!). Living in the Midwest provides plenty of opportunities for Callie do pursue her interests: researching history, meeting readers, spending time with her adorable two year old twin grandsons, and discovering new adventures. Callie loves to hear from readers and welcomes the opportunity to become friends, both in person or virtually.
No comments:
Post a Comment