Let the game begin.
It would seem odd if he agreed immediately, and he wanted to keep Davenport close by—keep your enemies close per Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince—so he had to pretend to take his offer seriously.
“What do you have to offer my ward?”
Davenport’s demeanor changed from jolly to serious. The man could tread the boards on Drury Lane if he so chose. “Since my late wife—God rest her soul—did not produce an heir, Bridget, er, that is, Lady Bridget, would be mother of the next Earl of Davenport.”
The man’s conceit was remarkable. “What else?”
“While I am not as wealthy as some, I do have sufficient funds to provide for my next countess.”
Cam nodded. “And?”
Davenport looked a bit taken aback. It appeared he had not been questioned so thoroughly when he’d married Minerva. Unfortunate for the girl.
“Naturally, while I don’t profess to love the gel, I have a fondness for her, and who knows where that will end?”
Cam almost spit out his drink, knowing precisely where “fondness” for his deceased wife had ended.
“You have given me something to think about, Davenport. Let me mull this over for a couple of weeks, and I’ll get back to you.”
Davenport’s eyes lit up at the idea of having Bridget. Sourness rose from Cam’s stomach into his throat. “One last thing. Until we settle this matter, it is best for you to avoid Lady Bridget. Keep it between us men, eh?”
“Yes. Yes. My thoughts exactly.” His enthusiasm for secrecy was sickening.
He didn’t want Bridget setting back his newly constructed plan by shoving Davenport into a river.
Shortly after Davenport’s startling request, Banfield rose and suggested they join the ladies. Cam made a beeline for Bridget, who was conversing with Lady Esther, Miss Lockhart—Cam shuddered—and Lady Forsythe, another widow well-known for constantly looking for someone to warm her bed.
“My lady, are you up for a stroll around the room?” He ignored the interest in Miss Lockhart’s and Lady Forsythe’s eyes. Bloody hell, he hated these house parties. He wouldn’t be surprised to find Lady Forsythe either lying in his bed when he returned to his room or tapping on his door after everyone was asleep.
Bridget stood and took his arm. Cam nodded to the three women and whisked Bridget away.
“You look like the cat who stole the cream. The only thing missing is your white mustache.” Bridget’s plump, kissable lips curved into a slight smile. Almost distracting him.
“Ah, I have news to convey.”
“Oh?” Curiosity twinkled in her eyes. “Do tell.”
“Lord Davenport has offered for your hand.”
Bridget sucked in a breath, came to a complete halt, and stared at him. “I don’t believe it.” Good grief, the poor girl looked as though she were about to swoon. Or march over to where Davenport stood and slam his bollocks with such force he ended up with them in his stomach.
He winced the image. “’Tis true, sweeting. He approached me after the ladies left and asked to be considered as a candidate for your hand.”
“That no-good… I can think of words, but I don’t want to shock you.”
Cam threw back his head and laughed. “You won’t shock me, I assure you, but in the event someone overhears you, perhaps you can keep them to yourself. But I am quite sure of the few choice words running around your head right now.”
“Did you punch him in the face? Break his jaw? Flatten him out? I didn’t hear any ruckus or the sound of furniture breaking.”
“Tsk, tsk, my dear Lady Bridget, such violence from a young lady.” When he noticed she was growing more and more agitated, he revealed his plan. “No. I did not do what needed to be done and beat the man right there. However, while he nattered on about what a prize he was, I came up with a plan to ruin him.”
Now Bridget smiled. “Pray tell.”
“I did not refuse his offer out of hand. I decided an easy way to have access to his finances—and therefore a way to destroy him—would be to pretend I considered his offer seriously.”
Bridget shook her head. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but I must admit I feel dirty just knowing that he thinks t