by Lauren Smith
“We ought to split up once inside. Search every room until we find her. Then we meet where we tied the horses. If you come across any servants or members of the household, restrain them so they cannot sound the alarm.” They would not kill anyone, not unless it was absolutely necessary.
Like dark wraiths they slipped into the house through the terrace doors, wearing dark clothes and black domino masks. If anyone saw them, they’d need to conceal their identities as much as possible. Brock was not foolish enough to think that Lennox would not figure out who had taken Rosalind, but the deception would buy them some time.
Lennox House was so very different from the stark and cold Castle Kincade. The halls were furnished with art, oriental rugs and statues. It was opulent compared to Brock’s musty rooms and dreary gray stone walls. He couldn’t help but despise Lennox that much more for it. A brute like him who hurt women and took advantage of them didn’t deserve to live in such a state of luxury.
Brock and his brothers paused as they reached the middle of the house, ears straining for the sounds of servants. The hour was late, and likely the servants were downstairs seeing to their own meals.
Brodie slipped past Brock and Aiden. “I’ll go upstairs.”
Aiden nodded down the current hall. “I’ll check these rooms.” Brock left him behind as he trod on silent feet to the hall on the opposite end of the house.
I hope the bastard hasn’t locked her away. He wasn’t sure he could break down a door without being overheard. Moving from room to room, he tested the handles, and each time the doors would creak open. Many were empty, and sheets covered the unused furniture. But the closer he got to the main hall, the rooms changing from bedrooms to parlors and drawing rooms, even a music room.
The last door before the hall greeted him with the distinctive and not unpleasant smell of musty books. A library? Brock nudged the door open wide enough to slide inside. One peek among the books wouldn’t hurt. He doubted Rosalind would be here, but he loved books.
A man’s library reveals his soul. It was something his mother used to say. After her death, Father had sold all of her books and left the castle library barren, save for a few old novels he and his brothers had tucked away beneath their mattresses.
The Lennox library was impressive. The tall shelves brimmed with hundreds of volumes, which made a small part of Brock ache deep inside. What he wouldn’t have given in that moment to settle in a chair and read one. Before Hugo’s arrival he had been planning the restoration of their castle, and a new library had been high on his list of priorities.
There was a fireplace at the far end of the library away from the books. A pair of chairs faced the fire, and the flames played with shadows against the warm fabric of the chairs. It was clear this part of the library was used frequently. But if the fire was lit, then that might mean…
A hint of movement in one of the chairs caught Brock’s eye and he froze. A feminine hand appeared around the edge of the chair and turned the page of a book that he now realized was resting on her lap.
The woman sighed, her soft sound full of longing. It called to him, and before he could stop himself, he was crossing the room toward the chair and its occupant, keeping to the shadows, hoping to perhaps steal a glance of her. The floor creaked beneath his boots, and the woman leaned forward, peering around the wing of the chair. He hastily pulled the domino mask off and tucked it into his coat, knowing it would be difficult to explain if he actually had to speak to the woman.
Blue eyes, like the waters of a loch beneath a midsummer sky. They struck him speechless, and for a moment he was lost in memories of sunlight and laughter. They reminded him of his mother’s eyes, only a deeper blue.
“Who are you?” the woman asked.
“It doesn’t matter who I am. Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Joanna Lennox.” She closed the book on her lap and slowly rose, setting the book and her blue tartan shawl aside.
Brock glanced at the shawl, instantly recognizing the tartan colors.
“I know that clan—MacCloud. Are you Scottish?” he asked.
“What? Oh no, my family has relatives who are, but not me.” She laughed sweetly, and the sound filled his heart with a strange, delightful warmth.
Joanna walked closer to him, her lovely features a mask of puzzlement. “You didn’t answer me. Who are you?”
Brock struggled to think of an excuse.
“I…” His mind blanked, and so he went with a truth that might at least aid him in his quest. “Is Lady Melbourne here?”
“Why yes, she’s—wait a moment. Are you one of her brothers? Did you come down for the wedding?”
Wedding? That gave him an idea.
“Aye. I received a letter from my sister and came down to attend the wedding. I only just arrived and didn’t wish to disturb the household.” He widened his stance slightly, expecting her to try to get by him.
“Oh dear, you must be tired after such a long ride. Have the servants taken your things to your chambers?”
“Thank you, my lady, I’ve already been seen to. I was just looking for a room to warm up a bit in before going to bed.” He watched her carefully, trying to find any trace of suspicion on her face that she didn’t believe his story.
“Well then, come sit by this fire. I just finished my novel and was planning to retire soon. I’d be happy to lend it to you—if you enjoy novels, that is.” She went over to the chair and handed him a book. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Brock stared at the title. “Lady Jade’s Wild Lord.” The author was L. R. Gloucester. He’d once adored novels, but his father had sold nearly all of them.
“Thank you,” he said, holding the book reverently.
“I’m afraid I am still at a loss as to your name. Which one of Rosalind’s brothers are you?” Joanna came another step closer, almost within arm’s reach.
“How do you know about us?” he asked, his eyes searching the room for something he could use to bind her hands together. The only thing he saw was the dark-blue ribbon in her hair and the lovely sash around her waist. But how to go about it…
“Oh, she’s told me all about the three of you. Let me guess…” She tapped her chin, a playful smile upon her lips. “Are you Aiden, Brodie or Brock? I shall guess…Aiden.”
“Like hell. Do I look like some young pup?”
“Brock then,” Joanna said. “You look like a Brock. It’s a very old name, Brock. I like learning about names and their meanings. Did you know Brock means badger?”
For an instant he was distracted by the way his name sounded on her sweet lips. It had been a long time since a woman had piqued his interest. He’d been busy of late dealing with his ailing father and the mountain of debts facing Castle Kincade. There was little time to tup a lass when he was plowing fields and working with stonemasons to repair parts of his home.
Bloody hell, what had he gotten himself into? There was no way he could avoid what he had to do now. If she alerted the rest of the house that Rosalind’s brothers were here, it would risk everything. He had to neutralize the sweet lass in order to protect his sister.
“Badger?” he asked. “I didn’t know that.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back. A smart woman.
Inspiration struck when he saw her bite her lower lip and stare up at him through her dark lashes. He set the book back down on a nearby table, and then with a devil-may-care grin he closed the distance between them, catching her by the waist.
“It is a custom from my village to offer a kiss to those whose families are about to be joined.” It was a complete lie, but he needed an excuse to distract her…and he wanted a reason to justify kissing her.
“Really? I’ve read about parts of Scotland, but I’ve never—”
“Shush, lass, and let me keep with tradition,” he whispered, then bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers.
Her taste exploded upon his tongue, torturing him with her sweetness. She squeaked in surprise as he cupped her ars
e with one hand and fisted his other hand in the coils of her silken tresses.
She pushed herself away from him, a mix of shock and excitement in her eyes. “This is traditional where you’re from?”
“Old as the bones in the hills.”
She was about to free herself from him entirely, but something changed in that moment as she looked into his eyes. “And I suppose it would be rude of me to break with tradition.”
Brock smirked. “Incredibly rude. You’d be insulting my entire clan.”
“Well, Mother did raise me to respect other cultures.” And with that she returned the kiss and tightened the embrace further.
She was a divine little creature, with curves perfect for his hands. The way she clung to him as they kissed erased almost everything around them. But he refused to let himself forget the task at hand. With deft fingers, he unfastened the sash at her waist, then loosened the pins from her hair and pulled the ribbon free. Brock couldn’t resist indulging himself for a few more seconds before he pushed himself away and spun her around. She was too startled to resist at first.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, breathless out of a mixture of anger, fear and more than a little arousal. He caught her wrists and tied them with the sash. “This can’t be traditional.”
“I’m sorry about this, lass, but I can’t have you calling for Lennox.”
“Call for—” He lifted the slender ribbon and used it to gag her, just enough to muffle any sounds. Then he settled her back in the chair.
“Move from here in the next few minutes and I fear you will regret it,” he warned.
Her blue eyes flashed with fire, but he fled the room before her body hampered his judgment further. He had to find his sister and escape. When he ducked out of the library, he caught sight of Brodie carrying someone over his shoulder at the far end of the hall.
Rosalind. Thank the heavens, they’d found her.
He rushed after his younger brother, trying to forget how hurt Joanna had looked when he gagged her and left her behind. There was something about that woman…a beautiful little bluestocking who kissed like a woman from a young man’s dream but felt too real, too perfect in his arms.
You will be mine, sweet Joanna. It was a vow he carved into his soul. Once he was sure Rosalind was safe, he would come back and find a way to win Joanna’s heart.
He’d focus on just how difficult that would be another time.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The hour was late. The clock in the entryway chimed eerily in the silence. Rosalind replayed the hurtful words she’d heard Ashton and Charles say, her mind still reeling with the revelation of Ashton’s betrayal. It was time to leave and return to London. She’d find a way to get her life back from Ashton’s ironclad control some other way. There was no chance she would marry him now, the damned awful man.
Rosalind came down the main stairs, intending to fetch a glass of water from the kitchens without disturbing Claire, and suddenly froze when she heard cloth rustle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Someone was watching her. Doing her best to act unaware of the hidden eyes of servants, she started walking toward the servants’ quarters to find Claire. The rustling of clothes was her only warning she wasn’t alone.
Someone grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth tightly and lifting her by the waist off the ground. She struggled, trying to kick out, but when the man started to run, her body bounced hard against him and she couldn’t get her limbs to cooperate in the right way to make the man drop her. She caught glimpses of the corridors, and then they burst out onto the back terrace. Warm night air kissed her skin as the man sprinted through the garden paths.
“Got her!” the man hissed. Rosalind wanted to believe she recognized the voice, but it was impossible.
Before she could get her bearings, she was being handed up into the empty saddle of a horse. Rosalind was about to scream for help, but a man’s voice stopped her short.
“It’s good to see you, little sister.”
“Brodie?” she gasped. What was he doing here? She glanced down to see a second man, Aiden. How he’d grown up in the years she’d been away.
“Where’s Brock?” she whispered. “And what are you doing here?”
“Brock should be here soon.” Aiden nodded to the dark shape of the house behind them.
A figure leapt over the terrace railing, raced toward them and mounted his horse.
“Hurry! They’ll soon discover we’ve been here.”
“What? How? Neither Aiden nor I were seen,” Brodie said.
“I stumbled upon a woman in the library,” Brock admitted. “I had to restrain her so she couldn’t cry out, but who knows how long before she frees herself and raises the alarm/” He kicked the flanks of his beast, and the horse bolted forward.
The brothers followed him as they rode fast, leaving Lennox House far behind them and Rosalind in a state of confusion as she fought to keep up with them.
She didn’t let herself stop to think about how her brothers had found her or why they were leading her away. Her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces, and she’d take any excuse to be as far away from that man as possible. He had betrayed her, was using her, just as she’d feared. The man she’d fallen in love with had let her down. His promises had turned to ash.
That damned bloody baron can rot for all I care! Even as the dark thought crossed her mind, it didn’t ease the ache or guilt that she felt at abandoning him while he was ill. But his friends were coming, people he cared about more than her. He didn’t need her—he never had. And more importantly, he didn’t want her.
They rode for two hours before the horses showed signs of fatigue.
“We’ll stop for an hour, let the horses rest,” Brock announced. Rosalind followed her brothers as they urged their mounts to take cover behind a grove of trees. She delicately worked her hands, flexing stiff fingers, wishing she’d had her riding gloves. The leather straps had cut into her fingers and rubbed raw spots along her palms.
Aiden came over and took her hands, gently massaging them until the pain lessened. “Better?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” She felt strangely shy around her brothers. It had been years since she’d seen them, and they’d gone from young men who jumped at their father’s shadow to tall, striking figures racing through the darkness.
Have I changed too? She knew she must have. The young woman in a brown woolen gown with loose hair and a nearly broken spirit was long gone. After she’d married Henry, she’d transformed into a lady she believed would make her mother proud. A woman in fine gowns, with dressed hair and manners to please all around her, as well as a woman who was intelligent and self-sufficient.
“Brock, what are you doing here?” Rosalind asked. At her question, all three brothers came to stand in ring around her, studying her grimly.
“She looks…fine,” Aiden whispered.
“Aye, but he could have left bruises in places we cannae see.” Brock’s eyes raked over her body, scowling. His brogue had thickened in his concern.
“Bruises?” Rosalind snapped. “What are you on about?”
“The brute, Lennox,” Brock explained. “We came so you dinnae have to marry him.”
“It’s a rescue,” Aiden explained with pride, his chest puffing out a little.
“Rescue?” She bit back a laugh. But how had her brothers known she was marrying Lennox?
Brock was still scowling. “We had a visit from a friend of yours,” Brock said. “Sir Hugo Waverly. He got your letter about Lennox ruining you financially, and he knew it would only get worse. He heard about the wedding and came to us for aid.”
“Don’t worry,” said Brodie. “That man will never lay a hand on you again.”
“But he—”
“It’s all right, Rosalind.” Brodie hugged her. “You dinnae need to tell us anything. You’re safe now. We’re going home.”
She knew she’d have to explain to them that Ashton wasn’t a bru
te at some point. A pompous arse who had betrayed her trust and broke her heart, yes, but not a brute. But that was the least of her concerns at the moment. They were taking her home—to the man she swore she’d never look upon again.
“Home? But I can’t. Father—”
“Is dead.” Brock’s tone was flat. “He died a week ago. It’s safe for you to return to Castle Kincade.”
“Dead?” It took a long moment for that to sink in. The man who’d haunted her nightmares was dead.
A weight seemed to lift off her chest. Rosalind drew in a shaky but deep breath, as though she hadn’t been able to breathe in years. The only person she feared in this world was gone forever. Her heart was hollow with the loss of a parent who had never been there for her. She knew she would never miss him, not after the ways he’d hurt her. If there was one thing she’d learned since she’d fled it was how to be strong and not let anyone make her feel guilty for being who she was.
He was a brute, and now he’s dead. I shall not mourn him.
She looked to her brothers for confirmation. “Is it true?”
When the others nodded, only then did she dare to hope.
I can go home…
But home wasn’t Castle Kincade anymore. It hadn’t been for years.
“Do not worry, Rosalind,” Brock said. “We shall take care of you now.”
“But I don’t need you to take care of me. I’ve been managing quite well on my own.” She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling. If they only knew of the empire she’d built for herself. Granted, most of it was currently under Lennox’s control, but…
“I’m sure you have,” Brock said with a condescending smile. “But now you have us to do it for you.”
She’d always hated being the baby after three brothers, and this was why. They’d never understand that she was a force to be reckoned with, not a damsel in distress.
“Besides,” said Aiden, “Waverly told us what sort of man Lennox is. It doesn’t sound like he’ll take no for an answer.”