Never Kiss a Scot

by Lauren Smith

  “He’s not invited. The bloody bastard shouldn’t even be here. We must tell Ashton at once.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because Rosalind’s brothers are damned dangerous. They’ve come to take Rosalind back to her father in Scotland. He’s a rotten excuse for a human being.” Charles looked her over. “The man didn’t touch you, did he? I mean, aside from binding you?”

  Joanna swallowed hard and shook her head. She wasn’t about to admit that she’d been passionately kissing a dangerous Scotsman.

  “Thank God. Your brother would never let one of those brutes hurt you,” Charles muttered as he helped her down the hallway. She clutched the silk sash that had been around her wrists as they strode down the hall, calling for her brother.

  “What sort of a man is her father?”

  “The sort who beats his own defenseless daughter.”

  “Did her brothers hurt Rosalind? Or was it just her father?”

  “Just her father, as far as I understand. But I’ve tussled with them once before. One of the bastards broke a chair over my back.”

  “My God! What was that all about?”

  Charles hesitated in answering, but not for long. “As you might expect with me. A woman. Take my word on this—you don’t ever want to be alone with any of them. They’d seduce you before you had a chance to think.”

  Joanna swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Brock was dangerous? She shouldn’t have been surprised. Any man who could kiss like that had to be. It was just her luck that she found a man who made her feel alive, and he was someone she should never marry.

  2

  Bath, one month later

  “She’ll never marry, not that one, unless she sets her sights low, and maybe not even then.” A society mama tsked a little too loudly as Joanna passed by her in the assembly room.

  “Quite right,” another woman whispered back. “No one ever asks her to dance. Must be something wrong with her.” The words cut deep because Joanna knew the woman was talking about her, and she knew the woman was right.

  There was only one man in England who seemed to be interested in her at all—a rather boring but decently attractive man named Edmund Lindsey. He was only a gentleman, no title but plenty of fortune. Still, Joanna was hesitant to consider him. She felt no passion for him, no great fire in her belly or flutter in her chest. She didn’t want to marry Edmund simply because he was her only choice, but what else could she do?

  The one man she had wanted to marry had given her a wonderful, perfect kiss and then vanished into the night like the rogue he was. It was the sort of thing that ruined a woman for all other men because no man would ever compare to Brock Kincade. And she’d been a fool to think he might come back for her after the disagreement between Brock and her brother had been settled but he hadn’t.

  Because there’s something wrong with you… The thought slithered from her brain deep into her heart.

  She tried to move through the crush of people near the dance floor, not that it mattered. Her card had the next three dances empty, and what few dances she did have on her card were with married men who were older and business acquaintances of her brother’s. She shouldn’t have come tonight, but Ashton and his fiancée, Rosalind, had wanted to spend some time enjoying Bath before the wedding.

  Joanna’s mother had all but given up on her finding a man to seriously court her, and she’d essentially left her alone. That meant Joanna had avoided most social engagements and instead chose to tuck herself away in the circulation room of Meyler’s library—mostly to avoid Edmund. He’d learned she’d come back and was doing his best to run into her in every tea shop, every assembly room, and even on the street while she tried to ride. It was frustrating. All she wanted was to be left alone to consider her options.

  It hadn’t escaped her notice that she was not the only young woman using the hidden magic of books to escape the social scenes of the city. Only yesterday, she’d run into a friend from London, Lydia Hunt, at Meyler’s. They had commiserated over their shared matchmaking woes. Lydia’s younger sister, Portia, was a true beauty and quite full of trouble, which meant Lydia spent much of her time declining invitations from young men who were interested in her because her little sister would try to steal them away. Given that Lydia’s father openly supported Portia’s desire to marry before Lydia, Lydia had given up hope of a match because any man she desired would be turned toward Portia instead.

  Joanna didn’t have the excuse of a scheming younger sister, however. She simply wasn’t wanted by any man except Edmund.

  A crowd of young men stood around the refreshment table drinking ratafia and laughing raucously, in spite of the group of disapproving mamas who watched from a distance. One of the men glanced her way and offered a smile, but he did nothing more to encourage her. She’d never felt more invisible in her life.

  All she wanted was to be loved, to share the passions of life with a man, yet none would consider her. She’d wondered from the moment her first season had passed whether the debts and scandals her father had created before his death had left her name blackened somehow. Was it possible that the past was ruining her future? What other reason could there be for men to avoid her like this?

  Ashton had restored their family fortune, it was true, but as the daughter of a baron and now sister to one, she was, to be frank, at the bottom of the ladder when it came to the peerage. Most men wished to marry up, not simply acquire fortunes. And Ashton wouldn’t allow the more attractive fortune hunters anywhere near her—not that many had tried. Most men seemed content enough to smile and talk with her, dance once or twice, but never anything more. Even those who showed initial interest one evening would ignore her the next as if they’d never met her.

  All that remained was Edmund Lindsey, and her brother had laughed in his face when he’d expressed his interest in Joanna. Her brother’s open dislike of Edmund hadn’t made sense, but when she’d questioned him about it, Ashton had simply told her not to bother with Lindsey, that there would be a good man out there for her to marry someday. Yet despite her brother’s callous and dismissive treatment, Edmund remained persistent.

  Joanna hastily made her way to the corridor outside the assembly hall, resting a gloved hand against the wall to catch her breath. So far, she’d successfully avoided Edmund. He was here somewhere, but Bath was flooded with people this time of year, and there were hundreds in attendance tonight. It was easy to get lost in the crowd when one wanted to. When she heard voices, she ducked around the corner into a small corridor off the main rooms, afraid Edmund had found her. But it was only a pair of ladies, and their voices echoed down the hall, clearly audible to her.

  “Have you seen them?” one of them whispered.

  “Them?”

  “The Kincades—those Scotsmen. The brothers of Lady Melbourne. She’s marrying Lord Lennox in two days, you know. It’s all very scandalous…”

  Joanna sucked in a breath and waited, listening hard. Could it be…?

  “Why is that so scandalous?” the other woman asked.

  “Lord Lennox is one of those rogues, my dear, you know the League. But if you ask me, it’s the Kincade men who are far more wicked.”

  “Yes…wicked how?” The second woman was clearly frustrated by her friend’s failure to provide details.

  Joanna could tell them just how wicked one of the Kincade brothers was.

  He had kissed her and then ridden off into the night with his brothers and sister. Ashton had traveled all the way to Scotland to convince Rosalind he loved her. When that was resolved, Brock and his brothers had stayed in Scotland while Rosalind returned to England. They had been invited to the wedding, which was only a few days away. Had they accepted the invitation? No one had mentioned it to her if they had, of course. No one seemed to notice her at all these days. Her mother was busy fussing over Ashton and his future bride, and her other brother, Rafe, had left for London without so much as a word except a single promise that he would return for
Ashton’s wedding.

  The ache only grew deeper in her heart. I am alone.

  “Well, if you must know…” The first woman’s voice then lowered to the point where Joanna could no longer hear. Cursing silently, she peered around the edge of the hall to get a better look at them. The two ladies wore turbans festooned with ostrich feathers, and as their heads bent to gossip, the feathers wavered and danced in the air. It would have been comical enough to make Joanna laugh, but she truly desired to hear what they were saying.

  “No. You believe it’s true? That he really…?” Again, the conversation dissolved into whispers. “And they are here tonight?” the second woman suddenly blurted out.

  “Yes! In the assembly rooms. Not dancing, of course, but prowling about. All three of them are like wolves. I won’t let my daughter near them.”

  “I should think not,” her friend agreed. “Are they wife hunting?”

  “Wife hunting? Those scoundrels? I doubt it. They’re more likely skirt chasing. They are trouble, mark my words.”

  “Trouble indeed,” Joanna agreed in a mutter. After Brock Kincade had stolen a kiss, she had been unable to think of any other man, let alone someone as dull as Edmund Lindsey.

  Damned Scot! The despair within her was transformed into anger—anger at Brock. They hadn’t seen each other since that night, and it was about time she changed that. She had quite a lot she wished to say to that wretched man. One could not go around kissing ladies in libraries at midnight and not expect them to be affected. Not a word or an apology given after—it was unconscionable.

  Joanna squared her shoulders and headed back to the assembly room, determined to find Brock and give him a good telling off. That at least would unburden herself of these feelings building up inside her. Then she would only have to put up with him for a few days during the wedding festivities, and she would be free of him. She would likely never see him again, which was just fine by her.

  The assembly hall was still crowded; the couples in the center were just finishing a dance. She searched the faces around her, but there were at least a hundred guests in the dance hall. She spotted her mother and Rosalind talking with friends. Ashton and Charles stood in conversation near the refreshment table. Joanna bit her lip. She felt like she belonged with neither group, and the thought only made her mood bleaker.

  And then she spotted them. A trio of tall dark-haired men wearing simple buckskin breeches and waistcoats lounged against a pillar by the orchestra. Brock, Brodie, and Aiden Kincade. Infamous devils the lot of them, if the gossip she’d heard about them was correct.

  She had not yet had the pleasure of meeting Brodie and Aiden, but there was no mistaking the three as brothers. All had dark hair and stormy eyes, with strong jaws seemingly carved of marble. They were handsome men who would tempt any woman to be reckless with her virtue.

  I was certainly tempted. She thought this with a scowl as she stared at the trio.

  Several couples moved out of Joanna’s way as she strode toward the Scotsmen. But before she was halfway, she was waylaid by a short masculine form who stepped directly into her path.

  “My dear Miss Lennox! What a pleasure it is to see you here tonight!” Edmund Lindsey exclaimed.

  God’s teeth! Joanna forced a smile on her face as she turned her attention to Edmund. He bowed his head to her, and she couldn’t help but note his unfashionable hairstyle, a decade out of date, and the rather foppish style to his clothes. While his face and features were genuinely considered fine and attractive, it did nothing for his personality. His cravat was far too elaborately folded and was wilting in the heat of the room like a hothouse flower losing its bloom. He struck her as a rather pathetic creature, and Joanna suffered a twinge of guilt that she could not find it in her heart to like him.

  “Mr. Lindsey,” she said on a sigh. “How are you?”

  “I am well, now that I’ve had the good fortune to run into you.” He preened beneath her gaze, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. His open flattery, once tolerable, had become quite irritating. “I don’t suppose you have any dances open?”

  “Why…no. I’m so sorry.” It was a lie, but she was not about to dance with him, even though he seemed to be the only man in England who wanted her. Yes, it was completely rude to lie about one’s dances like that. Everyone knew a young lady ought to accept any dance offered, no matter who the man was and whether or not she liked him, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept.

  “Then perhaps I could fetch you a glass of ratafia?”

  “Er, yes, I suppose that would be all right.” It would at least give her a few minutes alone, and she could plan her escape from the hall. It would be easy enough to flag down a hackney if she could make it outside without Edmund following.

  “Be right back, my dear!” Edmund bustled off, nudging his way through the crowds. Joanna sighed in relief before she located Brock once again and headed toward him and his brothers.

  Brock seemed to notice her when she was within a few feet of him because he pushed off the pillar and stood straight as she came up to him. He did not bow, nor did he incline his head or provide anything other than a civil greeting. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she glared at him. By God, she was going to get an answer from him, scandal be damned.

  What was the worst that could happen? Yet another empty dance card? No bouquets of flowers? No eager gentlemen upon her doorstep? She was used to such disappointments already, except for that damned Edmund. But that was a whole different problem to deal with.

  He was wealthy and quite connected in society, but those qualities held little interest for her. Plenty of other women had made it quite clear they would marry him, so why couldn’t he turn his affections toward one of them? There was just something about Edmund—the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching—that unsettled her.

  An idea occurred to her. Perhaps she could create a scandal to scare him off? By this point, it seemed to be her only option.

  Better to be alone than Edmund’s bride. The thought threatened to drown her with its bleak outlook. She understood that many women married for security, but she could not. The idea of marrying a man, sharing his bed, sharing in his life when she did not feel a passion for him… Her stomach rolled again, but she kept her composure.

  “So you’ve returned?” she asked, not caring that people were already starting to turn and look her way.

  “Aye, I have,” Brock answered in that soft, dark voice that made her insides melt. It was a lover’s voice—not that she was supposed to know such things.

  “And you did not think that perhaps you ought to pay a call to my brother…or me?” she added, trying to hint at what he had done to her without letting her hurt and anger flare too openly. He had kissed her, for heaven’s sake. The least he could have done was to come back to make things right between him and Ashton and…kiss me again.

  “We came down for the wedding. And I did pay a call to your brother when we first arrived two days ago.”

  “You’ve been here two days?” She hated how shrill her voice sounded.

  “I would have come sooner, but I canna leave my lands alone for long. There’s much that needs looking after.”

  He didn’t want her, then. Nothing about their encounter seemed to have remained in his memory. The kiss had been nothing more to him than a means to silence her so he could rescue his sister. She staggered back a step, the fresh pain from this blow being all too unexpected. Brock stepped close, catching her hand and lifting her dance card out where he could see it and the bare spaces where men’s names ought to have been.

  “Empty? Did you arrive late?” His eyes searched hers for answers.

  She swallowed a harsh laugh. “It’s always empty. I’m not worth a dance.”

  A spark of fire lit his eyes. “Not worth a dance?” The edge in his tone was unnerving, as if the words she had spoken offended him. Then he gripped her hand and dragged her out into the middle of the couples lining up f
or a dance. Too stunned to refuse, she got in line with the other ladies, still staring at him as he shoved his way between two gentlemen to pair with her. The music began, and they started to follow the steps, twirling, clapping, marching, but all of her focus had fallen on him and the way he never took his eyes off her. He was a wonderful dancer, which surprised her.

  In the last month, she’d conjured up all sorts of silly dreams about him and what he was like. A dashing Scottish warrior, a brute, even a highwayman, but never a fine dancer. Rosalind had spoken a little to Joanna about her past and the cruel world her father had created for her and her brothers. Joanna knew that Brock had often taken beatings meant for his younger sister to protect her. In a grim world like that, how could he have learned to dance like such a gentleman? It was one mystery that she would likely never have answers to.

  The dance ended, and the couples around them began to pair with new partners, but Brock stayed close to her.

  “Another?” he asked.

  “But… We shouldn’t. People will talk…”

  “Talk doesn’t bother me.” And it apparently didn’t. His eyes never left her face, even though quite a few people now stared at them in wide-eyed shock. It was completely forbidden to dance with any man more than once. Yet she didn’t find it in herself to care in that moment what rules she was ready to break for this man. His intensity and the way he didn’t seem to care about anything but her made her feel wild and reckless, like when she’d been a child and had toured part of the countryside near Cornwall. She’d stood on the edge of the cliffs, feeling the wind buffet her body hard enough that she’d almost fallen to her death. The spark of fear and excitement of that moment and this were almost the same. She didn’t want to stop feeling so…alive.

  “Very well.” She let him dance with her again and again, and then, when that dance was done, again.

  By the fifth dance her feet were aching, but Joanna couldn’t have cared less. Dancing with Brock had erased her black mood. She’d been smiling, laughing, not caring in the least about the attention focused upon her as each dance progressed. Only when the music stopped did she finally feel the hundreds of eyes upon her and the whispers spreading like wildfire in the crowd.