Never Tempt a Scot

by Lauren Smith

  Brodie slowly set the knife down on the seat and took the ribbon and handkerchief from Rafe. When Brodie looked her way, Lydia cringed at the look on his face.

  “Dinna fight me, lass,” he said, then lunged for her.

  Lydia kicked and screamed as he came down on top of her. But the man was too large and too strong. He worked the handkerchief into her mouth, tying it behind her head so she was unable to spit it out, and then her wrists were bound together in front of her.

  Lydia sat still, trying to calm her breathing so as not to panic or choke on the bit of cloth in her mouth. She was terrified and furious all at once, which had a crippling effect on her. Why couldn’t Brodie tell her apart from Portia, and why wouldn’t he listen to reason? Was he going to hurt her? Would Rafe stand by and let it happen? She forced her spinning thoughts to stop so she could focus on what the men were saying.

  “When you left the tavern room, everything started to spin. I didna realize I’d been drugged until I was in the corridor and four men attacked me,” Brodie said.

  “Yes, I saw them carry you outside into a coach,” Rafe interjected. “I thought at first that you were simply being ejected for starting a fight. Once I realized that wasn’t what was going on, I followed at a distance.”

  “I wasna awake the entire time. I slipped in and out. It was the bloody laudanum. I woke to find the lass’s father in the room, explaining how I would have to marry her. To do the right thing. Then I drifted off again and woke to find her kissing me and boasting of how she’d please me as a wife.” Brodie shot Lydia a glare of purest loathing. “Then she offered me water, and when I drank, I tasted more laudanum.”

  “Bloody hell.” Rafe shot a fiery look at Lydia. “You are a heartless wench.” He focused back on Brodie. “So what is your plan for her? I shall have your back, regardless.”

  “Thank you.” Brodie seemed to relax a bit as he settled back in his seat. “I want this lass to feel as used as I have. Oh, she will get what she wished—me in her bed. But she’ll not have the courtesy of the title wife.”

  “That’s a rather bold move, Kincade,” Rafe murmured.

  “You still have my back?”

  “No. I do not hold with rape, and I sincerely doubt she would willingly go to your bed now.”

  “You underestimate me,” Brodie replied quietly.

  “Do I, now? You believe you can convince her to join you in bed, without coercion? That’s a rather bold claim. Care to wager on it?”

  Brodie’s eyes glinted. “Why? You’d only lose.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Damn Portia and her blasted schemes, Lydia thought. She was going to be ruined. Her already slim chances of a respectable marriage were to be dashed on the rocks of Brodie Kincade’s rage.

  “I suppose that means we are leaving Bath?” Rafe asked the same way one might discuss the weather.

  “Yes.”

  “And our destination?”

  “Edinburgh. I canna take her to Kincade lands—my brothers would disapprove.”

  Rafe snorted. “Naturally.”

  Lydia made a sound of pleading and tried to lift her hands, but after a sharp look from the men, she fell silent again.

  “Life really is more interesting with you Scots. No wonder Ash married your sister. The lure of scandal and adventure with you lot is irresistible. Very well, I shall come with you and help where I can. If this wench is as dangerous as you say, you’ll need another set of eyes watching her.”

  “Thank you. I welcome your company, then.” Brodie rubbed wearily at his eyes. “I canna stay awake. The laudanum keeps trying to pull me down.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll handle everything. Rest.”

  Brodie closed his eyes, and Lydia relaxed for a brief moment, until she noticed that Rafe was watching her with a frightening intensity.

  “It seems someone has swung a very large stick at a very angry Scottish bear,” Rafe said.

  Lydia knew pleading would not help. She was at the mercy of two dangerous men who thought she was her scheming younger sister.

  What a bloody rotten mess.

  Brodie was trapped—cornered in the hallway as his father bore down on him in a rage.

  “You think your mother would have cared about you?” Montgomery Kincade snarled. “You spineless brat!”

  Brodie covered his head with his hands, waiting for the blows to rain down on him.

  “Or perhaps I’ll give your sister the thrashing you are too cowardly to take,” his father taunted. This drew Brodie up from his crouched position.

  “Do not harm her!” he shouted at his father.

  “You can’t stop me!” Montgomery turned toward Rosalind’s bedchamber. Brodie rushed him, leaping onto the older man’s back. The man howled in rage and swung around, throwing Brodie into the stone wall of the corridor like a rag doll.

  Brodie woke with a start, his hands balled into fists as he instinctively prepared for an attack, but his father was not there. He wasn’t a child anymore. He was a grown man in a crowded coach, which had just stopped moving.

  It took him a moment to orient himself, and he was relieved to see Rafe. For a moment he was puzzled by the sight of the pretty lass bound and gagged sitting across from him, her eyes full of fear yet defiant. That was when the night’s awful events came back to him.

  “Ah, good, you’re awake,” Rafe said.

  “Where are we?” Brodie asked.

  “My townhouse. We still need to prepare before we head off. You’ll be able to carry the kitten inside?”

  “Aye.” Brodie still felt weak, but not nearly so much as he had before.

  “Good. Carry her inside if you must. I’ll tell Mr. Chase to have a bedchamber prepared.”

  “No need. She’ll share mine.”

  Rafe’s lips twitched. “Remember our wager, Brodie.”

  “Aye. I have no intention of bedding her. I also have no intention of letting her out of my sight.”

  “Very well. I recommend you sleep off the laudanum before you woo her. We’ll leave at first light.”

  Brodie reached for her hand. “Come without a fight and I willna carry you. If I must carry you, I willna be gentle about it.”

  The girl nodded in agreement, so he let her stand as he exited the coach first. When she started to step out, he grasped her waist and lifted her down. She was lovely, but not quite the same as he remembered from the previous night. Of course, the first time they’d met he’d been deep in his cups, and the second he’d been out of his mind on laudanum.

  She was a pleasant enough weight and felt bloody good in his arms, which only blackened his mood. He did not want to enjoy holding or touching her. Yet having the manipulative lass under his control seemed to have heightened his arousal. He had never been one for controlling women in sensual situations, but the thought of this woman under his control made his body burn with hunger. Or perhaps it was more a matter of satisfaction. He gripped her bound wrists and led her up to Rafe’s townhouse.

  “My good man,” Rafe said to the driver. “A hundred pounds for your silence on where you took us this night. If asked, tell your master that we headed to the docks.”

  “But I did take you to the docks,” the man said with a wink as he took the money. “Dropped you there myself.”

  “That’s a good man.” Rafe jogged up the steps to join Brodie and his quiet, wide-eyed abductee as they entered the townhouse.

  “A hundred pounds? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Brodie asked.

  “For his silence? Not at all, but I daresay a devilishly handsome highwayman will relieve him of half of it sooner or later.”

  “Good evening, sir,” Mr. Chase greeted them, but when he saw the woman Brodie pulled into the house behind him, still gagged with a handkerchief and her wrists bound, the butler paled.

  “Not again, sir. You know his lordship doesn’t approve of this sort of activity.”

  “Again?” Brodie shot a look at Rafe. “You have a habit of bringing bou
nd and gagged women to your home?”

  “That’s a story for another night, old chap,” Rafe said with a laugh. “Now, Mr. Chase, as you can see, we have a guest. There are two pieces of luggage that belong to her that need to be brought inside.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lennox.”

  Brodie headed up the stairs, pulling the girl behind him. When he reached the door to his bedchamber he paused, looking her over. Her eyes were half-closed and glistening with tears.

  “Oh, aye, maybe now you ken how I was feeling just a few hours ago.” This whole bloody mess was a far cry from how he usually acted with women. He was the charmer of the family, the rake who’d never met a woman he didn’t desire. Yet with this girl, he’d been turned on his head and had become an angry beast.

  He heaved a great sigh as he opened the door and ushered her inside. She halted a few feet within the chamber, her eyes darting around the room, looking for escape, he presumed. She would find none except the way they’d entered.

  “Here.” He removed the makeshift gag and tossed it to the floor. She licked her lips, nervously eyeing him the way one would a wild boar staring at her across a clearing.

  “Dry your eyes. I’ll not touch you tonight, even if you were to tempt me.” He pressed a fresh handkerchief into her hand, and she raised her bound hands to wipe her eyes.

  “Please, Mr. Kincade, I must be allowed to explain.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not interested in your lies, lass. You’ve spread enough of them for one night. I may have been too deep in my cups to remember you clearly, but I would have remembered if I had bedded you.”

  Miss Hunt shook her head. “That’s just it—you didn’t meet me. You met my younger sister. My name is Lydia, not Portia. Portia introduced herself to you last night.”

  Brodie began to unbutton his waistcoat, which brought a pretty blush to her face.

  “Your father spoke of only one daughter. And given how you acted when you found me bound to a bed, I canna trust you.”

  “How I acted? I was trying to free you!”

  “You were trying to tie me back up after I managed to loosen my ropes,” he growled.

  “Loosen? I cut your ropes with a knife. The knife you then held against me! You were in too much of a stupor to know what you were doing.”

  “Because of the laudanum you gave me!” He curled his fists at his sides to control himself.

  “I keep telling you, that was my sister!” she snapped.

  “Oh, aye, a convenient sister she is too. There to take the blame for everything.”

  “My God, I have heard how stubborn the Scots are, but this is madness!”

  The woman—she was more woman than girl, he noticed—slumped into the nearest chair, a remarkable actress right down to the way her fingers tied knots in the fabric of her gown. He wanted a better look at his unexpected prize. She was lovely, as he’d first thought, but her beauty was somehow muted by a sorrowful gaze, one that he sensed had been there longer than just tonight.

  “Come here.” He pointed to a spot right in front of him.

  She stayed where she was, hesitant, which made him frown. At the sight of his frown, she relented and came to the spot he’d pointed at.

  “I shall play your game then, Lydia, but you ken, I am the one making the rules.”

  Brodie unfastened her wrists and let the ribbon drop to the floor. He held her hands a moment too long. Shyly, or perhaps coyly, she pulled them away, her gaze avoiding his. The woman knew how to play the affronted innocent better than any woman he’d ever met. He felt a tug of sympathy, but he banished. It was something he’d learned to do at a young age.

  “Now, turn around so I may free you of this dress.” His tone was gruff as he plucked at the sleeves of her gown.

  “What?” She shrank away from him, but he curled an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. She felt soft and warm against him, the way he loved a woman to feel—it was welcoming. But she was trembling from fear, and he didn’t like that.

  “Save your false modesty for another day when I’m ready to play.”

  Her hands fluttered a moment before settling on his chest. Her eyes seemed a softer blue than he remembered, and her face held a gentleness that did not match her previous actions. She was clever, far too clever for him to give an inch.

  Brodie spun her around to begin unlacing the back of her gown, perhaps a little too roughly. She clutched at the bedpost, her breath coming fast as her body jerked with his motions. He soon had her gown open down the back. The satin fabric gaped open, revealing her figure beneath a set of stays. He unfastened those too, his captive remaining completely still until he released her.

  “Strip down and get into bed. Or sleep in them and chafe, for all I care.”

  Miss Hunt spun to face him as her dress and stays fell to the floor. She hugged herself and half hid behind the bedpost, fear darkening her eyes. It confused Brodie. He knew true fear when he saw it. This lass had kissed him—she had wanted him. Why was she afraid of him now? It made no sense. He knew he hadn’t dreamed her kissing him earlier, insisting she would be a good wife. What the devil had changed for her to not want him?

  “Lass, I meant it. I’ll not hurt you.” He stepped closer, catching her around the waist before she could retreat farther.

  “How can I trust you?” Her breasts rose and fell beneath her thin chemise. She gazed at him with all the fear of a wild lark finding itself in a cage for the first time.

  “You’re a fine one to talk about trust,” said Brodie. “But unlike you, my word is my bond, and I do not lie to get what I want.” He lifted his other hand to her face and brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. The more he looked upon Miss Hunt, the more he preferred the reality in front of him to the alcohol-altered version of her in his memories. She was shapely, with a swanlike neck and a melting sweetness to her features that drew him in. But he knew that she was also the devil in disguise.

  “Please,” she whispered, her lips teasing his thumb, which still shaped her mouth.

  “Please what?”

  “Don’t do whatever it is you are planning, Mr. Kincade. Please, let me go home. I shall not tell anyone what my sister did, and no one will force you to marry her.”

  “Sister,” he chuckled. “Your pretense wears thin. I remember you. I remember how you taste, how you smell, that hint of perfume.” He leaned in to inhale, but the scent of expensive French perfume wasn’t there. What he did smell was more like wildflowers blooming on a distant hill in the midst of a spring storm. She must have had a bath after she’d drugged him the second time. It was intoxicating and natural. Her breath hitched, and she squirmed in his hold, setting fire to his blood, but he held fast to his promise. He would not kiss her until she begged him to. Although resisting her soft, flowery pink lips would likely kill him.

  “Bed, lass. Now.” He dropped his arm from her lower back. She scrambled away, putting the bed between them. The girl pulled at the covers and climbed underneath the sheets.

  He resumed undressing. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it over the back of a chair. Then he removed his boots with some effort, given that his balance still wasn’t fully restored. He left his trousers on, however. It would be uncomfortable, but he had a suspicion his little captive would make a run for it in the middle of the night, and he wanted to be able to leap from the bed and capture her if she tried.

  Weary now, he crossed to the opposite side of the bed and blew out the candle on the small table by the bed. Darkness fell around them, and he heard her shift restlessly.

  “Dinna try to run off, buaireadair. I sleep lightly. I will catch you.”

  “What is a buaireadair?”

  “A troublemaker, which is what you are, lass.”

  There was a moment’s silence before she spoke. “I once thought you were such a handsome gentleman, possibly even kind when I first saw you at the ball. But now I know differently. You are a brute. A bully.”

  The almost
prissy response brought a smile to his lips.

  “Aye. You would know, seeing as how you are one as well. Good night, lass.” He rolled over to face away from her shadowy outline. Yet he had a feeling he would dream about her, and that scent of wildflowers that made him think of home.

  6

  Lydia giggled softly as something tickled her cheek. She brushed a hand against her face, trying to make it stop. She stilled, her laughter dying as her hand felt warm flesh. Her eyes flew open, and she saw the pale morning light illuminate a hand close to her face. Brodie had been brushing the backs of his knuckles over her skin ever so lightly.

  “Time to wake, lass. You need to dress so we may leave.” He gripped the covers and tugged them off her body, which made her shriek and cover herself with her hands. The filmy chemise felt far less protective of her body in the light of day. She nearly toppled over in her attempt to escape the bed, lest he decide to remove her from it himself.

  “Bathe and change. I’ll have Rafe send a maid.” Brodie left the room abruptly after that announcement.

  Lydia scowled at the closed door. Then her angry expression turned to a worried frown. She had slept in Brodie’s bed all night. Even though he had not touched her, if the fact were ever revealed, she would be completely and totally compromised. Even if she managed to escape and return to her family, she knew what her great-aunt would say. She was unmarriageable. Whatever life she might have dreamed of was now impossible.

  Grief and longing for a life she’d never have came swift and sudden, like a violent storm, drowning her. Lydia covered her face with trembling hands as she gave in to silent sobs. It was a long while before she was able to collect herself. She straightened her shoulders, a look of resigned acceptance upon her face.

  As she gazed into the mirror, seeing her pallor and the lost look in her eyes, she felt homesick for the safety of her own bed, her own family, even if they did drive her mad at times. To be trapped with this brute of a Scot who wouldn’t believe her when she said she wasn’t Portia—it was enough to turn her stomach.