by Lauren Smith
Shame, an emotion that Brodie rarely felt, overpowered him in that moment. He’d ruined her life. She’d tried to help him that night, and he’d devastated her with his actions.
“Sorry, kitten, I am no gentleman, regardless of how I present myself in society. I am enjoying this little battle of wills between you two far too much.” Rafe chuckled in clear delight.
“Then you are worse than Mr. Kincade. At least he’s honest about his ill intentions,” Lydia accused. It was backhanded praise that was not at all deserved. Honest about his ill intentions? It only made Brodie’s guilt deepen until it felt like a great weight pulling down on his stomach.
He was a bastard. When his brothers found out, he would take a beating to be sure. Perhaps it was not too late to send her back? No. Her father was likely on their trail as it was, and given what he’d been capable of before, Brodie fully expected the man to be prepared to put a bullet through his heart.
He rushed back to his chamber to have Alan pack at once. He needed to reach Edinburgh, fast. He had to find a way to fix things. Not that he was sure that was even possible. The ways of English society were like a deep bog covered in reeds to provide the illusion of stable ground. It was more likely that he’d make matters worse somehow.
Perhaps he should take her to Castle Kincade instead? Let Joanna and Brock take care of her? They could escort her home and perhaps concoct some kind of story explaining her absence. At least then he could escape facing the girl’s father on the dueling field.
The one thing he could not do was let Lydia know he had learned the truth. She would want to go home to Bath, and he wasn’t ready to let her go. It was selfish, but he had to admit it. In the last two days, he had grown accustomed to waking with her in bed beside him. He was also completely addicted to kissing her. The innocence he had believed she feigned was already luring him in like a siren did a sailor to perilous rocks. He was hopelessly infatuated with her. And knowing that she was not the heartless chit who’d had him abducted, but rather that she was the sweet woman she’d appeared to be . . . It made him even more protective and possessive. He wouldn’t share her with anyone. Perhaps he truly should turn her into his official mistress and treat her as such, with all the pleasures and things that would see to her every comfort and desire.
If he did that, things would have to change, of course. She couldn’t travel unaccompanied any further. She needed a proper maid to look after her.
He called to his valet as he was finishing folding up a shirt to pack away. “Alan.”
“Yes, sir?” the young man answered.
“Run downstairs and inquire whether one of the more decent maids would be willing to work as a lady’s maid. Offer a proper wage.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.” The lad left the room, and Brodie paced back and forth, considering his options.
He would take Lydia to Edinburgh, and he would keep moving as long as he thought her father was still on their trail. Perhaps her father would give up before too long. Unlikely, but still a possibility.
“Mr. Kincade? I found a woman to be the lady’s maid,” Alan announced.
Brodie looked up to see the comely maid who had brought them breakfast.
“You agree to serve as a maid to my wife?” Brodie asked the girl. Behind her, Alan’s eyes widened when Brodie said my wife, but the young man made no other betrayal in his features.
“Yes, sir. I have been wanting to leave my employment at the inn for some time. My mother was a lady’s maid to a gentlewoman. I know what is expected.” The young woman bowed her head respectfully. “I also know that anything that I learn while in service will be kept a secret. I wouldn’t wish to endanger my ability to have a future reference should I leave your employment.”
“Ah..” Brodie sighed. “So you know then that the woman isna my wife?”
“It wasn’t hard to guess, sir. I’ve seen a few trysts under this roof since I’ve started working here.”
Brodie stared hard at the maid but he saw no hint of dishonesty in her.
“Very well, the woman is Miss Hunt…er…my mistress.”
“Understood, sir. I will address her however you wish.”
“Miss Hunt is fine. Thank you for your discretion. Alan, pay the lass an advance on her wages so she may start the journey with us at once.”
Alan retrieved Brodie’s coin purse and paid the young woman, who flushed and offered Brodie and Alan a smile of thanks.
“What is your name?” Brodie asked her.
“Fanny Mullins, sir.”
“Thank you for joining us, Fanny. Miss Hunt will be pleased to have you helping her.” He glanced toward his valet. “Alan, have Miss Hunt’s luggage put aboard the coach, then see that Miss Mullins has what she needs as well.”
“Yes, sir.” Alan collected the valises and the heavy trunk full of Lydia’s fine gowns. As the valet and the maid left the room a moment later, Lydia returned, no doubt upset over Rafe’s blatant refusal to come to her aid.
“I have been thinking, lass,” Brodie said carefully. “It wasna right for me to make you journey without a maid. I have found a suitable one here, the girl who brought us breakfast. She is trained and has agreed to help us. She and Alan are packing up the coach.”
“Oh . . .” Lydia blushed. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”
Brodie looked upon her with a new light. Rafe was right—he had missed the truth that had been right in front of him this entire time. Of course, last night he’d admitted to himself that he no longer cared if she was the clever, scheming little creature he had thought her to be. He wanted her in his bed, no matter what. That desire hadn’t changed, only now he knew full well that he would be seducing an innocent. Granted, she had professed an interest in what he had to offer, but it didn’t make what he was thinking any more right.
But perhaps, if he did it correctly, he could sate his desires and hers. If he offered her a true position as his mistress with her willingness, they could find their enjoyment in each other for a while to come.
He knew he was a selfish bastard to want her like this. Maybe he should reconsider. Perhaps when they reached Edinburgh, he would find someone else to tempt him before he succumbed to his desire for her again.
He shook himself out of his conflicting thoughts. “I had better go see that Rafe is prepared to leave. You may wait outside for us.”
Lydia lingered a moment longer, blocking his exit.
“You have need of something?” he asked.
The rosewater scent from her bath wafted between them. He had shared the bathwater, but where the rose scent had faded on his skin, it still clung to hers. He knew that if he closed his eyes, he would feel like he was at Castle Kincade once again.
He could almost picture it—Brock and Rosalind sprinting ahead of him, Aiden lagging behind, clutching a wee beastie in his hands. They used to chase each other between the towering hedgerows and around the blossoming rhododendrons that grew so tall and thick in the spring and summer that they blocked entire paths of the garden.
“I . . .” Lydia hesitated. He saw clearly in her eyes that whatever she’d been about to say she had chosen to bury instead. “Thank you for the maid.”
“You already thanked me,” he replied with a crooked smile. Her face warmed with another blush.
“Right, yes. I’m sorry.” She stepped out of his way, and he passed by her, their bodies brushing in a way he enjoyed far too much. He stepped over to Rafe’s room and knocked.
“Come in,” Rafe called out.
Brodie entered and saw with relief that Rafe’s valet was already packing away his things.
“Good, you’re nearly ready. I wish to be off at once.”
“Oh?” Rafe eyed him with curiosity. “What’s the rush, old boy?”
“I wish for us to be there sooner,” was all he would say. If Rafe planned to continue to hide the truth about Lydia from him to amuse himself, then Brodie had no desire to share his plans.
“Still haven’t bed
ded the wee lass?” Rafe said, imitating Brodie’s Scottish accent.
“No, I havena and willna until we reach Edinburgh.”
“Why the wait?” Rafe asked. “It is easy enough to manage in a coach or bed in some cozy little inn like this.”
Brodie continued to keep up the pretense that he still thought Lydia was guilty. “She may be a conniving creature, but I believe her when she says she is a virgin. I won’t take a virgin in a coach or some inn. She will have a first time in a fine bed in a fine house.”
“Nice to see you do have some gentleness about you, old boy,” Rafe said.
Brodie snorted. “I have a little, but my temper often covers that up.” He left Rafe and his man to finish packing and headed downstairs to wait with Lydia.
The stable yard was full of coaches, some finely painted, some adorned with family crests or shields of heraldry, while others were red-and-gold Royal Mail coaches. The rest were public or private stagecoaches but far less fancy.
Rafe’s coach was blue and silver, with the Lennox crest emblazoned on the side. They were lucky to ride in such a fine conveyance. It had plenty of room on top for luggage and for servants to sit facing each other in pairs on the perched seats. Alan and Fanny climbed up to their seats, and Lydia stood beside the coach talking to them. The morning sun created a halo of gold light around her flaxen hair and a slight breeze played with her skirts which displayed hints of her curves. She was a bonnie lass. A bloody innocent lass, he reminded himself. Rafe and his valet joined Brodie in the yard a minute later.
Brodie came over to her by the coach. “Ready to leave?”
“Yes.” Lydia peeped up at him before looking away.
The coach driver lowered the step for her, and Brodie offered her his hand rather than shoving her inside as he had been doing. She placed her hand in his, that small sign of trust making him proud. She took a seat opposite him, and Rafe joined them inside, chuckling as he did so.
“So, you hired a maid for our guest?”
“I did,” Brodie replied warningly as he saw Rafe smile.
“Excellent choice,” Rafe said. “Very nice girl, Fanny.” He winked at Lydia, who blushed. Brodie was no fool—he assumed that Rafe must have bedded the maid.
The coach driver closed the door, sealing the three of them in, and a moment later they were off. It was another six hours to Edinburgh, but Brodie would find some way to amuse himself, since he couldn’t very well toss Rafe out of his own coach, though right now Brodie was tempted. He pulled out the stack of books and saw Lydia’s eyes brighten with interest.
Brodie studied the books he had recently purchased in Bath and passed her one.
Lydia looked at the title. “The Spy?”
“Aye, ’tis a new book by an American, James Fenimore Cooper. It is about a good man who is wrongly accused, and even the men closest to him doubt his innocence.”
Lydia’s eyes grew frosty. “My, how could I ever relate to such a story? It’s so beyond my limited experience in the world.”
Brodie realized what he’d just said, and he felt the weight of his guilt grow. “Well, things work out for him. In the end, he shows through his actions that he is innocent. It is a lesson that one should be judged by one’s actions, not by one’s class or reputation.”
Lydia returned her gaze to the book and turned to the first page. He liked the fact that she was a reader. Some men scorned reading when they could afford other entertainments, and women were expected to read only if they were unmarried and had no children. Both views seemed ridiculous to him. Brodie’s mother had raised him to love books, to see the value in every printed page, and the words of wisdom each held.
He spent the next three hours watching every small movement she made as she read. Her blonde hair, artfully styled by Fanny that morning, had a few loose curls framing her face. They weren’t the tight, perfect kind of curls most ladies wore. These held a gentle but wild look about them. The way they caressed her cheeks made him envious. He wanted to touch her. He wanted his lips to kiss that creamy skin while she blissfully sighed his name.
At one point, Lydia noticed his attention and tried to distract him by asking questions about Scotland now that they were over the border. Her interest in his country was a surprising and pleasant thing, so he told her as much about his homeland as he could.
After some time, Rafe spoke up. “I say, as fascinating as this lecture is about . . . misty mountains, lochs and whatnot . . . do you mind if we stop? I need to attend to my needs.”
“Of course.” He opened the coach window and told the driver to stop at the next bit of woods. Rafe popped out of the carriage before it even stopped rolling and headed straight into the nearby woods.
“Would you like to stretch your legs?” Brodie asked Lydia.
“Oh yes, please. I would appreciate that.” She set the book aside, and he assisted her out of the coach. “I do believe I may need to see to my needs as well,” Lydia admitted quietly, her face flushed.
“Are you able to do it in the woods?” Brodie was surprised. She seemed unlikely to be comfortable with that.
“Yes, I’ll be quite fine, so long as you’re not listening.” Lydia actually smiled, amused at his reaction.
“Don’t go too far, lass. I wouldna want you to get lost.”
“I won’t. I shall keep a straight path in this direction,” she assured him as she pointed.
He kept a close eye on her figure as she disappeared into the woods. If she didn’t return in ten minutes, he would go after her to make sure she was all right. He wasn’t worried about her escaping. Where would she go? But it was all too easy to become lost in the thick woods of Scotland and lose one’s way.
Lydia carefully picked her way through the woods, keeping in mind to maintain a path back as straight as possible. If she yelled, she was certain Brodie would be able to hear her and come running.
When she finished, she spotted a nearby stream, where she washed her hands in the cool water. The stream babbled over sandy-colored stones, smoothed by centuries of water rushing over their surfaces. She picked up one of the smooth stones and brushed her thumb over the almost glass-like surface. It was lovely here in Scotland. Brodie had explained how the Highlands and Lowlands varied and how all the northern lands above England had a harsh beauty to them.
She slipped the stone into a pocket of her skirts to have as a keepsake, but then she froze at the sight of a tall, red-haired man staring at her from twenty feet away. He wore a leather coat and dark trousers, and he looked to be in his late forties. Harsh living had taken its toll on his once-handsome features, leaving a series of craggy lines as he scowled at her.
Uncertain of what to do, she tried to smile at the man, but something warned her that he was dangerous. Why else would he be silently watching her in the woods with no one else about? She had no choice but to walk in his general direction, as he blocked her path back to the coach, but she was careful to make a wide arc to avoid him. He turned only his head as she started to pass by him, and she was so focused on him that she never saw the true danger coming.
Someone jumped at her from behind, clamping a dirty hand over her mouth and silencing the shout that rushed to her lips. Another man grabbed her from the front, binding her wrists and gagging her with a cloth. Lydia thrashed about as one man lifted her into the air. Her feet struck the man in front of her in his groin. He doubled over, grunting as he cursed.
“Little shite!” He got to his feet and slapped her hard across the face. Pain exploded through her with a force that left her ears ringing.
“Bind her legs!” the man holding her from behind growled. He squeezed her ribs, making it hard to breathe. Terror ripped through Lydia as she fought for her life, but when a third man joined them, she had exhausted herself. She was pushed to the ground and her legs bound with rope. The red-haired man lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She struggled to lift her head as the three men took off at a run, but she was jostled so much she couldn’
t see where she was.
They stopped a short while later, and she was set down on her feet for a brief moment while the men mounted horses they had tied in a copse of trees. Then she was hoisted up and laid facedown over the lap of the red-haired man, his hand holding her back still over the horse. She dared not move, barely dared to breathe, lest she fall and be trampled as the horse took off in a mad gallop.
They rode for what felt like hours. The sun was perched on the horizon when the men finally slowed to a stop. Their leader, the red-haired man, stopped his horse at a dense clump of woods. Lydia was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, where she fell to her knees and gagged. One of the men noticed and removed the cloth from her mouth so she could vomit.
“Christ, Willie, she’s sick,” the man who’d helped her complained to the red-haired man.
“Get her up and walking a bit. It will clear her head,” Willie said. Then he nodded at the third man. “Fergus, let’s set up camp here.”
Lydia’s legs were freed but not her wrists. The man behind her gripped one of her arms roughly and pulled her into motion.
“You heard him. Walk, lass,” he growled.
Stumbling over the rocky ground, she tried to calm her panicked breath in hopes that it would ease her upset stomach. She licked at her chapped lips and winced as she tasted blood. Her lip was split, probably from the blow she had been dealt earlier. Her face and neck hurt, but she could handle the pain.
Her stomach finally settled, and when she and the third man returned to the camp that they set up, a new set of fears replaced her nausea. What did these men want with her? What were they going to do with her?
“Sit.” Willie pointed to the ground, and she did as he ordered. The three men faced her as they sat by the small fire, which was contained by a ring of stones.
“Give her the flask,” Willie told Fergus. Fergus passed her a leather flask, scowling as he did so. She recognized him as the one who had slapped her.