by Lauren Smith
“Excuse me, miss, could you tell me where the Royal Mile is from here?” She gave the girl the address of Rafe’s townhouse.
“Ooh. Fancy place, that. ’Tis about a half mile away. Ye can take this road ’ere and walk until ye see the weavin’ mill. Then take a right and keep walkin’ until ye see the townhouses on Royal Mile.”
“Thank you, miss. I wish I could repay you for your kindness.” Lydia would have given the girl money, but her reticule was missing. Likely Burke or Hare had stolen it off her body when they believed her to be dead.
“Not to worry,” the maid said. “Be careful. Not too many will be friendly to a sweet Sassenach like ye at this time of night.”
“I will be careful. Thank you.”
She started in the direction the girl had pointed, her head throbbing, her feet sore, and her body aching from the fall when she’d been tackled to the ground. All she wanted was to be in Brodie’s arms, to feel safe. No doubt he would rage at her for running off, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be with him. He was her only light in the dark streets of Edinburgh.
“It’s awfully quiet up there. I bet your darling kitten is asleep. You can safely join her in bed now if you wish,” Rafe teased.
Brodie was still weighed down with guilt as he stood. The whiskey he’d drunk tonight would have felled a lesser man, but not Brodie. He shook off the effects and started up the stairs, ignoring Rafe’s laughter. When he unlocked the door to Lydia’s room, he whispered her name.
“Lass? Are you there?” he whispered again when no sound greeted him. A single candle was lit in the darkened room, and there was an unmistakable sense of emptiness.
“Lydia?” His panic began to increase when she still didn’t answer. He retrieved the candle and searched the room. The room was empty, and a sash window stood open at the opposite end from the door, a light breeze billowing the curtains out.
Brodie stormed out of the bedchamber. “Lennox!”
Rafe met him halfway up the stairs. “What is it?”
“She’s gone! The daft lass climbed out the bloody window.”
Rafe almost laughed, but Brodie shot him a black glare. “The only way out is through a gate on the left side of the house. We don’t keep that locked.”
“Show me,” Brodie growled.
Neither of them bothered with coats as they rushed out the front door. Rafe showed him the gate, which was unlocked but closed. After a quick search of the gardens turned up nothing, they moved on to the streets.
“Which way would she go?” Rafe asked.
“Toward the light,” Brodie reasoned. If he were a woman alone, he would choose a more lit direction with streetlamps. He led the way, seeking out any sign of her.
Lord knew how long she’d been gone. He and Rafe had been drinking and talking for at least an hour, which gave Lydia plenty of time to leave and get herself lost, hurt, or taken. It was hard not to dwell on all the things that went on in the night on the streets of Edinburgh. And if a bad group of men found an Englishwoman alone, especially a beautiful one . . .
“I expect she’d try to hire a hackney to reach Lady Rochester’s home to see her father.”
Brodie actually hoped that was the case. At least then she would be safe. But he didn’t see any coaches around of any sort.
“Perhaps we ought to go there,” Rafe suggested.
Brodie sighed. “Aye, if we must.” He didn’t look forward to what would happen if he did, but he had to know she was safe.
Someone called his name, and Brodie’s heart leapt into his throat as he spotted Lydia at the end of the street. She was limping, but when she realized he’d seen her, she started a mad dash toward him.
“Bloody Christ,” he grunted as he caught her in his arms, holding her tight. She started to cry and shake.
“There, lass. You’re safe now.”
“Oh heavens, we have to go. Now.” She pushed at his shoulders.
“Go?”
“Yes! We must save her from them.”
“What the devil are you on about, kitten?” Rafe asked.
“The girl. They’re going to kill her. We have to go.” Lydia broke free of Brodie’s arms and sprinted up the street. Brodie was on her heels as they headed down a small passage and skidded to a stop as he saw her gently coaxing someone out from behind a stack of crates.
“Please come out, little one. You’re safe,” Lydia was saying. Brodie threw out an arm, stopping Rafe before he could barrel past him into the alley.
They waited with bated breath as a small child emerged from behind the crates, a filthy little creature Lydia scooped up in her arms without hesitation. But the child was a little too big for her, and she staggered under her weight. Brodie came over and relieved Lydia of her burden. The child panicked, crying out.
“Hush, it’s all right. He’s not one of those other men. He’s come to help you.” Lydia clasped one of the child’s hands, and Brodie shifted the little girl in his arms. She quieted down and lifted her head to stare up at him with big blue eyes.
“We must leave before they come back,” Lydia murmured, her tone holding a note of panic.
They started at once for Rafe’s townhouse. Lydia was at his side, and Rafe trailed behind, keeping to the shadows in a dangerous way that relieved Brodie. He felt safer knowing Rafe was there to watch their backs. When they reached Rafe’s home, Lydia collapsed on the settee and held her arms out for the child. Brodie set the girl down on the settee, and she instantly cuddled against Lydia.
“What happened to my mama?” the little girl asked in a soft, worried voice.
“She’s gone. I’m so sorry,” Lydia answered with heartbreaking honesty.
“Gone?”
Lydia stroked the straggly locks of the child’s dirty brown hair. “Yes. Like your Papa.”
“I . . . I knew she wouldn’t wake up.” The little girl’s lip trembled, but she didn’t cry. Something about that made Brodie’s fists clench as he fought a wave of fury. That a child should suffer such loss so young and yet see it as just another part of life spoke of a childhood even worse than his own.
“What happened to you, lass?” he asked Lydia.
She continued to hold the little girl as she explained how she’d escaped out the window and gone in search of a coach, then how she’d heard this child cry for help and how she’d come upon the two men loading the dead mother into a trunk. Brodie’s fists remained clenched as he heard her tell how the body snatchers had knocked her out and delivered her to a doctor, and her narrow escape from his dissection table.
“I heard them planning to come back and take the child to the doctor next.”
Brodie glanced at Rafe, and Rafe’s face was dark with storm clouds.
“Kill a child?” Rafe’s growl was only slightly less menacing than the fury in his eyes. “I wish I could have run into them myself.”
“And you, lass? Did they hurt you?” Brodie asked as he searched her for any signs of injury.
“Only my head,” she admitted. “It hurts a little, but I’m feeling better already.”
“Should I fetch a doctor?” Rafe asked.
“No, not for me.” She looked to the child. “Are you hurt, little one?”
The girl shook her head.
“Can you tell me your name?” Lydia asked.
“Isla. Isla MacKenzie,” the girl said.
“Isla, you’re going to stay here with me. At least until we find your family,” Lydia promised her.
“I don’t have one,” the girl said solemnly. “Mama was all I had.” Her voice was so adult that it made Brodie’s throat tighten. “Could you be my new family?” Isla asked in a hopeful voice.
“Well, um . . . ,” Rafe stammered. “That is . . . you see . . . I’m sure we can find . . .”
It was the first time Brodie had ever seen his friend truly lost for words. But the look on Lydia’s face made Brodie do what he always seemed to do around her—act without thinking of the consequences.
/> “We will be, if you want us to, wee one,” Brodie replied.
“Isla, would you like to get cleaned up and have something to eat?” Lydia asked.
The child nodded, her gaze still a little fearful.
“Um . . . I’ll see to it,” Rafe volunteered, beginning to recover his composure. “At least for a short while . . . so you two can talk.” He approached the settee. “Would you like to come with me, sweetheart?”
The girl held out a tiny hand, and Rafe instead scooped her up and carried her from the room.
Alone, and the immediate concerns dealt with, Brodie stared at Lydia, who looked down at her feet.
“I’m not sorry I ran off,” Lydia said, her defiance returning. “You were unreasonable, and you humiliated me.”
“Aye, and I should do it again. You could have died, lass. You know that? Those men were resurrectionists.”
“They’re what?”
“Grave robbers. They sell bodies to doctors and professors for autopsies. But not all men rob only graves. I’ve heard tell of some who ‘conveniently’ find bodies, even if that means producing them themselves. They’re damned dangerous.”
Lydia bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I know you must be furious, Brodie.”
“Furious?” he scoffed. “My anger is a distant second to the fear you caused me tonight, lass. This isn’t like any city you are familiar with. There are all manner of dangers you could have fallen prey to tonight.”
She didn’t argue with him. She merely continued to stare at him. He moved toward her, and when she didn’t flee, he sat down on the settee next to her.
“The truth is, I dinna want you to be hurt. I dinna want to face that fear again, you ken?” he said gently. Lydia nodded and closed her eyes. He cupped her face with one hand and pressed his forehead to hers. He took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I disciplined you the way I did.”
She pushed back to look him in the eye. “You’re sorry? Did I hear you correctly?”
“I won’t repeat myself,” he said quickly. “What you dinna seem to realize is that any reunion with your father now will end with pistols at dawn. And there can be no positive outcome from that.”
Lydia’s brow creased as she thought about it, and then she nodded her understanding and kissed him on the forehead. No more needed to be said on the matter. She curled her arms around his neck and moved to bury her face against his throat. “Brodie?”
“Aye, lass?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap.
“Are you truly all right with the child being here? I know what happens to children without parents. I don’t know what the future holds for us . . . but I know that my father would let me raise her if you and I go our separate ways.”
Brodie didn’t want to think of that, not just yet. “Aye, the wee one can stay with us.”
“You are softhearted,” Lydia murmured sweetly, and he almost disagreed with her.
“Only for you, lass.” It was the truth. With Lydia, his hardhearted self seemed to melt away. His usual charm and merciless seduction didn’t matter now. All that mattered when Lydia was around was her safety and happiness.
“We should leave tomorrow. You may write to your father here in Edinburgh and tell him you are safe. We’ll find a way to reunite you without bloodshed when he and I have both had time to let our tempers cool.”
“Thank you.” She moved her head up and brushed her mouth over his, leaving him almost trembling with the need for more of everything from this woman.
“We should go see to Isla. She must be so frightened.”
Brodie lifted Lydia off his lap, and they went upstairs together. They found Rafe speaking to the housekeeper, Mrs. Llewellyn, who was holding a small nightgown.
“Ah, there you are,” Rafe greeted them. “Fanny is washing the little scamp now, and she’s had something to eat. Mrs. Llewellyn has a small nightgown she can make do with tonight. But she’ll need proper clothes tomorrow.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Brodie said.
“Excellent,” Rafe said. “Well, I’m off to bed. Unlike you Scots, a full bottle of sipping whiskey leaves its mark on me.” He grinned and left for his bedchamber.
“It’s a good thing we were here,” said the housekeeper. “The poor man had no idea what to do with the girl. Offered her a glass of that whiskey to calm her nerves!”
“Oh dear,” Lydia said. “Mrs. Llewellyn, is there an empty bedchamber we could use for Isla?”
“Yes, Miss Hunt.” The housekeeper bobbed a quick curtsy and went to attend to that task.
“Let me go see how the girls are faring.” Lydia left Brodie in the corridor as she slipped into the bedchamber. He could hear Lydia gently teasing the girl and Fanny giggling inside. And after a few minutes, when he was allowed to enter, he was astonished by the sight of the small girl now robed in an overlong nightgown. Her big blue eyes seemed so ancient, and her dark-brown hair lay in wet tendrils over her shoulders. Fanny was gently running a comb through the tangles.
“Isla, this is Brodie Kincaid,” Lydia said. The little girl blushed deeply and half hid behind Lydia’s skirts.
Lydia looked down at Isla. “We have a lovely big bedroom for you, sweetheart. Would you like to see?”
“How many people will I have to share the bed with?” the girl asked in a whisper.
“No one, my darling. Just you,” Fanny said. She and Lydia shared sympathetic glances.
“Aye, Isla. You have an entire room all to yourself. Come and let me show you.” Brodie held out a hand, and she came to him after a coaxing push from Lydia. The child’s hand was so small and soft that he felt like a giant as he curled his fingers around hers. He led her to the room next door, which Mrs. Llewellyn had informed him was ready for the child as she left.
Isla’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the tall four-poster bed. Brodie lifted her up and set her on it, then retrieved a red velvet cushioned footstool and set it against one side of the bed.
“You can climb on this to get in and out of bed.”
Isla stretched a dainty little foot toward the footstool and touched it. She smiled up at him shyly.
“Time for bed.” He pulled the bedclothes back, and the child climbed beneath them. Brodie tucked her in and on impulse bent and kissed her forehead. “Sleep, wee one. Tomorrow will look brighter. I promise.”
“Good night.” Isla sighed, her eyes closed, and she surrendered to sleep.
Brodie blew out the candles in the room and stepped outside, where Lydia was waiting.
“Do you think she will be all right?” she asked.
“If not, we are nearby.” Brodie reached for her hand. Lydia laced her fingers through his as they walked to their bedchamber.
“Heavens, I am quite fatigued,” she sighed as he closed the door.
He pulled her into his arms. “You have been through a lot tonight, lass.” He simply held her at first, stroking his palms up and down her back. When she pressed her lips to his neck, the tension in him returned, only one caused by desire rather than fear.
“I’m not too tired to . . . you know,” she confessed in a whisper.
“Neither am I,” he reassured her. He was all too aware of where their bodies touched. He wanted, needed, to sink into her welcoming softness.
Brodie stole slow, sweet kisses as he moved her up against the wall. He trapped her wrists above her head with one hand, and his other hiked up her skirts as he wrapped one of her legs around his waist. Then he freed himself from his trousers and guided his shaft into her. She moaned at the deep penetration.
“That’s it, lass. Tell me how it feels,” he encouraged in a hoarse whisper.
“Oh,” she gasped as he thrust in quicker and harder. For the next several minutes, they didn’t speak as he took her hard against the door. There was a primal need he felt to claim her again, to feel connected to her after having almost lost her tonight. He released her wrists to cup her bottom and have more control over their movemen
ts. Lydia dug her fingers into his shoulders and arched her back as he made love to her.
A soft cry escaped her lips as she came, and her inner walls fluttered around his shaft, threatening to drown him in sweet ecstasy. He had never bedded a woman who had felt as good as Lydia, and it wasn’t simply a physical reaction. When he joined his body with hers, it felt like there were no secrets in the space between them. It was just perfect, and nothing in his life had ever been perfect before.
“I love you,” Lydia whispered suddenly.
He stilled as his own release began to fade, but the warm glow inside him didn’t vanish. It only grew stronger as their gazes met.
“You don’t have to say anything, Brodie. I just wanted you to know. I’ve always believed in speaking the truth of my heart.” Her face flushed. “I honestly don’t even know how I fell in love with you, but I did.”
“I . . .” He carefully weighed his words. “I am honored, lass. You give me a great gift with your love.” He couldn’t return the words, but she deserved the truth. He was honored by her love. Once they were in bed, he settled her into his arms, and for one brief moment, he dared to dream. Dared to dream of saying the words back to her.
17
Rafe Lennox awoke to the sensation of being watched. Long before he opened his eyes, he became convinced he was not alone in his bedchamber. Experience had honed his senses, and he felt that unmistakable tingling at the back of his neck. He cautiously opened one eye, resisting the urge to reach for the pistol under his pillow. He swept his gaze over the room and quickly found the spy.
Little Isla was at the foot of his bed, her large blue eyes fixed on him. Somehow, that made him jump worse than if it had been an actual intruder. He calmed himself, reminding himself she was no threat. In fact, she was a bloody adorable scamp, now that all the dirt and grease had been scrubbed off her. Her hair, which had been dark-brown last night, was now a softer, more lovely russet color.
Now wide awake, Rafe winked at Isla. “Morning, sweetheart.” She smiled shyly back at him but said nothing. “Are you all right?” He hadn’t been around a lot of children growing up, other than his youngest sister Joanna. To him, children were from another realm and difficult to comprehend.