by Lauren Smith
But she wasn’t going to let him use her as a carpet to walk all over. She still had some backbone, and she would find a way to make this work to her advantage somehow. If Brodie wanted a mistress, he would have one.
Her reasoning was simple: if the damage could not be undone, then she might as well enjoy what pleasures the man could offer. Brodie was incredibly handsome, and she could not deny that she had imagined belonging to him after first seeing him at the ball. And now he would be hers.
More importantly, he would not be Portia’s.
There was some bitter amusement to be had at that particular fact. Her scheming sister had sought to entrap Brodie, but all Portia had done was drive him to abduct the wrong sister. Once Portia discovered this, she would no doubt be outraged at the notion of Lydia being mistaken for her, which also gave her some satisfaction.
A young upstairs maid, a shy girl by the name of Jane, came to the bedchamber to help her bathe and dress. They reviewed the gowns that Portia had packed in the two travel cases. At least her sister had thought to pack the prettier of her gowns.
Lydia chose a dark rose-colored satin gown with gold netting on the skirts. Pink silk peonies had been sewn around the hem, with delicate green satin vines and pale pink buds decorating the sleeves and bodice. It was one of her more extravagant day gowns.
At Lydia’s request, Jane styled her hair in a simple Grecian fashion rather than the current vogue of ringlets about her face. When she was ready, she thanked the shy girl and exited the bedchamber. She half expected her abductor to be waiting outside the door to grab her, but the corridor was empty.
She headed for the stairs, noting the layout of this fashionable townhouse, which was much like the one her father had purchased. This must be Rafe Lennox’s home, as her sister had said. Lydia couldn’t help but wonder how Portia had discovered this bit of information in so short a time. It worried her how her sister’s cleverness could get everyone around her into trouble, and yet somehow never Portia herself.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and heard Rafe and Brodie chatting quietly in the dining room. She approached the open door with apprehension.
“What’s your plan with the kitten? You’ll soon tire of her in Edinburgh, I imagine,” Rafe said.
“Possibly,” Brodie said.
“No doubt she sees all this as some game.”
“Aye. She’s playing a game with me, I’m sure of it. So sweet and blushing like a wee bride, but damned if it isna attractive.”
Rafe laughed. “She has you captivated already? A crafty creature indeed.”
Lydia, her face flaming at being discussed so boldly by two men who didn’t even know her, coughed politely as she entered the room.
“Good morning.” Rafe bowed his head as he and Brodie stood. At least they had enough manners between them to know to rise when she came into a room.
“Good morning.” Lydia glanced at the sideboard laden with chafing dishes, her stomach growling. She hadn’t eaten a thing since yesterday afternoon at the Pump Room.
“Please, help yourself,” Rafe insisted.
“Thank you, Mr. Lennox.” She collected a plate from the table and served herself a breakfast of kippers, hard-boiled eggs, and buttered toast.
When she was ready to sit down, Brodie pulled her chair back and pushed her in. Again, it was a gentlemanly act, so out of place after he had brought her here against her will.
“No cries of innocence this morning?” Brodie asked.
“I have told you the truth a number of times already,” Lydia said evenly. “Continuing to do so will not change a stubborn mind that’s already made up. Instead, I will make do the best I can until you are willing to listen to reason.”
“Then you’re in for a long wait, lass,” Brodie said, his tone a little curt. “Eat quickly if you can. We are to leave once you’ve finished.”
Rafe lounged in his seat, perusing a paper, idly turning the pages as though he wasn’t really reading. Every now and then his gaze would drift lazily between her and Brodie, his lips curved as though he was resisting the urge to smile at some private joke.
The devil take handsome men! Lydia decided she would ignore them both while she had her breakfast.
Lydia drank a cup of hot chocolate, hastily ate her breakfast, and then followed the gentlemen into the hall.
“Where are we bound?” she asked. She’d heard mention of Edinburgh twice now, but she wasn’t quite sure if she believed that or not.
“Scotland,” Brodie replied.
“Oh . . .” They really were headed to Edinburgh. She’d never been outside of England before.
Rafe’s coach was already waiting for them, and she was handed up into it by Brodie. Thankfully, the coach was designed for long travel, with comfortable seats and a fair amount of cushions.
A footman loaded their luggage at the back, while their two valets assisted them before climbing on top of the coach into the seats above. Brodie and Rafe joined Lydia inside the coach. She couldn’t help but wonder how they were to pass the time during the journey, but Brodie produced a small pile of books as one of the last things loaded inside.
“Oh, might I trouble you for a book, Mr. Kincade?” she asked, mindful to keep her tone polite and hopeful. “Otherwise, I might tire you with protestations of my innocence.” This came out a little more sarcastic than she wished it to, but the man had a way of trying her patience.
He scowled at her, but after a second he handed her a book. The spine of the brown leather volume read Park’s Travels in Africa.
“Park? Who is Park?” she asked as she examined the title page. The author seemed to be a man named Mungo Park.
“’Tis a biography of sorts,” Brodie explained. “The man ventured into the heart of Africa and wrote about his adventures and discoveries.”
“Oh, thank you.” Lydia turned the page to see an engraved drawing of a very attractive young man in a powdered wig. She settled in to read Mr. Park’s story and was lost for a few hours in his retelling of his visit to Africa and what he thought of the lands, languages, and the lives of the inhabitants.
At their first stop, Lydia was escorted by Brodie into the coaching inn, where she could use the facilities and the men could see to acquiring a bit of food. Rafe caught the eye of a pretty barmaid and took the girl by the hand, leading her upstairs. They were absent an hour, and when Lydia realized what they must be up to, she blushed wildly.
“Pretending again?” Brodie asked. “I admit, I am curious—how can a woman so knowledgeable of men and their needs conjure a blush like that?”
“I remind you once again, you speak of Portia, not myself. But I doubt she knows much more about men than I do. She is young and full of girlish bravado.” Lydia turned away, watching the men and women in the taproom rather than the brooding Scot beside her. She could still feel him looking at her, which only deepened her blush. One of his hands settled upon her knee, sliding up her thigh, over her gown, but the touch was so scandalous and unexpected that she nearly leapt from the table and had to fight to stay still.
“Do you wish for me to take you upstairs, lass? Have I denied you what you’ve been hoping for?” He caught her chin, the touch gentle despite his taunting tone. His gray-blue eyes were like a pool of water reflecting clear skies over gray stones. To Lydia’s fury and shame, she felt a spark of fire in her body each time he touched her, yet his very words insulted her.
“Mr. Kincade. I would prefer not to be treated like that. If you wish to bed me, treat me like a proper mistress.” She summoned her courage and looked him squarely in the eye as she spoke, letting him hear the steel in her voice. Maybe challenging him back would gain her some ground.
“A proper mistress? What would you know of that?” Brodie’s sour mood seemed to fade, and a boyish grin replaced it. It reminded her of the way she’d felt when she’d first seen him at the ball, and her heart began to pound wildly all over again.
“Everyone knows that mistresses receive g
owns, jewels, townhouses . . . I suppose other things.” She honestly didn’t know how mistresses were treated. Her guess was based on what she’d overheard from various rumors by other ladies at balls.
“Aye, they might, in exchange for being at the beck and call of their lord and master,” Brodie said in a seductively sweet tone. “Would you like that? For me to master you, lass?”
He stroked his fingertips down her neck to the tops of her breasts above her gown. It was a modestly cut dress, yet his exploring touch made her feel naked. Her breath quickened, and her body burned along every inch that his fingers caressed.
Heavens, it was positively suffocating to be so close to him when he was touching her, yet deep down she didn’t want him to stop.
She shook her head and scooted away. “No, I think not.”
He dropped his hand from her bodice but leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Oh, I think you do, lass. I think you want me to trap those pretty wrists behind your back, so I may kiss you as long and hard as I like.”
His lips feathered against her cheek as he spoke, and it sent bolts of excitement down her body. She didn’t argue, didn’t contradict him. It would be pointless. Her breath came quickly, and her entire body flushed with a heat so hot and thick that she had no way of hiding the effect his words had on her.
“Finish your lunch,” Brodie said as he leaned back. “We have a ways to go before we reach the next inn.”
Lydia did as he asked, but only because she was quite famished. It would be a long day indeed if she were to remain trapped with Brodie in the tight confines of the coach with a growling stomach. At least having Mr. Lennox present would lend some propriety to the trip.
At least, she hoped it would.
Lysandra Russell examined her newly built telescope. She’d just received the remaining parts from London. The chance to stargaze was something that always brought her joy and stilled her thoughts of other worries while she focused on her academic papers.
But her mind kept straying to Lydia. She’d expected a message at least by this morning, where Lydia would have explained whatever wild scheme Portia had been up to and she had managed to foil. Yet no letter had arrived. It was not at all like Lydia not to write to her.
Retrieving a clean cloth from a nearby table covered with books, Lysandra wiped her hands clean of a little bit of grease. Then she untied her work apron and tossed it over a nearby chair. She exited her upstairs study and went in search of their butler, Mr. Raikes. She found him belowstairs arranging the silver in the cupboards. It was something the butler took seriously, and he spent hours at it when the house was quiet.
“Raikes? Are there any messages for me?”
The butler shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Russell. We received no letters this morning, except for a few for Lord Rochester.”
“Ah, best to forward those to London. My brother won’t be in Bath for a few months.”
“Already done, Miss Russell.”
“Raikes, are Lawrence and Zehra still here?” She’d been so consumed with the telescope she’d quite forgotten to ask her older brother and sister-in-law what they had planned for the day. Lawrence was determined to allow his wife time to enjoy traveling around England before they started having children.
“I believe they are to attend the assembly rooms this evening after the dowager marchioness arrives.”
Lysandra bit her bottom lip in thought. “Oh, is Mama coming today?”
Her mother was often an ally, but on occasion she was also a nuisance, especially when she was in a mood to make a match. Jane Russell was a serious woman when it came to marriage. She’d claimed credit for matching two of her brood—Lucien, the eldest, and then Lawrence, the second eldest. But Avery, Linus, and Lysandra were still unmarried, which meant they were increasingly under her watchful eye.
“I believe she will arrive this afternoon.” Mr. Raikes held a large silver serving spoon up to the light, and then he pulled a polishing cloth out and began to wipe at some smudge that was likely too small to be seen even with her telescope.
“If any messages arrive for me, will you call for me at once?”
“Of course, Miss Russell,” Raikes promised.
Lysandra left the servants’ quarters. She had only just stepped into the hall when her mother burst into the townhouse in a flutter of colorful skirts and high spirits. She was laughing at something a footman had said, and the young man’s face turned a ruddy red as he accepted Jane’s hat and her spencer. Jane was still a stunning beauty, even in her early fifties, which made Lysandra quite proud. Her dark-red hair was only just beginning to show a hint of silver, and if anything it only enhanced her looks. Because she had forgone face paints in her younger years, her face was still smooth and her complexion clearer than most women of her age. And with a curvy figure but a slender waist, Jane looked more maidenly than matronly, which kept many a man on his best behavior around her. She was, as many men had learned, a force of nature.
“Lysa, dear.” Her mother caught sight of her. “Why aren’t you riding in the park? The weather is wonderful for husband catching.” Her mother’s teasing only made her smile. She made it sound like she should carry a butterfly net with her.
“Hello, Mama,” she said as they embraced. “I was just finishing building my telescope. The last parts arrived this morning.”
Jane held her tongue a moment. It wasn’t that she disapproved—her mother believed in women pursuing education in all its forms. But she also wanted her children married, especially Lysandra.
“Have you spoken to Mr. Cavendish? I understand he is a member of the Royal Astronomical Society. Wouldn’t he be glad to help you?”
Lysandra blushed. “Perhaps. Mr. Cavendish is rather occupied these days.”
“Oh? With what? He’s a gentleman with land and money. What else could occupy him besides pleasurable pursuits?”
“Mama,” Lysandra said in warning, though she kept her tone gentle. She didn’t want to think about Gregory Cavendish or the kiss he’d stolen from her last Christmas. Nothing had changed between them. He’d returned to London, she remained unmarried, and they both pursued their love of the stars . . .separately. That was all there was to it.
“Very well, I shall move you down the list. Avery is next. I had better find him a wife, but he’s always away on the Continent with that spy business. One can only imagine the sort of women he’s forced to consort with.”
Lysandra winced at her mother’s casual attitude toward her brother’s very dangerous lifestyle. “Mama, I was planning to go out. Would you mind terribly if I left you for the day?”
“Left me? Why? What happened?”
“Nothing. At least, I think it’s nothing.”
Jane caught the eye of her shy footman. “Tea in the drawing room, if you please.”
The young man nodded and rushed off.
“Come. Tell me all of it over tea.” Jane escorted Lysandra into the drawing room, where they both sat down. “Now, what’s the matter?”
“It’s my friend Lydia,” Lysandra began, and then she told her mother the entire story, from the ball to Portia’s inappropriate behavior and finally Lydia’s mysterious letter that Lysandra had not written. By the time she was done, Jane’s good spirits were gone.
“Poor Miss Hunt. We must investigate this business. I’ve always cared for the poor girl. I had even once hoped that she and Lawrence . . . But we all find love in our own way, don’t we? And Zehra is a wonderful woman for my boy. But Lydia is a sweet child, and she needs a mother. Her father spends too much time fawning over Portia and neglecting Lydia. I know that parents have favorites, but they ought to do their best not to.”
Lysandra smiled at her mother. “We all know your favorite.”
“I do not have a favorite. I love you all equally.”
“Perhaps,” Lysandra said. “But Avery will always have a special place in your heart. He looks just like Papa.”
Jane’s eyes shimmered. “He does, but th
at does not mean I love any of you less. Do you understand?”
Jane had lost her husband when Lysandra was only ten, and she had grown up her whole life knowing that her parents had a love match. Yet despite having lost the other half of her heart, Jane had not withdrawn from life. Rather, she had been more determined than ever not to miss a minute of it.
“Now, we must focus on poor Lydia.” Jane cleared her throat as the tea was brought in, and then she poured them each a cup. “I suggest we go and pay a call on her.”
“I agree,” Lysandra said. “The sooner the better.” She was starting to have a feeling in her gut that something was wrong and her friend needed her.
“Where did he go?” Portia demanded for the hundredth time. After returning home late last evening after dinner at Mr. Rochefort’s, she had gone straight to bed, only to have her father and Cornelia wake her up an hour later to tell her that Brodie Kincade was gone and he taken Lydia with him at knifepoint. Their butler, Mr. Annis, had recounted the story half a dozen times by now for all three of them.
Portia still couldn’t believe it. Lydia and Brodie. Together. Why had he taken Lydia, though? Surely he would have wanted to take her. She was the prettier sister, after all. Portia hated herself for the selfish thought, but it was true. She was far lovelier than Lydia. Did that not matter to a man like Brodie?
“I don’t know, my child. I returned to Mr. Lennox’s house last night but could not gain entrance. He was not at home this morning and neither was Mr. Kincade. The staff would not tell me when they planned to return. The coachman said that he was forced to take them to the docks, but no one there has said they were seen boarding any ships.”
Aunt Cornelia scowled at both Portia and her father. “Jackson, you’ve made a royal mess of this.”
“I don’t know why Lydia would have freed him,” Portia said with a pout.
“Because it was the decent thing to do,” Cornelia snapped. “I would have done it myself had I known you had the young buck tied up like some poor animal.” Cornelia huffed, and the feather in her turban quivered in response.
