Never Tempt a Scot

by Lauren Smith

  “Please, Brodie. I need more,” Lydia said with a sweet, aching desperation.

  “Yes, my bonnie lass.” He gently nipped her neck, and she moaned as he moved his hand down between their bodies. She tensed a little as he lifted his hips and gripped his shaft.

  “Oh, lass, I hate to hurt you,” he warned, and she bit her lip the second he breached her, hard and fast.

  The sharp pinch would have brought tears to her eyes, but he was kissing her again, distracting her from everything but pleasure. His hard body eased deeper into hers, and she curled her arms around his neck, holding on to him as he began to rock against her in a slow, sweet rhythm. Soon, the slide of their bodies and the wet, hot connection between them became the single most exquisite thing she’d ever experienced. She felt pried open to this man, body and soul, and he to her. Nothing could hide between them as they joined each other into one beating heart, one fused soul.

  Brodie’s hands explored her body, but there was no violence in this, no wickedness. It was lovemaking, with painfully teasing touches of their lips and hands as he thrust in a timeless rhythm that seemed to go on forever.

  She stroked her fingertips along the corded tendons of his neck and down the hard-sloping muscles of his shoulders. The moment her pleasure seemed to spike and then cascade over an invisible edge, she clung to him, calling his name over and over as the last of her defenses crumbled and she fell completely and irrevocably in love with Brodie Kincade. He cried out as he found his own pleasure, and she sank into sleep almost instantly beneath him.

  Brodie recovered his breath, his body quaking with the force of a climax that had rocked him to his core. Lydia’s eyes closed, a hint of a smile hovering about her soft, kissable lips as she fell asleep.

  All he could do was stare down at her in confusion. Lovemaking had never been like this before. Yes, he had been with women sweetly, gently, but this was different somehow. It was infinitely more. He had drowned in the blue of her eyes and was washed away by the sound of her sighs and moans, like listening to the sea endlessly crash upon the shore. In that instant, he had felt a reverent worship for her like no other.

  He felt lost and yet also like some part of him had been found. A part he thought lost forever, the part that still believed in foolish dreams of love and hope. But that wasn’t possible. There could be no hope for him, not with his father’s violence in his blood. No matter how much he wanted Lydia, it would be wrong to subject her to a life with someone like him. He’d only be a greater monster if he did.

  He disentangled his body from hers as gently as he could and tucked her beneath the covers to make sure she was warm. He dressed and walked down to the taproom, where he purchased an entire bottle of whiskey.

  Rafe came down a few minutes later and pulled up a chair beside Brodie. “How’s the kitten?”

  Brodie refilled his glass from the bottle and took a deep, burning drink. “Sleeping.”

  “Well, was it that bad, or that good?” Rafe asked with an amused chuckle.

  Brodie didn’t pretend to mistake the man’s meaning. “A little too good,” he admitted.

  “Oh? So the clever minx had practice, then?” Rafe waved a hand to a barmaid for a bottle of his own. Smart man. Brodie would have thrown a punch if he had dared to reach for his bottle.

  “Not at all. She was as innocent as a babe, but of course you knew that, didn’t you?” Brodie growled.

  His companion merely shrugged. “Finally figured it out, did you? That one is the kitten. You left the viper in Bath.”

  “You should’ve told me, Rafe. I ruined a decent woman.”

  “You have ruined other innocent women, Brodie. She wasn’t your first.”

  “She came with me at knifepoint. I have destroyed her life with my hunger for revenge.”

  “Not necessarily. You could marry the kitten.”

  “Marry her?” Brodie threw his glass back, downing another gulp of whiskey. “No, I canna marry anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Lydia deserves a good man. A sweet, gentle fellow who will worship her every step and faint away at her every smile and cover her bedchamber with flowers.”

  “And that’s not you?” Rafe asked quietly, his blue eyes burning intensely.

  “No.” He was a wicked man with wicked desires, yet he wanted with all his heart to be that man for Lydia, but he knew he would only be fooling himself.

  “So now that you know the truth, are we still bound for Edinburgh? Or do we go back to Bath?” Rafe poured himself a glass of whiskey and sipped it.

  “We keep going. We canna go back. I’ve taken her to my bed.”

  “Very well. To Edinburgh.” Rafe raised his glass, but Brodie only grunted in response. He knew he should take the girl back to her family, but as he had said, he was a wicked man, and now that he had tasted her, been with her, he wasn’t ready yet to let go of her. The only honest thing he could do now was take care of her as his mistress and make her as happy as he could.

  Jackson Hunt was in a bloody rotten mess. The last two days of riding with Jane Russell had confused him. The beautiful widow was fiery and full of life and unapologetic about anything she did.

  She’d drawn him in and he wanted things he had resigned himself to never having again. This was the worst time to be facing feelings like this. He needed to be worrying about his daughters. This whole terrible affair had been an alarming call for him to wake up. He had let Portia get away with far too much, and he had neglected Lydia dreadfully. Until he rescued Lydia from that dangerous man, he could not rest, could not let himself be distracted—not even by the natural warmth and charm of someone like Jane Russell.

  He risked a glance at her as his coach rolled through the streets of Edinburgh. She looked lovely in a dark-green gown, the bold color accenting her dark-red hair. She was twirling a pair of gloves between her fingers, and the soft tan kid material was as dainty as the hands that played with them.

  “Jane . . .”

  She turned to face him, her brows rising in silent question.

  He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked. Part of him wanted to do something a younger, more reckless version of himself would have done, like kiss her, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he sought her advice.

  “I’m afraid for my daughter. I’ve angered this Kincade fellow, and rightly so. I hired men to abduct him. I kept him a prisoner in my home. If we find them today, he and I may come to blows or end up dueling. Should the worst happen, may I trust you to take Lydia to safety? You will take her home, away from him?”

  “Yes, of course. I will protect her as if she were my own child.” Jane’s words were spoken with such honesty that it left no room for doubt. And from what he knew of Lady Russell, his daughter would be very well looked after. “But it need not come to that,” Jane added. “I might be able to reason with the man. I’ve had years of practice dealing with stubborn men who have no desire to listen to reason.”

  He relaxed a little as she smiled. He believed she was capable of doing exactly what she said.

  The coach finally came to a stop in front of a lovely townhouse near Edinburgh Castle on a long, sloping street called the Royal Mile.

  “This must be it.” Jackson opened the coach door, his stomach in knots at the thought of Lydia being held within the house. He gently grasped Jane by the waist and lowered her to the ground before they walked up the steps together. He rapped the iron knocker on the door and waited. After a moment, the door opened and a butler stood there, peering at them in surprise.

  “May I help you?” the butler asked.

  “We would like to pay a call on Mr. Rafe Lennox and Mr. Brodie Kincade.”

  The butler frowned in confusion. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, his lordship’s brother has not been here for several months.”

  Jackson wasn’t expecting that answer. He had been so certain that this was where the wild chase would end. That he would find his Lydia here and take her home.

  “They a
ren’t here,” Jane murmured. “He looks as startled as we are.”

  The butler continued to stare at them in polite confusion, and Jackson saw a gleam of cunning in Jane’s eye.

  “We are friends of Lord Lennox and his brother, Mr. Lennox,” Jane said quickly, her tone polite and gentle as she spoke to the butler. “We were told that Mr. Lennox was headed this way and that we must be here to meet him. But it seems we have arrived too early. Would you mind terribly sending a note to this address?” She handed the butler a crisp slip of paper. “Please let us know when Mr. Lennox and Mr. Kincade arrive.”

  The butler examined the address and nodded. “Of course, madam.”

  “Thank you.” She took Jackson’s arm, and he let her lead him back to the coach. “I have an idea,” she said as they climbed back into his coach.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Either they did not reach Edinburgh before us, or they decided to go to Castle Kincade. I know that Brodie’s brothers are there, and neither of them would let Brodie keep your daughter. We shall send a letter to Castle Kincade straightaway and see if they went there before we make our next plans. In the meanwhile, the Lennox butler will hopefully write to us at my address should they arrive here.”

  “You have a residence here?”

  “My son does. A nice little house a few streets away. You and I shall go there and wait for some word.”

  Jackson stared out the window, frowning as the evening shadows started to fall. “I hope she’s all right. It’s the uncertainty that has me worried.”

  Jane leaned across the coach and placed a hand on his. “You will find her. We will,” she said. “I promise you.”

  He turned his palm over and twined his fingers with hers. He hated himself for wanting to pull Jane into his arms when his sole focus should have been on his daughter’s safety.

  I’m a terrible man and an even worse father.

  14

  Lydia woke stiff and weary, her arm aching. She moved and then stilled as she realized she was completely naked. Memories came back to her in bits and pieces, but one thing was startlingly clear: she’d been completely naked last night and had made love with Brodie.

  She shivered—not from embarrassment, but from the delicious memory of the overpowering pleasure that she’d shared with him.

  That night had been infinitely more wonderful than she’d ever imagined it could be. The way her body had fit to his, how she’d felt as though she were a part of him and he of her. It had been incredible. She rolled over in bed, wishing to cuddle against him, but she found his spot empty. She swept a hand over the other pillow. A hint of warmth still lingered there, which meant he’d only recently left. It made her strangely giddy to think that he’d spent the night beside her. She buried her face in his pillow, breathing in the remnants of his scent.

  Then she lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. She was still lost in silly daydreams when the door opened and Fanny appeared.

  “How are you feeling, miss?” the maid asked.

  “Better. A little sore, though. My arm, I mean.” She sat up, keeping the bedclothes pulled up around her body. “Do you know where Mr. Kincade is?”

  Fanny retrieved bits of clothing from the floor. “Yes, he’s downstairs with Mr. Lennox. They both wished to check on the horses after last night, to make sure no one stole them. After those brigands kidnapped you, he said he would be surprised if they didn’t have men here who would steal their horses during the night.”

  “Oh dear, I hadn’t thought of that.” Lydia forced herself out of bed. She and Fanny searched for clean gowns in her trunk.

  “Well, what about this one?” Fanny held up a fine bright-orange gown that had a blue silk sash and capped sleeves. Rosettes of white were patterned on the hem, but other than that, the gown’s bold colors needed no additional ornamentation. She and the maid shared a smile.

  “Excellent choice, Fanny.”

  Half an hour later, Lydia was dressed and ready to leave. As she entered the taproom, she glanced about. A tall, thin man was working at the bar, and he snapped his fingers at a maid, who bustled over to Lydia to see if she needed anything.

  “What do you have for breakfast?”

  “Just porridge, miss,” the girl said with a little embarrassment.

  “That would be fine, thank you.” She sat alone in the room, wondering when the men would return from the stables and whether they had eaten already.

  She was halfway through her porridge by the time they came in. Rafe and Brodie were laughing about something, and Lydia’s stomach fluttered with excitement. Brodie seemed so happy and relaxed. He really was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and his easy smile just now only deepened that belief.

  Rafe, however, spotted her first. “Ah! Morning, kitten.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Lennox.” She glanced between the two of them as they joined her at the table. Brodie’s smile faded a little as he sat down beside her, but he didn’t look angry.

  “How is your arm?” he asked.

  “A little sore. Fanny helped me clean and bandage it.”

  “Good. I’m glad the lass has a strong stomach.”

  “She does. There was a bit of blood, and she kept calm.” Lydia imagined she would have been faint at the sight of blood, but she had been in such a state of shock last night that she hadn’t gotten lightheaded, and now she’d become used to living with the injury.

  “I wish we could remain longer to let you rest, but I would feel better if we reached Edinburgh soon, should you need to see a doctor.”

  Lydia didn’t disagree. She didn’t have the least bit of desire to stay here so close to where those men had taken her.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked them.

  “Aye, half an hour ago,” Brodie confirmed. “If you finish up, we can pack and leave.”

  He stood and went upstairs, leaving her alone with Rafe.

  Rafe propped his chin on his hand and flashed her a puckish grin. “Well, let’s hear about it, kitten.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She set her spoon inside her empty bowl.

  “Oh, come now,” Rafe chuckled. “You and the Scot. You and he tangled the sheets. The walls aren’t exactly thick here.”

  Her face flooded with a firestorm of heat. “Mr. Lennox! You cannot speak of such things.”

  “Why not? Despite my public façade, I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman. Besides, there’s no one to overhear us.” He waved a hand around the empty room.

  “That may be the case, but I don’t wish to speak of it.”

  “It was that bad? Such a pity. I should have gone after you myself. I can promise you—you would have adored sharing my bed.”

  Lydia raised a brow. “Aren’t you busy enough with Fanny?”

  “Fanny?” he asked.

  “My new maid? I saw her leave your room yesterday morning.”

  “Oh yes, her. That was just once. We had our fun, but she’s taking her post as your maid far too seriously and won’t come back to my bed now.”

  “You poor thing,” Lydia retorted.

  “Aha! So you do have claws!” He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, kitten, you are too sweet. Well, because you delight me, I’ll tell you this. You have the Scot tied up in knots. He thoroughly enjoyed last night, a bit too much even. Whatever you are doing, I suggest you keep it up, my dear. I want to see how the fellow handles it.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why does this amuse you? He is your friend. Shouldn’t you be trying to help him?”

  “Kitten, there is one thing you should know about me. The thing I take pleasure in, the only thing, is making this drab existence we call life more interesting. And so far, you and Brodie have been most entertaining.” With a knowing smirk, Rafe got up to see to the coach.

  “Are all men so blasted frustrating?” she muttered to herself.

  “Only the best ones,” Rafe answered over his shoulder, his ears far sharper than she’d realized.


  Lydia left a few coins that Brodie had given her for the barmaid on the table and joined Rafe outside. She took her seat and waited for the gentlemen to join her, but only Brodie got into the coach.

  “Is Mr. Lennox riding on the top seat or is he riding a horse alongside us?” she asked.

  “He’s up top for a little while. He doesn’t mind sitting with his servants. We should be in Edinburgh in two hours, hopefully.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief. I don’t think I can stand much more of this coach.” She shot a hopeful look at him. “I don’t suppose you have any more books?”

  “Aye.” He reached under his seat, and she browsed the handful he held out, choosing a book on the history of Stuart England. She began to read, but after a short while she became aware of Brodie watching her.

  “You aren’t reading?” she asked. Her voice was huskier than she wished it to be.

  “No, I’m afraid I’m too distracted, lass,” he answered, his voice deep and almost silky.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I cannot understand you, Mr. Kincade. This morning you would barely speak to me at breakfast, you did not even stay in bed with me—”

  She squeaked in surprise as he lunged for her. When he captured her in his arms, he pulled her onto his lap. He was careful not to touch the arm where she’d been injured.

  “Hush, lass, let a man have what he wants. Why do you think I was so ready to be off? The sooner we reach Edinburgh, the sooner I can have you all to myself in a proper bedchamber where no one will bother us for days, except to bring us food.”

  Lydia stared at him. “Days?”

  “Days,” he echoed as he cupped her neck and urged her to lean into him so he could brush his lips over hers.

  She surrendered to his kiss, and he managed to distract her from all other thoughts. He moved his mouth to her neck, gently scraping his teeth along her skin before he nipped her. She jolted as a sharp pang of need shot straight to her womb.