by Lauren Smith
“Be bad with me, Lydia. Let me show you a way to pass the hours ahead.” He murmured the tempting words in her ear, and she found herself nodding eagerly before she could stop herself. He slid his hands up her skirts, teasing her calves and her thighs, and she wriggled on his lap. When he reached the apex of her thighs, she wanted to beg him to hurry, but he took his time. He unfastened his trousers and urged her to lift her hips. Then he was pulling her down on his erect shaft. The sudden sensation from this new angle was so very different than the previous night when he had lain on top of her. She felt fuller sitting on top of him like this.
“What’s the matter, lass?” he whispered as he kissed her.
“This is different than the last time,” she gasped before kissing him back.
“Different how?” He rocked her up and down on him. It was becoming harder and harder to think, with the building pleasure between them.
“It feels full . . . almost too much,” she confessed in a whisper.
He smiled. “Lass, how you flatter me.” He captured her lips again in a raw, open-mouthed kiss, and she buried her hands in his hair, fisting the thick, dark strands as she rolled her hips, feeling him move inside her at the same time.
The gentleness that had begun as an echo of last night gave way to a frantic coupling. Brodie grasped her bottom under her skirts as he lifted her and jerked her down onto him. She broke free of his kiss to gasp and clutch his shoulders as he used her in the most delicious way.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Take your pleasure from me.”
And she did. She circled her hips in a way that felt good and hit all the small secret spots within her, until she reached a glorious peak where there was nothing left for her but to fall back to earth. He followed her over the cliff of ecstasy a moment later and buried his face against her neck.
She breathed his name and cradled his head as they held on to each other for a long while. She didn’t want to pull away. She wanted to stay connected to him as long as she could. But she knew they couldn’t, and when at last he separated them, he used a handkerchief to clean her before he helped fix her skirts. She was more than mortified when she came to her senses and realized what she had done. That she had made love in a coach like some wild, wanton creature.
“Don’t be ashamed.” Brodie pulled her into his side, curling an arm around her shoulders as he comforted her.
“But I am,” she replied. “What we did was . . .”
“Was perfectly natural, lass. We just didna use a bed.” He nuzzled her cheek, his soft laughter easing her embarrassment somewhat. She liked it when he was in a good mood. This was how she’d first pictured him that night of the ball, a charming rogue with no worries.
“Will you show me all the different ways to make love?” She pressed her head under his chin and burrowed into his welcoming warmth.
“Aye. I will,” he promised with a silky chuckle.
“Good, because if I am to be your mistress, I wish to know what all the fuss is about.”
His arms tightened around her body, and he kissed the crown of her hair. “I will make you happy.”
She believed him, even though her heart worried that it wouldn’t last. Rationally, she couldn’t see how it would be possible.
Joanna Kincade was sitting in the drawing room at Castle Kincade with her mother and older brother Ashton, talking about London and all their mutual friends, when a clamor outside had her leaping to her feet in alarm. A young footman burst into the room, his eyes darting around until he found her.
“My lady! An urgent message just arrived from Edinburgh.” He thrust a letter into her hands.
“What is it?” her mother, Regina, asked. She and Ashton came to stand on either side of Joanna.
“I honestly have no idea.” She broke the wax seal and unfolded the urgent missive.
“Read it aloud, my dear,” her mother prompted.
Joanna cleared her throat and began to read.
My dear Lady Kincade,
I write to you of the most dire and urgent of circumstances. I am in Edinburgh with a gentleman named Mr. Jackson Hunt. His eldest daughter, Lydia, has been abducted at knifepoint by Mr. Brodie Kincade, your husband’s brother. We believe that they are bound for Edinburgh, accompanied by your brother, Mr. Rafe Lennox. However, upon our arrival, we found no trace of them at the Lennox residence in Edinburgh. It occurred to me that perhaps Mr. Kincade chanced going to Castle Kincade, but I cannot be sure. Please send a response to the address below as quickly as you can.
Sincerely yours,
Jane Russell
Dowager Marchioness of Rochester
Joanna finished reading the letter and then looked to her older brother and her mother in shock.
“Abducted?” Regina muttered. “But why would Brodie take that poor girl? He is a little wild, perhaps, but then again, he is a Kincade, and we’ve seen how unpredictable they are.”
Ashton scowled and took the letter from Joanna to read it again. As a baron, Ashton should have had the least influence among the League of Rogues, all of whom were members of the peerage, but due to his clever work in the financial markets, he had amassed wealth and power far in excess of his title. And when necessary, he had used that power and influence to do whatever was needed, especially when it came to dealing with Rafe’s actions.
“That bloody fool,” Ashton growled.
“Brodie?” Joanna asked.
“No, Rafe. I have a suspicion our brother is at the root of whatever trouble this is. He’s likely having a good laugh at Brodie’s expense.”
“But why abduct Lydia Hunt? She’s so sweet, and oh, Ash, we must tell Brock and Rosalind. They will know what to do about Brodie.”
“Know what to do about whom?” Rosalind, Ashton’s wife and Brock’s sister, said as she appeared in the doorway.
“It’s your brother, Brodie.” Ashton passed the letter to his wife. Rosalind began to read, and then after a moment, she slid onto the nearest settee and gazed at Ashton in clear confusion.
“I . . . I don’t understand. Who is this woman they say Brodie has taken? What could she have done to him?” Unlike her brothers, Rosalind’s brogue was not nearly as thick. She had been married to an older English gentleman a few years ago and had done her best to assimilate with London society before she’d been widowed. Yet there was still enough of the Scot in her, especially when she was upset, for the brogue to become more pronounced.
“Done to him? Lydia Hunt is a friend of mine. She’s the most wonderful girl. She wouldn’t do anything to Brodie to make him do this,” Joanna said.
Ashton spoke up. “Didn’t you say a few weeks ago that Portia Hunt had set her cap for Brodie?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Rosalind said. “I met the young woman at a party. She had heard rumors of my brothers, and rather than being scared off, she was intrigued. She inquired whether they were unattached. I informed her that Brock is married and Aiden was returning here with me. Only Brodie was to stay behind in Bath.”
Ashton began to pace around the drawing room. “I didn’t have a good feeling about Rafe leaving here so soon. I thought that a stay in the country would keep him out of mischief, but he was eager to return to Bath after just one week here. He must have had a hand in this somehow.”
“Where do you suppose they would go?” Joanna asked.
Rosalind considered the question. “There’s our townhouse in Edinburgh, but Lady Rochester said they had not arrived there. I’m certain they won’t come here,” Rosalind said. “Brodie wouldn’t bring a woman home unless he was planning to marry her. Do you think they stopped at Gretna Green, Ash?” Rosalind asked.
Ashton shrugged. “You know him better than I do, love.”
“I fear Brock and Aiden know him better than me,” Rosalind admitted quietly. “He may have changed since I escaped to London.”
Ashton took the letter back from Rosalind, reading it yet again, as though he could divine some secrets from the page. “Joa
nna, would you please go find your husband?”
Joanna left the drawing room in search of Brock. Instead, she found Aiden lounging on a window seat in the library, feeding tiny bits of meat to a small owl. Aiden was smiling as he stroked the backs of his fingers over the downy soft feathers of the tawny owl.
“Aiden, do you know where Brock is?”
The owl gave a disgruntled hoot at being disturbed. Aiden turned his attention toward her. “He’s in his study, I think. What’s wrong, Joanna?”
“It’s Brodie. He’s abducted a poor woman and run away with her. He’s headed for Scotland.”
“What?” Aiden stood, and with a click of Aiden’s tongue, the owl hooted and took to the air, returning to its roost on the topmost shelf of the library.
“We received a letter from Lady Rochester, who is traveling with the woman’s father, and they are searching for them. They believe Rafe is with them.”
Aiden’s gaze turned even more serious. “Rafe? Gah. Brodie shouldna be anywhere near him. I like your brother, Joanna, but he is . . .” Aiden was obviously trying to be diplomatic. “Trouble.”
“He is,” Joanna agreed. “But we must find them. They have my friend Lydia.”
Aiden strode past her into the hall and loudly bellowed for Brock. She heard the bang of a distant door and running steps, and then her husband appeared at the top of the grand stairs.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Brock practically leapt down the stairs, only to stop and pull her into his arms. She melted into him, relishing the way he held her. They’d been through so much together, and she sensed he would never be less protective of her.
“I’m fine, Brock. But we have a problem.”
He pulled back a little to look down at her. “A problem?”
“It’s Brodie. He’s kidnapped my friend Lydia Hunt from Bath. He and Rafe are in Scotland, supposedly headed to Edinburgh.” She quickly filled in the rest of the details for him as Ashton, Regina, Aiden, and Rosalind all gathered around them in the hall.
“Where do you think he would go?” Joanna asked.
“He wouldna come here,” Brock said with certainty. “Not if he knew what was good for him. I don’t know what drove him to do this, but I’ll box his ears for such foolishness.”
“Then he’ll be bound for Edinburgh,” Ashton said. “To my townhouse on the Royal Mile. Lady Rochester and Mr. Hunt must have passed them on the road and arrived early.”
“Perhaps.” Brock was scowling now, enough to match Ashton’s own. “We must leave at once,” he finally said, then turned to his brother. “Aiden, would you remain here, should they choose to come this way?”
Aiden nodded. “I will.”
Brock turned to Ashton. “Are you ready to leave, Sassenach?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Joanna, you and Rosalind, as well as your mother, shall travel in the coach. Ash and I will ride on ahead. We may be able to catch them if there are only two of us.”
“Very well.” Joanna didn’t like to be separated from Brock, but the situation was dire, and it would only mean a day or two of being apart.
She hadn’t yet told him that she suspected she was with child and would not do so now. If she did, she would be left behind. She would wait to tell him, after they had rescued Lydia.
15
It was early in the evening when Lydia, Brodie, and Rafe finally arrived in Edinburgh. They’d taken care to travel more slowly after one of their horses threw a shoe and they’d had to stop halfway to Edinburgh to have a new one put on.
Now the coach rattled over the cobblestones of Edinburgh’s Old Town, which jolted Lydia awake, much to Brodie’s dismay. He had been enjoying holding her in his arms, perhaps too much. She was the perfect weight when settled on his lap, and he didn’t want to let her go.
“Are we here?” she asked as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.
“Aye.” He wondered how far away they were from Lennox’s townhouse. Rafe had said it was on the Royal Mile, an ancient street that wound its way up to the old castle.
They came to a stop. Brodie climbed out and escorted Lydia from the coach. The row of expensive houses around them didn’t really surprise Brodie. If Ashton Lennox owned a property, he would be sure to own a costly one.
“Home sweet home,” Rafe joked as he headed up the steps. He knocked, and as soon as the door opened, he clapped a hand on the poor butler’s shoulder.
“Evening, Shelton!” Rafe seemed in better spirits now that they had reached their destination. Lydia hoped that that was a good thing. She didn’t want to know what mischief he could get up to when he was in a bad mood.
“Mr. Lennox.” The startled butler let them all proceed into the hall. “We were not expecting you.”
“Sorry, old chap, but here we are.”
Rafe winked at Brodie, but Brodie wasn’t in a good mood. He wanted to get Lydia settled into a bed. He was sick of traveling in coaches and wanted to make love to her all night.
“And how long will you and your guests be staying, Mr. Lennox?” Shelton inquired politely. “I should like to inform Mrs. Lewellen so she can stock the kitchens.”
“Unsure. A while, I suppose.” Rafe removed his coat, and Brodie did the same.
“Shall I send word to your friends that you have arrived?” the butler inquired as he waved a footman over to collect their coats.
Rafe’s jovial smile thinned. “What friends, Shelton?”
The butler paled. “The gentleman and lady who came to inquire whether you had arrived yet. They said they were supposed to meet you here.” Shelton now seemed to sense the dangerous waters he had entered. “Am I to assume that no such plans were arranged?”
“Yes, Shelton. I believe we would like to avoid all friends, for the time being. Isn’t that right, Kincade?”
“Aye.”
“Very good, sir.”
Rafe snapped his fingers as the butler turned to leave. “Shelton?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you know anything else about these friends?”
“Only the address where they are staying and their names.” The butler produced a slip of paper and handed it to Rafe, who glanced at it and snorted.
“The girl’s father has somehow beat us here. And he’s with Lady Rochester.”
“Lady Rochester?” Brodie hadn’t met the woman.
“Remember the pretty red-haired bluestocking at the ball? The one I warned you about? That was Lysandra Russell, sister to the Marquess of Rochester. This woman is Lysandra’s mother.”
“Lysandra’s mother is here with my father?” Lydia said in excitement. She turned to Brodie and clasped one of his hands in hers. “Oh please, let me go and see them.”
“No.” The word slipped out before he had time to think it through. But now that it was said, he wouldn’t change his mind.
“What? Why not?” Lydia demanded. “I can put them at ease, he can see that I’m safe, and he can take me home—”
“I said no, lass. I won’t say it again.”
Her lovely blue eyes filled with confusion. “Are you going to see him, then? Please be careful—my father may react poorly, and I do not wish either of you to be hurt.”
“I will not see your father, and neither will you.” Brodie didn’t want Hunt taking his daughter back, for more reasons than his own selfishness.
Lydia didn’t see what Brodie did. That she was too sweet, too compassionate to put her own needs and desires first, which meant she would never make demands on her father for the love and affection she needed. While Brodie could not say he loved her, he could give her all the attention and affection she needed.
He also had no desire to face down her angry father. The man would no doubt challenge him to a duel, and Brodie was still furious enough because of Hunt’s actions toward him that he would no doubt accept. So it was far better if all parties kept their distance.
“Brodie, he’s my father.” Lydia’s reply was quiet, but there wa
s a dangerous edge of defiance to her tone that warned him she wasn’t going to let this matter go.
“He’s also the man who had me drugged and kidnapped and intended to drag me in front of a priest at the barrel of a pistol.”
“You cannot keep me from him.”
“I can, lass. You’re mine, dinna forget that. I dinna want you to see that man, and I dinna want to see him either.”
Rafe’s brows rose in surprise as Brodie and Lydia squared off, but he did not intervene.
“You do not own me,” Lydia warned. “If I wish to see him, I will.” She snatched the paper from Rafe’s hand and glanced at the address Lady Rochester had provided the butler. “I assume this is not too far from here, Mr. Lennox?”
“Er . . .” Rafe shot a glance at Brodie. “Not far, but—”
“Thank you. I will see you gentlemen in a few hours.” She started toward the door, but Brodie caught her by the wrist, pulling her to a halt. “Let go!” she shouted.
“No,” Brodie growled. “You will go and wait for me upstairs.”
“I will see my father first. He must be worried sick about me.”
“I doubt that, lass. I know that he cares little for you.” The second his words registered with her, he saw the violent flash of pain it caused. He hadn’t meant to. He wanted her to stay—he needed her to.
“He cares,” Lydia insisted. “Why else would he be here?”
“To retrieve me again for your sister?”
She looked as though he had slapped her. He wished he could take the words back, but it was too late.
“You . . . You know the truth, then?” Her lips trembled, and she looked at Rafe. “Did you finally tell him?”
Rafe shrugged. “The old boy discovered it on his own. Imagine that.”
“And even knowing that you’ve ruined an innocent woman, you still won’t let me leave?” Lydia asked Brodie.
“It isna so simple as that, lass.”
“Yes, it is absolutely that simple.” She tried again to free herself from his unrelenting hold. “Let go of me, Mr. Kincade!”
