“But I did take you to the docks,” the man said with a wink as he took the money. “Dropped you there myself.”
“That’s a good man.” Rafe jogged up the steps to join Brodie and his quiet, wide-eyed abductee as they entered the townhouse.
“A hundred pounds? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Brodie asked.
“For his silence? Not at all, but I daresay a devilishly handsome highwayman will relieve him of half of it sooner or later.”
“Good evening, sir,” Mr. Chase greeted them, but when he saw the woman Brodie pulled into the house behind him, still gagged with a handkerchief and her wrists bound, the butler paled.
“Not again, sir. You know his lordship doesn’t approve of this sort of activity.”
“Again?” Brodie shot a look at Rafe. “You have a habit of bringing bound and gagged women to your home?”
“That’s a story for another night, old chap,” Rafe said with a laugh. “Now, Mr. Chase, as you can see, we have a guest. There are two pieces of luggage that belong to her that need to be brought inside.”
“Yes, Mr. Lennox.”
Brodie headed up the stairs, pulling the girl behind him. When he reached the door to his bedchamber he paused, looking her over. Her eyes were half-closed and glistening with tears.
“Oh, aye, maybe now you ken how I was feeling just a few hours ago.” This whole bloody mess was a far cry from how he usually acted with women. He was the charmer of the family, the rake who’d never met a woman he didn’t desire. Yet with this girl, he’d been turned on his head and had become an angry beast.
He heaved a great sigh as he opened the door and ushered her inside. She halted a few feet within the chamber, her eyes darting around the room, looking for escape, he presumed. She would find none except the way they’d entered.
“Here.” He removed the makeshift gag and tossed it to the floor. She licked her lips, nervously eyeing him the way one would a wild boar staring at her across a clearing.
“Dry your eyes. I’ll not touch you tonight, even if you were to tempt me.” He pressed a fresh handkerchief into her hand, and she raised her bound hands to wipe her eyes.
“Please, Mr. Kincade, I must be allowed to explain.”
He shook his head. “I’m not interested in your lies, lass. You’ve spread enough of them for one night. I may have been too deep in my cups to remember you clearly, but I would have remembered if I had bedded you.”
Miss Hunt shook her head. “That’s just it—you didn’t meet me. You met my younger sister. My name is Lydia, not Portia. Portia introduced herself to you last night.”
Brodie began to unbutton his waistcoat, which brought a pretty blush to her face.
“Your father spoke of only one daughter. And given how you acted when you found me bound to a bed, I canna trust you.”
“How I acted? I was trying to free you!”
“You were trying to tie me back up after I managed to loosen my ropes,” he growled.
“Loosen? I cut your ropes with a knife. The knife you then held against me! You were in too much of a stupor to know what you were doing.”
“Because of the laudanum you gave me!” He curled his fists at his sides to control himself.
“I keep telling you, that was my sister!” she snapped.
“Oh, aye, a convenient sister she is too. There to take the blame for everything.”
“My God, I have heard how stubborn the Scots are, but this is madness!”
The woman—she was more woman than girl, he noticed—slumped into the nearest chair, a remarkable actress right down to the way her fingers tied knots in the fabric of her gown. He wanted a better look at his unexpected prize. She was lovely, as he’d first thought, but her beauty was somehow muted by a sorrowful gaze, one that he sensed had been there longer than just tonight.
“Come here.” He pointed to a spot right in front of him.
She stayed where she was, hesitant, which made him frown. At the sight of his frown, she relented and came to the spot he’d pointed at.
“I shall play your game then, Lydia, but you ken, I am the one making the rules.”
Brodie unfastened her wrists and let the ribbon drop to the floor. He held her hands a moment too long. Shyly, or perhaps coyly, she pulled them away, her gaze avoiding his. The woman knew how to play the affronted innocent better than any woman he’d ever met. He felt a tug of sympathy, but he banished. It was something he’d learned to do at a young age.
“Now, turn around so I may free you of this dress.” His tone was gruff as he plucked at the sleeves of her gown.
“What?” She shrank away from him, but he curled an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. She felt soft and warm against him, the way he loved a woman to feel—it was welcoming. But she was trembling from fear, and he didn’t like that.
“Save your false modesty for another day when I’m ready to play.”
Her hands fluttered a moment before settling on his chest. Her eyes seemed a softer blue than he remembered, and her face held a gentleness that did not match her previous actions. She was clever, far too clever for him to give an inch.
Brodie spun her around to begin unlacing the back of her gown, perhaps a little too roughly. She clutched at the bedpost, her breath coming fast as her body jerked with his motions. He soon had her gown open down the back. The satin fabric gaped open, revealing her figure beneath a set of stays. He unfastened those too, his captive remaining completely still until he released her.
“Strip down and get into bed. Or sleep in them and chafe, for all I care.”
Miss Hunt spun to face him as her dress and stays fell to the floor. She hugged herself and half hid behind the bedpost, fear darkening her eyes. It confused Brodie. He knew true fear when he saw it. This lass had kissed him—she had wanted him. Why was she afraid of him now? It made no sense. He knew he hadn’t dreamed her kissing him earlier, insisting she would be a good wife. What the devil had changed for her to not want him?
“Lass, I meant it. I’ll not hurt you.” He stepped closer, catching her around the waist before she could retreat farther.
“How can I trust you?” Her breasts rose and fell beneath her thin chemise. She gazed at him with all the fear of a wild lark finding itself in a cage for the first time.
“You’re a fine one to talk about trust,” said Brodie. “But unlike you, my word is my bond, and I do not lie to get what I want.” He lifted his other hand to her face and brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. The more he looked upon Miss Hunt, the more he preferred the reality in front of him to the alcohol-altered version of her in his memories. She was shapely, with a swanlike neck and a melting sweetness to her features that drew him in. But he knew that she was also the devil in disguise.
“Please,” she whispered, her lips teasing his thumb, which still shaped her mouth.
“Please what?”
“Don’t do whatever it is you are planning, Mr. Kincade. Please, let me go home. I shall not tell anyone what my sister did, and no one will force you to marry her.”
“Sister,” he chuckled. “Your pretense wears thin. I remember you. I remember how you taste, how you smell, that hint of perfume.” He leaned in to inhale, but the scent of expensive French perfume wasn’t there. What he did smell was more like wildflowers blooming on a distant hill in the midst of a spring storm. She must have had a bath after she’d drugged him the second time. It was intoxicating and natural. Her breath hitched, and she squirmed in his hold, setting fire to his blood, but he held fast to his promise. He would not kiss her until she begged him to. Although resisting her soft, flowery pink lips would likely kill him.