“Bed, lass. Now.” He dropped his arm from her lower back. She scrambled away, putting the bed between them. The girl pulled at the covers and climbed underneath the sheets.
He resumed undressing. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it over the back of a chair. Then he removed his boots with some effort, given that his balance still wasn’t fully restored. He left his trousers on, however. It would be uncomfortable, but he had a suspicion his little captive would make a run for it in the middle of the night, and he wanted to be able to leap from the bed and capture her if she tried.
Weary now, he crossed to the opposite side of the bed and blew out the candle on the small table by the bed. Darkness fell around them, and he heard her shift restlessly.
“Dinna try to run off, buaireadair. I sleep lightly. I will catch you.”
“What is a buaireadair?”
“A troublemaker, which is what you are, lass.”
There was a moment’s silence before she spoke. “I once thought you were such a handsome gentleman, possibly even kind when I first saw you at the ball. But now I know differently. You are a brute. A bully.”
The almost prissy response brought a smile to his lips.
“Aye. You would know, seeing as how you are one as well. Good night, lass.” He rolled over to face away from her shadowy outline. Yet he had a feeling he would dream about her, and that scent of wildflowers that made him think of home.
6
Lydia giggled softly as something tickled her cheek. She brushed a hand against her face, trying to make it stop. She stilled, her laughter dying as her hand felt warm flesh. Her eyes flew open, and she saw the pale morning light illuminate a hand close to her face. Brodie had been brushing the backs of his knuckles over her skin ever so lightly.
“Time to wake, lass. You need to dress so we may leave.” He gripped the covers and tugged them off her body, which made her shriek and cover herself with her hands. The filmy chemise felt far less protective of her body in the light of day. She nearly toppled over in her attempt to escape the bed, lest he decide to remove her from it himself.
“Bathe and change. I’ll have Rafe send a maid.” Brodie left the room abruptly after that announcement.
Lydia scowled at the closed door. Then her angry expression turned to a worried frown. She had slept in Brodie’s bed all night. Even though he had not touched her, if the fact were ever revealed, she would be completely and totally compromised. Even if she managed to escape and return to her family, she knew what her great-aunt would say. She was unmarriageable. Whatever life she might have dreamed of was now impossible.
Grief and longing for a life she’d never have came swift and sudden, like a violent storm, drowning her. Lydia covered her face with trembling hands as she gave in to silent sobs. It was a long while before she was able to collect herself. She straightened her shoulders, a look of resigned acceptance upon her face.
As she gazed into the mirror, seeing her pallor and the lost look in her eyes, she felt homesick for the safety of her own bed, her own family, even if they did drive her mad at times. To be trapped with this brute of a Scot who wouldn’t believe her when she said she wasn’t Portia—it was enough to turn her stomach.
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.