The butler swallowed hard before he answered Lysandra’s inquiry. “No, miss, they are bound for Edinburgh.”
“Not Gretna Green? But it is so much closer. Surely the inconvenience would—”
“Lysandra, dear, what I believe the man is trying to say is that Mr. Kincade does not have marriage in mind. Am I correct?”
Again, the butler nodded, his face pale.
“Oh heavens. Poor Lydia,” Lysandra whispered.
“Where in Edinburgh are they bound?” Jane asked firmly.
“I do not truly know, madam. Lord Lennox has a residence there, a modest townhouse, but it would likely be closed up this time of year.”
“Write down the address, please,” Jane said, though it was not a request. As they waited for the butler to return, a handsome man about Jane’s age rushed up the steps. He removed his hat before he knocked on the open door.
“Hello? I’m sorry to intrude, but is Mr. Kincade home?”
Jane sized up the man and at once saw some likeness to Lydia. This had to be the girl’s reckless father. “Mr. Kincade is not here. Are you Mr. Hunt?”
“Er . . . Yes, madam.” He eyed her more curiously now. “Are we acquainted?”
“Indeed we are not, but now is the least appropriate time to bother with formalities. I am Lady Rochester, Dowager Marchioness of Rochester.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rochester, but I am on a most urgent mission.” His apologetic expression softened Jane’s temper a bit.
“Yes, we know, Mr. Hunt. You may know my daughter, Lysandra Russell.” Jane stepped aside to allow Mr. Hunt into the foyer with them.
Mr. Hunt bowed again. “Miss Russell.” The rigidity in his form no doubt came from the stress of the situation, and Jane felt compelled to put him at ease.
“Lysandra and I are going to help you find Lydia. It is why we are here.”
“You know what happened?” He kept his tone quiet as his gaze darted around to search for servants who might be listening.
“Unfortunately, we do. We have learned that Mr. Kincade, Mr. Lennox, and your daughter are bound for Edinburgh.”
“Edinburgh? Why there?”
“Mr. Lennox lives off the means of his older brother, Lord Lennox. Lord Lennox has a townhouse there that is currently closed and therefore empty except perhaps for a handful of servants. It is the perfect place for men who are up to no good to hide.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Hunt’s face darkened. “Do you know the address?”
“We are waiting for it now,” Jane said, and then the butler returned and presented her with a piece of paper.
“Thank you. Good day.” She spun, leaving the poor servant to stand there gawking at her as she exited the house. Lysandra and Mr. Hunt followed on her heels.
“I thank you most graciously for your assistance, Lady Rochester, but I should handle the matter now.” Mr. Hunt reached for the slip of paper, but she snapped it out of his reach.
“Nonsense. You and I shall be handling this together. Lysandra, you are to return home and stay there. Mr. Hunt and I shall find Lydia and return with her.”
“We’re going to what?” Mr. Hunt blustered.
“You heard me. You and I shall go together. You still have much to explain. In the meantime, my daughter will spread word that you have taken Lydia on a trip in the countryside.”
Jane tugged her white kid gloves tight and fixed the gentleman with a stern look. His brown hair was fashionably cut, with hints of silver at the temples. Jane had to admit that she liked his face, the proportions of his well-formed features. He was tall, with a muscular build. Had it not been for what this man had recently done, she would have found him attractive. As it was, he was due a lengthy lecture on good behavior, and she was just the person to provide it.
“But we . . . We have only just met, Lady Rochester.”
“And?” she challenged. “I am a widow, you are a widower, and we have far more important matters to attend to than worrying about gossip. I care not one whit what anyone says. Why should you?”
“Well, it’s just . . .” Mr. Hunt’s cheeks turned red, and he looked suddenly bashful.
“Come now, Mr. Hunt, we’re both respectable adults, and we are wasting precious time as it is if we are to find your Lydia.”
“Right. Then we shall take my coach.” He gestured toward his conveyance, which was standing behind theirs.
“Not yet. First, follow us to my residence. I will pack quickly, and then we may be off.”
“Very good, very good,” Mr. Hunt murmured, apparently still in a bit of shock at the sudden turn of events.
Jane almost smiled. Even at her age, she still had the ability to surprise good-looking gentlemen. Her heart twinged as she remembered how she’d run away to Scotland to marry her late husband all those years ago.
She missed him every day, but over time the wound of his passing had begun to heal. She found pleasure with her friends and in pursuing interests outside of the home, but a part of her deeply missed other forms of companionship.
Were there ever second chances for a widowed woman in her fifties? When she glanced one last time at Mr. Hunt before climbing into her coach, she couldn’t help but wonder.
8
Lydia was surprised that she had managed to sleep at all in the jostling coach after what had happened between her and Brodie. When a particularly hard bump in the road jostled her awake, she found that Brodie had wrapped her in his coat. The enticing scent of man and woods drifted up from the heavy dark-blue fabric.
She shifted beneath it, testing her injured wrist. It felt stiff but no longer painful. That was a small relief. The last thing she needed was to be hurt while traveling so far from her family. And after what had happened a few hours ago, she would need every bit of strength to deal with Brodie. She wasn’t sure if she was grateful that Mr. Lennox chose to ride on top of the coach with the servants, leaving her alone with Brodie, or if it would be worse to have him inside the coach, watching Brodie seduce her. She was quite certain Brodie wouldn’t mind letting a rake like Lennox watch him kiss her.
She trembled as she remembered how Brodie’s commanding mouth and wicked hands had set her body on fire. She’d been afraid—not of him, but what he made her feel. He’d sent riots of wild, frightening pleasure through her. All he’d had to do was touch her and she’d practically exploded.
Lydia had touched herself between her legs once or twice, during bathing, but she’d always been confused and a little scared of the sensations those few brief touches had given her.
Yet Brodie had boldly explored her and seemed to know just where and how to caress her to make that excitement build and finally create a wild release that had made her scream, though he had dampened much of her cries with that kiss. It was likely that Rafe and the valets riding outside on the top of the coach would have heard her, and her face burned with mortification that she had indeed begged him to touch her.
At least she had convinced Brodie to agree to a few rules when it came to his treatment of her, though he had danced around actually saying yes to her rules during their discussion. Still, she was confident—or hopeful, at any rate—that he would see fit to treat her with some modicum of respect and provide her with some necessities while she belonged to him.