He’d already come to the conclusion that his little beauty, his secret dancer, was not all that she seemed, but what had made her seek Rafe out rather than Brodie? Perhaps she intended to manipulate Rafe now that she realized her tricks did not work on Brodie.
He scowled as he fought to contain his temper, the temper that haunted him like a curse. But it wasn’t only anger that churned within his gut. He felt . . . betrayed. Betrayed by both his friend and Lydia.
Brodie took a deep breath, trying to rationalize his overreactions, as Brock had always tried to teach him to do. He wasn’t a brute, no matter how much Lydia insisted he was. Yes, his temper could be a fierce thing, but he would never direct it at her in a physical manner.
Rafe, however, was another matter. Damned if he didn’t want to throttle Rafe at this moment. He took a step closer, leaning in to better hear their voices and to figure out just what he’d stumbled upon. If he didn’t like what he heard, he’d barge into the room and deal with it.
“And then I miss all the fun of him raging at you when he can’t see the truth sitting in front of his face.” Rafe laughed.
“What truth?” Lydia asked in an angry voice. That made Brodie almost pleased. His little captive certainly wasn’t happy with Rafe.
“Who you are, of course. You see, I was not nearly so foxed as he was the night of the ball. I remember who the chit was who introduced herself, and it certainly wasn’t you. You are not Portia Hunt, but Lydia—friend to my sister, Joanna.” Another laugh escaped Rafe. “Kincade kidnapped the wrong sister. How bloody marvelous.”
Brodie’s heart stopped. That couldn’t be true. If it was, it made him a blackguard of the worst kind. It meant he’d kidnapped an innocent woman and held a knife to her throat, and . . . she’d been telling the truth all along. All of his actions toward Lydia had hinged upon his belief in her guilt, and now he was the guilty one. He was a monster. He was no better than his father.
“I tried to tell him that, but he won’t listen.” She sounded frustrated, almost to the point of shouting—or perhaps crying with rage.
“Of course not, kitten. He’s a Scot. Stubborn and tempestuous is their nature. It cannot be helped.” Rafe’s tone was conciliatory, as if he completely understood Lydia’s anger and frustration.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Lydia pleaded. “He would listen if you were to tell him the truth. I tried to free him, and he has ruined me forever. Please, convince him to send me home.”
Brodie winced as the truth sank in like a pugilist’s left hook to his head. She had been telling the truth. She was Lydia, and Lydia was the elder sister, innocent of the other sister’s acts. She had been trying to save him from the start, and all he’d done was abduct her at knifepoint, abuse her tender sensibilities with his temper, and force his attentions on her more than once.
Shame, an emotion that Brodie rarely felt, overpowered him in that moment. He’d ruined her life. She’d tried to help him that night, and he’d devastated her with his actions.
“Sorry, kitten, I am no gentleman, regardless of how I present myself in society. I am enjoying this little battle of wills between you two far too much.” Rafe chuckled in clear delight.
“Then you are worse than Mr. Kincade. At least he’s honest about his ill intentions,” Lydia accused. It was backhanded praise that was not at all deserved. Honest about his ill intentions? It only made Brodie’s guilt deepen until it felt like a great weight pulling down on his stomach.
He was a bastard. When his brothers found out, he would take a beating to be sure. Perhaps it was not too late to send her back? No. Her father was likely on their trail as it was, and given what he’d been capable of before, Brodie fully expected the man to be prepared to put a bullet through his heart.
He rushed back to his chamber to have Alan pack at once. He needed to reach Edinburgh, fast. He had to find a way to fix things. Not that he was sure that was even possible. The ways of English society were like a deep bog covered in reeds to provide the illusion of stable ground. It was more likely that he’d make matters worse somehow.
Perhaps he should take her to Castle Kincade instead? Let Joanna and Brock take care of her? They could escort her home and perhaps concoct some kind of story explaining her absence. At least then he could escape facing the girl’s father on the dueling field.
The one thing he could not do was let Lydia know he had learned the truth. She would want to go home to Bath, and he wasn’t ready to let her go. It was selfish, but he had to admit it. In the last two days, he had grown accustomed to waking with her in bed beside him. He was also completely addicted to kissing her. The innocence he had believed she feigned was already luring him in like a siren did a sailor to perilous rocks. He was hopelessly infatuated with her. And knowing that she was not the heartless chit who’d had him abducted, but rather that she was the sweet woman she’d appeared to be . . . It made him even more protective and possessive. He wouldn’t share her with anyone. Perhaps he truly should turn her into his official mistress and treat her as such, with all the pleasures and things that would see to her every comfort and desire.
If he did that, things would have to change, of course. She couldn’t travel unaccompanied any further. She needed a proper maid to look after her.
He called to his valet as he was finishing folding up a shirt to pack away. “Alan.”
“Yes, sir?” the young man answered.
“Run downstairs and inquire whether one of the more decent maids would be willing to work as a lady’s maid. Offer a proper wage.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.” The lad left the room, and Brodie paced back and forth, considering his options.
He would take Lydia to Edinburgh, and he would keep moving as long as he thought her father was still on their trail. Perhaps her father would give up before too long. Unlikely, but still a possibility.
“Mr. Kincade? I found a woman to be the lady’s maid,” Alan announced.
Brodie looked up to see the comely maid who had brought them breakfast.
“You agree to serve as a maid to my wife?” Brodie asked the girl. Behind her, Alan’s eyes widened when Brodie said my wife, but the young man made no other betrayal in his features.
“Yes, sir. I have been wanting to leave my employment at the inn for some time. My mother was a lady’s maid to a gentlewoman. I know what is expected.” The young woman bowed her head respectfully. “I also know that anything that I learn while in service will be kept a secret. I wouldn’t wish to endanger my ability to have a future reference should I leave your employment.”
“Ah..” Brodie sighed. “So you know then that the woman isna my wife?”
“It wasn’t hard to guess, sir. I’ve seen a few trysts under this roof since I’ve started working here.”
Brodie stared hard at the maid but he saw no hint of dishonesty in her.
“Very well, the woman is Miss Hunt…er…my mistress.”
“Understood, sir. I will address her however you wish.”
“Miss Hunt is fine. Thank you for your discretion. Alan, pay the lass an advance on her wages so she may start the journey with us at once.”
Alan retrieved Brodie’s coin purse and paid the young woman, who flushed and offered Brodie and Alan a smile of thanks.