Brodie’s hands explored her body, but there was no violence in this, no wickedness. It was lovemaking, with painfully teasing touches of their lips and hands as he thrust in a timeless rhythm that seemed to go on forever.
She stroked her fingertips along the corded tendons of his neck and down the hard-sloping muscles of his shoulders. The moment her pleasure seemed to spike and then cascade over an invisible edge, she clung to him, calling his name over and over as the last of her defenses crumbled and she fell completely and irrevocably in love with Brodie Kincade. He cried out as he found his own pleasure, and she sank into sleep almost instantly beneath him.
Brodie recovered his breath, his body quaking with the force of a climax that had rocked him to his core. Lydia’s eyes closed, a hint of a smile hovering about her soft, kissable lips as she fell asleep.
All he could do was stare down at her in confusion. Lovemaking had never been like this before. Yes, he had been with women sweetly, gently, but this was different somehow. It was infinitely more. He had drowned in the blue of her eyes and was washed away by the sound of her sighs and moans, like listening to the sea endlessly crash upon the shore. In that instant, he had felt a reverent worship for her like no other.
He felt lost and yet also like some part of him had been found. A part he thought lost forever, the part that still believed in foolish dreams of love and hope. But that wasn’t possible. There could be no hope for him, not with his father’s violence in his blood. No matter how much he wanted Lydia, it would be wrong to subject her to a life with someone like him. He’d only be a greater monster if he did.
He disentangled his body from hers as gently as he could and tucked her beneath the covers to make sure she was warm. He dressed and walked down to the taproom, where he purchased an entire bottle of whiskey.
Rafe came down a few minutes later and pulled up a chair beside Brodie. “How’s the kitten?”
Brodie refilled his glass from the bottle and took a deep, burning drink. “Sleeping.”
“Well, was it that bad, or that good?” Rafe asked with an amused chuckle.
Brodie didn’t pretend to mistake the man’s meaning. “A little too good,” he admitted.
“Oh? So the clever minx had practice, then?” Rafe waved a hand to a barmaid for a bottle of his own. Smart man. Brodie would have thrown a punch if he had dared to reach for his bottle.
“Not at all. She was as innocent as a babe, but of course you knew that, didn’t you?” Brodie growled.
His companion merely shrugged. “Finally figured it out, did you? That one is the kitten. You left the viper in Bath.”
“You should’ve told me, Rafe. I ruined a decent woman.”
“You have ruined other innocent women, Brodie. She wasn’t your first.”
“She came with me at knifepoint. I have destroyed her life with my hunger for revenge.”
“Not necessarily. You could marry the kitten.”
“Marry her?” Brodie threw his glass back, downing another gulp of whiskey. “No, I canna marry anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because Lydia deserves a good man. A sweet, gentle fellow who will worship her every step and faint away at her every smile and cover her bedchamber with flowers.”
“And that’s not you?” Rafe asked quietly, his blue eyes burning intensely.
“No.” He was a wicked man with wicked desires, yet he wanted with all his heart to be that man for Lydia, but he knew he would only be fooling himself.
“So now that you know the truth, are we still bound for Edinburgh? Or do we go back to Bath?” Rafe poured himself a glass of whiskey and sipped it.
“We keep going. We canna go back. I’ve taken her to my bed.”
“Very well. To Edinburgh.” Rafe raised his glass, but Brodie only grunted in response. He knew he should take the girl back to her family, but as he had said, he was a wicked man, and now that he had tasted her, been with her, he wasn’t ready yet to let go of her. The only honest thing he could do now was take care of her as his mistress and make her as happy as he could.
Jackson Hunt was in a bloody rotten mess. The last two days of riding with Jane Russell had confused him. The beautiful widow was fiery and full of life and unapologetic about anything she did.
She’d drawn him in and he wanted things he had resigned himself to never having again. This was the worst time to be facing feelings like this. He needed to be worrying about his daughters. This whole terrible affair had been an alarming call for him to wake up. He had let Portia get away with far too much, and he had neglected Lydia dreadfully. Until he rescued Lydia from that dangerous man, he could not rest, could not let himself be distracted—not even by the natural warmth and charm of someone like Jane Russell.
He risked a glance at her as his coach rolled through the streets of Edinburgh. She looked lovely in a dark-green gown, the bold color accenting her dark-red hair. She was twirling a pair of gloves between her fingers, and the soft tan kid material was as dainty as the hands that played with them.
“Jane . . .”
She turned to face him, her brows rising in silent question.
He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked. Part of him wanted to do something a younger, more reckless version of himself would have done, like kiss her, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he sought her advice.
“I’m afraid for my daughter. I’ve angered this Kincade fellow, and rightly so. I hired men to abduct him. I kept him a prisoner in my home. If we find them today, he and I may come to blows or end up dueling. Should the worst happen, may I trust you to take Lydia to safety? You will take her home, away from him?”
“Yes, of course. I will protect her as if she were my own child.” Jane’s words were spoken with such honesty that it left no room for doubt. And from what he knew of Lady Russell, his daughter would be very well looked after. “But it need not come to that,” Jane added. “I might be able to reason with the man. I’ve had years of practice dealing with stubborn men who have no desire to listen to reason.”
He relaxed a little as she smiled. He believed she was capable of doing exactly what she said.
The coach finally came to a stop in front of a lovely townhouse near Edinburgh Castle on a long, sloping street called the Royal Mile.
“This must be it.” Jackson opened the coach door, his stomach in knots at the thought of Lydia being held within the house. He gently grasped Jane by the waist and lowered her to the ground before they walked up the steps together. He rapped the iron knocker on the door and waited. After a moment, the door opened and a butler stood there, peering at them in surprise.
“May I help you?” the butler asked.
“We would like to pay a call on Mr. Rafe Lennox and Mr. Brodie Kincade.”
The butler frowned in confusion. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, his lordship’s brother has not been here for several months.”
Jackson wasn’t expecting that answer. He had been so certain that this was where the wild chase would end. That he would find his Lydia here and take her home.
“They aren’t here,” Jane murmured. “He looks as startled as we are.”
The butler continued to stare at them in polite confusion, and Jackson saw a gleam of cunning in Jane’s eye.