Never Tempt a Scot Read online

  Lydia thanked the woman and helped Isla go behind the changing screen to put on the pale-blue ready-made gown that she could wear out today.

  “Brodie, could you carry her again? I don’t want her walking in those worn-out boots.” Lydia knew that the girl had been well cared for by her mother, but it was clear from the state of the child’s clothing that the last year hadn’t been easy for the young mother and her child.

  Rafe mumbled something under his breath about Brodie and Lydia acting like an old married couple, but Brodie cuffed him on the shoulder to quiet him. He lifted the child up and carried her out of the dressmaker’s shop. Isla giggled, her arms curled around Brodie’s neck as Rafe stuck his tongue out at Brodie’s back the way a little boy would. Lydia’s heart twisted with bittersweet pleasure. She was glad they were making the child happy, but she couldn’t forget that the child’s mother and father had both died, leaving her all alone. And this distraction for Isla was just that, a distraction. It would take more than new clothes and smiling faces to mend the wounds she no doubt kept hidden.

  After acquiring appropriate boots and slippers in various colors, the group passed by a toy shop on the street.

  “Do you mind if I take the little kitten in here?” Rafe asked.

  “Not at all,” Lydia said. “Perhaps Isla will find a toy in there as well.”

  Rafe smirked at her teasing and took Isla inside. Lydia watched them through the shop window.

  “Brodie, do you think she will be all right? She’s so shy and quiet.”

  Brodie took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, kissing the tops of her fingers.

  “Can you blame her? We are strangers, and she’s lost all of her family and doesna even have the comfort of her normal surroundings. It’s a lot for a child to take in. But she is engaging with us, and that means she hasna given up. She’s a strong child.”

  “We should return to that inn where her mother died. I want to ask the innkeeper some questions about her mother and collect any belongings, if they haven’t gotten rid of them yet.”

  “We can, but you and the bairn will stay in the coach where ’tis safe.”

  Lydia decided it was not worth arguing the point with him, so she returned her focus to the child and Rafe. Isla was looking at two dolls, both lovely and wearing exquisite clothes. She slowly pointed to a flaxen-haired doll with a rose-colored dress like the one Lydia was currently wearing. Rafe seemed to be offering to buy both, but Isla shook her head and put the other doll back on the shelf. Rafe rolled his eyes and scooped up Isla and her new doll and paid for the toy before carrying her and the toy out of the shop.

  “She’s bloody hard to spoil,” Rafe grumbled. “Who’d have thought mistresses were easier to please?”

  Isla lifted up her new doll and made it kiss Rafe’s cheek. The rakehell blushed and quickly handed her over to Brodie. Lydia couldn’t help but tease him.

  “What’s the matter, Rafe? Afraid you’ll want a child of your own if you hold her too long?”

  “Perhaps,” he admitted, his expression honest for a moment before he returned to his guarded look of amusement. “Where are we off to now?”

  “The inn where we found her,” Brodie said as they got into Rafe’s coach.

  Isla played silently with her doll, but when they stopped at the inn, her eyes grew wide with fear.

  “Am I going back? I knew I couldna stay with you.” She spoke in a very small voice filled with terror. She clutched the doll tightly to her chest, her tiny hands white-knuckled with her fierce little grip.

  “No, my sweet one. You must stay here with Lydia. Rafe and I wish to ask some questions and retrieve your mother’s belongings if they are still there.”

  Lydia pulled Isla close and kissed her forehead. “We’ll stay here—don’t worry.” She nodded to Brodie that he and Rafe could leave.

  Brodie stepped out of the coach, and Rafe joined him. The inn, while not one of the nicer places to stay, was on a well-to-do street with decent shops and residences nearby.

  “I wonder how the woman and her child ended up here?” Rafe wondered as his gaze ran over the edifice of the building.

  “I don’t know,” said Brodie. They entered and found the innkeeper helping a maid clean up a table of dirty dishes. The innkeeper was a thin-faced woman who looked quite unpleasant. When she caught sight of Brodie and Rafe, her sour expression softened, likely because she recognized money when she saw it.

  “What can I do for you fine gents?” She smoothed a few stray wisps of her hair back from her face and patted the tightly knotted bun at the back of her head to make sure her hair was in place.

  “You had a woman staying here,” Brodie said. “A Mrs. Mackenzie?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “If you be wanting her, she’s gone. Left in the middle of the night but left her belongings and didn’t pay.”

  “We know she’s gone. Mrs. Mackenzie passed away last evening,” Rafe said as he reached into his coin purse. “We’ll happily settle her bill. We would also like to see her room and take any belongings she had to return to her family.”

  The innkeeper’s eyes widened. That much coin erased any hesitation.

  “Aye, this way, sirs. She owed me for two nights. That’d be three pounds.”

  “Here’s ten.” Rafe handed the woman her coins. “That should cover two nights plus anything you can tell us about her.”

  They followed the woman upstairs and down a short hall, where she unlocked a room.

  “She had a child with her. A little girl,” the innkeeper said. “You ken what happened to her?”

  “She’s safe in our care,” Brodie said as they stepped into the room.

  “I havena touched her things,” the woman assured him as she fingered the money Rafe had given her.

  “How long did she stay here?” Brodie asked.

  “Oh, Lord, might’ve been two weeks. She was quiet, the child too. I think she was looking for work. Seamstress, if I recall. But she was too pretty, if you ken my meaning. Looked more like a lady. She had soft hands, pretty dresses.”

  The innkeeper lingered at the doorway for a moment before telling them she would be downstairs if she was needed. Once they were alone, Brodie and Rafe carefully searched the room. There was a carpetbag full of elegant dresses that were a few years out of fashion. A child’s doll and a pair of miniature portraits of a lovely woman and a handsome man.

  Brodie examined the portraits. Isla had her mother’s face but her father’s eyes and coloring.

  “I wish I knew what happened to her,” Rafe said. The sorrow in his voice wasn’t something Brodie had expected from the hardened rakehell.

  “Aye, she must have been a good woman to have raised so sweet a child as Isla.” They collected everything in the room, including some embroidery hoops with half-completed designs on them. Isla deserved to have whatever memories of her past they could give her.

  Brodie shook his head. “Poor little scamp. To think she was all alone when her mother died, only to have those men take her mother’s body away.”

  “I’m more concerned about how they planned to come back for Isla.” Rafe met Brodie’s stare. “They would have killed her if Lydia hadn’t found her.”

  “Aye. They’ll come to a bad end. I just wish I could be the one to deliver it.” Brodie left the small bedchamber and headed downstairs. They thanked the innkeeper again before leaving. Brodie took care to load the carpetbag on the outside of the coach, giving it to the footman who had accompanied them. Then he and Rafe got back inside.

  “What did you discover?” Lydia asked.

  “Her mother had been looking for work as a seamstress. She may have been gentry, though. She had fine clothes. We have her belongings.”

  At this announcement, Isla spoke up. “Did you find Mama and Papa?”

  “Their portraits?” Brodie clarified. Isla nodded. “Yes, wee one, we did. You may have them when we get home.”

  Isla went back to studying her doll,
a pensive look far too old for one so young on her face.

  “By the by,” Rafe said to Lydia. “I sent Lady Rochester and your father a note sending them to the Isle of Skye so we might have a chance to leave Edinburgh without running into them.”

  “And where are we bound now?” Lydia didn’t question the decision, and for that Brodie was thankful. After last night, she seemed to have given up on trying to see her father, at least for now.

  “To Lennox House to rest and then pack. We’ll leave for Castle Kincade,” Brodie said.

  “Is it very far?” Lydia asked.

  “About a day’s ride. We should pack and be off in a few hours after the rest of Isla’s things arrive from the seamstress.”

  “Are you to accompany us, Mr. Lennox?” Lydia inquired. She played with a lock of Isla’s hair, which had been pulled back with ribbons that matched the ready-made dress Isla had worn out of the modiste’s shop. Brodie felt a strange tightening in his chest at the sight of them. She was a natural mother, so easy with children. It was one of a dozen mysteries he wanted to puzzle out about this woman.

  “I imagine I will,” Rafe said, his thoughtful gaze on Isla. “No doubt my brother has got wind of this mess by now and is on his way here. The last thing I need is to hear another one of his lectures. With luck, we’ll miss him on the road. I have no doubt Lady Rochester wrote a letter to him, or perhaps even Joanna and Brock, telling them everything. I shudder to think what would happen if Brock and Ash joined forces to come after us.” Rafe chuckled darkly. “I have absolutely no intention of being here when they arrive.”

  “You may have a point,” Lydia agreed. “I shouldn’t like to see either of those men upset.”

  “Am I going with you too?” Isla asked in a quiet voice.

  “What? Of course.” Lydia cuddled the girl close.

  “Good.” Isla yawned and laid her head on Lydia’s shoulder.

  By the time they reached the Lennox townhouse, Isla was fast asleep. Brodie carried the girl out of the coach and up the steps. Shelton greeted them at the door, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Llewellen, smiled fondly as she met them on the way upstairs.

  “Tuckered the wee tyke out?” she asked, stroking Isla’s hair.

  “Aye. She’ll have new clothes this afternoon. We wish to leave as soon as the clothes arrive. Could you see to having dinner prepared for us in a basket so we may eat in the coach?”

  “Of course.” The housekeeper hurried off, while they saw to their other preparations.

  “Lass,” Brodie said to Lydia. “You should write to your father. We can leave the letter here. Brock and Ashton will most likely arrive soon, and they can see it delivered to him.”

  “Thank you, Brodie.” Lydia leaned in and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I only wish for him to know that I am safe.”

  Brodie wound his arms around her waist, holding her close. “You don’t mind staying with me?” he asked.

  “I know that this”—she gestured between them—“is not going to last forever, but I would like to be with you at least a little while longer.”

  “You mean that?” Brodie asked quietly.

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking quite a bit in the last few days. This is an adventure for me. There’s been danger, romance, excitement. I’ve never had the chance for anything like this in my life, and once I go home to Bath, I will have to leave it all behind.” She hesitated as she met his gaze. “And I don’t want to leave you or this adventure. I want to live in this moment, not plan my tedious, buttoned-up life five steps ahead. I want to enjoy every minute I’m with you.”

  Brodie’s heart swelled, and he found he couldn’t speak. He pulled her deeper into his arms and kissed her with a tenderness that came naturally to him now. She was, in her quiet, sweet way, taming the wildness in him, and he didn’t mind that one bit. He would be whatever she wanted, so long as he could call her his for just a little longer.

  Rafe put Isla to bed in the bedchamber they’d provided her and placed her new doll in the crook of her arm. He kissed her forehead, and she sighed, the sound melting his wicked heart in unfathomable ways. As he prepared to leave, Isla woke enough to reach out and catch his hand, her tiny fingers curling around his.

  “Uncle Rafe?” she murmured.

  “Yes, kitten?” he asked.

  She looked toward the carpetbag that Rafe had set down on the table by the door. “May I see my parents?”

  “Of course.” He retrieved the gilded frames and sat on the edge of the bed as he held them out to Isla.

  “Can you tell me their names?” Rafe asked.

  “My mother was Ellie.” Isla held up her mother’s likeness, then her father’s. “This is Angus.”

  “I wish I could have met them.”

  Isla glanced up at him, her wide-eyed innocence mixed with an ancient knowing. “You smile like Papa. I remember his smile.” Rafe couldn’t help but grin. “Like that.” She set the miniature of her father down on her lap and placed a dainty hand to Rafe’s cheek, exploring his smile with the sweet curiosity of a child. Her touch sent a flood of warmth through his chest, and in that moment, he knew he was lost to this child.

  At that moment he did something he’d never done before in his life. He made a vow that he actually planned to keep. He would protect her from the world. He would slay her dragons. He would be a father to her in whatever way he could for as long as he was needed.

  “Time for you to rest, scamp. We’ll leave for Brodie’s castle in a few hours.” He pulled the blanket up to her chin and carefully set the portraits on the table beside her bed, facing her. “They’ll be watching over you and bring you happy dreams.”

  Rafe kissed the girl’s brow again before he stepped out and closed the door. His body shook as powerful waves of emotions rolled through him. Regret that he hadn’t met Isla’s mother, sorrow that the child was an orphan, and love . . . love for the child that was strong as any love he’d ever felt for his family members.

  He wanted to take Isla home, to make her his daughter, but she needed proper parents and a stable life. He wasn’t suited to raising a child. She was better off in the care of Brodie and Lydia, who knew just how to care for her. But right now? Right now he could be here for her. It would have to do. The grief in him was so raw and agonizing that it robbed him of his breath for a few seconds, and he clutched his chest, trying to regain control. He was a man cursed to never have a life that matched his siblings. Rafe didn’t want to change, didn’t want to become a normal gentleman with a normal lifestyle, but those desires meant that a stable life, with a wife and children, had always been unlikely for him. Could a man have familial happiness without sacrificing adventure and excitement?

  Portia stared out at the sea off Brighton’s coast. Her face was devoid of emotion, even though she was experiencing a rush of thoughts and hurts. Aunt Cornelia held a parasol over her head while she and Portia stood off a mile away from the water. In the distance, men frolicked like boys in the waves. Farther down the shore, rolling bathhouses for the ladies backed slowly into the water. Women covered head to toe in bathing costumes tiptoed down the ladders into the shallows to experience the ocean. Their squeals of surprise at the brisk, cold water would have amused her at any other time, but all joy within her had withered away.

  “Now, this is a lovely spot. Don’t you think, my dear? An excellent place to distract us from worrying about your father or your poor dear sister.” Cornelia, while genuinely concerned for Lydia’s well-being, had taken the time to remind Portia frequently that the entire situation was her fault. Whatever terrible fate that befell Lydia was to be on Portia’s head.

  Well, if Lydia hadn’t stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, hadn’t tried to free the man Portia had already laid claim to, then none of this would have happened, would it? So who was really the one to blame?

  Despite the frequent dour reminders of Portia’s bad behavior, her aunt seemed quite happy to be in Brighton. Cornelia’s spirits had been lifted when s
he had run into an old love earlier that day, some tired old earl named Donald something or other, as they’d been waiting to enter the townhouse they’d rented.

  “Portia, dear, are you listening to me?” Cornelia cut into Portia’s wandering thoughts.

  “Yes, the coast is quite lovely,” Portia admitted.

  The air was so different from the heavy smog of London and even Bath. Somehow the clean air had helped her clear her head. Despite her admittedly self-centered thoughts of late, she was worried about her sister. She must have been terrified—might still be terrified. And in danger, with that Scotsman who was set on revenge. Surely he’d learned that Lydia had only been trying to help him escape. He must have taken mercy upon her and not harmed her, but Portia had no way of knowing until they heard from their father.

  “Would you like to try your hand at bathing this afternoon?” Cornelia asked as they walked along the gravel path, far away from the sand, which would have gotten into their stockings and boots.

  “Yes, I would,” Portia lied. Her thoughts weren’t on the beach, but were miles away in the wilds of Scotland.

  “You know, in my youth, we were taught to fear nature, to fear the sea and the forests. But what I see of this now is quite picturesque. The sea is thrilling. It makes one stop and think, does it not?”

  “Yes,” Portia agreed. “There is an undeniable beauty to it.” She looked to the cliffs that abutted the sandy shore and how they met the rolling surf and the cloudless bright-blue sky. She thought of something the poet Shelley once said: The place is beautiful. All shows of sky and earth, of sea and valley are here.

  Cornelia smiled. “You know, child, when you aren’t determined to be a spoiled little creature, you are rather delightful and intelligent.”

  Portia bit her lip to stop a vehement retort from slipping out. Instead, she simply replied with an old quote her father used to say about the ocean. “Toward the close of a fine summer’s evening, then the sun, declining in full splendor, tints the whole scene with a golden glow, the seashore becomes an object truly sublime.”