Page 9 of Never Tempt a Scot
“For you? A bit small.” Brodie delivered this with a straight face.
Rafe snorted. “For a mistress. I recently parted from mine, but I am certainly looking for a new one. It’s always nice to have a present on hand for when one finds a lady worth wooing.”
“They are pretty enough.” Brodie stared at the gloves. “Are all English ladies fixated on pretty bits of cloth? Or do they prefer jewels? I suppose I had better find out while I’m here.”
Lydia couldn’t help but wonder why that was. Was he also in the market for a mistress? Or did the charming Scot have marriage on his mind?
“Money, my dear fellow. That is what they like best. Lots of it.” The way Rafe said this, with an edge to his tone, made Lydia wonder what sort of women Rafe usually consorted with.
Trying not to be seen, Lydia carefully dodged the two men. But her footman, intending to follow her, knocked over a display of hats.
“Oh!” She rushed to help collect the scattered bonnets, blushing wildly as she dared not look in the direction of Mr. Lennox and Mr. Kincade.
Only when she had fixed the display did she glance at them. Both of them had amused looks on their faces, and they quickly went back to their whispered conversation, no longer paying her any heed.
Lydia fled the haberdashery, her footman racing behind her. Even after all the ruckus she had caused, neither man had spared her more than a glance. It was both a blessing and a curse to not be pretty enough to catch a man’s attention. Portia would have had them tripping over each other, trying to help.
Lydia shuddered at the thought that her father would likely be able to buy Mr. Kincade off as a husband for Portia, but he would no doubt acquire a mistress the moment he was in possession of Portia’s inheritance. As unpleasant as that thought was, it would serve Portia right for buying a man’s affections.
Perhaps it was time for Lydia to appeal to her great-aunt to help her search for a husband. There must be a few pleasant gentlemen in England who wouldn’t mind a plain woman for a wife. She was quite certain that if her sister married Mr. Kincade, she could not live under the same roof as him for holidays. Not when she felt a dreadful and irresistible attraction to him.
Yes, she would speak to Great-Aunt Cornelia this afternoon about suitable options for a husband. She needed to escape the tall, dark-haired Scotsman and any wicked dreams he gave her.
Brodie had only been homefor half an hour when Rafe’s butler, Mr. Chase, informed him that he had a visitor.
“A visitor?” Brodie stood in his bedchamber, tugging on his cuffs, while his valet, a young man named Alan, adjusted his coat at the shoulders. Unused to having a man dress him, Brodie was still adjusting to the close relationship between a man and his valet.
After his older brother, Brock, had married Rafe’s sister, Joanna, she had brought a large income into the Kincade family and had insisted that Brodie and Aiden also benefit from the joyful union by having valets hired for them. Alan was quiet and pleasant enough ... for an Englishman.
“Yes, Mr. Kincade. He says his name is Mr. Jackson Hunt.” The butler passed Brodie an elegant calling card.
“Hunt ...” The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t recall where he’d met the man. “I suppose I ought to see him.”
“Very good, sir. I shall have him shown to the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Chase,” Brodie called over his shoulder as he turned halfway to let Alan brush dust off his jacket. He had changed after his walk with Rafe. He wasn’t used to lounging about so much and had asked Rafe to show him more of the city. As a Scot, he loved the land and liked to be familiar with any terrain he was on, especially while in English territory.
“All done, sir,” Alan said. Brodie nodded his thanks, and then he proceeded to the drawing room.
His visitor, Jackson Hunt, was a tall man in his fifties. He stood by the fireplace and took in the measure of Brodie as he entered the room. Hunt offered a polite and hopeful smile that Brodie didn’t quite understand, given that he didn’t know the man and to the best of his knowledge he had no business with the fellow.
“Mr. Hunt?” Brodie nodded in greeting. “You’ll have to excuse me. I canna recall the circumstances of our meeting.”
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Kincade, as we have not met before today.” Hunt bowed to Brodie. “I apologize for the unannounced visit, given that we have no previous acquaintance, but I hope my business here today will be viewed favorably by you.”
“And what is that?” Brodie inquired.
“My daughter, Miss Hunt, met you last evening at the assembly rooms and speaks highly of you. I came here as a messenger on a mission. I am a wealthy man, you see, and while I know the peers have their own way of doing things, I hope I may speak frankly with you.”
“I wish you would.” Brodie wasn’t at all following what the man was saying.
“My daughter wishes to marry you. I am here on her behalf to inquire if you would like to court her with marriage in mind. I can promise her dowry would be an income of ten thousand a year.”
Hunt delivered this with a gentle excitement that astounded Brodie, as though throwing large sums of money and daughters at a man was an everyday occurrence.
“What?” Brodie stared at the other man. “I don’t even know your daughter, sir.”
“But you do—she met you last evening. She’s small, with flaxen hair and bright-blue eyes.” Jackson mimed how short the girl in question was.
