Page 23 of Never Tempt a Scot
When she was ready to sit down, Brodie pulled her chair back and pushed her in. Again, it was a gentlemanly act, so out of place after he had brought her here against her will.
“No cries of innocence this morning?” Brodie asked.
“I have told you the truth a number of times already,” Lydia said evenly. “Continuing to do so will not change a stubborn mind that’s already made up. Instead, I will make do the best I can until you are willing to listen to reason.”
“Then you’re in for a long wait, lass,” Brodie said, his tone a little curt. “Eat quickly if you can. We are to leave once you’ve finished.”
Rafe lounged in his seat, perusing a paper, idly turning the pages as though he wasn’t really reading. Every now and then his gaze would drift lazily between her and Brodie, his lips curved as though he was resisting the urge to smile at some private joke.
The devil take handsome men!Lydia decided she would ignore them both while she had her breakfast.
Lydia drank a cup of hot chocolate, hastily ate her breakfast, and then followed the gentlemen into the hall.
“Where are we bound?” she asked. She’d heard mention of Edinburgh twice now, but she wasn’t quite sure if she believed that or not.
“Scotland,” Brodie replied.
“Oh ...” They really were headed to Edinburgh. She’d never been outside of England before.
Rafe’s coach was already waiting for them, and she was handed up into it by Brodie. Thankfully, the coach was designed for long travel, with comfortable seats and a fair amount of cushions.
A footman loaded their luggage at the back, while their two valets assisted them before climbing on top of the coach into the seats above. Brodie and Rafe joined Lydia inside the coach. She couldn’t help but wonder how they were to pass the time during the journey, but Brodie produced a small pile of books as one of the last things loaded inside.
“Oh, might I trouble you for a book, Mr. Kincade?” she asked, mindful to keep her tone polite and hopeful. “Otherwise, I might tire you with protestations of my innocence.” This came out a little more sarcastic than she wished it to, but the man had a way of trying her patience.
He scowled at her, but after a second he handed her a book. The spine of the brown leather volume readPark’s Travels in Africa.
“Park? Who is Park?” she asked as she examined the title page. The author seemed to be a man named Mungo Park.
“’Tis a biography of sorts,” Brodie explained. “The man ventured into the heart of Africa and wrote about his adventures and discoveries.”
“Oh, thank you.” Lydia turned the page to see an engraved drawing of a very attractive young man in a powdered wig. She settled in to read Mr. Park’s story and was lost for a few hours in his retelling of his visit to Africa and what he thought of the lands, languages, and the lives of the inhabitants.
At their first stop, Lydia was escorted by Brodie into the coaching inn, where she could use the facilities and the men could see to acquiring a bit of food. Rafe caught the eye of a pretty barmaid and took the girl by the hand, leading her upstairs. They were absent an hour, and when Lydia realized what they must be up to, she blushed wildly.
“Pretending again?” Brodie asked. “I admit, I am curious—how can a woman so knowledgeable of men and their needs conjure a blush like that?”
“I remind you once again, you speak of Portia, not myself. But I doubt she knows much more about men than I do. She is young and full of girlish bravado.” Lydia turned away, watching the men and women in the taproom rather than the brooding Scot beside her. She could still feel him looking at her, which only deepened her blush. One of his hands settled upon her knee, sliding up her thigh, over her gown, but the touch was so scandalous and unexpected that she nearly leapt from the table and had to fight to stay still.
“Do you wish for me to take you upstairs, lass? Have I denied you what you’ve been hoping for?” He caught her chin, the touch gentle despite his taunting tone. His gray-blue eyes were like a pool of water reflecting clear skies over gray stones. To Lydia’s fury and shame, she felt a spark of fire in her body each time he touched her, yet his very words insulted her.
“Mr. Kincade. I would prefer not to be treated like that. If you wish to bed me, treat me like a proper mistress.” She summoned her courage and looked him squarely in the eye as she spoke, letting him hear the steel in her voice. Maybe challenging him back would gain her some ground.
“Apropermistress? What would you know of that?” Brodie’s sour mood seemed to fade, and a boyish grin replaced it. It reminded her of the way she’d felt when she’d first seen him at the ball, and her heart began to pound wildly all over again.
“Everyone knows that mistresses receive gowns, jewels, townhouses ... I suppose other things.” She honestly didn’t know how mistresses were treated. Her guess was based on what she’d overheard from various rumors by other ladies at balls.
“Aye, they might, in exchange for being at the beck and call of their lord and master,” Brodie said in a seductively sweet tone. “Would you like that? For me tomasteryou, lass?”
He stroked his fingertips down her neck to the tops of her breasts above her gown. It was a modestly cut dress, yet his exploring touch made her feel naked. Her breath quickened, and her body burned along every inch that his fingers caressed.
Heavens, it was positively suffocating to be so close to him when he was touching her, yet deep down she didn’t want him to stop.
She shook her head and scooted away. “No, I think not.”
He dropped his hand from her bodice but leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Oh, I think you do, lass. I think you want me to trap those pretty wrists behind your back, so I may kiss you as long and hard as I like.”
His lips feathered against her cheek as he spoke, and it sent bolts of excitement down her body. She didn’t argue, didn’t contradict him. It would be pointless. Her breath came quickly, and her entire body flushed with a heat so hot and thick that she had no way of hiding the effect his words had on her.
