Page 44 of Never Tempt a Scot
“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 saidmy 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.
“What is your name?” Brodie asked her.
“Fanny Mullins, sir.”
“Thank you for joining us, Fanny. Miss Hunt will be pleased to have you helping her.” He glanced toward his valet. “Alan, have Miss Hunt’s luggage put aboard the coach, then see that Miss Mullins has what she needs as well.”
“Yes, sir.” Alan collected the valises and the heavy trunk full of Lydia’s fine gowns. As the valet and the maid left the room a moment later, Lydia returned, no doubt upset over Rafe’s blatant refusal to come to her aid.
“I have been thinking, lass,” Brodie said carefully. “It wasna right for me to make you journey without a maid. I have found a suitable one here, the girl who brought us breakfast. She is trained and has agreed to help us. She and Alan are packing up the coach.”
“Oh ...” Lydia blushed. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”
Brodie looked upon her with a new light. Rafe was right—he had missed the truth that had been right in front of him this entire time. Of course, last night he’d admitted to himself that he no longer cared if she was the clever, scheming little creature he had thought her to be. He wanted her in his bed, no matter what. That desire hadn’t changed, only now he knew full well that he would be seducing an innocent. Granted, she had professed an interest in what he had to offer, but it didn’t make what he was thinking any more right.
But perhaps, if he did it correctly, he could sate his desires and hers. If he offered her a true position as his mistress with her willingness, they could find their enjoyment in each other for a while to come.
He knew he was a selfish bastard to want her like this. Maybe he should reconsider. Perhaps when they reached Edinburgh, he would find someone else to tempt him before he succumbed to his desire for her again.
He shook himself out of his conflicting thoughts. “I had better go see that Rafe is prepared to leave. You may wait outside for us.”
Lydia lingered a moment longer, blocking his exit.
“You have need of something?” he asked.
The rosewater scent from her bath wafted between them. He had shared the bathwater, but where the rose scent had faded on his skin, it still clung to hers. He knew that if he closed his eyes, he would feel like he was at Castle Kincade once again.
He could almost picture it—Brock and Rosalind sprinting ahead of him, Aiden lagging behind, clutching a wee beastie in his hands. They used to chase each other between the towering hedgerows and around the blossoming rhododendrons that grew so tall and thick in the spring and summer that they blocked entire paths of the garden.
“I ...” Lydia hesitated. He saw clearly in her eyes that whatever she’d been about to say she had chosen to bury instead. “Thank you for the maid.”
