find me, should you need my services again.” Mr. Webster chuckled.
The shuffling of distant footsteps grew softer before the silence was punctuated by a heavy sigh a moment later.
“I see you are at least partially awake, Mr. Kincade. I did not mean for it to come to this, but I’m afraid you’ve left me no choice.” A man’s face leaned over Brodie.
Jackson Hunt. The little blonde lass’s father. Rafe had been right about the man acting desperately. Brodie tried to speak, but he was too tired, too thick-tongued. Damned Rafe. He was right about the girl, and her father.
“Do not speak. I was told you’ve been given a heavy dose of laudanum, and I suspect it has made it hard for you to think. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t wish for them to drug you. Therefore, I will do the talking. You are to remain here at my home, my guest as it were, while you and I come to an understanding regarding my daughter. She has told me the truth about your meeting. How you seduced her, and how she is carrying your child.”
Brodie stared at Jackson in a cold fury, wishing he had the strength to shout every blasted curse that was on the tip of his useless tongue.
“Now, as I have already told you, I will pay ten thousand a year to you for marrying my daughter so that she might live in relative comfort, along with my grandchild.”
A snort of muffled laughter escaped Brodie. Ten thousand pounds was enough for relative comfort? If that was the case, then he had lived in abject poverty. If Brock hadn’t married Rafe’s sister, their family castle would have crumbled to gravel. Their family had lost their fortune years ago after their mother had died.
“I shall let you rest and think on it.” Jackson turned to leave, but he paused in the doorway. “I love my daughter, Mr. Kincade. She deserves the best in life. A man who loves her and her coming child. While I am sorely disappointed that you did not do the honorable thing with regards to her, I hope very much that you will see sense and become that man.” Then he left the room and closed the door behind him.
Brodie waited until he had left before he tried to move. He jerked weakly, and his hands and legs moved only a few inches before abruptly halting. With a roll of his head to one side, he discovered that thick ropes bound his wrists and ankles to the bedposts.
They had tied him to a bloody bed. He felt like he was trapped in some blasted Gothic novel, only wasn’t it the woman who was always in this position?
He pulled the ropes. They creaked slightly but did not yield. Soon he gave in to the effects of the laudanum and dozed off. He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep, but he woke when he heard the door open and soft steps hurry across the room.
“Oh, my poor dear,” a sweet voice breathed close to his ear.
Opening his eyes, he saw a petite blonde girl leaning over him. His vision was still cloudy with the drug, but he guessed it was Miss Hunt, the woman he had met at the ball last evening. The damned chit who’d gotten him into this nightmare, all because she’d taken a fancy to him. He knew he was good with women, but he’d never suspected he was that good.
The lass was pretty, of course, but looks weren’t everything to Brodie. A woman could rival Helen of Troy, but if she dared restrain Brodie, he would never be hers. Never.
“I am sorry it must be like this,” Miss Hunt gently cooed as she cupped his face. Her blue eyes burned bright as she leaned down and kissed him, as if that would somehow win him over.
“Untie me, now,” he demanded.
“Papa says we mustn’t, not until you calm down and agree to the marriage terms.”
Miss Hunt kissed him again, flicking her tongue against his pursed lips. He refused to indulge her mad desires.
“You lied to your own father, you mad hag! Saying I bedded you.”
“Don’t think of it as lying. Think of it as . . . shifting around the order of events. Once we are married, I promise to let you bed me every day, Mr. Kincade. I will be a good wife, I will,” she said earnestly.
“Why me? Why not another man?” He was finding it easier for his tongue