when she entered the room, so she left the door open.
“By all means, leave yourself an escape route. I will not stop you. Besides, Brodie seems quite possessive of you. We’ve shared women before, but he won’t share you.”
Lydia wasn’t sure what shocked her more, his mention of sharing women or hearing that Brodie would refuse to do so with her.
“He won’t even let me ride in the coach that often, and certainly not alone with you. You honestly think I want to stay on horseback for hours at a time or ride on that bloody top seat with the servants? Christ.” He grinned. “And then I miss all the fun of him raging at you when he won’t see the truth sitting in front of his face.”
Lydia’s heart sped up as she wondered what he was talking about. “What truth?”
“Who you are, of course. You see, I was not nearly so foxed as he was the night of the ball. I remember the little chit who introduced herself, and it certainly wasn’t you. You are not Portia Hunt, but Lydia—friend to my sister, Joanna.” He was chuckling now. “Kincade kidnapped the wrong sister. How bloody marvelous.”
11
Brodie paused with his hand inches from Rafe’s door. He heard voices inside. Moments ago, he’d finished dressing and had gone looking for his wayward abductee, but having seen his friend’s door ajar, he’d wanted to see what the man was doing. Then he recognized Lydia’s voice inside. For a moment he was stirred to panic and even rage. Was his friend trying to seduce Lydia? Or was Lydia in fact the seducer? Either scenario seemed possible.
He’d already come to the conclusion that his little beauty, his secret dancer, was not all that she seemed, but what had made her seek Rafe out rather than Brodie? Perhaps she intended to manipulate Rafe now that she realized her tricks did not work on Brodie.
He scowled as he fought to contain his temper, the temper that haunted him like a curse. But it wasn’t only anger that churned within his gut. He felt . . . betrayed. Betrayed by both his friend and Lydia.
Brodie took a deep breath, trying to rationalize his overreactions, as Brock had always tried to teach him to do. He wasn’t a brute, no matter how much Lydia insisted he was. Yes, his temper could be a fierce thing, but he would never direct it at her in a physical manner.
Rafe, however, was another matter. Damned if he didn’t want to throttle Rafe at this moment. He took a step closer, leaning in to better hear their voices and to figure out just what he’d stumbled upon. If he didn’t like what he heard, he’d barge into the room and deal with it.
“And then I miss all the fun of him raging at you when he can’t see the truth sitting in front of his face.” Rafe laughed.
“What truth?” Lydia asked in an angry voice. That made Brodie almost pleased. His little captive certainly wasn’t happy with Rafe.
“Who you are, of course. You see, I was not nearly so foxed as he was the night of the ball. I remember who the chit was who introduced herself, and it certainly wasn’t you. You are not Portia Hunt, but Lydia—friend to my sister, Joanna.” Another laugh escaped Rafe. “Kincade kidnapped the wrong sister. How bloody marvelous.”
Brodie’s heart stopped. That couldn’t be true. If it was, it made him a blackguard of the worst kind. It meant he’d kidnapped an innocent woman and held a knife to her throat, and . . . she’d been telling the truth all along. All of his actions toward Lydia had hinged upon his belief in her guilt, and now he was the guilty one. He was a monster. He was no better than his father.
“I tried to tell him that, but he won’t listen.” She sounded frustrated, almost to the point of shouting—or perhaps crying with rage.
“Of course not, kitten. He’s a Scot. Stubborn and tempestuous is their nature. It cannot be helped.” Rafe’s tone was conciliatory, as if he completely understood Lydia’s anger and frustration.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Lydia pleaded. “He would listen if you were to tell him the truth. I tried to free him, and he has ruined me forever. Please, convince him to send me home.”
Brodie winced as the truth sank in like a pugilist’s left hook to his head. She had been telling the truth. She was Lydia, and Lydia was