hoped that that was a good thing. She didn’t want to know what mischief he could get up to when he was in a bad mood.
“Mr. Lennox.” The startled butler let them all proceed into the hall. “We were not expecting you.”
“Sorry, old chap, but here we are.”
Rafe winked at Brodie, but Brodie wasn’t in a good mood. He wanted to get Lydia settled into a bed. He was sick of traveling in coaches and wanted to make love to her all night.
“And how long will you and your guests be staying, Mr. Lennox?” Shelton inquired politely. “I should like to inform Mrs. Lewellen so she can stock the kitchens.”
“Unsure. A while, I suppose.” Rafe removed his coat, and Brodie did the same.
“Shall I send word to your friends that you have arrived?” the butler inquired as he waved a footman over to collect their coats.
Rafe’s jovial smile thinned. “What friends, Shelton?”
The butler paled. “The gentleman and lady who came to inquire whether you had arrived yet. They said they were supposed to meet you here.” Shelton now seemed to sense the dangerous waters he had entered. “Am I to assume that no such plans were arranged?”
“Yes, Shelton. I believe we would like to avoid all friends, for the time being. Isn’t that right, Kincade?”
“Aye.”
“Very good, sir.”
Rafe snapped his fingers as the butler turned to leave. “Shelton?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you know anything else about these friends?”
“Only the address where they are staying and their names.” The butler produced a slip of paper and handed it to Rafe, who glanced at it and snorted.
“The girl’s father has somehow beat us here. And he’s with Lady Rochester.”
“Lady Rochester?” Brodie hadn’t met the woman.
“Remember the pretty red-haired bluestocking at the ball? The one I warned you about? That was Lysandra Russell, sister to the Marquess of Rochester. This woman is Lysandra’s mother.”
“Lysandra’s mother is here with my father?” Lydia said in excitement. She turned to Brodie and clasped one of his hands in hers. “Oh please, let me go and see them.”
“No.” The word slipped out before he had time to think it through. But now that it was said, he wouldn’t change his mind.
“What? Why not?” Lydia demanded. “I can put them at ease, he can see that I’m safe, and he can take me home—”
“I said no, lass. I won’t say it again.”
Her lovely blue eyes filled with confusion. “Are you going to see him, then? Please be careful—my father may react poorly, and I do not wish either of you to be hurt.”
“I will not see your father, and neither will you.” Brodie didn’t want Hunt taking his daughter back, for more reasons than his own selfishness.
Lydia didn’t see what Brodie did. That she was too sweet, too compassionate to put her own needs and desires first, which meant she would never make demands on her father for the love and affection she needed. While Brodie could not say he loved her, he could give her all the attention and affection she needed.
He also had no desire to face down her angry father. The man would no doubt challenge him to a duel, and Brodie was still furious enough because of Hunt’s actions toward him that he would no doubt accept. So it was far better if all parties kept their distance.
“Brodie, he’s my father.” Lydia’s reply was quiet, but there was a dangerous edge of defiance to her tone that warned him she wasn’t going to let this matter go.
“He’s also the man who had me drugged and kidnapped and intended to drag me in front of a priest at the barrel of a pistol.”
“You cannot keep me from him.”
“I can, lass. You’re mine, dinna forget that. I dinna want you to see that man, and I dinna want to see him either.”
Rafe’s brows rose in surprise as Brodie and Lydia squared off, but he did not intervene.
“You do not own me,” Lydia warned. “If I wish to see him, I will.” She snatched the paper from Rafe’s hand and glanced at the address Lady Rochester had provided the butler. “I assume this is not too far from here, Mr. Lennox?”
“Er . . .” Rafe shot a glance at Brodie. “Not far, but—”
“Thank you. I will see you gentlemen in a few hours.” She started toward the door, but Brodie caught her by the wrist, pulling her to a halt. “Let go!” she shouted.
“No,” Brodie growled. “You will go and wait for me upstairs.”
“I will see my father first. He