Rafe almost laughed, but Brodie shot him a black glare. “The only way out is through a gate on the left side of the house. We don’t keep that locked.”
“Show me,” Brodie growled.
Neither of them bothered with coats as they rushed out the front door. Rafe showed him the gate, which was unlocked but closed. After a quick search of the gardens turned up nothing, they moved on to the streets.
“Which way would she go?” Rafe asked.
“Toward the light,” Brodie reasoned. If he were a woman alone, he would choose a more lit direction with streetlamps. He led the way, seeking out any sign of her.
Lord knew how long she’d been gone. He and Rafe had been drinking and talking for at least an hour, which gave Lydia plenty of time to leave and get herself lost, hurt, or taken. It was hard not to dwell on all the things that went on in the night on the streets of Edinburgh. And if a bad group of men found an Englishwoman alone, especially a beautiful one . . .
“I expect she’d try to hire a hackney to reach Lady Rochester’s home to see her father.”
Brodie actually hoped that was the case. At least then she would be safe. But he didn’t see any coaches around of any sort.
“Perhaps we ought to go there,” Rafe suggested.
Brodie sighed. “Aye, if we must.” He didn’t look forward to what would happen if he did, but he had to know she was safe.
Someone called his name, and Brodie’s heart leapt into his throat as he spotted Lydia at the end of the street. She was limping, but when she realized he’d seen her, she started a mad dash toward him.
“Bloody Christ,” he grunted as he caught her in his arms, holding her tight. She started to cry and shake.
“There, lass. You’re safe now.”
“Oh heavens, we have to go. Now.” She pushed at his shoulders.
“Go?”
“Yes! We must save her from them.”
“What the devil are you on about, kitten?” Rafe asked.
“The girl. They’re going to kill her. We have to go.” Lydia broke free of Brodie’s arms and sprinted up the street. Brodie was on her heels as they headed down a small passage and skidded to a stop as he saw her gently coaxing someone out from behind a stack of crates.
“Please come out, little one. You’re safe,” Lydia was saying. Brodie threw out an arm, stopping Rafe before he could barrel past him into the alley.
They waited with bated breath as a small child emerged from behind the crates, a filthy little creature Lydia scooped up in her arms without hesitation. But the child was a little too big for her, and she staggered under her weight. Brodie came over and relieved Lydia of her burden. The child panicked, crying out.
“Hush, it’s all right. He’s not one of those other men. He’s come to help you.” Lydia clasped one of the child’s hands, and Brodie shifted the little girl in his arms. She quieted down and lifted her head to stare up at him with big blue eyes.
“We must leave before they come back,” Lydia murmured, her tone holding a note of panic.
They started at once for Rafe’s townhouse. Lydia was at his side, and Rafe trailed behind, keeping to the shadows in a dangerous way that relieved Brodie. He felt safer knowing Rafe was there to watch their backs. When they reached Rafe’s home, Lydia collapsed on the settee and held her arms out for the child. Brodie set the girl down on the settee, and she instantly cuddled against Lydia.
“What happened to my mama?” the little girl asked in a soft, worried voice.
“She’s gone. I’m so sorry,” Lydia answered with heartbreaking honesty.
“Gone?”
Lydia stroked the straggly locks of the child’s dirty brown hair. “Yes. Like your Papa.”
“I . . . I knew she wouldn’t wake up.” The little girl’s lip trembled, but she didn’t cry. Something about that made Brodie’s fists clench as he fought a wave of fury. That a child should suffer such loss so young and yet see it as just another part of life spoke of a childhood even worse than his own.
“What happened to you, lass?” he asked Lydia.
She continued to hold the little girl as she explained how she’d escaped out the window and gone in search of a coach, then how she’d heard this child cry for help and how she’d come upon the two men loading the dead mother into a trunk. Brodie’s