warmth through his chest, and in that moment, he knew he was lost to this child.
At that moment he did something he’d never done before in his life. He made a vow that he actually planned to keep. He would protect her from the world. He would slay her dragons. He would be a father to her in whatever way he could for as long as he was needed.
“Time for you to rest, scamp. We’ll leave for Brodie’s castle in a few hours.” He pulled the blanket up to her chin and carefully set the portraits on the table beside her bed, facing her. “They’ll be watching over you and bring you happy dreams.”
Rafe kissed the girl’s brow again before he stepped out and closed the door. His body shook as powerful waves of emotions rolled through him. Regret that he hadn’t met Isla’s mother, sorrow that the child was an orphan, and love . . . love for the child that was strong as any love he’d ever felt for his family members.
He wanted to take Isla home, to make her his daughter, but she needed proper parents and a stable life. He wasn’t suited to raising a child. She was better off in the care of Brodie and Lydia, who knew just how to care for her. But right now? Right now he could be here for her. It would have to do. The grief in him was so raw and agonizing that it robbed him of his breath for a few seconds, and he clutched his chest, trying to regain control. He was a man cursed to never have a life that matched his siblings. Rafe didn’t want to change, didn’t want to become a normal gentleman with a normal lifestyle, but those desires meant that a stable life, with a wife and children, had always been unlikely for him. Could a man have familial happiness without sacrificing adventure and excitement?
Portia stared out at the sea off Brighton’s coast. Her face was devoid of emotion, even though she was experiencing a rush of thoughts and hurts. Aunt Cornelia held a parasol over her head while she and Portia stood off a mile away from the water. In the distance, men frolicked like boys in the waves. Farther down the shore, rolling bathhouses for the ladies backed slowly into the water. Women covered head to toe in bathing costumes tiptoed down the ladders into the shallows to experience the ocean. Their squeals of surprise at the brisk, cold water would have amused her at any other time, but all joy within her had withered away.
“Now, this is a lovely spot. Don’t you think, my dear? An excellent place to distract us from worrying about your father or your poor dear sister.” Cornelia, while genuinely concerned for Lydia’s well-being, had taken the time to remind Portia frequently that the entire situation was her fault. Whatever terrible fate that befell Lydia was to be on Portia’s head.
Well, if Lydia hadn’t stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, hadn’t tried to free the man Portia had already laid claim to, then none of this would have happened, would it? So who was really the one to blame?
Despite the frequent dour reminders of Portia’s bad behavior, her aunt seemed quite happy to be in Brighton. Cornelia’s spirits had been lifted when she had run into an old love earlier that day, some tired old earl named Donald something or other, as they’d been waiting to enter the townhouse they’d rented.
“Portia, dear, are you listening to me?” Cornelia cut into Portia’s wandering thoughts.
“Yes, the coast is quite lovely,” Portia admitted.
The air was so different from the heavy smog of London and even Bath. Somehow the clean air had helped her clear her head. Despite her admittedly self-centered thoughts of late, she was worried about her sister. She must have been terrified—might still be terrified. And in danger, with that Scotsman who was set on revenge. Surely he’d learned that Lydia had only been trying to help him escape. He must have taken mercy upon her and not harmed her, but Portia had no way of knowing until they heard from their father.
“Would you like to try your hand at bathing this afternoon?” Cornelia asked as they walked along the gravel path, far away from the sand, which would have gotten into their stockings and boots.
“Yes, I would,” Portia lied. Her thoughts weren’t on the beach, but were miles away in the wilds of