Lottie longed for the quiet of the library in Frome Abbey, Alex relaxing opposite her. He would raise those steel eyes and give her that soft look, the one that said,Keep talking, lass. I would hear your thoughts—
She clenched her fist, forcing the thoughts aside.
But in the same breath, some current in the air had her turning her head toward the doorway.
Some sixth sense of knowing . . .
Her eyes searching . . .
Oh.
He was here.
Dr. Alexander Whitaker.
HerAlex.
He stood in the doorway, wearing akiltof all things. His leg brace was gone, and an elegant cane replaced his crutches.
Heavens!
“Well, none of us expected to see him here tonight. I do not think Frank and Margaret would have come had they known,” Grandmère murmured beside her. “Our Dr. Whitaker certainly cuts a dashing figure,mais non?”
Lottie couldn’t force a reply through her stiff lips. Her stomach swooped and dipped, her vision darkening slightly at the edges.
She should have eaten something. Anything to help brace her for the impact of seeing Dr. Alex Whitaker again.
Hedidlook dashing.
Devastating, in fact.
A talented valet had taken him in hand. His dark shortcoat fit with immaculate precision, highlighting the power in his shoulders. The gold threads of his embroidered red waistcoat caught the candlelight and a gemstone winked from the folds of his starched neckcloth. His great kilt, a dark tartan shot with red and gold, draped his upper body and was belted at the waist with a leather pouch hanging in front.
On a lesser man, such finery would seem more a costume than habitual wear. But Alex carried it all with casual aplomb, using his cane to walk with ease despite a slight limp.
Given how heads turned as he made his way through the crowd toward their hostess for the evening, Lottie was not alone in her admiration. Even Nettlesby frowned at Lottie’s side.
Simply put, Alex looked like aSomeone. He always had, she realized in hindsight. He was not a man who would ever move invisibly through the world.
“Who is that with him?” Grandmère asked.
Finally, Lottie noticed that there were others in Alex’s company. She recognized the auburn-haired Lady Jane, or rather Lady Hadley now. The tall man at her side must be her husband, Lord Hadley, Alex’s good friend. Hadley wore a kilt, as well, in a blue-and-red tartan.
The group approached Lady Montain who was still speaking with Frank and Margaret.
A confrontation between the parties was inevitable.
“This should be entertaining,” Grandmère chuckled.
“Grandmère!”
“Beh. You are being too English,ma puce. We French delight in such contretemps. If our Alex cannot surmount this situation, then perhaps yourself and themarquisatare not for him,non?”
Lottie bit back her reply that Alex had never been for herorthe marquisate.
Frank froze, realizing Alex was approaching. Margaret was only a second behind her husband.
Her sister turned her head and sought Lottie’s gaze across the room. Lottie saw it clearly in Margaret’s eyes—the mother lioness. Margaret would do what she had to in order to protect the interests of her son.
