It wasn’t her.
Her wide blue eyes flicked around her like nervous hummingbirds, darting over the castle, his sisters, and himself. There was no hint of recognition. Her gaze moved on again, paused on something behind him. Her smile bloomed.
“Oh!” she cried. “Look, it’s Lady Caroline!” She pushed past him, rushing up the steps, and Alec turned.
He had a glimpse of red hair, of white skin and wide hazel eyes for an instant before they were swallowed up in Sophie’s embrace and the face of his lover was hidden behind the froth of Lady Sophie’s feather bonnet.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
“You must be surprised to see me, and not Lord Bray,” Parfitt said. “His Lordship had pressing matters of business to attend. He sent me instead.” The clergyman patted his pocket. “Never fear. I come equipped with a marriage license. Is Lord Somerson visiting Glenlorne at present?”
Alec forced his eyes away from the two women at the top of the steps and turned to look at Parfitt. “Somerson? Why would he be here?”
Parfitt regarded him as if he were daft for an instant before he smiled uncertainly. “Why? Because his sister is here, of course! Until very recently Lady Caroline was on the marriage market in London. There has been some speculation as to the reason she left Town unexpectedly.” He was obviously waiting for an explanation, but Alec didn’t have one.
Lady Caroline. That was her name. Alec turned to look at her, to confirm that it was she whom he had— His stomach turned to liquid. Good God—he’d seduced the sister of the Earl of Somerson.
She was facing Sophie, her back to him. He looked at the familiar curve of her back. He surely knew every vertebra of her spine intimately, knew exactly what it would feel like to put his hand on her waist, to caress the curve of her breast. Her hair was bound and gagged this morning, held captive in a cage of lethal-looking pins, but it was the same hair that had cascaded around her face as he made love to her by moonlight. If he were to pluck out the pins and free a lock, it would smell like wildflowers and honey, and it would curl around his fingers.
“Lottie absolutely refused to marry if you weren’t by her side!” Sophie was saying loudly, clasping Caroline’s hands—hands that had caressed him only hours earlier. “She’s been frantic, and here you are healthy at last in Scotland! I must say, the air here seems to agree with you. You look radiant!”
He watched Caroline bite her lip. He waited for her eyes to fall on him, the real reason she was radiant, but she refused to look at him. She was aware of him, he knew, because her cheeks were red as summer plums.
“Why are you here, Sophie?” she asked breathlessly, and he heard the soft sound of that same voice pleading for more, uttering soft cries of passion.
Sophie turned to look at him, batting her lashes, offering his a shy smile. “Why, I’m to marry the Earl of Glenlorne.”
The plums in Caroline’s cheeks faded, as if a sudden frost had invaded paradise. His sisters, standing quietly until now, exclaimed and came to hug him, to tug on his arms, to kiss his cheeks. He felt nothing. He could not tear his eyes away from Caroline.
“Oh, Miss Forrester, isn’t it wonderful?” Alanna asked.
“Miss Forrester,” he murmured. He never even considered she might be related to Somerson. The earl’s family name was Forrester, and while he’d never met the man, he’d seen him a number of occasions. His wife was famous for her incautious tongue, and an indiscreet remark she’d once made about His Highness at a ball.
Alec felt a sudden flush of anger. It had been simple in London, digging into the private foibles and mistakes of others—he’d had to come all the way to Scotland to find a scandal of his own. He looked longingly over his shoulder at the hills, avoiding even a glance at the tower. He wondered what would happen if he simply started walking, escaped. He looked at Caroline again, and despite everything that had transpired in the past quarter of an hour, felt another tug of desire. He groaned aloud.
“Are you well, my lord?” Mr. Parfitt asked.
“It was Midsummer’s Eve last night. It’s just the aftereffects of the celebrations,” Alec said, and the prim Mr. Parfitt pursed his lips, no doubt considering the potential for sin and blasphemy such a celebration would provide an unruly flock. Alec gave him a bland smile. If only he knew.
He climbed the steps, forcing himself to ignore Caroline. He bowed to Sophie, and kissed her hand. “Welcome to Glenlorne, my lady. Please come inside,” he said, surprised at the gruffness of his tone. He took Sophie’s arm and led her inside, brushing past Caroline Forrester without a single glance. The faint echo of perfume was almost his undoing. She smelled as he remembered, like summer flowers and something indefinable that made desire course through his veins again.
“Alec, why didn’t you say?” Megan demanded, catching his other arm. “I’m Megan,” she said in careful English. “Alec’s sister. Well, half sister. And this is Alanna, and Sorcha.” His younger sisters dipped perfect curtsies.
“Your bonnet is divine, my lady!” Sorcha gushed, and Sophie smiled sweetly and began to chatter about hats and feathers and the latest London fashions. Alec could feel Caroline Forrester’s presence behind him. She’d lain naked in his arms, made love to him, fallen asleep with him.
“Go and fetch Devorguilla,” he whispered to Megan, and she shook her head.
“She’sDevinain company, Alec,” his sister said soberly. “Especially English company. She’s probably not even awake at this early hour. I’ll send Alanna up to tell her we have guests.”
“And what should I call Muira?” he asked.
“Just Muira,” Megan replied. “I suppose we’ll want”—she looked around—“tea, or whisky, perhaps? You do look a little green this morning, Alec.”
“Tea,” Alec said firmly. “And you’d best have her prepare rooms for Sophie and Mr. Parfitt.”
“I’ll do it,” Caroline said, her smoky voice vibrating over his tightly strung nerves. She hurried away, and he watched her go, resisting the urge to follow her and demand an explanation. Was there an explanation beyond the fact it was Midsummer, and he’d been a fool? He’d been so sure, so stupid, that he hadn’t once asked for her name. He’d just assumed she was Sophie. And what now? A bead of sweat rolled down his back.
“What a charming room!” Sophie said as she entered the hall. “With some chintz drapes—yellow ones, perhaps, and a little plaster and paint, well, perhaps quite a lot of plaster and paint—and some new furniture in the style of Carlton House, it could be quite a pleasant space indeed.”
