Mandeville brandished his sword in the direction of Caroline’s point. “Then we shall go forth to the Glenlyon Inn, and we will drag the fair Lady Sophie from his bed if we must, and run him through if the match has already been—”
“Gentlemen, there is a lady present,” Alec said.
They both bowed, looking contrite, tucking their swords behind their backs. “Of course—your pardon, Lady Caroline,” Speed said. “I cannot stop thinking of you as—deceased.”
Mandeville bowed as well, and strode toward the door. “Please excuse us, we must go forth and woo our bride,” Mandeville said, sidling carefully past Caroline to the door. “It has been most pleasant to see you looking so well, my lady. MacNabb, keep a watch for that blackguard Glenlorne.”
Alec watched them go and turned to her. “I can explain—” Caroline began, but he looked dubious.
“How two gentlemen—three, actually— can possibly marry the same woman?”
“Well, no, I can’t explain that,” she said. “They were supposed to marry me,” Caroline murmured, and took the dirk out of her sleeve. She laid it on the table. Alec stared at the weapon.
“Both of them?”
“Whichever one I chose,” she said. She almost laughed. “But it doesn’t matter now.”
“I see.” He crossed to her side and picked up the dirk, examining the places where the gems had been pried out. His mouth tightened. “I trust the possibility of marrying either one is why you ran all the way to Scotland and took the lowly post of governess?”
He was so close that Caroline could smell his skin, feel the heat of his body beside hers. She lowered her eyes.
“Which one would you have chosen?” he asked softly, and she shuddered, imagining Speed’s bony fingers on her flesh, or Mandeville’s weight upon her in bed. She tried to stifle her revulsion, but he laughed softly.
“So now we have the truth, I suppose. You ran away. Apparently you’ve been forgotten, and Sophie is the new prize.”
Caroline felt a flare of anger. Did he think she wasn’t even good enough for Speed or Mandeville? Or him?
“It appears you’re not the only one who wishes to wed a fortune, my lord,” she said sharply. “Does it matter what Sophie wants, or if she is happy? Do you have any more regard for her than Speed or Mandeville do, or is it just her huge dowry you fancy? I suppose a fortune as vast as Lord Bray’s goes a long way to making a lady lovable.”
His cheeks colored at the insult, but his eyes hardened. “Jealous?”
She looked down at her fingertips. She shut her eyes, stemming the sharp, sudden bite of tears as she imagined Alec in Sophie’s arms, doing to her what he’d done to Caroline in the tower, makingherfeel loved and lovely for the first time. It was almost unbearable.
“Of course not.”
“You are not a governess, Caroline,” he said.
She stiffened. Then what was she? Nothing to anyone. “I beg to differ,” she said.
“You could have married one of those gentlemen, yet you ran away. Do you love someone else?” he asked.
She bristled. “Do you imagine that one night with you, and I am—” She clamped her lips shut on the admission.
He put a hand under her chin, raised her eyes to his, mere inches away. “You are what?” His voice was husky, soft, whisky-potent.
She pulled away. “Infatuated! I am not, I assure you. I was given a choice of suitors, and I made my own decision in the matter. I am, my lord, indeed a governess—that was my choice.”
He groaned. “What of my choice?” he said, and she wondered what he meant. “You can’t stay here, Caroline.”
Caroline folded her arms over her chest. “Why not? Am I not performing my duties satisfactorily?”
“It’s not that, it’s—” His eyes moved over her like a touch, and she read desire in his eyes, frustration. “Go home, Caroline, back to Somerson. Find a man you can marry.”
The weight of her plight fell over her like a pall. It was too late for that. She considered her options, and saw none. “If you’ll excuse me, I have lessons to see to.” Before the tears of frustration could fall, she fled.
Alec watched her go, and slammed his fist into the solid oak table. Another mistake—this one worse than dropping a damned letter. This time, it was personal. He’d involved Caroline, an innocent—or at least she had been until he got hold of her. He doubted even Mandeville or Speed would have her now. Or Somerson. He should do the right thing and marry her himself, but that would be another mistake. He’d consign her to a life of poverty by his side, destroy his clan, his sisters. She’d grow to hate him.
He shut his eyes. He’d almost believed he could be Laird of Glenlorne, be able to lead his people the way his grandfather had, bring them from misery and poverty back to prosperity if he had Sophie—Caroline—by his side. But he wasn’t a hero, or a leader. He was a fool.
