chapter Ten
Nothing was as wonderful as a warm bath. Sorcha closed her eyes and rested her head against the edge of the copper tub, inhaling the sweet blossom fragrance she had added to the water. It made her think of the apple orchard at her father’s estate in Southwick. She smiled to herself as she remembered her last visit there.
More species of wildflowers grew there than anywhere else she’d ever been. It was heaven. Anyone who visited in spring would be in awe of the meadows filled with butterflies and skylarks. Perhaps she could get Papa to send Alec an invitation. Southwick was the furthest place from darkness she could think of. His spirit would be lighter by at least tenfold.
And wouldn’t it be lovely to kiss him in that magical setting?
A knock at the door interrupted her musings. Sorcha gasped, sat up in the tub, and sloshed water over the edge.
“Who is it?”
She heard the door creak open. “It’s me,” came Maddie’s disembodied voice from behind the changing screen. Then the door closed with a click.
Sorcha breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the edge of the tub. “I’m in the middle of bathin’, Maddie.”
“And I’m in the middle of hiding. Do you mind if I stay here for a while?”
Sorcha sat up again, sloshing water over the brim. “Who are ye hidin’ from?”
“Everyone.” Maddie sighed. The four-poster creaked as though her friend had thrown herself onto the bed.
Hiding from the Duchess of Hythe, Sorcha could well imagine. But, “Everyone?” she echoed. This sounded much more important than finishing her bath. She reached for a towel and stepped out of the tub.
“Hmm. The strangest thing really. Do you think there’s some sort ailment that affects only men?”
Sorcha slid her arms through her yellow silk wrapper and emerged from behind the changing screen. “I think anythin’ is possible.”
From the middle of the bed, Maddie rose up on her elbows to look at Sorcha. “Do you remember Lord Chilcombe?”
An earl of some sort, if Sorcha remembered correctly.
“Tall fellow with reddish hair?”
Her friend agreed with a nod. “He sought me out in the music room and he looked me over in the most bizarre fashion and then he asked me if I enjoyed spending my time in the orangery. As I was in the music room, I thought it most peculiar.”
“That is a little odd.”
“You haven’t seen him in the orangery, have you?”
“No.” Sorcha shook her head. She’d seen Lord Bexley in the orangery, and she’d thoroughly kissed Alec in the orangery. However, Lord Chilcombe had never darkened that particular doorway, at least not while Sorcha was there.
“What did ye say?”
“I told him I thought orangeries were very nice. And then he got the most curious look in his eye. Like a hound right before it pounces on a cornered fox. Luckily, your Mr. MacQuarrie rounded the corner. He sent Chilcombe a scathing glare that made the earl scurry off.”
“That sounds like Alec,” Sorcha agreed with a smile, not correcting Maddie at all when she referred to Alec as hers this time. “He is forever savin’ one lady or another. Chivalrous ta a fault.” She sat at the edge of the bed, closer to her friend.
“I wish I’d had his assistance with Lord Loughton a little while ago.”
“The baron from Shropshire?”
“The very one. The man asked if I’d remove my glove so he could see my hands. Said there was nothing so lovely as a lady’s fingers.”
Sorcha couldn’t help the sputtery laugh that escaped her.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I thought so too. And I told him that he’d have to find some other lady’s fingers. But he was most persistent. He even tugged at my gloves. Nathaniel frightened him off, but even he’s been odd today.”
“I thought ye told me Lord Bexley was odd every day.”
Sorcha grinned, hoping to bring a smile to her friend’s face.
Maddie agreed with a nod. “All brothers are odd.”
“Mine certainly is.”
“Nathaniel was more odd than normal, though. He spent the day with Grandpapa, and it has darkened his mood.”
She sat forward, folding her arms across her middle.
“Honestly, Sorcha, every gentleman I’ve come in contact with is behaving strangely today. This hardly bodes well for the ball this evening, and I was so looking forward to it.”
“Are ye acquainted with Lord Radbourne and his brothers?”
Maddie’s green eyes grew round with surprise. “I know the viscount is an acquaintance of Nathaniel’s but I haven’t met him. Grandmamma says the Hadleys are bad ton and I’m to keep my distance.”
“ Bad ton?” Sorcha shook her head. “I find them delightful.”
Maddie’s mouth dropped open as though she was scandalized by the very thought of Sorcha being acquainted with the Hadley brothers. “Do you know them?”
Sorcha shrugged. She knew more about them than she probably should, but she couldn’t divulge any of those secrets to Maddie. “I wouldna say I ken them very well. I’ve enjoyed a few conversations with them. They’re scandalous and charming rolled into one.”
“Well, they’ll be here this evening. As they’re guests of Lord and Lady Eynsford, Grandmamma couldn’t get away with not inviting them. But she said that she will not, under any circumstance, allow the degenerate Hadley men an introduction.”
Hearing something like that would only make Sorcha more determined to meet the gentlemen if she were Maddie. “Do ye want me ta introduce ye? Secretly, of course.”
Maddie shook her head as though Sorcha hadlost her mind. “Why ever would I want to meet those gentlemen? Not one of them is a potential husband and I need to remain focused on my ultimate goal.”
Sorcha shrugged. “Suit yerself. Ye doona ken what ye’re missin’.”
Maddie fell back against Sorcha’s pillows. “And now my dear friend is behaving just as oddly as everyone else. I think I should go back to my chambers, climb into bed, and start the day over. See if it makes more sense the second time around.”
Sorcha laughed. “I promise ta be myself at the ball. We’ll have a grand time.”
“Promise?” Maddie lifted her head to make eye contact.
Sorcha nodded and traced an X above her chest. “Cross my heart.”
~*~
With a beautiful potted orchid in his hands, Alec made his way to the Duchess of Hythe’s private sitting room in the family wing of the castle. Sorcha had fashioned a pretty blue ribbon around the pot, something he would never have thought of himself. Somehow the little wood sprite made everything she touched cheerier. What an amazing talent.
Reaching his destination, Alec knocked on the sittingroom door.
“Come,” the duchess called from inside.
Alec pushed the door open and stepped into the homey room. It lacked the grandiose nature that characterized most of Castle Hythe. There were no expensive trinkets lying about. No pretentious golden accents. Just a warmly lit room with a settee, two comfortable-looking chairs, and, hanging above the hearth, a painting of the duke and duchess in their earlier days.
He smiled at the duchess who had half of London terrified and offered the orchid with outstretched hands.
“Your surprise as promised, Your Grace.”
Her old eyes, icy and shrewd most of the time, crinkled at the edges, and a smile broke out across her face. “Oh, Mr. MacQuarrie, wherever did you find a Dendrobium?”
Was that its name? Alec shook his head. “In your orangery, madam.”
Her brow furrowed as she took the pot and looked it over, gently touching the bluish-purple petals. “But… that’s not possible. Hythe gave one to me many years ago. He had it brought over all the way from Borneo, but it died.”
“This is the very same flower, I assure you.” Alec smiled at her. “Sorcha asked me to bring some special soil from her home, and as you can see, her attentions have rejuvenated your plant.”
The duchess swiped at a tear, careful not to tip over her treasured flower pot. “I cannot thank you enough, Mr. MacQuarrie. This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me in a very long time.”
“It was all Sorcha, Your Grace. I only helped a little.”
She clutched the pot even closer to her bosom. “That gel is special. There’s something about her that makes me smile.”
“Me too,” Alec admitted.
An expression flashed in her eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. “Well, I suppose I should have Palmer place this somewhere special, and then we should head down to my ballroom.” She rose from her spot and rang for her butler.
As a rule, Alec tended to avoid balls, had done so even before he’d become a vampyre. He’d never had a desire to be on the marriage mart. He’d always known he would marry Cait, so he had never had a reason to attend such functions. He had no reason to attend them now either, not in his current state. But he didn’t have a choice this evening. Someone had to keep Sorcha out of trouble.
The little minx’s mischievous prank that afternoon had left him fantasizing about tossing her over his knee. What was she thinking? She already had Bexley chasing her skirts.
Now Loughton and Chilcombe were more than curious to learn the identity of the lady he’d had in his arms in the orangery. And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, those bloody Lycans would be here this evening too.
After the duchess gave her butler strict orders to take her flower to the duke’s bedside, she linked her arm with Alec’s. “Thank you again, Mr. MacQuarrie.”
“Your smile is thanks enough, Your Grace.”
He led her through the corridors and down a cantilevered staircase to the main level of the castle. There they immediately encountered guests arriving for the ducal ball.
Alec left the duchess with a pair of old matrons and entered the ballroom on his own.
The musicians had not yet started playing, and guests were just beginning to find their way into the ballroom. Alec glanced around the room, noting white roses and ribbons draped across the ceiling. That must be Sorcha’s handiwork. Innocence and beauty all rolled into one. He smiled at the thought.
The scent of wild mutts assaulted Alec’s nose and his smile instantly vanished as four Lycans stepped into the ballroom. Caitrin hung on to the Marquess of Eynsford’s arm as though she couldn’t bear to separate herself from her husband. His wolfish half brothers trailed in their wake.
Lord Radbourne caught Alec’s eye and smiled wickedly.
Alec nearly shot him a crude gesture in return, but then he realized the wicked smile was not for him. It was directed over his shoulder. Alec turned his head to look behind him, and damned if he didn’t see Sorcha standing there. The same thing that must have provoked Radbourne’s wicked grin immediately entranced Alec.
Sorcha was a vision of loveliness. She walked toward him slowly, her gaze drawn down to her elbow where she tugged at the top of her white glove distractedly. Her gown matched her apple blossom scent, which reached him long before she did. She smelled so good that her scent nearly made his mouth water. The whisper of her garters, as one leg slid past the other, held his rapt attention. He wanted to find out if they were the same light green as her gown, so light it reminded him of the apple orchard on his estate in East Galloway.
Alec’s gaze drifted up, leaving his thoughts about her garters behind when he saw the plunging neckline of her gown. He took a step toward her, fully prepared to wrap her in his own jacket to cover all that delectable skin. But before he could take a single step, a voice crowed close to his ear.
“Does that one have dirt under her fingernails, I wonder?”
Lord Chilcombe bumped Alec’s shoulder with his own. The man stumbled a little when Alec’s body didn’t give with the pressure of the gesture.
Alec forced himself to look away from Sorcha, just for the moment. “What are you babbling about, Chilcombe?” he asked, not even trying to remove the bite from his voice. He bloody well hated the Englishman. He couldn’t deny it. He was a blight on society. He was about as useful as a teapot with no spout.
Chilcombe nodded toward Sorcha and said, “That’s the one, isn’t it? The chit who had you all mussed up when you left the orangery.” He motioned toward Loughton and two more of his cronies, drawing them into their circle. “I believe I’ve finally discovered the identity of the lovely lady MacQuarrie dirtied and then abandoned this afternoon.”
“Who is it, by God?” Loughton demanded. “Please do tell. I tire of examining ladies’ fingernails.”
“Indeed?” Chilcombe chuckled. “I thought it one of your favorite activities.”
“I shall engage in my favorite activity once you divulge the lady’s name.” Loughton’s eyebrow rose in amusement.
“And then she can put her fingernails anywhere she’d like.”
Let him try to touch Sorcha, and Alec would remove the man’s hands from his arms.
“And just for the record, the chit was the one who dirtied MacQuarrie,” Viscount Dewsbury chimed in. “Not the other way around.”
“My mistake,” Chilcombe agreed. “You are most certainly correct, Dewsbury.”
“Jealousy does not become you, gentlemen,” Alec said, trying to maintain his jovial air. He failed miserably, he was certain. But he did try. Then he tried to appear unconcerned when he saw Radbourne making his way slowly across the ballroom toward Sorcha. There was no way he could leave the group of Englishmen and get to her first. If he did, he’d be painting her the very picture of a fallen woman. If he didn’t, Radbourne would intercept her in barely a moment.
Of course, he could strangle Radbourne as soon as no one was looking. And the blasted Lycan couldn’t defile Sorcha with a ballroom full of witnesses.
Alec gritted his teeth. Just as soon as he could dispense with the irritating Sassenach peers, he’d make certain Radbourne and his unruly brothers kept their tails away from Sorcha.
“Is that Lady Eynsford?” Loughton murmured. “I don’t suppose she was in the orangery this afternoon.”
Chilcombe’s dark eyes twinkled with merriment. “He always has had a fondness for the marchioness, hasn’t he?”
“Fond enough to fondle her in the orangery?” Dewsbury smirked to himself.
“Are you saying I’m correct?” Loughton asked, his chest puffed out with pride.
Before Chilcombe could reply, the blasted Marquess of Eynsford himself was at Alec’s shoulder. “Ah, MacQuarrie. I thought I noticed you.”
More like the man heard his wife’s name mentioned and thought to put a stop to it, especially as Alec’s name was linked to hers. Much as Alec despised the wolfish marquess, the man’s arrival would put an end to the unfortunate conversation. He grunted in greeting instead of actually having to speak to Eynsford.
“It’s been an age,” the marquess continued as though he and Alec were the best of friends. “Much too long.”
Alec met Eynsford’s eye and managed a grim smile. If he had his way, it would be countless ages before he saw the Lycan again, if ever. “Indeed. It has been forever since I’ve seen you or your lovely wife.” Perhaps that would end the speculation that Cait had been with him in the orangery. He didn’t want to see her reputation besmirched anymore than he wanted Sorcha’s sullied.
“Well, Eynsford Park is very close. Perhaps you’ll pay us a visit while you’re in Kent.”
Just as soon as hell froze over. “How generous of you.”
Alec’s eyes strayed across the crowd to where Radbourne paraded Sorcha around the perimeter of the ballroom. He clenched his jaw at the sight. Damned Lycan. “Actually, Eynsford, there is something I’d like to discuss with you. How fortuitous that our paths should cross this evening.” He looked over his shoulder at Chilcombe’s group of debauched peers. “Do excuse us, will you?”
He didn’t wait for a reply as he turned on his heel and started for the nearest corner. Eynsford was quick on his tail, and Alec found himself begrudgingly glad of the fact. It was better to get this over with sooner rather than later.
“What were those buffoons going on about?” the marquess demanded in sotto voce.
Alec squared his shoulders and leveled his most scathing gaze at his one-time rival. “Keep your mutts away from Sorcha.”
Eynsford furrowed his brow. “Are you threatening me, MacQuarrie?”
“A threat is usually followed with an ‘or else.’ I demanded, not threatened. You really should know the difference. Keep your damn hounds away from her.”
“Certainly has the timbre of a threat.” The blasted marquess had the audacity to look amused. “What I am most curious about is why you think you have any right to dictate whom Sorcha can and cannot associate. Do you have some sort of arrangement with the lass I’ve not been informed of?”
A muscle twitched in Alec’s jaw. “I have always cared about Sorcha’s well-being.”
“How noble of you.”
Alec would have loved to pummel the smug look from Eynsford’s face, but not in this setting. Not with all of these witnesses. “I won’t see her suffer Caitrin’s fate.”
The damned man looked even more smug, though Alec wasn’t certain how that was possible. “My wife has no complaints about her lot in life. If you don’t believe me, feel free to ask her. In the meantime, I’ll thank you to keep her name off scurrilous men’s tongues. Chilcombe was lucky I didn’t rip his head from his shoulders back there.”
Alec actually wouldn’t have minded the sight, though he doubted the duchess would have enjoyed her ball being disrupted by decapitated earls. “I have no control over Chilcombe or anyone else.”
Eynsford shrugged. “And I have no control over Lord Radbourne or his brothers.”
Alec noted the man didn’t say my brothers; to do so would be to openly admit he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. “I know that’s not true. You’re the pack alpha. So keep them away from her. Sorcha deserves better than a drooling Lycan.”
“Does she?” Eynsford lowered his voice. “Do you suppose she deserves a vampyre instead?”
“I never said such a thing.”
“But you’ve thought it, MacQuarrie. I can see it on your face. So let me make myself clear—you may have known Sorcha all her life, but that means very little to me. The lass is part of Cait’s circle, which makes her part of my circle. And I will look out for her best interests.”
“Then you’d better keep an eye on those brothers of yours,” Alec growled as he noticed Cait closing in on them.
He glanced in her direction, nodded a greeting, and stepped away. “Good evening, Lady Eynsford.”
If that damned marquess wouldn’t keep his pack in line, then Alec would have to do it for him.