chapter Six
Alec had wanted to kiss her since he had first seen her face in the moonlight, her pale skin glowing with something he wasn’t willing to look further into. She was absolutely radiant. She’d given him a well-deserved setdown, as only she could do. Sorcha, with her innocence and wise counsel. She wasn’t willing to let her dreams of romance and love be pushed to the side, and particularly not by a jaded man like him.
He brushed with gentle fingers at the little lock of hair that kept falling across her forehead as he bent and kissed her cheek, lingering there longer than he should. But he was enjoying the thump of her heartbeat. It was beating like mad, like his grandmother’s knitting needles used to clash together when he was a lad, slightly erratic and rhythmic at the same time.
“Tell me why I should waste my first kiss on ye, Alec. It’s no’ as though ye care for me.” Her voice was quiet but strong.
“I care for you, Sorcha. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be taking such great pains to keep you safe.” She began to sputter out a retort, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“Ye think ye ken somethin’ about hurt?” she asked quietly, her body melting a little against his.
Alec pretended to think it over. “Maybe a little,” he finally acquiesced. “I’m afraid you have these grand notions of how love should be. And that no one is going to live up to your expectations. Then you’ll be disappointed and disillusioned.”
Before he could say one more word, Sorcha reached up and pulled his head down to hers. Her lips very shyly and very softly touched his. He kept his eyes open and stared at her, and she stared back. She had a “What do I do now?” look in her eye.
Very gently, he sipped at her lower lip, drawing her body flush against his with the arms that were still around her waist. Her eyes closed, and her breath kicked up as he tilted his head and fit his mouth to hers. Her apple blossom scent reached his nose twofold, nearly overwhelming him.
He’d hoped to teach her a lesson. That she should be careful of dangerous men. That kissing some monster in the dark wasn’t what she really wanted. That it wasn’t any part of the love she sought. But he was the one who was flabbergasted.
Her hands slid from around his neck and then down his lapels, where they slid beneath his jacket. Then they were everywhere, and Alec didn’t know when his intentions changed. But he suddenly went from being her instructor to the one being taught. She learned as he kissed her, every tilt of the head that he tried on her, she tried out in return.
She sucked at his lower lip as her hands roved across his waist and around to his back.
Alec’s hands went on a journey of their own, emboldened by her raw sensuality. He slid around her waist and down her back to roll over her pert little bottom, which he squeezed gently, drawing her against his stiffness. She gasped and pulled back, her mouth open as she tried to catch her breath. She looked from his eyes to his lips and back again, as though deciding her next move.
His teeth ached almost as much as his manhood. The essence of her called to him. He wanted to partake of every part of her, from her drugging kisses to her sweet little derriere, and he wanted to kiss all the places in between.
But then he heard the beat of hooves on the road behind them. “Sorch,” he groaned.
“What?” she breathed back.
“We can’t do this,” he said as he pulled her arms from his waist where they still roamed, driving him crazy.
“All right,” she acquiesced breathlessly as she let him set her from him. She swayed only slightly before she reached up to touch her lips with her fingertips. Then her eyes met his. And he wanted to drag her back into his arms.
Radbourne and his motley twin brothers pulled up short beside the coach and took in the scene before them. The twins instantly put their heads together and began to talk.
Radbourne walked his mount toward Sorcha. If he put one finger on her, Alec would rip his head from his wolfish shoulders. “Did you have trouble with the coach?” the viscount asked.
“No.” Sorcha dragged her eyes from Alec to focus on the three wolves. “I had trouble with Mr. MacQuarrie,” she sighed. “I was just about ta walk home. He’s a beastly man when he’s in a temper.”
“Then allow me to be your knight in shining armor,” Radbourne said.
Knight in shining armor? Alec somehow managed not to snort. His maker had been a benevolent knight in the service of Richard the Lionheart and had followed his King into battle. Viscount Radbourne was a poor imitation of the Earl of Blodswell or any other man of his stature.
The viscount kicked his foot out of the stirrup, where Sorcha replaced it with her own, and pulled her up in front of himself with very little distress. Alec was plenty distressed, though, by the fact that her skirts only hung to her midcalf as she straddled Radbourne’s mare. Damn lucky horse. Alec shook the highly inappropriate thought away.
“Sorcha,” he began. He’d yank both of them from the saddle if Radbourne didn’t unhand her.
“You look like you could use a moment to collect yourself, MacQuarrie.” The viscount flashed his pearly white teeth at him. Alec realized that not only did he have a raging manhood that was most obviously drawing attention, but he also had descended incisors. “You’ll want to take care of that before you return to Castle Hythe. Bring the groom with you?” Radbourne tossed over his shoulder as he kicked his horse into movement.
Bloody hell, he’d made a mess of things. Alec seethed as he watched the blasted pack ride off with Sorcha. How could she kiss him, run her hands across him, drive him to the brink of madness, and then ride off so willingly with those mutts? But he already knew the answer. She was right where she wanted to be. In the company of drooling, flea-ridden wolves.
~*~
Sorcha was finally right where she’d always wanted to be.
For nearly a year, she’d plotted and planned, looking for opportunities to locate the Lycan she was destined to spend her life with. She sagged against Lord Radbourne’s very hard, very warm chest and closed her eyes, blocking out the dark countryside they passed. Now that she was right where she’d wanted to be for so long—specifically, in the arms of a Lycan—all she could think was that it wasn’t where she belonged at all.
Havers! She’d kissed Alec! Caitrin’s Alec, not that he belonged to her friend, but still she’d always thought of him in those terms. Mo chreach! She’d actually pulled his head down to hers and she’d kissed him. She’d kissed him! What was worse was that she didn’t feel bad about it at all.
At least she didn’t think she did.
On the contrary, it had been heavenly. Her first kiss, and it had been perfect.
Even through the fine lawn of his shirt, she’d felt the muscles of his chest and back with her fingertips, and she’d held on for dear life, clutching him to her, wishing she never had to let him go. But then she had. His voice had seeped into her consciousness, telling her they shouldn’t. And her heart had nearly broken. What a foolish thing to have done! What madness had driven her to kiss Alec MacQuarrie? Of all the men of her acquaintance, she had kissed the one man—no, vampyre—whose heart was irrevocably lost to her or anyone else. It was utter insanity.
“You do seem prone to finding trouble, lass.”
Radbourne’s husky voice broke her from her reverie. His breath warmed her cheek, and Sorcha’s eyes flew open to find the viscount staring down at her with a most concerned expression.
She forced a smile to her lips, hoping he wouldn’t see through her feigned cheerfulness. After all, this was the man she was supposed to be trying to charm, not a brooding vampyre who was incapable of loving her. “I doona ken what ye mean, my lord.”
He refocused on the road before them, fanning his hand across her middle and securing her against him. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, sweetheart. First, you beguiled a groom who is quite possibly half in love with you and willing to face the wrath of the dragon who is the Duchess of Hythe to win your favor. And then there’s MacQuarrie. Between you, Cait, and Rhiannon, I can’t help but wonder if all you Scottish lasses have the ability to enchant poor men with only the bat of those absurdly long eyelashes.”
Sorcha’s heart leapt to her throat. Alec? Could she enchant him? Had Radbourne possibly seen some sign of affection, some sign that Alec had felt a bit of what she’d experienced in his arms? Was that too much to hope for?
“MacQuarrie?” she echoed, hoping her voice hadn’t cracked on Alec’s name.
A grin quirked on Radbourne’s face and he glanced down, only briefly, to catch her gaze. He was a striking man with those dark amber eyes and that strong chin. Why wasn’t she swooning just from being in his company? From being held so closely to him and inhaling his woodsy scent?
From feeling his warmth penetrate through her pelisse and the gown that was hiked up to her knees to sit astride his horse? Lord Radbourne was the embodiment of what she’d dreamt about since she met her first Lycan. With only the bat of her eyes, she could try to enchant him as he’d suggested, yet she didn’t feel the urge to do so. Not now, at any rate.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you just did to him.”
Pretend? She didn’t have a clue. What had she done?
What had Radbourne seen? “I assure ye, sir, I doona ken what ye’re talkin’ about. Perhaps ye’ve imbibed too much this evenin’. My brother has a habit of doin’ that himself.”
Radbourne chuckled. “I assure you, Sorcha, I never get foxed. High tolerance for spirits,” he explained. “My, you are a little minx, aren’t you?”
“I doona think I am.” And she didn’t. No one had ever said so before. Weren’t minxes akin to sirens or such things? She was just… Sorcha.
“Well, I am certain of it.” The viscount frowned as they passed through the gates of Castle Hythe and the pebbled path crunched beneath the horse’s hooves. “I know you think you know that creature back there, but I assure you he isn’t the man you once knew. It would be best if you kept your distance from MacQuarrie—and all other vampyres, for that matter. A little thing like you would merely be a between-meal snack for his kind.”
A snack for Alec? A giggle escaped her throat. “He would never hurt me.” At least she didn’t think he would. Of course, an hour ago she wouldn’t have thought he would have kissed her, either. However, she had started those dealings hadn’t she? Yet, he had kissed her in return.
“I’m serious, sweetheart. I’d rather not have to explain the evening’s events to Eynsford. You know how hearing MacQuarrie’s name can set him off like nothing else. So, please promise me you’ll stay away from the bloodsucker. I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders where it belongs.”
Havers! Eynsford. Sorcha somehow managed not to groan. Caitrin, the seer, would already know everything.
There was never a way to hide anything from her. But would she have confided all to her husband? If Cait thought getting her wolfish husband involved was in Sorcha’s best interest, she would have. “It’s probably too late for that.”
“For keeping my head on my shoulders?” Radbourne’s voice raised an octave. “I do hope not. I rather like it where it is.”
She certainly couldn’t explain what she’d meant by that.
None of Eynsford’s half brothers knew about Cait’s powers of second sight or about the coven. “Of course ye do. It’s a very handsome head. I’d hate for ye ta lose it as well.”
The viscount dipped his very handsome head closer to hers and whispered, “Did you notice my brother’s face? Weston, I mean. The scar across his cheek?”
How could she miss it? The line stretched from his ear to his mouth. It was a most notable disfigurement, though it made him appear dangerous and dashing at the same time. She nodded.
“One of MacQuarrie’s kind did that to him. With only her fingernail. And we can heal from anything. Imagine what could happen to a sweet thing like yourself, Sorcha. Vampyres are not to be trifled with.”
“But Lord Blodswell and Lord Kettering,” she began as they reached the stables. “They became human once more.”
“Anomalies, sweetheart. Blodswell was just as surprised by his transformation as anyone else. No one, not even a vampyre, has ever heard of such things before. It wouldn’t do for you to pin your hopes on such a probability.”
No, it wouldn’t. But if it was possible, if Alec could be transformed back… she knew what to look for, didn’t she?
Both Kettering and Blodswell had suffered chest pains before becoming human again. Elspeth believed their hearts had been flexing, preparing to beat once more after each had met his true love. And Blodswell had suffered from headaches and the inability to drink from anyone other than Rhiannon. If Alec began to show such signs, Sorcha would certainly recognize them.
Radbourne swung from his saddle and offered his hand to her. “You look a million miles away.”
Sorcha accepted his assistance and landed safely on her feet. “Just woolgatherin’.”
One dark brow rose in mild amusement. “Somehow that statement terrifies me.”
“Well, then ye frighten too easily, Archer.” She grinned up at him, so handsome and wolfish, and wished she felt something for him. A fluttering in her belly. A dryness in her mouth. Something other than a simple appreciation of his sense of humor and wolfish nature.
Sticking to her original course would be so much simpler.
Find a Lycan and help make him fall in love with her. This Lycan would probably make a fine husband, in fact. But all she could think about was the brooding vampyre somewhere behind them in the darkness of Kent and the soul-searing way his kiss had stolen her breath.
Radbourne tipped his hat in farewell as he remounted.
“Do remember what I said.”
“Of course,” she agreed with a nod. “I’m certain I will find it very difficult ta think of anythin’ else.”
At that moment, both Hadley twins rode up behind them.
“Pray say you’ll save me a dance tomorrow evening, Miss Ferguson?” unscarred Grayson Hadley asked.
Weston Hadley’s face dropped. “I was going to ask her, Gray.”
His twin shrugged. “I usually beat you out, Wes.”
How strange life was turning out to be. She had not one Lycan’s attention, but three. Sorcha shook her head with a laugh. “Thank ye both for the flattery. I would be honored ta dance with each of ye tomorrow.” A few hours ago she would have been floating up to the clouds with this, heady from her spectacular success. But something else now weighed her down. She turned her attention once again to the viscount. “Will ye tell Cait that I would like very much ta speak with her?”
“It’ll be my honor, sweetheart.”
“And tell her I willna appreciate it if she puts me off again.”
She could tell Radbourne bit back a grin because his amber eyes twinkled with mirth. “I shall toss her over my shoulder and personally deliver her to you in the morning, Sorcha. Will that do?”
She couldn’t help but giggle at that particular image.
Blast, why didn’t Lord Radbourne make her heart leap?
“That will do very nicely, sir.”