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’s Devina in 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.”
Alec held his tongue, but he and everyone else looked around, and he saw the flaws of his family home for the first time. The stone walls were hung with threadbare tapestries and more of the rusty weapons that had been kept hidden away for nigh on seventy years, which Muira had now seen fit to bring out and display. The furniture was spartan and faded. Sophie took off her hat and set it on a table, and the yellow bird stared at the cold stone walls in open-beaked horror.
Sophie was wrinkling her dainty nose at a pillow that Megan had embroidered when she was just nine, and his sister’s cheeks flamed. Sophie Ellison was even more of a stranger than he had feared. He’d felt an instant attraction when he’d seen Caroline in the tower. He looked at Sophie again, and felt nothing. Yet she would bring sixty thousand pounds to Glenlorne.
Even so, marriage once again seemed a sad prospect, even though he’d been willing, even eager to marry her when he thought she was Caroline, or that Caroline was Sophie. He rubbed his forehead, confounded. Would he still marry her? He must. Was there any choice? And Glenlorne would be painted and papered and his sisters would all learn to speak perfect English and sport egregious bonnets with dead wildlife mounted on them—a fox for Megan, a squirrel for Sorcha, and a dove, perhaps, for Alanna.
“Perhaps we could have a word about arrangements, my lord?” Mr. Parfitt suggested. “Lord Bray was most anxious to see everything settled.”
“Could it wait until after breakfast,” Sophie insisted. “I’m starving. Is there any English food in the place? No matter. I insisted we bring suitable provisions just in case. And a cook.”
“We have a cook,” Alanna said carefully, her smile fading a trifle.
Sophie laughed, the sound like sweet water flowing into a crystal goblet on a hot day. “Not an English one, I’ll warrant.”
“Warrant?” Alanna repeated, running her tongue over the unfamiliar English word.
Sophie babbled on like a stream on a flood tide, carrying the entire conversation by herself, comparing the virtues of French paper to English plasterwork, using more words the girls didn’t recognize, if the looks of bafflement that passed between them were any indication. His sisters cast a few questioning looks at Alec as well, as if wondering just how and where he’d found Lady Sophie Ellison, and if it was too late to send her back. It was. Alec stared at the door, hoping Lady Caroline would walk through it. If she did, he would rise from his seat and cross the room. Then he’d take her in his arms—and strangle her.
Devorguilla—Devina—came downstairs dressed like an English lady in a stylish morning gown. Her clothing, her hair, even her shoes would have fit right in with the expensive English decor Sophie was suggesting.
The countess greeted her unexpected guests as if she hosted English nobles in her home all the time. She waved a gracious hand to indicate that Muira could pour the tea. Muira rolled her eyes.
“Mama, this is Lady Sophie. Alec is going to marry her,” Megan said.
Muira would have dropped the delicate English teacup in her hand if Alec hadn’t reached out and caught it. “Truly?” she whispered in Gaelic, looking at him. “A Sassenach countess?” She made a subtle sign of protection against evil.
Devina’s eyes bulged, and she looked more carefully at Sophie, sliding her eyes over the lady’s gown and jewelry, assessing her value. Sophie shifted under her hot stare.
“Will Caroline be joining us for tea?” Sophie asked.
“Caroline?” Devina warbled, only half recovered from her surprise. “Who is Caroline?”
“Why, Lady Caroline Forrester. It was such a pleasure to find her here. I am a dear friend of her niece Lottie. We have so much to talk about!”
Devina’s brow furrowed.
“Your Miss Forrester, I believe,” Alec said.
Devina’s eyes bugged out again. “My Miss Forrester? The girls’ governess?”
“Yes—she’s the Earl of Somerson’s sister.” Alec pinned her with a look, and watched Devina’s throat bob.
“Well, his half sister actually,” Sophie said. “His father married a second wife less than half his age, and Caroline was born. It was a dreadful scandal some twenty years ago. Lottie told me about it.”
“Somerson? The one with all the money?” Devina squeaked.
Sophie tilted her head, her eyes wide. “Yes, that’s him—though my father is richer still.”
Devina made another sound of strangled surprise.
Megan looked at her mother in concern. “Do you want the hartshorn, Mama?” But Devina was staring at Alec.
“You’re going to marry—” She pointed discreetly at Sophie.
“Yes indeed. I’m here to perform the ceremony,” Mr. Parfitt said firmly.
“If Lord Glenlorne formally proposes, of course,” Sophie said, and gave him a shy smile.
Alec watched Devorguilla—Devina—assess Sophie’s value again, taking in the diamond pin at her collar, the stylish hat, the cut of her clothes, the exquisite pearl and emerald earrings. Her smile stretched, until it nearly reached her ears on both sides.
“Tell me, Lady Sophie, do you have any unmarried brothers by chance?”
Sophie giggled. “Oh no. I’m an only child. My father’s title will be inherited by a cousin.”
Devina batted her lashes. “A single cousin?”
Sophie laughed aloud, and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Dear old Cousin Kenneth is near to fifty, and on his third wife. His only son is but three years old. Are you looking to marry, Countess?”
Devina considered. “I did mean my daughters, but perhaps . . .”
“Well, when Glenlorne and I marry—if we marry—I shall personally see that your lovely girls are offered the best introduction into society, Countess, and ensure that they travel in the very highest social circles.”
Devina’s eyes glowed.
Alec felt all eyes on the room come to rest on him. Did they expect him to drop to one knee now, here in the middle of the hall? He couldn’t. He kept his expression bland. “I’m sure Lady Sophie would love a chance to see her room once breakfast is over, and perhaps a tour of the castle is in order. Megan, would you do the honors?” He rose from his seat, and bowed to the stranger he was supposed to marry. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to see to that cannot wait.” He left Sophie and the Reverend Mr. Parfitt in Devorguilla’s capable, covetous hands.
“So that’s Sophie,” Angus said, stepping aside to let his grandson pass. He needn’t have bothered, of course, but he was tired of people walking straight through him. “She’s a bonnie enough lass. Did you hear the part about her father being rich?”
Georgiana sniffed. “She’s not as pretty as Caroline. She’s only bonnie because her clothes and jewels are expensive. Her eyes protrude, and her teeth are too big.”
“Still, what more does a man need?” Angus argued, his eyes on Sophie as she sipped her tea delicately. “She’s obviously got money—did ye see the coach and the beasts pulling it?”
“Did you see that hat?” Georgiana snapped.
Angus glanced at it and winced, touched a hand to his own feathered bonnet. “Ach, what does a hat matter? She’s rich. Alec can build new cottages, mayhap a school.”
Georgiana set her hands on her hips. “Doesn’t it bother you that she wants to turn Glenlorne into a proper English castle, in the very image of her father’s home—or Somerson’s?”
That got Angus’s attention. “What? She wouldn’t!”
“What do you think chintz is, my love?” Georgiana asked.
He had no idea but was loath to admit his ignorance. “Alec wouldn’t allow chintz.”
“With Devorguilla on her side?” Georgiana smirked. “Look at her. If Lady Sophie Ellison wished to tear the whole castle down and rebuild it as a fine Palladian mansion, Alec and an army of clansmen would be powerless to stop it happening.”
“You’re daft, woman!”
“Daft, am I? Look!” She pointed to Devorguilla, who was now in deep conversation with the Reverend Mr. Parfitt.
“What are they talking about?” Angus asked. He didn’t like the look in Devorguilla’s eyes. She was a scheming baggage, and he knew trouble when he saw it.
“Sixty thousand!” Devorguilla’s cry rang to the rafters.
“Change, Angus. They’re talking about change.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Caroline paced her bedchamber. Her hands were shaking. She paused and made a sound of rage. “His fiancée!” Alec MacNabb knew he was betrothed—and to Lady Sophie Ellison of all the women on earth, and he dared to dally with another woman? Not just another woman—her!
She’d been a fool, but what did she expect, that he’d marry her after a hasty tumble in the dark? No, she’d never expected that, not for a moment. Her face heated at the lie. She’d spent her life dreaming of true love. She was thoroughly convinced now, if she hadn’t had proof enough before, that there was no such thing—and she was still a fool.
What now? Sophie Ellison was one of Lottie’s closest friends, and she was a dreadful gossip. Surely the first thing Sophie would do, once she had rearranged the furniture in her assigned chamber, changed her dress, and had her hair redone by one of the three maids she’d brought with her, would be to sit down and write to Lottie. Lottie would write to her mother, who would wake up screaming after fainting in horror at the news that Caroline was a governess in Scotland, and then she would inform Somerson.
And then? Her brother would come and drag her to the nearest anvil, since nunneries were scarce, and she shuddered to think who might be waiting there to take her hand in marriage this time. She wrapped her arms around her body to still the shudder of distaste. She’d do better to go out right now, climb the bloody tower, and jump off the top. She groaned, her cheeks flaming.
Damn Alec MacNabb! He’d stood at the door of his castle this morning, calmly waiting to greet his bride, his expression closed, unreadable, as if he hadn’t—they hadn’t—well!
He’d bowed low to Sophie, had taken her arm and led her indoors, a gentleman, a fiancé.
And yet hours earlier, he’d carried her off to his tower like a pirate, and—no, she couldn’t accuse him of anything beyond accepting what was freely offered. Oh, how would she ever be able to face him again? Or Sophie, or anyone else she knew for that matter? How foolish he must think her, how horrified he must be to think that such a wanton creature was governess to his innocent young sisters!
She crossed to the window and stared at the dusty roa
d that wound past the old tower. She would be dismissed, of course. She couldn’t expect a reference from the countess. What then? She could go to Edinburgh or Glasgow, perhaps. Or she could go home, beg her brother’s forgiveness, and do as she should have done in the first place. She’d been raised to be demure, ladylike, obedient. What on earth had happened to her good sense? Alec MacNabb, that’s what had happened. She sighed. No one but her mother had ever told her she was beautiful.
It seemed as if the curse that lay upon her had taken an even darker turn. It was far worse this way, having tasted passion, to wake up to see that she was destined to live a dry, loveless life.
She spun as the door burst open.
Alec MacNabb stood there, glowering at her. Her heart flipped over in her chest, and kicked to a gallop. He was utterly terrifying, infuriating and gorgeous. Her lips tingled. Everything tingled.
“Hiding, my lady?”
At his sarcastic use of her title stirred her to anger. “Do you not knock before you enter a lady’s chamber?” she demanded in icy tones.
He threw back his head and laughed, then kicked the door shut and strode further into the room. “I think we know each other well enough to dispense with polite formalities like knocking, don’t you?” He pulled down the edge of his cravat to reveal a small red bite mark on his throat. “I discovered it this morning.”
Caroline felt her face heat. “I didn’t mean to injure you, my lord.”
“It didn’t hurt in the least.”
“I don’t usually—I mean I’ve never—” she spluttered. “You—you knew you were betrothed, and you still—oh, how despicable!”
He raised his chin. “In my defense, I thought you were Sophie.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “It wasn’t that dark!”
He colored. “I’d never met her! I only knew she was coming to Scotland, so we could discuss the possibility of marrying.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Look, you were in the tower, and you were English. How many English ladies could possibly be here in the Highlands—my Highlands—at the same time? It was a natural assumption to make.”
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