Never Been Bit

by Lydia Dare

  The duchess didn’t seem shocked by his language at all.

  She pursed her lips tightly together. Then she said very quickly, “You have the nerve to compromise this girl and then deny knowledge of who she is?”

  Compromise Miss Overton? Alec’s head spun so quickly that he was afraid it would spin right off his shoulders. “Beg your pardon?” he croaked.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sorcha nibbled on a piece of toast in her chambers. She didn’t think she could take the activity of the breakfast room, not while she tried to come up with a plan for her day.

  She’d made a muddle of things with Alec so she’d need to apologize, though she had no idea what she would say. “I’m sorry for bein’ so jealous I couldna see straight.” Or “I do apologize for makin’ such a cake of myself.” No, neither of those would do. She’d have to keep thinking on it. How could she say she was sorry without making herself look even more ridiculous?

  Suddenly, her door flew open and her maid tumbled into the room. “Miss, this just came for ye. It’s urgent, they said.”

  Sorcha knit her brows together as she took the correspondence and opened the wax seal.

  Sorcha, You’re needed immediately in Her Grace’s sitting room. Alec requires your presence. Make haste. His future is at stake.

  Cait His future was at stake? What an odd thing for Cait to say. She wasn’t supposed to share the futures of others. It went against the very nature of her gift. She only did so in dire circumstances.

  Sorcha tossed the missive onto the bed and dashed for the door. Luckily, she’d already pulled herself out of bed and dressed, but just barely. She certainly wasn’t at her best. However, this obviously couldn’t be avoided. Not if Alec’s future was at stake.

  She approached the closed door to the duchess’ sitting room, but a slightly rotund footman stepped into her path.

  “Her Grace is otherwise occupied, miss. Would you like to leave a message?”

  No, she would not like to leave a message. Nor would she. “Step out of my way,” she ordered with an impatient flick of her wrist.

  “I cannot do that, miss,” the man said.

  Oh, he could and he would. Sorcha glanced up and down the corridor, happy to find plants and flowers gracing the low tables along Castle Hythe’s corridor. She willed the nearest plant to stretch its leaves and took great satisfaction as she watched the man’s eyes widen in dismay while the vines closed around his wrists and ankles.

  “Dear God,” the man breathed as he tumbled to the floor.

  He tugged against the bindings, but they simply tightened with his every movement.

  “Ye really should listen when a lady asks ye ta step aside,” Sorcha scolded as she stepped past him and through the door. She would call the vines off in a moment, before anyone could see them. She dusted her hands together as she stepped into the duchess’ sitting room.

  “Sorcha,” Alec gasped as he rose to his feet. “You should not be here.” He pointed back toward the door with a stern look.

  Sorcha walked closer to him and looked up into his worried face. “Cait sent a note that ye might need me,” she said so low that only he could hear.

  “Oh, you have no idea,” he groaned. “But I still wish you weren’t here.”

  But she was here, and Cait had to have had a very important reason for sending such a missive. There was no time like the present to find out what the problem was.

  “What’s happenin’?” she asked.

  Two women sat on the settee, their stunned faces streaked with tears, their eyes puffy with dreariness.

  Sorcha recognized them immediately. Miss Amy Overton had been less than friendly over the past sennight. Instead of exchanging pleasantries with any of the ladies at Castle Hythe, she always seemed to find the company of as many gentlemen as possible, as though it was a game. Friendly or not, Sorcha hated to see anyone reduced to tears. “Has someone died?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Alec said quietly.

  That was fairly ominous coming from a vampyre.

  “You should go, Sorcha,” the duchess ordered, tossing her regal head back like a queen.

  Not even a royal decree from the Prince Regent himself could remove Sorcha from this sitting room. Not yet anyway. “I’ll do no such thing,” she declared. “I will find out what’s goin’ on.” She squared her stance. “And I’ll no’ leave this room until I do.”

  “If Mr. MacQuarrie is in need of a friend right now and consents to you hearing his sordid little secret, who am I to complain?” The duchess flicked her wrist at Alec. “Tell her.”

  “I’d rather not,” Alec remarked.

  Sorcha was about to jump out of her skin. Patience had never been her strongest suit. “Tell me,” she demanded.

  “If you don’t, I will,” the duchess warned, “and you may not care for my choice of words, Mr. MacQuarrie.”

  Alec took another deep, cleansing breath. “It appears as though Miss Overton has been compromised. And the parties in this room have decided I’m to blame.”

  The jealousy that had gripped Sorcha the previous evening twisted at her heart once more. She suddenly couldn’t draw in enough air.

  Fury etched across Alec’s face and he stepped away from her. “You should have left when I told you to,” he growled.

  She followed Alec toward the far wall, turned him to face her, and then stepped on tiptoe to speak so only he could hear. “Did ye do it?” The idea that he might be guilty of the crime bothered her far more than it should. She felt like she’d just been kicked in the chest by a horse. He said he’d only taken his meals at the butcher shop, but he hadn’t said he hadn’t bedded other lasses.

  “I never touched the chit,” he ground out. “I swear it. Everyone knows she’s free with her favors.”

  Sorcha nodded slowly as a plan began forming in her mind. This was why Cait had sent for her—to save Alec.

  Sorcha only had one shot at this.

  “Miss Overton, will ye permit me ta ask ye a few questions?” Sorcha tried to make her voice cheery and companionable. She must have succeeded, because the girl nodded slowly. Sorcha forged on. “Ye say Mr. MacQuarrie compromised ye here at Castle Hythe.”

  The girl nodded as Lady Overton began a fresh bout of crying. Good Lord, Sorcha had never seen so many tears.

  “And when did this assignation occur?”

  A few sniffles and the girl said between pouty lips, “Every night since we arrived. He comes to me after the household is in bed.”

  Alec groaned aloud, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

  “And why would ye allow a known defiler of women ta come inta yer room? Inta yer life? Inta… whatever else he came inta.”

  Alec threw his head back as though in defeat, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

  “He promised to marry me,” Miss Overton cried.

  “Did he now?” No one in his right mind would marry the girl. That was probably why she’d chosen Alec. Once she’d gone down the list of peers at the castle who wouldn’t have her, she’d settled for a wealthy gentleman instead.

  Sorcha smiled despite herself. There was only one way to get Alec out of this mess. She wouldn’t see him saddled with this brainless twit for the rest of the lady’s life. Amy Overton would never be faithful, and he would be miserable.

  “Did he come ta ye last night?”

  The girl nodded quickly.

  “What time?”

  “After the ball,” she sniffled, and then looked to her mother as though seeking confirmation. Lady Overton encouraged her with a nod.

  Sorcha crossed her arms beneath her breasts and moved to stand beside Alec. “Ye’re a liar,” Sorcha said.

  “How dare you!” The baroness jumped to her feet and probably would have attacked Sorcha’s person, had the duchess not stepped between them.

  “Why do you assume she’s not telling the truth, Miss Ferguson?” Her Grace asked. Something flashed in her eyes. Pleasure? Enjoyment? But it was gone before S
orcha could identify it.

  Sorcha shrugged and looked up Alec with the most flirty grin she could force onto her face. He looked positively green. “Because he was with me last night. All night. We left the ball early and went straight ta my room. And he was there until dawn. I would have kent it if he’d left.”

  Alec’s body relaxed marginally. So, he wasn’t put out by the suggestion. Perhaps?

  “I-I meant the night before,” the girl began.

  “Did ye?” Sorcha broke in. “Hmm. He was with me until dawn that night as well.” She shrugged. “In fact, he has been with me every night. All night. I quite find that I like wakin’ up in his arms.”

  “Well!” the duchess said. She clucked her tongue for a moment. “This does change the situation a bit.” She looked hard at Alec. “I can’t believe, Mr. MacQuarrie, that you would take advantage of a dear, sweet creature like Miss Ferguson.” Then she cast her eyes on Sorcha. “I suppose you can’t be blamed for being taken in by such a rogue, handsome and charming as he is. And since you’ve disproven Miss Overton’s claims, he’s free to marry you instead, my dear.”

  Alec choked.

  Sorcha bit back a grin. How fortuitous.

  “I assume that you were planning an elopement, Mr. MacQuarrie?”

  “No.” Alec cleared his throat. “I intend to ask her father for her hand,” he croaked out. “I’d planned to travel there next week.”

  Sorcha threaded her arm through his. “Under the circumstances, we might have ta do it a little sooner, darlin’,” she cooed at him. “After all, I could be carryin’ yer bairn.” She patted her flat stomach and smiled brightly at those in the room. “And I couldna be more delighted.”

  Alec’s face went from green to purple. He started to sputter, but nothing came out.

  “Well, then, we’ll have to ensure that this secret will remain among the occupants of this room,” the duchess informed them all.

  The tears from the two ladies on the settee had suddenly dried up, and they sat stone-faced, looking at the duchess.

  “Secrets such as this are hard to keep private,” Lady Overton said, her nose raised slightly in the air.

  “Yet they will stay private all the same,” the duchess warned. “Or I’ll be certain that the party who shares the news of the blessed nuptials will live to regret it.”

  Both women blanched. Alec snorted.

  Then Alec bent and kissed Sorcha’s cheek quickly with a glare that said, “We will discuss this.” Oh, she could imagine they would.

  *

  Alec was going to kill Sorcha, just as soon as he had her out from under the ever-watchful eye of the Duchess of Hythe. He captured Sorcha’s elbow in his hand and tightened his grip. The little wood sprite didn’t even have the sense to look remorseful about the string of lies that had just ruined her fate. “Come along, lass,” he grumbled. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  “Oh, I imagine you do.” The duchess’ light eyes actually twinkled.

  Damn it to hell, how could the duchess’ eyes twinkle? Did she find the ruination of lovely young women amusing?

  He’d never thought of Her Grace as malevolent before.

  Alec frowned at the older woman, and then he directed his fiancée over the threshold.

  As soon as they entered the corridor, Alec spotted the duchess’ sentinel footman, wrapped up in vines and lying on the floor fast asleep. Good God! He tugged Sorcha closer to him and hissed, “What did you do to him?”

  She shrugged. “He dinna want ta let me pass.”

  She should have listened to the footman. Instead, she’d destroyed any future she might have had. “Let the man go, Sorcha.”

  She heaved a sigh and then flicked her wrist toward the downed footman. Almost instantly, the plant released the servant and began to recede toward its pot. “Happy now?”

  “Hardly. You can’t go around revealing your powers and attacking poor footmen.”

  Sorcha giggled. “Oh, he willna remember a thing.”

  That was a terrifying statement. “Why not? Did you give him a potion too?” Alec frowned.

  Sorcha giggled. “Nay, I just told the vines ta tighten right above his wrists. It helps ye get ta sleep if ye pinch right there. Did ye ken that? Elspeth showed me that a while back. Very helpful if one needs ta cure a bit of insomnia.”

  Insomnia? Good God! And he was supposed to marry this lass? The one who didn’t think twice about drugging poor defenseless grooms or tying footmen up with vines and lulling them to sleep? Alec shook his head. He couldn’t marry Sorcha. He refused to ruin her life, despite the fact that she was more than ready to throw it away on her own.

  He wouldn’t be party to helping her with the actual throwing.

  “Anyway, he’ll wake up soon and think the whole thing was just a dream,” Sorcha continued. “And he willna tell anyone about it because he willna want ta admit ta sleepin’ at his post.”

  “Have it all figured out, have you?” Alec tugged her farther down the hallway, away from the now slightly snoring footman who was sprawled across the corridor.

  “I wouldna say I have it all figured out. I’m just good at improvisin’.”

  “Good at getting yourself in heaps of trouble is more like it,” Alec growled, scanning the corridor in hopes of finding a quiet salon or parlor in this wing. Shouldn’t there be one nearby?

  “I think ye were the one in trouble back there, Alec. I was simply helpin’. Ye’re welcome, by the way.”

  You’re welcome? She had to be joking! Alec stopped in his tracks and grasped both her arms in his hands, staring down into her innocent brown eyes, which were as guileless as those of a newborn fawn. “Helping? Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Sorcha?”

  She nodded and smiled sheepishly. “Aye, I saved ye from having ta marry that connivin’ lass. I promise ta be the best wife ye could have ever hoped for. I mean, I’m no’ Cait, but—”

  Damn it, they were back to Cait. Alec couldn’t help but wince. Besides, that was hardly what he’d meant. Finally, he spotted a doorway just a few feet away. Thank God. He tugged her farther down the corridor and was relieved to find the small salon unoccupied.

  “Don’t move,” he warned her, and then he shut the door behind them to keep anyone from happening upon them.

  Alec took a deep breath and then turned back to face the lady who had plagued his thoughts since his arrival in godforsaken Kent.

  “Look, Sorch, I have no doubt you’d be the best wife any man could hope for, and somewhere out there is a man who’ll thank his lucky stars every day of his life that he found you… But that man isn’t me, lass. I can’t marry you.”

  Her face fell at those last words. “But I thought…”

  Alec would have given half his fortune for her to finish that statement, but she looked away from him as her lips pressed together in annoyance. Bloody wonderful! She’d tried to come to his rescue, and he’d ended up hurting her feelings, which was the last thing he wanted.

  He tucked a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear and let his finger linger on the corner of her jaw. “Sorcha, I’m not the sort of man you should marry. Tell me you see that.”

  “Would I have been better off if I’d kept ta my original plan and brought Lord Radbourne up ta scratch?”

  Alec frowned, and it took every bit of strength he had not to shake some sense into her.

  The damned Lycans again. “Keep your distance from those beasts, Sorcha.”

  Finally, she met his gaze, a question burning in the warm brown depths of her eyes. Then her finger poked his chest.

  Hard enough to make him wince. “I just saved yer wretched hide. And this is the thanks I get?” She stepped back from him. “Since it’s clear ye doona want me, I doona ken what I’ll do. I just told the Duchess of Hythe ye have been in my bed.”

  She’d set her sights back on that blasted Radbourne. He could feel it in his bones. “I never said I don’t want you, Sorch. I said I can’t marry you. I care too much for you
to ruin your life that way.”

  Sorcha swiped at a tear that trailed down her cheek.

  “Lord Kettering dinna feel that way, and neither did Lord Blodswell.”

  Alec still couldn’t believe the former vampyres had actually thought to foist themselves on women more deserving. “Selfish pricks, the both of them,” he grumbled under his breath.

  But Sorcha heard him and she gasped, most likely over his choice in language. “I canna believe ye said that.”

  “Sorcha, just help me find a way out of this mess.”

  Her stubborn chin jutted upward. “Ye’re sayin’ life with me will be a mess? Is that what ye really think?”

  No, that wasn’t what he really thought at all. Life with her would be an adventure he’d never forget, but for her— “I thought we rubbed along well, Alec.”

  “We do—” he began.

  “Then I doona see the problem. And with me ye wouldna have ta pretend ta be somethin’ or someone ye’re no’. Ye wouldna have ta enchant me, and ye wouldna have ta take sustenance from butcher shops or that awful club, and—”

  “Beg your pardon?” Did she mean Brysi? How the devil did she know about his club? And was she once again offering her blood to him? Alec nearly groaned at the thought of sinking his eyeteeth into Sorcha Ferguson.

  Sorcha continued as though he’d never said a word. “I ken what ye are, Alec, and I accept ye exactly that way. And ye ken what I am too. That’s rare for us witches, and somethin’ we only share with our spouses. There wouldna be any need for secrets. And—”

  “All right, you win.” He couldn’t seem to shake the idea of taking from Sorcha whenever he wanted. His incisors started to descend. Damn it, why had she planted that thought in his head? He was turning out to be just as big a prick as both Kettering and Blodswell.

  “Did ye say I won?” She gaped at him.

  In a moment of weakness, he had. “Aye. You win,” he said again.

  What else could he do? She’d gone and ruined herself already with that Banbury tale she’d told the duchess.