Once Upon a Highland Summer (16 page)

Angus watched as Alec turned to look down at the road. There was a grand coach trundling along the rutted track, followed by several carts, all heavily laden. He frowned at the grand gold crest on the side of the coach, at the six matched white horses that drew the vehicle toward Glenlorne. Angus drifted closer to his grandson’s side. “Now who’s this coming?” he asked, though he knew Alec could not hear him.

“Sophie,” Alec murmured, and took off running down the hillside.

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INETEEN

C
aroline slipped through the kitchen door and took the stairs two at a time, heading for the girls’ shared bedchamber first of all, dreading what she might find—or not find—there. She almost sagged to the floor in relief when she saw three heads on three pillows, all fast asleep, with nothing more dangerous than a few wilted wildflowers littering the floor. She drew the blanket up around Sorcha’s chin, and went to her own room.

She shut the door and leaned on it for a moment. No one had seen her. Relief flooded her, and she crossed to scrub her face in cold water, though it did nothing to cool the burn of her cheeks. She stared into the mirror, regarding her face in the first rays of the sun. Did she look different?

Of course she did. Her hair was a wild tangle, and her lips were pink and swollen from his kisses. The mere thought of his mouth on hers made her knees weaken with desire for more. She watched hot blood fill her face from chin to hairline, and her eyes—oh, how would she ever hide the look in her eyes? They glowed, shone, and there was a soft, bemused look that hadn’t been there before. Was it love, or just the satisfaction of a woman who had been well pleasured by a skilled lover? She knew little about such things—well, before last night. She’d heard servants gossiping in hushed tones, of course, their own eyes bright, their cheeks as flushed as hers were now. She held on to the edge of the table, her knees suddenly wobbly, her body sore and sated. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the comfort of her bed and sleep, and dream of Alec MacNabb and what had occurred between them in the tower.

But the sun was coming up and she had duties to attend to. She washed her face again, vainly trying to scrub away the evidence. She chose the primmest gown she could find, dull blue and high-necked. She twisted her hair into a skin-pulling knot until not a curl remained, and fastened it with an army of pins.

Still, when she looked into the mirror, her cheeks were flushed, her mouth still lush. Yes, she understood what the servants had been gossiping about now. She turned away from the mirror. She would simply act as if nothing at all had happened. She’d keep her eyes downcast, and her lips primly pursed. Surely no one would dare to ask questions, to ask where she’d disappeared to last night. If they did, she’d simply tell them—

She reached the door with her chin high and stopped, her hand on the latch. Tell them what? There were no words to explain. And whatever would she say to Alec MacNabb when—if—she saw him? Oh lud!

She stepped back and stared at the latch. She’d say that it had been a mistake—no, not a mistake—an impulse. Not that she was the impulsive sort. Usually. Saying it was the spirit of the evening might sound better—the dancing, the smoke from the fire. It had all made her—well, “giddy” might be one word she could use. She would make it clear that she did make a habit of doing such things, and her behavior of last night would not be repeated. Ever. She put her hand on the latch again. “There, that should explain things.”

She drew back again. Oh, but if he smiled at her the way he had looked at her across the fire, or kissed her, she would be lost all over again. She raised shaking fingers to her hot cheek. Perhaps it would be better to find a way to avoid him altogether—at least until he forgot. How long did it take a man to forget a casual conquest in a dark tower? It was certainly something
she’d
never forget, even if she lived to be as old as the tower itself. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

She came out of the tower and nearly collided with a maid coming along the main hall with tea and toast for Devina. The girl simply nodded back and went on her way without saying a word about flushed cheeks or knowing eyes. Caroline let out the breath she was holding. She had passed the first hurdle. She headed for the stairs with a smile.

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WENTY

A
lec barely made it back to the castle in time to change his clothes, comb his hair, and wipe the scent of his lover from his skin. She had obviously slipped away when he’d fallen asleep and had gone back to wherever she and her father were lodging, and was now about to make a formal arrival at Glenlorne.

He grinned as he tied his cravat, forgoing Highland dress for English finery. Surely the fact that it was barely past dawn and she was arriving with carts filled with trunks and boxes meant that she had enjoyed last night as much as he had, was eager to marry him and repeat the pleasure, this time in his bed as his wife.

He looked at the grand MacNabb bed, and pictured her there. Beautiful, magnificent, luscious Sophie. He hoped he hadn’t been too rough, too overwhelming for her. If her moans of desire and sighs of pleasure were anything to go by, she’d been well satisfied. As was he. He hadn’t slept so deeply or so well in a very long time as he had with her in his arms, sated and happy, his mind at peace. He’d been disappointed when he woke alone. She had the damnedest way of disappearing. He’d wondered if she’d been real, but the taste of her in his fingers, the sight of her Midsummer crown was proof enough.

It didn’t matter. She was here now. He straightened his cravat, and smoothed a hand over his hair, and left his room.

He paused at the top of the stairs. How should he greet her? He could hardly sweep her into his arms in front of her father and kiss her the way he had last night. Nor could he do what he really wanted and carry her up to his chamber for the rest of the day, though he was aroused just thinking about it.

He straightened his cuffs and headed down the stairs slowly with the proper dignity of an earl. He would play it however she liked. He would pretend they were total strangers if she wished, bow over her hand and call her my lady, even stand by patiently while proper introductions were made. He would offer his arm, and ask her politely how the journey from London was, and if it had tired her. He grinned. She must be tired indeed this morning.

“Alec, the grandest coach just arrived. Who’s here?” Sorcha demanded, racing down the hall.

Megan followed her sister. “There’s a crest on the side of the carriage!”

“It’s the grandest thing I’ve ever seen—six horses, all perfectly matched. Is it the Prince Regent, perhaps?” Alanna paused briefly as she reached Alec, her eyes shining. “Is this part of our presents?”

Alec felt pride swell his in his breast. “Yes. In fact it’s the best present of all,” he said.

She was already alighting from the coach when he reached the front steps, her head down, her hand on the sleeve of a footman wearing Bray livery. He couldn’t see her face beneath her bonnet. It was more confection than hat, covered with a froth of fluffy feathers, blue and pink and green, with a stuffed yellow bird perched on one side. The poor stuffed fledgling stared up at Alec with bug-eyed surprise. Her dress was pink, her stylish little spencer jacket green. He let his eyes linger over her figure. Odd. He had thought she was taller, not as curvaceous as she appeared now. He tried to imagine her breasts the way he’d seen them in the moonlight, perfect, white, round, and sweetly filling his hands. He found his hand clenching, trying to compare memory with what he saw now. Perhaps it was the dress, or the feminine unmentionables beneath, but she looked far better endowed this morning. He dropped his hand to his side.

He saw her mouth move beneath the brim as she spoke to the footman, her bonnet still hiding the rest of her face.

He felt his gut tense as a gentleman exited the coach, and stepped in front of Sophie, blocking Alec’s view of her. The man looked over his shoulder and nodded to him.

“Good morning, Your Lordship. I’m the Reverend Reginald Parfitt,” the man said, coming up the steps. “I had the pleasure of escorting Lady Sophie and her maid from London at her father’s request.” He held out his hand and Alec shook it, trying to see past him.

Sophie had turned to watch the maid descend from the carriage, carrying a hatbox. Alec was aware that Reverend Parfitt was speaking to him, and the girls were pressing in on him, but he kept his eyes on Sophie, desperate now to see her. He wanted to rush down the steps, tear the damned silly bonnet off her head, bend her over his arm, and kiss her senseless; and he didn’t give a damn who was watching him do it. He started forward.

And that’s when Lady Sophie Ellison looked up at him.

Alec’s knees turned to water, and he stopped where he was, and stared. He met a pair of ice blue eyes under a tidal wave of flaxen curls. Hadn’t they been hazel last night? And her hair had been red. He couldn’t have imagined that, could he?

It wasn’t her. This woman was a complete stranger.

Alec felt the smile dripping off his face like melting wax. His body went numb, his outstretched fingers curled back into his side.

It wasn’t her.

“May I present Lady Sophie Ellison?” Parfitt said, and Alec dragged his eyes away from her face, and stared at him instead. A long moment of silence followed, until the churchman’s brow furrowed. “My lord earl?” he murmured.

Alec blinked. Was it possible he’d been seeing things? Perhaps she’d been in disguise, or looked different without a bird-topped bonnet on her head. He peered at her again.

It wasn’t her.

Her wide blue eyes flicked around her like nervous hummingbirds, darting over the castle, his sisters, and himself. There was no hint of recognition. Her gaze moved on again, paused on something behind him. Her smile bloomed.

“Oh!” she cried. “Look, it’s Lady Caroline!” She pushed past him, rushing up the steps, and Alec turned.

He had a glimpse of red hair, of white skin and wide hazel eyes for an instant before they were swallowed up in Sophie’s embrace and the face of his lover was hidden behind the froth of Lady Sophie’s feather bonnet.

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WENTY
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O
NE

“Y
ou must be surprised to see me, and not Lord Bray,” Parfitt said. “His Lordship had pressing matters of business to attend. He sent me instead.” The clergyman patted his pocket. “Never fear. I come equipped with a marriage license. Is Lord Somerson visiting Glenlorne at present?”

Alec forced his eyes away from the two women at the top of the steps and turned to look at Parfitt. “Somerson? Why would he be here?”

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.