Chapter Twenty
Alec 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.