chapter Eleven
Sorcha grinned up at Archer Hadley, Viscount Radbourne, as he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
“You know,” he began quietly as he directed her toward a less populated area of the ballroom, “I have thought about nothing but you since last night.”
“You have?” she asked, not certain what else to say.
“Hmm.” He dipped his head closer to hers. “It’s a novel experience spending time with a lass who knows what I am. Rare indeed.”
Havers! He still looked slightly discomfited by the fact that she knew about his Lycan heritage. “I meant what I said, Archer. I will never tell anyone yer secret,” she said, trying to reassure him.
Archer smiled down at her, and his dark amber eyes glittered from the warm chandelier light above. “I trust you, lass. It’s just nice not to have to pretend with you.”
“Ta pretend ye’re somethin’ ye’re no’.” She agreed with a nod. Sorcha could most assuredly understand that. Only the families of her fellow coven sisters knew what she was.
Well, and Alec. But, no one else. It was often difficult to walk the line of being who she truly was while keeping that part of her a secret from the rest of the world. “I understand completely.”
He placed his hand over hers on his arm and squeezed.
“Somehow I think you do.”
“I am curious about the transformation.” Her eyes glittered with excitement. “I’d love ta hear more about it, if ye’d like ta tell me.”
A slight blush crept up Archer’s neck and he glanced away from her as though he was embarrassed. “I’ve never told anyone about that. My brothers, of course, know all about it and our mother has never asked.”
“Yer father probably told her,” Sorcha suggested. After all, if she married a Lycan, she’d demand to know all there was about the creatures. Everything Cait and Elspeth had refused to tell her. That alone made the information worthy of knowing. If it was something mundane, there wouldn’t be a need to keep secrets or blush to the color of ripe tomatoes whenever Sorcha asked for details, would there?
Of course not. Perhaps Archer Hadley would tell her everything she wanted to know. “How does the change come on? Do ye feel it all day or—”
“Dear God,” the viscount suddenly grumbled beneath his breath. “This is an experience I could have done without.” A most stern expression crossed his face as he looked over her shoulder.
“I beg yer pardon,” Sorcha began as she spotted Alec, a severe look upon his face, barreling in their direction.
“Every time I’m speaking with a pretty Scottish lass, some vampyre or another wants to steal her from me.”
“Every time?” Sorcha couldn’t help but giggle. That couldn’t possibly be true. What a silly thing to say.
“Rhiannon and Blodswell,” Archer explained. Then he waggled his brow suggestively. “What is it about the bloodsuckers that you lasses find so irresistible?”
“Perhaps it’s the lack of drool,” Alec drawled as he stopped at Sorcha’s side and placed his hand on her shoulder.
Sorcha frowned up at him. “Alec! There was no need for that.”
“Oh, there was a need,” he assured her. Then he leveled his glare on Archer Hadley. “You can take your fleas and go bother someone else.”
The Lycan arched one dark, golden brow. “Am I bothering you, Sorcha?”
“Of course not,” she began, but Alec squeezed her shoulder in warning. When had Alec MacQuarrie become a brute?
“I have a few things I need to discuss with my countrywoman.”
She was his countrywoman? Was that all?
“Sorcha?” Archer asked.
Well, she did need to speak with Alec, even if he only thought of her as his countrywoman. “I’ll be fine, but do find me in time for our dance.”
Archer nodded his head as gallantly as Sir Galahad, she was sure. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, lass.” Then he started back toward his brothers and Cait, leaving Sorcha alone with Alec. Well, as alone as two people could be in a ballroom filled with revelers.
Sorcha poked Alec in the ribs. “I have never kent ye ta be so ill-mannered, Alec MacQuarrie.”
His black eyes pierced her soul. “And I have never known you to be so careless. That little prank with the dirt you left all over my face and waistcoat this afternoon has caused quite the stir in the castle, in case you weren’t aware.”
She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. He had looked perfectly ridiculous as he’d fled the orangery.
“I hardly find it amusing.”
“Then ye must no’ have looked in the mirror. Ye were positively the most disheveled sight I have ever seen.”
Alec’s eyes somehow darkened even more. How could black eyes appear darker? She wasn’t sure, but they did.
“And you’ve almost ruined yourself in the process. Hopefully, you don’t find that so amusing.”
“Ruined myself?” she echoed. What a perfectly ridiculous thing to say.
“Oh, aye. Chilcombe and his merry band of idiots have been scouring the castle in search of the chit who was my orangery assignation.”
Lord Chilcombe! Was that why the earl had asked Maddie if she enjoyed spending her time in the orangery?
And was that why Lord Loughton had tried to get a look at her fingernails? Sorcha groaned. She would never forgive herself if she ended up hurting Maddie, unintentionally or otherwise. “It was only a jest.”
“One that could likely have you ruined, Sorcha Ferguson, should anyone find out about the situation.”
That was the last thing Sorcha wanted. Her father would kill her. Or Alec. Well, her father couldn’t really kill Alec, could he? But he’d give it his best try. Then an idea popped into Sorcha’s mind as her eyes found the punch bowl on the opposite side of the room. A little bit of dried eyebright leaves, ground into powder and added to the orgeat, ought to do the trick. “What if we made them forget they ever saw ye covered in dirt and escapin’ the orangery, Alec?”
~*~
Alec wasn’t certain why, but the wicked little glint in Sorcha’s eye was the most terrifying sight he’d ever seen. “I don’t know what you’re plotting, but put it out of your mind this instant.”
She tipped her nose in the air haughtily. “But it’s a very good plan, Alec. And they’ll never suspect I’ve wiped their memories.”
He was right. That look was the most terrifying sight he’d ever seen. “Is that what you did to that poor groom last night?”
Sorcha grinned at him. “That was valerian. Very different. I’m sure Johnny is just fine today.”
“Just fine,” Alec echoed. “I saw the poor lad, Sorch. Other than suffering from a broken heart, he’ll live.”
“He was a sweet lad. I dinna mean ta hurt him.” Remorse flashed in her pretty brown eyes until she blinked it away.
“But I’m talkin’ about a bit of powered eyebright for Chilcombe and the others. It’ll just make them forget whatever I say in the spell.”
“That sounds like a truly bad idea, lass.” It sounded like something that would backfire and get her into even more trouble. “Just behave yourself for a few days, and the situation will resolve itself.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I canna stand by and do nothin’, Alec. Maddie said Lord Chilcombe was askin’ her about the orangery this afternoon. I dinna put two and two together then, but now I ken what he was askin’. And she could end up bein’ blamed for my bit of fun. That’s hardly fair. I willna do that ta her.”
She would get herself into trouble. That’s what she would do. “I’ll take care of it,” he finally sighed.
Her pretty little eyebrows scrunched together. “How?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re too curious for your own good?” He tried to scowl at her. But it was hard to chastise Sorcha. She was so damn adorable.
She laid her hand delicately on her chest and fluttered her lashes at him. “Who? Me?” A slow smile spread across her lips. His teeth began to ache, among other things. Why on earth was Sorcha suddenly calling to him the way she was? She was innocent. He was not. He hadn’t been terribly innocent before his death. And he was even less so now. They couldn’t be more different.
Sorcha broke into his self-recrimination. “Why do ye suddenly look so serious?” She lifted a hand and very briefly touched the side of his face.
Alec turned his head quickly and kissed the center of her palm, which made her giggle. Then he looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed his misstep. He shouldn’t have done that. Yet she made him want to do things that would be so bad for her. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
“May I escort you in to dinner tonight, Sorcha?” he blurted out.She looked as surprised as he was.
“Or has Radbourne already requested the honor?”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a grin. “Radbourne has no’ asked. No’ yet, anyway.”
“Is that a yes?”
Her eyes narrowed as she appraised his face. Was she looking for sincerity? She might find that. He sincerely wanted to keep Radbourne from taking her in to dinner. But he doubted that was the kind of sincerity she would be looking for. She was looking for a pure heart. And, hell, he didn’t even have a heart anymore.
“Perhaps.” She said just that one word. Perhaps.
Perhaps he’d just toss her over his shoulder and steal away with her. He could move so fast that only the very observant would see him. And even those people could be made to forget, just like he would do with Chilcombe and his cronies.
“Perhaps? Do not tempt me, Sorcha,” he growled.
“Ooo, ye sound like a Lycan with all that growlin’.” Her tinkling little laugh nearly made him crack a smile.
“Do not compare me to those beasts,” Alec warned.
Sorcha laid one hand on his chest and patted him softly, her eyebrows mocking seriousness as she pursed her lips and crooned out, “Oh, that’s right. Ye’re a big, bad vampyre. Well above those Lycan beasts. Sometimes I forget. Thank ye for remindin’ me of yer superiority.” There went that tinkling laughter again. Alec fought not to grin. She was incorrigible.
“Do not take my condition so lightly, Sorch,” he warned.
“You may have bitten off more than you can chew, messing with me.”
Her voice dropped to a silky purr as she leaned closer to him. “I doona think I’ll be the one who does the bitin’,” she teased.
“Bloody hell,” Alec muttered. His incisors descended right there on the outskirts of the ballroom.
“What’s wrong?” The teasing left her voice as she searched his face. “Do ye have a headache?”
“Vampyres don’t get headaches,” he grumbled, fighting to hold his lips down over his teeth. He had to get out of the ballroom, away from the others. “I will retrieve you for dinner,” he clipped out. But the very thought of dinner with her made him think about sinking his teeth into the delicate skin at the base of her throat.
“Are ye ill?” She continued to search her face.
“Nay, I’m just dead.” Alec rubbed at his upper lip, hoping she wouldn’t notice his fangs.
“That is no’ humorous.” Her pert little nose lifted higher in the air.
“No, it’s not humorous at all. I’ll retrieve you for dinner. So, please do not accept any invitations from Eynsford’s relations.” He’d hate to have to dispose of a body. But he could be led to commit homicide if one of the beasts put his hands on Sorcha. “Or anyone else for that matter,” he amended. Bexley, Chilcombe, and Loughton weren’t much better. “Understand?”
“Ye are no’ handsome when ye act like a tyrant,” she muttered. “No’ a bit.”
“Don’t do anything magical with the punch while I’m gone. I’ll see you in a bit,” he said with a quick bow. He needed to make a quick trip to the butcher shop in the village to quench this suddenly insatiable thirst. But he also didn’t want anyone to force him to exchange pleasantries on his way out. He chose the lesser of two evils and slipped into the garden and over the garden wall.
He’d be back in a trice. He’d have just enough time to drink his fill and then find Chilcombe and his cohorts and help them forget what they’d seen outside the orangery that afternoon. After all, there had to be some good things about being a vampyre, didn’t there? It couldn’t be all blood sucking and eternal damnation.