chapter Eight
Sorcha snuck into the Hythes’ orangery, hoping the flowers and plants would bring a little peace to her soul. She could use a little peace. She’d slept very little the previous evening because memories of Alec’s kiss had kept her awake more than half the night. Then like a fool, she’d rushed to the breakfast room and remained there all morning, hoping he would make an appearance, before she realized vampyres didn’t need to eat breakfast. Well, they might have breakfast, but it wouldn’t include capers or baked eggs.
Still it had been disappointing. She hoped he wasn’t avoiding her after what had happened the night before. Or perhaps he’d stayed abed with a headache like the ones Lord Blodswell had suffered from before he became human.
It was a foolish thought, she well knew. Alec was still entirely devoted to Cait. He wasn’t going to become human after sharing one kiss with Sorcha. Or was he? After all, she’d been completely set on a Lycan of her own until she had shared one kiss with him. That kiss could have affected him as much as it had her, couldn’t it? But if so, wouldn’t he have sought her out this morning?
She shook her head. The kiss probably meant nothing to him at all. In fact, she’d wager that he had kissed lots of lasses the same way. After all, he was very good at it. A most delectable shiver crawled up her spine as she remembered how his lips had taken hers and how he’d masterfully made her want to surrender more than just her mouth to him. That had to come from practice, didn’t it? The very thought of Alec kissing someone else brought her even lower.
Sorcha noticed a sad little daffodil on a worktable. Poor thing. Her ill mood had probably made the flower droop.
Sorcha took a few steps toward the flower, which was wilting before her eyes. A happy thought would help. She caressed the yellow petals and closed her eyes; Alec’s face appeared in her mind. His black-as-night eyes were filled with desire, as they had been the previous evening.
A very male voice came from behind her. “Maddie said you have a green thumb.”
Sorcha’s eyes flew open, and she leapt backward right into something very hard. She gasped and spun around, surprised to find Lord Bexley’s green eyes twinkling down at her. “Oh!” He’d almost caught her using magic. That would have been disastrous.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you, Miss Ferguson.” The earl grinned roguishly.
Sorcha stepped away from him and touched a hand to her heart. “I was only startled a bit.” She affectionately stroked a leaf on the drooping little plant. She’d come back to it later.
“My apologies, my dear.” He gestured to a small set of chairs by a wall of windows overlooking the garden. “Since I’ve already interrupted your solitude, care to join me?”
“I havena seen ye in the orangery before, my lord,” she said as she took his outstretched arm.
“I confess I don’t come to the orangery often. But I’d heard of the miracles you were working here. When I didn’t see you above stairs, I was hoping you had paid Grandmother’s plants a visit this morning.”
Had he come here to search her out? “Ye wanted ta speak with me?”
Lord Bexley held out one of the wooden chairs for Sorcha. “I do enjoy your delightful company, Miss Ferguson.”
“Ye’re very kind.”
“What a horrible thing to say.” He chuckled as he took the spot across from her.
Horrible? What had she said? “Are ye sayin’ ye’re no’ kind?” Sorcha frowned at him.
“I’ve never been accused of it before.” Then he shook his head. “No, Miss Ferguson. I am opportunistic, if anything.”
“Opportunistic?” She must sound like a mockingbird, repeating everything he said the way she was. But she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.
“I have been hoping to find you alone for quite some time.”
He had? He’d barely looked in her direction until a few days ago.
He shrugged. “Amusements are few and far between here in Kent. How are you keeping yourself occupied?”
Sorcha wasn’t quite sure what to say. Kent seemed perfectly fine to her. Castle Hythe was more secluded than what she was accustomed to in Edinburgh, but she’d been quite happy with her visit. “I’ve enjoyed Maddie’s company immensely, my lord.”
A mischievous glint lit his green eyes. “I am certain, my dear, that you would find me much more entertaining than my sister, were you to give me half a chance.”
Half a chance at what? “I’m no’ quite sure—” she began, but she was interrupted by the clearing of someone’s throat from the threshold.
“Miss Ferguson.” The Hythes’ stoic butler caught her eye.
Sorcha leapt to her feet. “Yes, Palmer?”
Lord Bexley rose from his spot as well and smoothly dropped his arm across her shoulders. “Can this wait, Palmer? Miss Ferguson and I are in the middle of a conversation.”
The butler kept his old eyes leveled on Sorcha. Was that censure for Lord Bexley she saw in the depths of them?
“Lady Eynsford has just arrived, Miss Ferguson. She said you were expecting her. I’ve placed the marchioness in the golden salon.”
Thank heavens Cait was here, if for no other reason than to end her bizarre conversation with Lord Bexley. “Thank ye.”
“Allow me to escort you.” The earl once again offered Sorcha his arm. “I find I am not quite ready to give you up, my dear.”
The butler sighed. “And His Grace is asking for you, Lord Bexley.”
Bexley’s arm fell to his side, and his brow furrowed with disbelief. “Grandfather is asking for me?”
Sorcha was just as surprised as his lordship. She hadn’t laid eyes on the duke during her stay at Castle Hythe.
Maddie had explained that her grandfather was quite sickly and never left his chambers. She glanced at Bexley, still beside her. “Doona let me keep ye, my lord. I can find my own way ta the golden salon.”
“Thank you, Miss Ferguson,” he said quietly. “I hope we can continue our conversation soon.”
Sorcha wasn’t quite certain she wanted to continue their conversation, but she smiled politely before rushing off toward the main section of the castle. She could hardly wait to see Caitrin and she bustled, most unladylike, down the corridors to reach the golden salon. Thank heavens the duchess wasn’t around to see the spectacle she was certainly making of herself.
Finally reaching her destination, Sorcha burst through the doors. Standing beside one large, arched window, Cait was as radiant as ever in a sky-blue gown that perfectly matched her eyes. Her flaxen curls were piled high on her head, and an all-knowing smile graced her face.
“Cait!” Sorcha gushed, throwing her arms around her friend’s shoulders. “Ye came.”
Caitrin giggled. “Ye dinna give me much of a choice, did ye?” Still she returned Sorcha’s embrace and kissed her cheek. “Archer said if I dinna make the jaunt of my own accord, he’d toss me over his shoulder and drop me at yer feet.” She took a step backward, and her eyes raked Sorcha up and down. “Aye, ye have all of Eynsford Park in an uproar.”
Sorcha frowned a bit. She knew the look in Cait’s eyes.
She’d seen it all of her life, always right before her friend began telling her that what she wanted wasn’t in her future.
“Doona start, Cait. That’s no’ why I wanted ye ta visit me.”
“Doona start what?” Her friend feigned innocence better than most.
“Ye ken exactly what I mean. I’m no’ in the mood for ye ta tell me once again that a Lycan is no’ in my future.” It didn’t matter that Sorcha wasn’t the least bit concerned about Lycans at the moment. She still didn’t want to hear Cait’s irritating, all-knowing advice on the subject. People should be allowed to make their own decisions about some matters.
“Make yer own choices, will ye?”
“Well, why no’? I should be able ta have whatever in life I want, no matter what or who ye see for me.”
At that, a broad grin spread across her friend’s face.
“Now ye sound like Alec.”
Alec. He was exactly the creature Sorcha needed advice about, but asking Cait for such in theory was much easier than asking for it in person. Sorcha knew she needed to be very careful how she went about all of this. Cait might have married Eynsford, but a part of her would always care for Alec. “I’m certain I doona sound a thing like that self-pityin’ vampyre.”
Cait smoothly rounded a white brocade settee and then gracefully sat on the very edge. “Oh, ye sound exactly like him. One of the last conversations, or arguments rather, that we had before I married Dash was on predetermined fate and whether or no’ a man should have a say in his own future.”
Because Alec had been so in love with Cait and hadn’t understood why she refused to give him a fair chance. In his place, Sorcha would have felt exactly the same way. She dropped onto the settee beside her friend and tried to keep her face from dropping just as quickly. “He’s still in love with ye.”Cait disagreed with a shake of her head. “He thinks he is. Once a man gets an idea in his mind, it is hard to get him to shake it. Just like ye and yer fascination with Lycans. See, the two of ye are very much alike after all—stubborn, independent-minded Scots.”
That hardly sounded flattering, the way Cait said it. But she was wrong. Lycans were no longer at the forefront of Sorcha’s mind. “Cait, have ye seen a future for Alec? Is it possible he could be transformed the way Lord Kettering and Lord Blodswell were?”
Cait’s blue eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms across her chest. “Ye ken I canna answer a question like that, Sorch.”
Well, she could; she just chose not to. Blasted principled witch. A simple nod or shake of her head would do. “But I’m worried about him. Please tell me somethin’.”
Cait leaned back against the settee and sighed. “I’m worried about him too. I canna tell ye specifics, Sorcha. Ye ken that. However, I can tell ye that Alec’s happiness is no’ lost forever. It just will be different than he ever imagined. He canna be allowed ta return ta the darkness in which he’s been livin’. Doin’ so could jeopardize whatever future he has.”
“Darkness?”
“A place so void of life and so debauched that I will never speak of it. Seein’ him there tears at my heart.” Cait leaned toward Sorcha and touched her hand. “But ye’re so full of life, Sorch. And he’s always adored ye. And ye’re here with him at Castle Hythe. Do ye think ye could help remind him that life is worth livin’?”
Remind him? How was she to go about doing something like that? Well, he’d certainly felt alive when she’d kissed him, not that she would ever divulge that to Cait. She would like to kiss him again. Especially if it was for his own good.
If his future depended on being reminded what it was like to live. But how could she even try to kiss him again if he was avoiding her? “Cait, do ye remember the promise ye made me?”
Cait laughed. “I am sure I have made ye many promises over the years, Sorcha. What are ye talkin’ about?”
“Ye promised ta tell me all about the marriage bed.”
Cait’s face immediately flushed as she began to fan herself. “I promised no such thing,” she whispered vehemently. “And keep yer voice down.” Her eyes scanned the room, the windows, and the doorway.
Sorcha couldn’t stop her giggle from erupting. “Ye’re an old married woman and still embarrassed about what happens in the marriage bed?”
“I’m no’ embarrassed by it, Sorch. I just doona want ta discuss it where other people could be listenin’. It’s no’ proper.” Cait sat back with a huff.
“So ye would discuss it with me if we were alone?”
Sorcha narrowed her eyes at Cait. “For some reason, I feel like ye’re stallin’.”
Cait’s eyes gave her away when she refused to raise them to meet Sorcha’s. The witch was stalling. She’d promised. She’d promised on the day of her marriage.
“Fibber,” Sorcha accused.
“It’s no’ that I doona want ta tell ye. It’s just that some things are sacred between Lycans and their mates.” She finally met Sorcha’s eyes. “And ye already ken about reproduction. From the flowers and the plants. The fertilization with pollen and all that…” She whispered the last.
“Ye’re comparin’ what goes on the marriage bed with flower reproduction?” Sorcha snorted. A very unladylike sound, she well knew. But she did it anyway. That was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard.
“Yer husband will teach ye all that ye need ta learn,” Cait said as she covered Sorcha’s hand with her own and gave it a quick squeeze. “I promise.”
“Some help ye are,” Sorcha grumbled.
Cait pressed a hand to her chest. “I married Dash,” she said quietly. “There’s a bit more ta a Lycan relationship than a normal one.”
“And I’d like ta catch one myself, so it would be nice ta be prepared,” Sorcha huffed.
Cait opened her mouth to speak, probably to deny that Sorcha would marry a Lycan, but a clatter from the hallway brought both ladies to their feet.
“See, I told ye someone could be listenin’,” Cait said with a self-satisfied grin.
Through the doorway, the Duchess of Hythe bustled in, tugging an unwilling gentleman behind her. “Your Grace,” the man sputtered. “I have an appointment I must keep.”
The duchess gave one last jerk of the man’s arm, and Alec tumbled into the room, protesting all the while.
“There,” the duchess said with a self-satisfied smirk as she dusted her hands together. She turned to address Cait and Sorcha. “Lady Eynsford and Miss Ferguson, I am so happy to see the two of you together.”
“That makes one of us,” Alec muttered as he righted his clothing. He looked as though he’d been brawling in the street.
The duchess continued as though he hadn’t said a thing.
“I met Mr. MacQuarrie in the corridor and impressed upon him how much I’d like to learn the details of my surprise. You do remember the one you mentioned the other day?”
Sorcha pressed the back of her hand to her lips to stop the giggle that wanted to erupt. Poor Alec. He clearly didn’t have a clue what to do about the duchess’ surprise.
“I told Her Grace that patience is a virtue,” Alec tried.
“A virtue I apparently lack,” the duchess chimed in. “So, I’ll have my surprise now.”