Never Been Bit (27 page)

“I’m certain your father has plenty of tea and biscuits awaiting you, lass,” Alec said through gritted teeth.

“No’ if Wallace is at home.” Her brother had been accused more than once of eating the Fergusons out of house and home. It wasn’t just a saying, but a fact as far as Wallace Ferguson was concerned.

Alec’s irritated gaze sent Sorcha a warning, but it was no use. The interloping vampyre bowed low before her. “It doesn’t appear that our friend is going to introduce us. Charles Browning at your service.”

Alec huffed in annoyance. “Sorcha Ferguson, Charles Browning. Now really, Charles, I need to see the lass home.”

Mr. Browning smirked. “Not so quickly, Alec. The chit said she was parched. And I, for one, would like to become better acquainted with your… friend.”

“Fiancée,” Alec corrected with a grumble.

The English vampyre chuckled. “So I heard, just wanted to see if the rumors were true.” He reached a hand out to Sorcha. “Come along, Miss Ferguson. I promise not to bite.”

Sorcha blinked at Mr. Browning. “How could ye possibly have heard our good news, sir?”

“Not in the corridor,” Alec complained. He brushed Browning’s arm aside and directed Sorcha toward the parlor his friend had exited minutes earlier. Then he tossed over his shoulder at Gibson, “Tea, please. I’m certain the ladies could use refreshment.”

Sorcha stepped into the parlor, and her eyes landed on a very pretty girl sitting on a black settee. The girl pushed her long brown hair over one bare shoulder, and Sorcha nearly gasped at the number of bite marks along the girl’s neck and bare skin.
Havers!
She looked like a pincushion. The marks were tiny, but Sorcha knew what to look for, after all.

She covered her own neck with the palm of her hand for a moment. Then she realized what she was doing and jerked it down.

Behind her, Alec cleared his throat. “Um, Sorch, this is…”

“Miss Harris,” Mr. Browning put in smoothly, sliding into the parlor and crossing the room. He squeezed the girl’s shoulder and gestured for Alec and Sorcha to take a seat.

“I feel as though I’ve usurped your hosting duties, Alec.”

“What does that tell you, Charles?” Alec muttered as he led Sorcha to a high-backed chair and then took its twin beside her. “That perhaps you shouldn’t take over someone else’s home and enchant their servants to do your bidding?”

Mr. Browning laughed again and dropped into the spot beside Miss Harris. “Your accommodations are better than staying at some musty inn. Besides, I couldn’t take the chance you’d keep your lovely bride from me.”

Alec frowned. “And Till… Miss Harris?”

The Englishman shrugged. “We all need our sustenance. Besides, Tillie has only ever seen London and not the good parts. She
wanted
to come with me.”

Miss Harris nodded enthusiastically. “Scotland is so pretty. Very green.”

A sinking feeling washed across Sorcha as she focused once again on Miss Harris’ plethora of marks. How well did Alec know this girl? “Ye dinna answer me, Mr. Brownin’. How did ye hear that Alec and I are ta be married?”

Browning’s dark eyes twinkled and he winked at her.

“Heard a couple fellows at a hazard table talking about it a few days ago.” Then he looked at Alec. “Radbourne has the worst possible luck. One would think that as a man with pockets to let, he’d stay away from games of chance.”

“Damn Lycan,” Alec growled. “What the devil was he thinking?”

The Englishman leaned forward as though they were conspirators and tapped his ear. “No one but me could hear them. The fellows seemed to think Miss Ferguson was too good for you. After hearing that, I knew I
had
to meet the chit.” He smiled at Sorcha again.

Alec tensed beside her. “Miss Ferguson is not a chit, and I’d appreciate it if you’d take a more respectful tone with my intended, Charles.”

Mr. Browning sat back in dazed amazement. “Never thought I’d see the day Alec MacQuarrie would be laid low by such a little slip of a thing.” The man’s gaze darted down the side of Sorcha’s neck. “The offerings must be tempting, indeed.”

“That is not up for discussion,” Alec barked.

“My apologies,” Mr. Browning shot back, but Sorcha could tell he wasn’t sorry in the least. His black eyes twinkled in amusement.

Alec raked a hand through his hair. “Where are you off to next?” he asked.

The vampyre regarded him with a blank expression. “Off to? Do you mean to say that I’m not welcome at MacQuarrie House?” He placed a hand on his chest and feigned a look of surprise.

“I run a respectable household,” Alec informed him. “Miss Ferguson is one of the only people who even knows what I am. I’ll not have you ruin my life here with your whoring and ungentlemanly ways.” He sighed heavily. “No offense, Tillie,” he said more softly to the English girl.

“None taken,” she chirped back, sitting a little higher in her chair.

Had he just called her by her given name? Sorcha bristled. “Just how is it that ye all ken each other?” she asked.

“Oh, from
Brysi
,” Miss Harris said with a light wave of her hand.

Brysi
!

Mr. Browning opened his mouth to speak, but Alec cut him off. “It’s a gentleman’s club for those of our kind, lass,” he explained.

Oh, she knew exactly what it was. She just couldn’t believe one of the club’s whores was sitting a few feet from her. “And what does Miss Harris do there?” Sorcha retorted.

Alec avoided her gaze.

“Alec?” she prompted, wondering if he would be honest about the situation.

A voice from behind Sorcha’s back made the hair on her arms stand up. “She’s a lady’s maid. Mine, in fact.”

Sorcha jumped to her feet and spun around, while Alec mumbled something to the other vampyre under his breath and came to his feet as well. In the doorway stood a breathtaking woman, her light hair loose about her shoulders, her green eyes flashing. Her gown was cut scandalously low and showed a bit too much of her ankle as well. But she was beautiful by anyone’s standards. In fact, she looked a little like Cait, except for her eyes and pointy chin.

“I’m a lot of things, miss,” Miss Harris said hotly. “But a lady’s maid ain’t one of ’em.”

“Yet for this trip, that’s the ruse we all agreed upon,” the blonde snapped.

“No. We agreed we’d be sisters.”

“As though I’d be
your
sister.”

Mr. Browning looked mildly amused by the whole situation. “Now, now, no need to fight over me, my dears,” he said with a chuckle. “Or MacQuarrie.”

“Why did you bring
her
?” Alec shot at Mr. Browning.

“Why, for you, of course.” He dropped an arm around Miss Harris’ shoulders and whispered something to her that made her blush furiously. Then he raised his head, looked directly at Sorcha, and said, “Tillie’s for me, but I thought Alec could use a bite to eat. I know how squeamish he is about enchanting the innocent.” His gaze dropped to Sorcha’s neck again. “Though that appears to have changed.”

Sorcha threaded her arm through Alec’s and leaned into his side. “Introduce me ta the lady, Alec,” she said softly.

~*~

No one had ever mistaken Delia Sewell for a lady, at least not that Alec was aware of. Then again, the first time he’d laid eyes on the Cyprian she’d been lounging on a divan at
Brysi
, wearing rouge on her cheeks and not much else.

God, he’d rather keep all of that from Sorcha.

In the chair beside him, Sorcha huffed out an impatient breath of air. He had to say something soon. Damn Charles to hell for bringing this
mess
to his doorstep. Frustrated, Alec flopped his hand between the two women. “Miss Ferguson, meet Miss Sewell.”

“It’s very nice ta meet ye,” Sorcha said, her voice quiet and sure. She smiled in greeting, which caused Delia to look down her nose at Sorcha. How dare the Cyprian take a superior attitude with his intended? Sorcha was worth ten of Delia. And even more than that.

“Likewise,” Delia replied with a dismissive nod.

“How was yer journey ta Edinburgh?” Sorcha asked.

Delia stepped farther into the room and perched herself on the arm of Alec’s chair as though she belonged there.

“As eventful as any other.” She looked at Alec from beneath hooded lashes. “Do you remember the time
we
went to the country for the weekend, just the two of us?”

Alec managed a grunt, but that was all. Had the woman lost her blasted mind? A muscle along his jaw began to twitch, and he could just imagine that his face was a brilliant purple.

“We had the most splendid trip.” Delia shot Sorcha another superior glance. Damn her.

“I really don’t think—” Alec began.

But Delia spoke over him, “It rained and we spent most of the time in bed, when we weren’t snuggling together in the coach.” Her deep throaty laugh nearly took over the room. Alec remembered that trip well. He’d paid her handsomely to go along with him, to be his paramour for a short time, just for the convenience of having her life force at hand. Obviously, she’d thought more of the occasion than he had.

Sorcha visibly stiffened in her seat, which made Alec rise from his spot. “We’ll need to be on our way,” he tossed out to the room at large. “I promised to have Miss Ferguson back to her father posthaste.” He looked down into Sorcha’s eyes as she gazed up at him. “Are you ready, love?” Storms brewed behind her lashes. Thank God, Rhiannon wasn’t nearby or a true storm would be brewing indoors.

Sorcha rose from her seat, squared her shoulders, and said, “I can see myself home just fine, Alec.” Then she started for the door.

He caught her arm and pulled her back to him, and then he whispered, “I’ll accompany you. I had planned to have a talk with your father tonight, anyway.”

“Regrettably, Alec,” she shot back, her voice cracking only once, “I find myself in need of some time alone.

Renshaw can see me back ta my home.” She glanced around Alec’s town house. “This certainly isn’t it.”

She started again for the door, and he found himself chasing after her like a puppy at her heels. “Sorch, wait,” he tried.

“It was nice ta meet ye all,” Sorcha said properly to the group. Then she turned on her heel and quit the room, her nose held high in the air, her shoulders proudly back.

It wasn’t until she was outside the front door that she allowed the facade to crumble. Sorcha caressed a strand of ivy that trailed up the house front. She whispered to the plant as she stroked it lovingly.

“Sorch!” Alec’s hand on her shoulder made her jump.

“Oh, Alec.” She frowned at him. Then she shook her head quickly and started down the steps toward the coach. “Ye should have told me.”

“Told you what?” he asked as he reached for her fingertips.

She stopped and turned back to face him. “That ye have a
mistress
, Alec,” she whispered. Her hand came up to stroke the day-old beard stubble on his face. “As much as I love ye, I refuse ta share ye.” She inhaled deeply and graced him with a watery smile. “She’s beautiful, by the way. Such a resemblance ta Caitrin. Miss Sewell will suit ye well until ye find a wife of yer own.”

“I’ve already found a wife of my own,” he ground out. How dare she assume his feelings had changed? How dare she let Delia’s presence change anything? How dare she throw Caitrin’s name at him again? “It’s
you
, Sorch.”

“Then what is she ta ye?” She watched his face closely.

“She’s a whore,” he bit out. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Ye’ve bitten her?” She looked so sad as she said the words.

He nodded. He wouldn’t lie to her. But what did she expect? He
had
to drink blood to survive. And he’d not apologize for that.

“Ye’ve shared her bed?” She stroked his face again, her voice silky soft.

“Sorcha, this is not a fitting conversation for a gentleman and his bride-to-be.” He knew he sounded like an arse before the words even came out of his mouth. But he couldn’t help it. Discussing a mistress with a fiancée just wasn’t done, and she was making him more than uncomfortable.

“I ken ye have shared her bed. I can see it in the way she looks at ye.”

“You see an opportunistic woman who lets any number of vampyres into her bed in exchange for pleasure and a few coins.”

Sorcha looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m goin’ home, Alec,” she finally said. He made a move to follow her. But she held up a hand. “The way I see it is this—she offers ye the same thing I did, my body and my blood, in exchange for a bit of pleasure and some coin.” She looked at his house and then down at his fine clothing. “So, what makes us different?”

There were so many answers to that question that he couldn’t even pick one. “You are mine,” he ground out.

“Yet ye said yerself ye can never, ever love me, so I doona ken what’s so different about us after all.” Then she fled into Eynsford’s still waiting carriage and departed. She was gone before Alec could even gather enough thought to chase after her.

~*~

Sorcha settled back against the squabs and fought the heavy need to cry. She’d been fortunate to find a man to love. And unfortunate that he was a man who couldn’t love her back. He’d bitten that woman. That whore. That piece of perfection. And the woman who was head over heels in love with him.

Sure, he’d bitten Sorcha too. And he’d given her pleasure. But he’d never given her his heart. In fact, he’s given her his staunch resolve that it wasn’t his to give.

She’d thought she was all right with that. And she probably would have been, had Miss Sewell not sauntered into Alec’s parlor, reminding Sorcha that one woman’s blood was as good as another’s. She was nothing special to Alec, and she never would be. And she didn’t think she could live with that after all.

Alec hadn’t asked her father for her hand yet. There was still time to undo what hadn’t yet been done. Sorcha knocked on the roof of the carriage and called out to Renshaw to take her to the Westfields’ instead of driving her home. Perhaps Elspeth could heal a broken heart before it shattered into a million pieces.

Chapter Twenty-Six