person who was softly crying. “Pray tell me that noise is not what I think it is,” he mumbled to the footman.
“I would if I could, sir,” the man said, his expression still stoic despite the absurdity of the situation.
Whatever this was about, Alec wanted nothing to do with it. He turned from the door, but the footman stepped between him and the exit. Between him and safety. “I suggest you remove yourself from my path,” Alec warned.
“I would happily take your suggestion, sir,” the footman said as sweat broke out across his forehead. “But I fear for my safety much more with the duchess than I do against you.”
Alec had to give the man credit for being astute. The duchess was a formidable woman, after all. But still, what the devil did crying chits have to do with him? He supposed there was no other way to find out, so Alec straightened his jacket and stepped closer to the door. The sniffling was definitely coming from inside the room. As well as the highpitched whine of a distressed female. “How many are there?” he clipped out, his question aimed at the footman.
“Several,” the man warned. “God be with you.” Then he bowed and stepped from the threshold. Alec could just imagine him on the other side of the door, standing sentinel should Alec try to escape. A vampyre could take a footman down. But would that be in his best interests? Probably not.
Alec stepped into the sitting room. The duchess paced from side to side across the length of the room. If she didn’t slow down, she’d wear a hole in the Aubusson rug beneath her feet. She did stop and glare at him when he coughed quietly into his hand to make his presence known.
“I have gone to great lengths to keep this meeting private,” the duchess said, her face a cold mask that barely concealed her fury. Or Alec assumed it was fury. It could have been hatred. Or just as likely disgust.
“If you’re in need of privacy, I’d be happy to leave,” Alec remarked dryly.
The duchess was not amused. Not a bit. She pointed to the pair on the settee, who Alec vaguely recognized as some Welsh baron’s wife and her daughter. “You’re obviously familiar with Lady Overton and Miss Overton.”
Obviously familiar? What an odd statement. He’d seen them both at the house party. And had even danced once with the daughter at Rhiannon’s wedding ball. But, if he remembered correctly, he’d returned the chit quite directly to her mother after she’d whispered some most inappropriate things to him during a waltz. He bowed lightly to the two ladies. “Good morning,” he tried.
“What’s good about it?” the baroness shot back at him.
Then her eyes filled with tears again, and she began to snuffle into her handkerchief.
“There, there,” the duchess soothed as she patted the woman’s shoulder. “Mr. MacQuarrie, do take a seat.” She motioned toward a high-backed chair not far from where he stood.
“I’d prefer to stand, thank you,” Alec said. Running away quickly would be much easier if he was already standing.
“Sit,” the duchess barked.
He was a vampyre, for God’s sake. Not a Lycan who could be trained to sit, stay, and roll over. But he dropped into a chair anyway.
Her Grace took a deep breath. “We all know why we’re here.”
“We do?” Alec broke in. He had no idea why he was there.
“You do not play ignorant well, young man,” the duchess warned.
Well, he should be thankful for that, shouldn’t he? “Your Grace, if you might tell me why I’m here, I’m certain I’ll fully understand in time. I must have forgotten.” Forgotten that he’d hidden a body. Forgotten that he’d caused grievous harm to these women. Had he done something? Certainly not that he could remember.
“You’ve forgotten me already?” Miss Overton cried, which started a fresh round of tears.
Alec inhaled deeply. Though he no longer needed the breath, it did help to calm him. He lifted his hands, palms up, at the duchess. “Please take pity on me and tell me what the devil is going on,” he pleaded.
The duchess didn’t seem shocked by his language at all.
She pursed her lips tightly together. Then she said very quickly, “You have the nerve to compromise this girl and then deny knowledge of who she is?”
Compromise Miss Overton? Alec’s head spun so quickly that he was afraid it would spin right off his shoulders. “Beg your pardon?” he croaked.
Chapter Sixteen
Sorcha nibbled on a piece of