there’s a ball. But tonight I shall have to make my own fun. I plan to head into the village with Radbourne. He always manages to find the most willing chits. Care to join us?”
Bexley and Radbourne? The combination was nauseating. Still, Alec did need to feed and barmaids were generally easy marks. After a little enchantment, the women wouldn’t even remember their encounter. Then the rest of Bexley’s words hit him. “Did you say ‘ball’?”
The earl grimaced. “Unfortunately. All the guests and local gentry. Did Grandmother not tell you?”
No, Her Grace had failed to mention the event. All the guests and local gentry. Alec’s stomach twisted. The odds that Cait, Eynsford, and his blasted pack would be present were not in Alec’s favor. “Radbourne is attending, I assume?”
“Everyone at The Park.”
Bloody perfect. Alec groaned. He’d have to see Cait.
Well, he didn’t have to see her. He could skip the blasted ball, but in doing so, he’d be throwing Sorcha to the Lycans —or rather she’d throw herself at them and he wouldn’t be around to prevent her foolishness. If only he could talk her into packing her trunk and heading home, he wouldn’t have to stay in Kent himself. Though the likelihood of that seemed nonexistent.
“You all right, MacQuarrie?” Bexley asked, sliding forward in his chair.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Alec hedged. Who wouldn’t want to see the girl of his dreams happily married to a slobbering beast?
The earl shrugged, looking less concerned, and settled back against his seat. “So, up for it?”
“Up for what?”
The man scoffed as though speaking to Alec was a chore. “For our jaunt into the village this evening.”
As long as Bexley, Radbourne, and his brothers were headed away from the castle, Alec wouldn’t have to watch over Sorcha. And by the end of the evening he would be in need of sustenance. Though the company was not of his choosing, he didn’t have many choices here at Castle Hythe. He could always entice a maid at the castle, but he hated doing so. It was always a bit precarious to partake where he slept. Someone could overhear or see something.
Alec raked a hand through his hair. “Oh, of course. Into the village. Sounds amusing.” About as amusing as catching the plague.
~*~
Sorcha flopped onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling.
She’d waited the entire day for some sort of entertainment.
Not that Her Grace wasn’t entertaining in her own right. But Sorcha had hoped for more. Alec had slunk away as soon as he had disentangled himself from the duchess’ grasp.
And Maddie had had to suffer more dress fittings for the upcoming social events. Even Cait had cried off, stating she was too tired for a visit in the note she sent back to Sorcha. And not a single Lycan had made an appearance.
How on earth was she to catch a beast of her very own if she couldn’t even be in the same room with one?
Sorcha was nearly certain the duchess had cards or charades planned for the night’s activities. Mindless pursuits were better than no pursuits, she thought with a heavy sigh. But then the jingle of tack outside caught her attention. She moved quickly to her window and pushed aside the heavy drapes. Three men sat astride prancing horses that danced in their places, appearing to be nearly as anxious to get moving as the gentlemen were. Sorcha shoved the window open, and the crisp country air filtered into her chambers.
One of the men reached into his pocket, pulled out his watch fob, and then glanced up at the rising moon.
Sorcha’s breath caught in her throat. After waiting more than a sennight, the objects of her desire had finally arrived.
“Bexley had better hurry up, or we’ll head into Folkestone without him,” Archer Hadley, Viscount Radbourne, complained.
Sorcha nearly sighed. All three of the Lycans were directly beneath her window. How wonderfully fortuitous.
Radbourne was just as handsome as he’d been the previous spring at Rhiannon’s wedding.
“You could be a gentleman, Archer. You know, go to the door and request his presence like any other man of good breeding would do,” one of his twin brothers teased. If they’d just look up, she could tell them apart. Weston had a very dashing scar across his cheek, while Grayson was unmarred.
“And ruin my good reputation?” the viscount asked. “It took too many years to cultivate the image I have.”
“He’s right.” The other twin laughed. “No one would expect the dissolute Lord Radbourne to do anything gentlemanly.”