Never Been Bit (26 page)

Whatever he’d said, Sorcha was certain Eynsford had caught it because the marquess’ brow furrowed and a scowl settled on his face.

“Perfect,” Eynsford growled. “Keeping a lass’ virtue intact is more difficult than sending a camel through the eye of a needle.”

“Not really the way that quote goes,” Alec drawled.

“Close enough.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Alec was never happier than when he saw the skyline of Edinburgh come into view. He had started to believe their journey would never end, that he would never hold Sorcha’s attention all by himself again. That he’d never get to draw her close to him. That he’d never get rid of Eynsford.

Despite the peace between them the past few days, the wolf had never stopped sniffing into Alec’s matters both day and night. He’d waylaid Alec outside Sorcha’s quarters two evenings in a row. So, when Eynsford asked for a special concession, Alec couldn’t quite believe his ears.

“Say again,” he prodded, peering at the Lycan across the dimly lit coach.

Eynsford shrugged. “I said, would it be terribly remiss of me to ask that the carriage take us to Macleod’s house first and then continue on to the Fergusons’?”

“I would like ta tell Papa about the bairn,” Cait added quietly, her face expressionless and her blue eyes darkened by the waning light inside the carriage. “And I am so tired.”

Alec pretended to be affronted as he turned his gaze on the Lycan. “You mean to say that you’ll trust me with your precious baggage, Eynsford?” he gasped with mock outrage. Then he grinned down at Sorcha and leaned to kiss her forehead.

But she elbowed him in the side instead. “I am no’ baggage,” she giggled.

“I trust that you can return the lass to her father,” Eynsford said with a nod. “And once you deliver her to Mr. Ferguson, she’ll no longer be my responsibility.”

“Ye’ll need ta take her
straight
home,” Cait scolded, but now her eyes were twinkling with something.

“I’ll take her straight home.” Straight to his house. Straight to his bed. He’d just
take
her. Alec had spent days with her pressed against his side in a carriage. He had felt her breast against his arm for the past few hours. And she seemed to be oblivious to it all. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.” He fought the grin those words provoked. Oh, aye, he would most certainly take care of her. Over and over again.

“Excellent,” the marquess said with a grateful sigh. “I’ll owe you a good turn, MacQuarrie.”

He wouldn’t owe him a damn thing. Because Alec was about to have the one thing he wanted most in the world— Sorcha. “I’ll hold you to that,” Alec replied absently, already somewhat lost in thoughts of how long he’d have with his witch before he had to return her to her father or have Seamus Ferguson come looking for her. He tugged at his jacket and adjusted his trousers in a sad attempt to hide his reaction to the thought of finally taking her, of having her all to himself.

Alec hadn’t eaten in days. He could reasonably control his thirst for a week or better, and the amount of blood he needed was somewhat dependent on how active he was.

As he’d been locked in a carriage for quite some time, he was all right with not having dined. But he couldn’t go forever. He wanted Sorcha with a single-minded determination. He wanted to taste her, to drink her in. All of her. In every way.

Eynsford scowled at him. “You’re certain you’re capable of returning her to her father?”

“Oh, aye…” Of course, he was. He’d just need a few moments alone with her. Or more than a few. As many as he could take.

“Why does something tell me I’m making a bad decision?” the Lycan muttered.

Cait broke in, “Ye can trust Alec ta take care of her.” Her lips lifted in a silent smile aimed at Sorcha, who flushed delicately and hid her face in his arm.

Thank goodness the sun was setting, or Eynsford would have certainly seen. And he would be none too happy to know his wife and her coven sister were pulling the wool over his eyes. The two of them were conspirators. Hell, Cait
knew
what was going to happen, and she was still more than happy to give her aid.

Cait laid her head on her husband’s shoulder and said quietly, “He willna let any harm come ta her. I trust him.”

“If
you’re
certain,” the marquess finally gave in.

The coach rumbled to a stop outside the elegant Macleod townhouse, and Eynsford alighted quickly and then held his hand out to Cait. But before Cait could escape into the waxing darkness, she leaned in, hugged Sorcha tightly, and said, “Ye willna need me ta educate ye about anythin’ at all.” She giggled as Sorcha let her go and shooed her from the carriage.

Sorcha lay back heavily against the squabs and closed her eyes, and then she groaned aloud.

“What is it, lass?” Alec asked. He wished he could read her mind. But she was such a mystery to him.

She turned her head slowly toward him and looked up and down the length of him. “Alone, at last,” she purred.

“It’s about damn time,” he grumbled as he reached for her. She giggled as he picked her up and deposited her directly into his lap, her back against the carriage wall, her legs draped across his. He cupped the side of her neck and drew her head down. “Sorch,” he groaned in protest, his mouth a mere breath from hers.

Sorcha fisted her delicate little hands in his shirt and tugged with all her might. “If ye change yer mind about marryin’ me, I’ll have ta do ye bodily harm, Alec MacQuarrie.”

“Never,” he grunted and punctuated his words with a quick kiss. Never would he surrender her. Not now. Not ever. He was a cad for not taking her immediately to her father. But he needed time with her. Time to be alone. He’d take her to her father shortly. Right after he’d thoroughly devoured the man’s daughter. Oh, blast and damn, that would never do.

~*~

Sorcha began to work at the fastenings on the front of her traveling gown, as desperate to be with Alec as he seemed to be with her. Her hands trembled as she worked until Alec finally brushed hers away with an impatient swipe. “Let me,” he ordered. He didn’t stop kissing her as his fingers worked. And within seconds, he had her bared down to her chemise, her gown shoved low around her hips. “We don’t have long,” he lamented.

“We doona need long,” she whispered back against his lips. She felt rather than saw his smile.

“I mean we don’t have long before the coach stops, Sorch,” he chuckled. “I plan to take my time when we get to my house.”

“Ye do?”

“I do,” he affirmed. “Assuming Eynsford’s man can be bought.” With a roguish grin, he pounded on the coach roof and then called loudly out the window, “Renshaw, take us to my home and you’ll be handsomely rewarded.” Alec turned his attention back to Sorcha and whispered across her lips, “There, I plan to taste every inch of you.”

She flinched as he tugged her chemise from her shoulder and let it fall, and then did the same with the other side. She clutched at the material as though she needed it. She was naked beneath it. Didn’t he know that? He couldn’t just disrobe her completely in the carriage. Alec very gently tugged her hands from where she clutched the fabric and raised them to his lips, kissing the knuckles of each one in turn. Then he let his gaze devour her.

His teeth were fully distended, as was his manhood, which she could clearly feel beneath her bottom. She squirmed in his lap but instantly froze when she saw the darkness of his hand in the moonlight as he cupped the fair flesh of her breast and raised it toward his waiting mouth.

“Alec,” she breathed.

His gaze rose to meet hers, but his mouth did not.

Instead, it covered that aching little bud that strained toward him while he looked into her eyes. A gentle tug from his lips and tongue had her reaching for the back of his head to draw him closer, to never let him go.

“
Havers!
” she whispered harshly. Even when he’d drunk her blood, he hadn’t touched her this way. He’d touched her most intimate of places, but he hadn’t embarked on this gentle, mind-blowing seduction. He hadn’t attacked her with his lips and tongue and demanded her very soul in return.

With one last tug, he raised his head and kissed her lips softly, and then he dipped his head back toward her waiting breast. In the moonlight, his hair was black as night, his eyes as dark as nothingness, his lips as light as a feather, his tongue as tender as a baby’s breath.

“I love ye, Alec,” she couldn’t keep from saying. He raised his head and looked at her, as though she’d surprised him. Then he began to right her clothing. “What is it? What did I say?”

He chuckled. “You said you love me. You can’t take it back. I heard it with my own two ears, Sorch.” He worked quickly at the fastenings of her gown.

“Then why are ye dressin’ me?”
Havers
, she’d made a mess of things, which was the very last thing she wanted.

“My wanton little witch,” he grumbled playfully. “We’re home.” He shrugged. “Well, we’re at my home. And, with your permission, I’d like to take you inside and finish what we started.”

“Will ye do what ye just did, again?” she asked quietly, hoping her desperation didn’t show in her voice. But the blood pumped through her veins so loudly that even she could hear it. Her belly had been in a constant plummet directly to her toes.

“I’ll do it again and again and again and as many times as it takes.” He laughed like the old Alec. “Or as many times as you’ll let me.”

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Sorcha could see Alec’s large home outside the window. He gave her a small push to move her from his lap and followed her out the door when Lord Eynsford’s driver dismounted to open it. “Thank you, Renshaw.” Alec nodded to the coachman. “You’re a good man.”

“Of course, sir.”

Alec offered his arm to Sorcha, which she readily accepted. She leaned heavily into his side as they started up the stone walkway toward the front door. “Do I look presentable?” she whispered.

“You looked dressed,” he groused. “I quite prefer you the other way, if you must know the truth.” He drew her toward the front door, his steps hurried and anxious. He wanted her. She could tell, and that made her heart pound even faster.

“Will yer servants talk?” she hissed at him.

“They’re not expecting me,” he assured her. “So, I’ll just sneak you upstairs and no one will be the wiser.” He kissed her quickly. “I feel like I’m sixteen years old again,” he admitted and smiled like the old Alec she’d always known.

He slid a key from his pocket and quietly opened the front door. Then he slipped inside, pulling her in along with him. But before he could even take a step, a loud, very obnoxious cough sounded from the corridor. When it happened again, Sorcha couldn’t help but think someone was choking in the hallway.

Alec groaned loudly. “You may come out, Gibson,” he called.

His stoic butler peered around the corner and then bowed. “Mr. MacQuarrie, Miss Ferguson, so glad ye’re home.”

“Are ye all right, Gibson? I can make ye a tonic for that cough,” Sorcha offered.

The butler very gently cleared his throat as though testing it. “I believe I’ll be just fine, miss, but thank ye.”

“You may excuse us, Gibson,” Alec said crisply. That was a bit rude but obviously necessary since the man was lingering.

“I would if I could, sir,” the butler said, his face pained.

“But ye have a guest. A few of them, in fact. And I doona ken what ta do with them.”

“Who might that be?” Alec asked as he pulled his gloves from his fingers and shook out of his coat.

“I doona rightly ken, sir. The man says he’s Mr. Browning. And, uh, he brought his… sisters?” The last part came out as a question.

Charles Browning? Alec leaned back to peer down the corridor and listened closely. He could hear the dulcet tones of an
acquaintance
of his from London. He listened harder. He could also hear Tillie, a whore from
Brysi
, the club for vampyres where Alec had previously found sustenance.

“Who is it?” Sorcha whispered. “Do I ken Mr. Browning?”

“No,” he clipped out. And she never would. Not if he could help it. “Let’s go,” he barked, as he dragged her back toward the front door with a tug of his fingers. “Inform my guests that I’ll return shortly,” he growled at Gibson.

The butler blanched at Alec’s tone.

Damn it, what were the chances that a vampyre and a whore they’d both shared for a time would show up at his respectable home in Edinburgh on the
very
night he arrived home with his intended? Only in his very unlucky world. First Eynsford and now Browning. At this rate, he’d be married to Sorcha for a decade before he had her all to himself.

“You are right, dear!” Charles Browning’s deep voice filtered down the corridor. “MacQuarrie
is
here, and he’s got a morsel of his own.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sorcha slid from under Alec’s arm to see a tall, auburnhaired man depart a parlor and stride in their direction. His black-as-night eyes told Sorcha more clearly than words that he was a vampyre. Alec’s hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. “Is this a friend of yers?”

At least she assumed he was a friend. The unfamiliar vampyre smiled rakishly and didn’t appear a dangerous sort. “MacQuarrie, I had hoped you’d be here.”

“Browning.” There was a tightness to Alec’s voice and Sorcha cocked her head to one side to better see her intended’s face. “I can’t even imagine what brings you to Edinburgh.”

The English vampyre chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you can. Tillie and I imposed on your staff until your arrival.”

“For how many days?” Alec grumbled.

“Just a few. Do join us in your parlor so we can speak more openly.”

Alec shook his head. “I would love to, but I must return Miss Ferguson to her father’s care.”

But Sorcha had no intention of returning to her father’s side. Not while strange vampyres made themselves at home in MacQuarrie House. Not until she figured out why Alec was suddenly so on edge. “Alec, would ye mind if I had a spot of tea first? I find I’m quite parched from the journey.”