She looked as though she’d been ravished.
By The Scottish Brute.
This woman wanted marriage and children and love, and those were not things he could ever give her. They weren’t things she’d want from him. Too big, too Scottish, too brutish.
Not for marrying.
Not anything like the man she deserved.
What had he done?
He had to get away from her.
He rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, slowing it immediately.
Confusion flashed in Lily’s beautiful grey eyes, as he began to strip his tattered coat from his shoulders—she would need it to cover her own shredded clothes. “What are you doing?” She looked out the window. “Where are we?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, tossing the coat to the seat beside her and opening the door before the coach even came to a stop.
“Alec,” she said, and he ached at his name on her lips.
He leapt to the ground and turned back. “You didn’t ask me the title of the Burns.”
She shook her head as though to clear it, the strange change in topic blindsiding her. “I don’t care about poetry.”
She was frustrated.
Just as he was.
“ ‘Ae Fond Kiss, and Then We Sever.’ ” Before she could respond, he added, “I’m sorry, Lily. For all of it.”
And he closed the carriage door.
Chapter 11
FEMALES!
FACE FEARS WITH FLATTERING FROCKS!
Lily did not wear a dog dress the next morning.
Though there were several canine day dresses to choose from, Lily found that she did not require any additional cause of embarrassment for the day. Instead, she wore a dress that she thought was quite flattering—a green silk intended to be worn when receiving callers, but callers where rather thin on the ground at 45 Berkeley Square, and so she’d rarely worn it.
When she’d fled to this place—which she affectionately referred to as Dog House—she’d brought the dress with her in a fit of fancy. Now, however, she was rather grateful that she’d remembered the pretty frock.
After all, it was not every day that one was kissed by a handsome man in a carriage. More than kissed. Far more.
Her cheeks flamed. Not that she wanted it to happen again.
Liar.
It was true. She simply felt that it was only proper to dress nicely with one’s kisser. Kissee. She had, after all kissed him back.
More than kissed.
And somehow, despite having been kissed before—despite having kissed before—kissing Alec Stuart, Duke of Warnick, was an experience unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
And so, she put on a pretty dress, and willed it to give her the courage to face him this morning. She entered the breakfast room of Dog House and made herself a plate, noting with a pounding heart that there remained two seats set at the table, which meant that Alec had not yet eaten.
Using the tongs shaped like dachshunds to place a sausage and large piece of toast on her plate, she moved to the far end of the table and sat, doing her best to arrange herself with the casual, effortless elegance that a woman should show when meeting a gentleman with whom she’d shared an interlude like last night’s.
Which she did not wish to repeat.
Good Lord. It had been fairly glorious. And then he’d fled. Her gaze narrowed on her plate. Like a coward. After she’d touched him—found him as desperate as she had been.
I’m sorry, Lily. For everything.
What utter rubbish. As though she hadn’t been a part of the event. As though she hadn’t wanted it.
She’d most definitely wanted it. She simply did not wish to repeat it.
Not at all.
Liar.
She pressed her lips into a flat line at the nagging, repetitive thought. While on the subject of wanting, he had wanted it, too, or so it had seemed when he’d cursed Shakespeare and hauled her across the carriage to set her aflame and show her pleasure she’d never dreamed of finding. And made her want to beg him never to stop.
Cursing Shakespeare seemed unnecessary. And quite wonderful, truthfully.
Luckily, she had not resorted to begging, because she would have been more embarrassed than she was already if she had begged him not to stop and he’d stopped. Summarily. And fled.
The Scottish coward.
It was an embarrassing disaster.
Hence, the frock.
No matter. Lily had other things to think about. Things that had nothing to do with the brawny, handsome Scotsman. Things that were much more relevant to her current situation. To her future writ large.
Things like husbands.
Angus and Hardy punctuated the thought, pushing the door wide with their furry bodies, and setting Lily’s heart to racing. Because wherever the dogs were, their master could not be far behind.
Angus immediately went to investigate the contents of the sideboard as Hardy came to greet her, bowing low on his front paws before grinning up at her. Lily reached out and ran her fingers through the big dog’s wiry fur, pausing to scratch behind his ear. He tilted his head, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, and sighed in adoration.
She couldn’t help but smile.
This great beast was nothing but a kitten. A gentle giant.
“You’ll be spoiled if you are nae careful, Hardy.”
The brogue sounded from the door, rough with morning, setting Lily’s heart racing. She looked up to meet Alec’s gaze, only to find that he was already headed to the sideboard, head down, kilt swinging about his knees. Had he not spoken, she would have thought perhaps he had not seen her.
His not looking at her made it easy for her to look at him, however, and she did just that, taking in his tartan with far more care than she did the last time she saw him in plaid—when she was too embarrassed to have a good look.
For something so silly, the plaid was tremendously flattering. Though, truthfully, Lily thought that it was possibly likely that a flour sack would be flattering to Alec.
The man had empirically lovely legs.
Not that she’d given much thought to men’s legs in her life. Until Alec. Now, every time she saw him in his plaid, she thought far too much about men’s legs.
It was terribly inappropriate.
Lily swallowed, her mouth suddenly quite dry, but did her best to pretend that this morning was perfectly normal. That he hadn’t rendered her a speechless puddle of desire the night before.
Don’t think of the puddle of desire bit.
“He’s a good boy. He deserves to be spoiled.”
Alec grunted, placing a forkful of ham on his plate alongside several roasted tomatoes. Lily waited for him to say more, to no avail.
She pushed her food around her plate with her fork, pretending to be deeply invested in the morsels there, as he finished serving himself and came to the table, taking the seat at the far end.
As far from her as possible.
Granted, it was the seat that had been set for his arrival, but still. He could have come closer.
A footman came from nowhere—apparently Dog House had been staffed with speed and efficiency—and filled Alec’s cup with steaming tea.
“Thank you,” he said, and the poor servant didn’t quite know what to say.
Lily wanted to tell the liveried man that he should be grateful the duke spoke to him, as apparently she did not rate conversation. Not even after the previous evening.