A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2)(53)

“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.