Then again, the sender could have been Westwood. Alasdair had seen him talking to Lorelei several times during the ball. And the marquess, from what he’d learned, was a stickler for proper etiquette. He would never sendredroses so soon in a courtship.
Alasdair narrowed his eyes at the thought that the man would send any roses at all.
“If ye are in a foul mood, ye should just have sent a note back.”
He started at the sound of his sister’s voice from the doorway, another indication that he needed to stop indulging in what-ifs. Once again, he had been unaware of someone approaching. He smoothed his expression as he rose.
“I was just wondering how long ye would keep me waiting this time.”
“Hmph,” Fiona said as she came into the room. “The other times ye had to wait were your fault for nae letting us ken ye were coming.”
“I dinna…” He let his voice trail off as Lorelei entered. The pale gray-blue of the gown set off her unusual eyes and made her hair—which was loose about her shoulders—look like a cascade of silver, the overall effect making her look a bit ethereal. Although the dress had a high neckline and long sleeves, the bodice was of finely spun muslin that clung to her, revealing shapely breasts that looked exactly the right size to fit into his palms. His groin tightened at the thought.
“Ye are looking lovely.” As soon as the words were out, he could have kicked himself for the triteness. “Actually, ye look like an undine.”
Her brow furrowed. “A what?”
He grinned. “’Tis a water sprite.”
“A…you mean, like a faerie?”
“Aye. ’Tis said if a man sees an undine and drinks from her pool, he will be enchanted forever.”
A slight blush crossed her cheeks as though she didn’t quite know how to handle that.
“Ye shouldna fool with Fae talk.” Fiona frowned at him and gestured. “Please take your seat.”
Too late, he realized he had taken the wrong seat. His was a chair while Lorelei sat on the sofa. He couldn’t well get up and move without looking obvious. Fiona was already eyeing him curiously.
“’Tis good to see both of ye—finally.”
“Lady Bute told us Friday is calling day,” Fiona said, “so we thought ye should ken.”
“Calling day?”
“Yes,” Lorelei replied. “It is an afternoon left open for…callers to stop by for a few minutes.”
Alasdair was pretty sure she’d meant to saygentlemencallers. Once the Season started, an afternoon was left open for suitors to make the rounds and for ladies to be available to receive them without anything as long or tedious as serving tea. Lady Mount Stuart had explained it to him shortly after he’d arrived, but he’d forgotten about it. Basically, it was an opportunity for assessment, the males gauging how receptive a particular lady was and the ladies prioritizing their picks for potential husbands. His gaze drifted to the damn flowers. Which man had sent them? Had he visited earlier? Or was he going to come by later?
He leaned back in his chair. “Well, I have nae more plans for the afternoon, so I can keep ye company.”
Fiona frowned at him. “Ye are supposed to stay only a few minutes.”
“’Twould hardly be worth getting dressed up for if I stayed only a few minutes.” He smiled at Lorelei. “I havena had a chance to challenge ye in a while.”
“Challenge me? In what, pray tell?”
“To a battle of wits.” His smile widened. “Ye become very animated when ye think ye are right about something.”
“When Ithink…”She tossed her head. “You mean, when IproveI am right.”
“Well, I’ll admit”—the smile turned into a full grin—“sometimesye do make a good point.”
“Sometimes? What do you mean, sometimes? I—”
“Do either of ye ken what ye are arguing about?” Fiona asked and frowned at her brother. “I don’t suppose it matters if ye stay. I doona think we are expecting anyone else this afternoon.”
His smile faded. Did that mean Westwood had already been here? Or Campbell? He was about to ask—Fiona was his sister, after all, and Lorelei a sister-by-marriage if he wanted to look at it like that—so he had arightto ask. Unfortunately, Fiona spoke first.
