Was she reacting to him like that because he had suddenly become seemingly irresistible to at least half the fan-fluttering debutantes?
She glanced toward the entrance. Alasdair hadn’t put in an appearance yet, but several girls were already hovering near the door. Not that they’d admit that they were waiting for him. To a general observer, they appeared to be engaged with one another, giggling and apparently complimenting one another. But Lorelei saw how often their eyes would turn toward the door. She really wouldn’t be surprised if they swarmed him like bees once he walked through.
Whether the charm of having a supposedly barbaric Highlander in their midst was the novelty—the picture of him appearing in his kilt at the first ball was firmly etched inhermind—or whether they liked his distinctive burr or how he seemed to acknowledge each of them individually—Lorelei didn’t know. The result was the same. He’d been so busy signing dance cards that he hadn’t even danced withherlast time.
Lorelei frowned. Did he expect her to join the flock of pastel-plumaged girls thrusting their cards at him?Thatwasn’t going to happen.
The subject of her angst appeared just then, Lady Melissa already draped over his arm. Lorelei narrowed her eyes slightly as the bevy of girls suddenly looked deflated. Had Medusa—Melissa—been waiting for him outside? Her aunt was certainly not a strict chaperone.
“Would you like to dance?”
She startled as Randolph appeared beside her. While the request was directed to her, she saw him glance over to where Alasdair and Melissa stood. Perhaps his pride had been hurt a bit more than he let on. The least she could do was make sure Melissa didn’t realize it.
Lorelei pasted on a smile. “I would be delighted.”
Chapter Twelve
Alasdair petted Kelso’s sleek black neck as he waited in Three Kings Yard directly behind Grosvenor Square the following Monday afternoon. From his previous experience, he knew Lorelei, his sister, and Lady Louisa would soon come out, walk toward Berkeley Square, and then part ways.
He’d discovered Louisa was attending meetings of the Bluestocking Society, since last time he’d walked down Hill Street and written down addresses, then checked them out. An Elizabeth Montagu lived in one of the houses, and she was evidently not only a patroness of the arts, but held the opinion that women actually had opinions. Alasdair grinned at that, since any Scot knew better than to try to tell a woman she didn’t.
In certain circles, getting invited to join Mrs. Montagu’s intellectual group was considered an exclusive honor. Although he’d also learned—according to most of theton—that being a member was not considered proper for a young lady. No doubt Lady Bute would agree, which was why Louisa kept her meetings secret and used the pretense of going “shopping.”
Of course, none of that explained where Lorelei and Fiona went on those days. That was why he was waiting where he was.
“This time I willna fail,” he told his horse.
Kelso snickered in response and pawed the ground.
“I ken ye want to get moving.” Alasdair stroked the animal’s neck again. “But we need to wait for our quarry.”
Luckily, it didn’t take long. He heard their laughter before he saw them emerge on Grosvenor Street. Lorelei had a light, tinkling laugh that reminded him of faerie bells. Or what he imagined faerie bells might sound like. He wasn’t sure he actuallybelievedin faeries, although no one with Scottish blood would take the risk ofdenyingthem. Perhaps it was because, with her pale hair and light gray eyes that appeared silvery in the right light, Lorelei had a delicate and airy look about her. Lord knew she was as mischievous as one of the Fae. She’d been driving him barmy since he’d come to London.
Alasdair frowned as he nudged Kelso forward, careful to keep a safe distance so the group wouldn’t notice him. From the earlier conversation he’d overheard between Lorelei and Fiona, he knew they both wanted to be free as larks to enjoy Society’s Season unencumbered. He didn’t like standing back, but he also understood it was important for Lorelei to have this freedom. He didn’t want a wife who would always wonder what she’d missed.
And he did want to marry her. He’d come to that realization sometime while he’d been in Ireland. Her sister Emily had been determined to make things work out with Ian and Juliana equally determined not to let a man rule her life, while Lorelei had seemed adrift. Not that she engaged in meaningless conversation. She was every bit as smart and quick-witted as her sisters, but she’d also talked about how much she wanted a London Season. Her eyes would sparkle and her laugh tinkle when she spoke of all the parties and balls she wanted to attend. She hadn’t sounded like she was in search of a husband, only that she wanted to enjoy herself.
He couldn’t deny her that.
But she certainly seemed to be enjoying the company of the saintly Westwood.
He broke off the thought as he reined Kelso in and watched as she and Fiona hailed a hack on Piccadilly and headed east.
The hack headed toward the bank of the Thames. It continued on, turning right on Blackfriars Bridge. Alasdair cursed. “Where the hell are they going?”
Kelso twitched an ear backward to listen.
“They’re heading to Southwark?” he muttered.
The horse turned the other ear around.
“’Tis nae a place for two women alone,” he growled.
The stallion nickered and began to trot as if understanding.
“Careful now, lad.” Alasdair slowed him back to a walk. “We are close enough to take action if needed, but I want to see where they go first.”
The carriage turned left on Southwark Street, then wound its way through several short, narrow streets before it came to a stop in front of ruins that looked like there might have been a large round building at one time, but now only some rather shabby tenements rose across from the site.
