Alasdair narrowed his eyes, recalling the many flower paths that led off each of the lighted avenues, creating perfect areas for indiscretions to take place. Already, some of the crowd had thinned, no doubt in search of cozy trysting locations.
Was Westwood leading Lorelei astray? The man was probably too honorable to take her virtue behind some bushes, but just the thought of the marquess stealing a kiss in some dark, secluded spot was enough to bring a red haze over Alasdair’s eyes.
Damn it. Where is Lorelei?
And then, he saw her. With Westwood. They were walking down one of the lit avenues, but the area would turn dark quickly once they turned the corner past the string of lamps. Alasdair forced himself to move slowly, sauntering so he didn’t give the appearance of following them. He also wanted to keep enough distance so they wouldn’t notice him just yet.
So intent was he on his mission, he didn’t notice that Melissa had emerged from the crowd and stood watching him.
…
“The rotunda is across the way from the Grand Walk,” Randolph said as they moved away from the crowd, “but there is a bit of a shortcut behind the supper boxes to get there.”
Lorelei nodded. “That will give us more time to see it. I heard it is a marvelous design.”
“It is.” They walked a short distance and he gestured to a small path off the main walkway. “This way.”
It was a narrow, winding space between the boxes and the trees that formed the perimeter of the aptly named “Grove” where they’d heard the musicians. It was not well lit, but she didn’t see any couples lingering about. Most likely, lovers bent on trysting would go farther into the gardens. Once more, she recalled her dream of kissing Alasdair in this garden. Of him declaring his love. That would not be coming to fruition now. Nor would there be any rendezvousing behind bushes anywhere. She wondered if she’d ever enjoy another man’s kiss after the ones that Alasdair had given her.
The marquess stopped suddenly and turned to her. “There is something I have been wanting to tell you. Perhaps here, where we have a bit of privacy, would be the best place to do it.”
Lorelei felt her eyes widen. Was Randolph going to ask for her hand? Dear God. She didn’t want to think about getting married. Besides, he hadn’t even kissed her. How would she know if she even liked it? She needed to know before he embarrassed himself by offering a proposal. She acted on impulse.
“Before you say anything, will you kiss me?”
“What?”
It was a rather strange response, but then, Lord Westwood was a perfect gentleman so he’d not take advantage. “It is all right,” she said. “I want you to.” Then, without waiting, she raised on tiptoe and put her lips against his as his hands closed on her arms.
A scream rent the air, close enough to make Lorelei jump. As she did, Randolph whirled around still holding one arm. There was a ripping sound as the sleeve of her bodice tore. Holding it up, she turned just in time to see Melissa collapse against Alasdair. He grabbed her to keep her from falling and half her hairpins fell out as she lolled against his shoulder.
At the same time footsteps could be heard behind them. Lorelei’s free hand flew to her mouth in horror.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Duke of Oakley demanded of Alasdair. “How dare you take my daughter—”
“’Tis nae what ye think.”
“I do not give a drop of water in hell about yourexplanation,” the duke said as his wife started to sniffle beside him. “I can see what was occurring.”
“Our daughter will be ruined,” the duchess moaned.
“Nae—”
“Silence!” The duke looked at Lorelei’s torn gown and then at the marquess. “I would have thought you had better sense, Westwood.”
“I—”
“Never mind.”
The duke looked around at the growing number of people who were gathering behind them, most likely curious about what the scream was about. Lorelei suddenly realized how they must appear. She with her ripped sleeve—everyone probably thought it was she who screamed—and Melissa with her hair hanging down and disheveled. Good God, Alasdair was still holding her. As if he realized it at the same moment, he dropped his hands. Melissa stumbled, then started to cry. The marquess took a step forward, but Oakley held up his hand to stay him. He turned slowly to the murmuring crowd.
“My daughter obviously wanted a bit of time with her betrothed, although”—Oakley gave a hard look to Randolph and Lorelei—“it seems her chaperones could not constrain themselves in a proper manner, either.” He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “The announcement was supposed to be a surprise in the Sunday edition of the paper, but it seems that has been preempted.” He gazed at Melissa. “My daughter and Mr. Alasdair MacGregor are betrothed.”
Lorelei heard a faint buzzing as though insects were trying to invade her ears, and the world tilted oddly. The marquess’s steadying hand under her elbow kept her upright as the words the Duke of Oakley had just uttered permeated her brain. Half of London would hear about the pronouncement well before dawn.
Alasdair was officially engaged to Lady Melissa Talbot.
Chapter Twenty-Five
