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.
Not even after he’d left her senseless in a carriage.
It was no good. She wasn’t going to be able to avoid thinking of it. Indeed, every time she looked at him, she could feel his palm against hers, his hands lifting her as though she weighed nothing. His arms around her. His lips on hers. His tongue. His fingers.
The room was suddenly uncomfortably warm.
Alec, for his part, seemed utterly comfortable, casually draped into the massive wooden chair at the head of the table, looking like lord of the manor, despite dining off plates adorned with scenes of a fox hunt, using silver etched with canine imagery. Indeed, he ate like a starving man, his appetite clearly unaffected by her presence.
Lily, on the other hand, felt as though she might cast up her accounts in the heavy silence that fell over the room.
Sensing her distaste for her food, Hardy sighed, setting his head on her lap and looking up at her with forlorn eyes, as though reminding her that he was there, and eager to help. She sneaked him a piece of sausage.
Angus noticed from his place at his master’s right hand and immediately came to her opposite side, licking his chops. She found a piece of meat for him, as well.
“They’ll never leave you alone now.” She looked up to find Alec remained riveted to his food, not looking at her.
Now, Lily found she was irritated. “At least the hounds acknowledge me.”
He stilled, fork halfway to his mouth, and Lily was rather proud of herself for speaking up. He looked to her, his brown eyes glittering like whisky in crystal. “What does that mean?”
“Only that their master appears unable to find the decency to say good morning.”
He set his fork down and turned to the trio of servants attempting to fade into the wall at the end of the room. “Leave us.”
They did not hesitate, closing the door in their wake with a quiet snick that seemed to reverberate through the room, sending Lily’s heart into her throat.
Would he kiss her again? Would he do more?
It was terribly early for it, wasn’t it?
She imagined him crossing the room to pull her from her chair, to set his large, beautiful hands to her face and to take her lips, showing her once more what he showed her last night—that lovemaking could be wild and free and mad and delicious.
Not that she cared if he did. She didn’t want it.