Mira looked up at him with eyes that had darkened to black. "Alec?" she gasped, starting to struggle beneath him.
"Don't fight it," he whispered. "I want to watch you." He lowered his mouth to hers, muffling her cry of pleasure, and her body convulsed violently, straining to accept the flood of ecstasy that suffused her. He held her securely, his arms strong and secure arouiu her, and she collapsed against him, her limbs slack ant trembling. Burying her face in his neck, Mira wa racked with such a confusing mixture of emotions tha tears came unbidden to her eyes, and she wept softh for a reason that she didn't understand, pressing he face against his warm skin. "Mira… sweet… don ,cry." Alec reached underneath her disheveled clothes and stroked her back gently.
"Before tonight I thought… I thought I finally had control over everything—"
"So did I… God, don't cry, I can stand anything but your tears."
"Why did I let it happen?" she asked, sniffling angracefully. "I should never have—"
"There was no way to avoid it," Alec said against her temple, and he dug in his vest pocket for a handkerchief. She accepted the white linen square and blew her nose, her forehead wrinkling in misery as she realized that except for his unfastened breeches, Alec was still fully dressed.
"You… you didn't even take your boots off," she said in a watery voice, wiping her eyes with a corner of the handkerchief. "Oh, how awful—"
"Mira…" Suddenly a tremor of laughter laced through his voice. "Would you feel better about this if I had removed my clothes?"
She did not know what he found so amusing about the situation. "Of course I would have. I think… I don't know…"
"My precious brat, I wasn't thinking about boots or clothes… except for how to remove the ones that were in the way."
"Oh, stop sounding so damned pleased with yourself, and… and let me up—I've got to think of what to do…" She covered her eyes with her hand and let out a shuddering sigh. "Name of God, what have I done?" Had she ever been in a predicament this dire? She was a disheveled, tumbled mess, and in only a few minutes she would have to meet Rosalie, whose eye for detail was able to detect the disarrangement of one lock of hair… and after this she would have to attend a ball filled with people who would surely know what she had been doing.
"I know that you're accustomed to thinking for your-self," Alec said, sitting up and calming her struggles as she attempted to twist out of his lap, "but for once you're going to let me help. Be still." Too tired to fight him, Mira allowed him to cradle her against his broad chest. He spoke to her with calm assurance, as if he were supremely accustomed to being in this sort of dilemma. He probably was, Mira thought woefully, and rested her head on his shoulder. "It will take only a few minutes to reassemble your costume, and then it will be time for you to meet Lady Berkeley. If I heard correctly, she has been meeting with Canning—"
"You are a terrible eavesdropper," she said gruffly.
"I'm a very good eavesdropper," Alec corrected equably. "After you meet Lady Berkeley again, tell her that you wish to retire to your room early. Tell her that your head aches—"
"I can't tell her that, she's the one who is supposed to have the headache."
"Then tell her your monthly time has—"
"I'll tell her that my head aches," Mira interrupted hastily. "But no matter what excuse I offer, she'll know after looking at me that something has happened, and I don't know what sort of explanation will—"
"You don't owe her an explanation."
"I most certainly—"
"You do not."
"I see. The only person I owe explanations to is you, is that correct?"
"That's right," Alec replied, his fingers going to the laces of her dress.
"You are the most arrogant—"
"And now, seeing that you have recovered your breath and your capability for sarcasm, it is time to send you out to the lions again. May they all beware.'
He was more efficient than any lady-in-waiting could ever hope to be, lacing and straightening her clothes in almost as short a time as it had taken to disrobe her.Mira turned away from him as she pinned the hat on her head once more, her eyes focused on the closed door. "Thank you for a most interesting evening," she said huskily, stabbing her scalp accidentally with a pin and almost welcoming the pain. Anything to take her mind off the thought that once more she had lost the battle. Was her life destined to be shaped around these brief, draining clashes with him, which would become more and more defeating until she expired from the hell of wanting and not having?