Suddenly Alec understood why he was so unwillingly drawn to Sackville's mistress. She laughed at him in the same way Holt had, unafraid to tease him, unafraid to test his anger. How you would laugh, Holt, he thought to himself grimly. I've finally met the woman who could be the perfect match, and she has an angel's face, and she's more seductive than sin… and she already belongs to another man.
"I've got to leave," he said, and Mira nodded slowly.
He's a man of little moderation, she thought, watching him ride away as if the devil were in pursuit.
The drawing room was packed with guests, the air scented with coffee, tea, and perfume. It was eleven o'clock at night, the men and women all reunited after a day of hunting and social calls, having just shared a splendorous supper together. Privately Alec considered the room the least preferable of all to spend the post-meal hours in, for it was decorated in shades of red so brilliant as to affront the eyes. The dark, ornate scheme of crimson and gold swirled in endless patterns over the ceiling and carpet, rococo curves that connected intricately in confusing proliferation. It was a large room, the windows and the red draperies at least fourteen feet high. Cavorting angels pranced through the rampant designs of the elaborately painted and carved ceiling. The drawing room was a vision of overabundance unrelieved by any tasteful simplicity.
As they all sat down to relax and enjoy an evening's entertainment, Alec winced as he realized that Clara ellesmere had managed to procure the seat next to his. She was completely amoral, indifferent to the needs and desires of anyone but herself… a hungry woman who enjoyed physical pleasure in all its various forms. Perhaps if she cared for anyone's opinion, it was that of her husband, who appeared to be indifferent to Clara and her reprehensible habits. Sometimes she would interrupt her flirtations to glance at Lord Ellesmere's resigned countenance in a taunting manner, but he never displayed any reaction to her activities. It was generally hoped that someday Ellesmere would take his wife in hand and either take a whip to her or confine her on a leash. Her public displays ranged from amusing to exasperating. It was entirely likely that she had slept with more than half the men present in the room—no small feat, considering the large number of the gathering. Alec only regretted that he had been one of them.
It had been a mistake to sleep with Clara that one night two years ago. She had been entertaining in bed, but Alec had found that all of her sophisticated sexual tricks were curiously one-dimensional, exciting the body but not the mind. He had experienced no further desire for her after that night, though she still professed to wanting him. She was a beautiful woman without a conscience… a lonely, lusty woman who used men and was used by them. She had nothing to offer except her well-groomed body—a poor substitute for a real woman with honest emotions.
"Have you enjoyed your hunting so far?" she asked silkily.
"Have you?" Alec countered.
She laughed lightly. "I have heard that you've had considerable success, Lord Falkner."
"Perhaps success—but little satisfaction," he replied, his gray eyes fixed on the piano as the Countess of Shrewsbury began to play.
"How ironic," Clara said, her red mouth curving enticingly. "I feel the same way." Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "But I never forget a good souce of satsifaction, Alec… and you're very satisfying." She leaned closer and began to whisper, each syllable cloying and sweet. "Do you recall that night we shared? It could happen again… perhaps even tonight. I remember everything, everything you did to me, and each time I look at you the memory becomes—"
"I'm sure you have many such memories," he drawled. "Are you certain that you're not confusing me with someone else?"
"Not you… I would never forget you, Alec," she said, rising in a sinuous movement to leave the room. "Excuse me, mon cher… I'll return soon."
Lord Sackville, who was seated on Alec's left, tapped him on the shoulder as Clara disappeared.
"Is Lady Ellesmere retiring for the night?" Sackville asked.
"Unfortunately not… and when she does, it won't be with me."
"Poor fellow… when I advised you to find a woman, I didn't mean her kind."
"I know exactly which kind I want," Alec assured him dryly.
"I propose," Squire Osbaldeston said amid the halfhearted applause for Lady Shrewsbury's performance, his face flushed with too much wine, "that my wife, Lady Osbaldeston, follow her recital with a song!"
Alec groaned inwardly, settling lower into his seat.