Having once made the acquaintance of Mrs. Fitzherbert, Alec did believe in the rumored marriage. Maria Fitzherbert was an honorable woman and a loyal one, saying not a word against the king even after he had used her poorly. Had she discarded her pride to weep and beg for the king's favor, she might have retained his affections. Perhaps if she had pandered to his vanity, or perhaps if she had reproached him for the way he had cast her aside, she might still be the king's right-hand companion—but there were some sacrifices that Mrs. Fitzherbert had not beenwilling to make even for the sake of love, a position which Alec agreed with wholeheartedly.
"It doesn't matter what I believe," he said, his distant tone causing Lord Sefton to look around for a new conversation partner. It was clear that although Falkner was proficient enough at small talk, he hardly relished having to make it.
"There are Squire Bentinck and his lovely wife," Sefton exclaimed, edging toward them in a way that made Alec smile wryly. "Excuse me, Falkner, I must give them my regards."
"Certainly," Alec murmured, watching Sefton make a relieved escape. The other man's eagerness to be away from him was both amusing and disturbing. I can't stand to be around most of them, he thought. Then his amusement disappeared like a puff of smoke. What had happened to his compassion and tolerance for others? Why couldn't he feel something more than indifference for them?
Walking over to a nearby window, he leaned against the sill and stared out at the darkening sky.
It had all gone with Holt. Honestly he acknowledged to himself that he was not the same man he had been before Holt's death. There were so many things he didn't care about anymore, so many things that had to be done before his wounds could heal, before he could allow himself to forget. There had been only one small promise of comfort, one chance at happiness… but that had been only an illusion.
"Oh, damn," Alec whispered quietly, his troubled musings interrupted by the sight of a small figure outside, a long distance away. A woman was running across the small bridge that led to an odd little pagoda on the far end of the garden. She was too far away for him to see her face clearly but Alec knew that it was Mira. It had to be. She had a long dark braid of hair and was wearing a sapphire-colored dress, and even from here he recognized the trim curves of her figure.What was she up to? he wondered, inclining his head to watch her. In her rush she fell to her hands and knees. Then Mira picked herself up and continued on her frantic pace to the pagoda. It looked as though she were being chased. More games? Or had someone actually hurt her? Swearing under his breath, Alec stood up and looked down the hall to the gathering crowd in the eating room.
She's not mine, he thought with a scowl. Let Sackville see to her if she needed someone.
"Lord Falkner, are you waiting for someone?" a feminine voice intruded on his thoughts. The Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury stood before him with pleasant expressions, and Alex pasted a thin smile on his face.
"I'm afraid so."
"If you would like to accompany us to supper…"
"Thank you, your offer is most kind," he replied amiably, "but I believe I will wait a few more minutes." He exchanged smiles with the pair. After they left, Alec drummed his fingers impatiently on the win-dowsill and cast another glance outside. Mira had disappeared from sight. There was no one else outside, not Sackville or any of the other guests. "Bloody hell," he muttered, "I'm not going out there… I won't, not if I have any damned sense at all."
* * *
Chapter Five
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Curled up in the corner of the pagoda, Mira closed her eyes against the sight of the shuttered walls. She had been running all of her life with no destination and no hope of refuge, running without tiring because she had never known any other way of life. Until now. Now she was too exhausted to run any longer. Defeated, she made a feeble attempt to gather her thoughts together but lacked the strength to make decisions.
The sight of her reminded Alec of a hunted fox that had dug deep into the ground for refuge. He had not been able to stop himself from coming to find her; she had become an obsession of his, a temptation beyond measure. As he looked at her, he could see that someone or something had frightened her, and he was filled with the self-mocking awareness that he wanted to take her in his arms, shelter her from harm. Fighting against a surge of tenderness, he hardened his expression into one of cool indifference.
"Well, now…" he said softly, leaving the tiny door open to admit the dusky glow of twilight into the pagoda. "I thought it was you I saw out here. What for—a pre-supper tryst?"