Forever My Love(43)
Her quiet sobbing stopped abruptly. "Get out of here," she said, her voice fringed with a betraying tremor.
Alec sat down across from her, his legs stretched out so that his feet rested on the cushion next to her. Mira cast his boots a venomous glance before lifting a handkerchief to her nose, blowing loudly, and then resting her forehead on her bent knees.
"What happened?"
"Nothing." She refused to look at him. "Oh God, I don't want to talk to you! Out of pity, please go! I can't bear your company right now, and I don't know why you're here, but—"
"Don't you? Perhaps I'm giving rein to my irrepressible curiosity. Or maybe I'm playing Good Samaritan."
"Samaritan?" Mira repeated, suddenly choking on a combination of amusement and disdain. "You? That's ridiculous. I've never met anyone more unsuited to that role. You can be kind when you want to be, but that isn't nearly often enough. And even if you could help me, I wouldn't let you… no, because you'd want something back. Your kind always wants something in return for what—"
"Easy, easy…"he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't come out here to serve as a target. I only wanted to see what the weather outside was like. I thought I saw a few storm clouds gathering."
"I couldn't tell you anything," she said, undistracted by his teasing. "You wouldn't understand any of it!"
"I understand about being in trouble." Alec settled back against the cushions and regarded her steadily. "I've had a long and sometimes profitable acquaintance with trouble. I've had vast experience at pulling myself out of scrapes… hopeless messes, most of them, and occasionally I've learned a thing or two about… perspective."
"I couldn't begin to explain it to you."
"Why? Do you think you'd shock me?"
Strangely, it was the mocking tone of his voice that caused Mira to consider telling him. Lifting her head to look at him, she expelled a tight breath. He waslittle more than a large shadow inside the pagoda, looking vaguely satanic in the darkness. No, she did not think that she could shock him, for if there was one thing that she did know about Alec, it was that he was not shocked easily. In some ways he was one of the most cynical men she had ever met.
"I suppose… there is a chance you would understand. I mean… you've probably done some unsavory things during your life—"
"—and enjoyed most of them quite shamelessly," he added helpfully.
"I wonder what your motive' for listening to my confession would be," she mused, her tone gently acidic. "Is it that you're bored? Would you like me to fill the few minutes before your supper with entertaining anecdotes of my sordid past?"
"As a matter of fact, yes… I would. It's not that I don't already have a few suspicions about the kind of trouble you might be in… I'd just like to hear your version of it."
"You're a fine one to judge me!"
"Oh, I'm not judging you," he countered wryly. "As you pointed out, I'm the last person qualified for that. I'm merely offering to lend a sympathetic ear."
Looking at him warily, Mira decided that confiding in him—a little bit—was not too great a risk. After all, there wasn't much for her to lose. "I… I have to leave tonight," she said, waiting for some sort of reaction from him and hearing none. "I mean leave, for good. I found out something today… I didn't know about it before, but I can't stay here now…you see… Rand Berkeley and his wife are arriving here tomorrow."
"Berkeley," Alec said emotionlessly, his gaze locked on her face. "You've made his acquaintance before, I gather?"
"Yes. I first met him in France."
As he calculated what sort of connection Mira might have had to the Earl of Berkeley, a man universally acknowledged to be one of the most financially powerful and physically attractive men in England, Alec was not pleased with the most obvious answer. "Were you his mistress?" he asked sharply.
She was too annoyed by his blunt question to notice the jealousy that rang out in his voice. "No," she replied stonily. "Believe what you like, but I have not… I don't…" She sputtered to a halt and closed her mouth with a snap.
"Go on," Alec said, impatiently drumming his fingers on his taut thigh. "Tell me about Berkeley."
"He doesn't know I'm here in England. When he knew me, my name… my name was Mireille Germain."
"Mireille," Alec repeated as if savoring the sound. He pronounced it differently from her; his easy drawl was miles away from her pert French syllables. "An attractive name. Why did you change it?"