"For someone who needs my help, you're very arrogant," Mira observed, resuming her probing massage.
"You'll receive my thanks when I get up from here in one piece," Alec said, his eyes still closed in bliss. It felt too damned natural for his arm to be fitted around her waist. The warmth of her breath caressed his cheek as she leaned closer, the silken length of her braid brushing against the uncovered area of his chest. Why did she have to feel so good? Why did she have hands that were pure magic against his skin? Why did he have to want her when he knew that he couldn't have her? She's Sackville's mistress, Alec tried to tell himself… she belongs to another man… she's -not mine. "Your voice…" he murmured. "Your accent, Just a hint of some foreign—"
"French," she said, and as if the personal remark had either frightened or annoyed her, she made a small move to pull away. "I think you'll be fine now.'
Alec's eyes opened, the pale hue of them almost startling Mira.
"Not yet," he said huskily. "My neck is still sore."
"Here?" Her fingers moved higher up hi's shoulders
"No, more in the back… right ove… God. yes." Bliss descended upon Alec in an un irecedented measure. Suddenly he seemed like a great tuning cat, and Mira felt a stab of uneasiness as his h ind splayed out over her back.
"Racing through the woods like that," she said reprovingly, "it's no wonder you were thrown. It's surprising that I didn't have to run around the forest picking one part of you up here and a lother part there."
"Just as long as you picked up all of the essential parts."
"You didn't make good use of the head on your shoulders, my lord… not if you have so little sense that you ride like a demon through the—"
"Now that my arm is better," Alec interrupted ignoring her criticism, "can you do something for a headache?"
Mira laughed softly, her fingertips accidentally brush ing against the thick ebony hair that curled against the nape of his neck. "No. Really, I am not a witch, Lord Falkner. I cannot pull out a wand and recite some magic charm to make headaches disappear."
"Your hands are magic," Alec said huskily.
Abruptly the movements of her fingers stopped Mira realized in flustered confusion that he had wound her long hair around his wrist and that he was her head closer to his.
"Let me go," she said, going stiff and cold all at once. He stopped urging her forward but did not relinquish his grip on her braid. Their lips were just an inch apart. Mira could not smother the trembles that took hold of her. She felt surrounded by him, dominated by him.
Alec swallowed, so tempted by the delicious feel of her in his arms that he could barely keep himself from drawing her completely against him. It would be the most natural and effortless thing he had ever done to kiss her. What was wrong with him? He could not kiss her, he could not let her go. The feminine smell of her was a potent aphrodisiac, causing him to respond like any rutting bull in heat, and he either had to have her or find some way of getting rid of his desire for her.
"I suppose," he said in a low voice, "that you'd prefer to be paid for it first."
Mira's eyes widened. Then she slapped him, instantly gaining her freedom as she left a streak of fire against the side of his face. His head was turned with the force of her blow, and then his brooding gaze returned to hers.
"Your manner of showing gratitude leaves much to be desired, my lord." She stood up and backed away from him.
Alec smiled bitterly as he regarded her. Her beautiful face was flushed, her eyes gleaming with a dark flame. Was this how she looked as Sackville made love to her?
"I don't particularly wish to feel grateful to you." He sneered. "And your overwhelming show of mercy this morning doesn't change what you are or what I think of you."
She stared at him in disbelief, then turned and fled from his jeering smile, her slim legs showing in a pale, lovely glimmer as she ran.
It took all of Alec's concentration to be civil to Sackville, who noticed that something was wrong but declined to ask what. Luckily Sackville's private pack of hounds kept the chase fast and aggressive, robbing the hunters of the necessity of making conversation. Alec's shoulder ached slightly but gave him no real trouble. Every time he became aware of it, he could not help thinking of Mira's hands slipping underneath his shirt, and the thoughts of her threatened to undo the cords of his sanity.
None of the women had decided to hunt today, a fortunate circumstance in that the hearty flavor of the chase was undiluted by any sight of feminine feathers or bobbing curls and bows. Whenever a woman was along, no matter how skillful, the men's enjoyment of the hunt was diminished by constant awareness of her and concern for her safety. The ladies were back at the manor preparing to go for a country drive or pay visits to neighboring estates. They gossiped and played cards, dividing themselves into groups that the members would seldom stray outside of. Some groups were livelier, brewing mischief among themselves and casting aspersions on those not present to defend themselves. Others talked quietly of books and poetry, and more rarely of politics. Some talked of fashion, others of romantic interludes and adventures. The entire hunting party, now numbering about ninety, all included, would meet again in the evening for dinner. Afterward they would dance, put on small vignettes, sing or play instruments, and engage each other in games such as charades, chess, and cards. And so the pattern would be repeated each day for three weeks, until the men tired of the hunting and the women tired of the monotony, and they would all disperse to seek new parties and new activities.