Suddenly he thought of Mira, and he was unable to rid his mind of her… her brown eyes filled with a teasing light… her cool fingers stroking and kneading his shoulders, sliding over his skin with a sweet, arousing touch. Her mouth moving under his, their lips clinging, parting, and reuniting. The addictive feel of her body, the passion that only she had been able to rouse so high and satisfy so deeply. He needed to wrap his arms around her small form and bury his face in her hair. Mira could help him forget his pain. But Mira was not his. She had left him, and he had convinced himself at the time that it was better to let her go. He had not wanted to need her so badly… he still did not want to.
Perhaps, Alec reflected moodily, he should join Carr at the tavern. At the moment, a series of drinks seemed worth the effort of tolerating Carr's company. Squaring his shoulders and raking a hand through his raven hair, he began to make his way through the conglomerations of people along the edges of the ballroom.
Then he caught sight of something that set off an inner shock of recognition. A woman, turned away from him, her dark locks neatly confined by a jeweled hairnet that glittered and shone under the blazing lights of the chandelier. She stood alone, apparently waitingfor someone to bring her a glass of wine or punch. Stopping in his tracks, Alec stared at her with a mixture of surprise and instant, raging hunger. Although he could not see her face, he knew that it had to be Mira. She was the only one who had ever adorned her hair in such a way. She was thinner than he remembered, her figure less voluptuous. He felt such an incredible rush of desire for her that it didn't matter, nothing mattered except that she was here and that he was going to hold her, talk to her, touch her again. Perhaps he would pull her out to a concealed place in the gardens nearby and hold her tightly, crush her lips under his… Not even bothering to wonder why she was there or whom she had come to the ball with, he reached her in a few long strides.
"Excuse me…"he said, and as the woman turned around, Alec's impatience dwindled instantly into disillusionment. She was not Mira. Her face was thinner, her features were more sharply drawn, her eyebrows were more arched. Even through his disappointment Alec realized that she was an attractive woman, with soft blue eyes and an inviting smile… but she did not have Mira's distinctive beauty. Her eyes did not shine with Mira's lively intelligence, her mouth did not curve with Mira's provocative smile. She was an imperfect copy of the woman he wanted. "Please forgive my impetuousness," he said, the blaze in his eyes fading rapidly. 'I'm afraid that I've mistaken you for someone else."
"How dreadful," the woman said in a lightly accented voice as she smiled at him, obviously believing that he had wanted to meet her but had not been able to find someone to make the proper introductions. "We women do not like to be mistaken for each other… it wounds our vanity."
Alec smiled slightly as he placed her accent. French, an aristocratic dialect. A small measure of his interest was reawakened."It is a mistake I will never make again," he said, looking down at her with silvery gray eyes.
"And why not?" she parried, her long lashes flickering against her cheeks before she looked up at him.
"Because I would never forget a face as beautiful as yours," he said, causing her to simper prettily.
"I'm not certain I believe you."
"Don't believe me, then," Alec said, giving her a smile guaranteed to make her heart beat faster. "Just dance with me."
Not Mira, but close enough.
"How did you learn to drive a phaeton?" Mira asked, wedging herself more firmly against the cushions of the light high-seated vehicle. It was an open carriage, and the cool damp wind of October blew against her face as Rosalie urged the chestnut horse faster down the London streets. Rosalie held the ribbons with a firm, expert grip, leaning forward to better control the horse as the wheels seemed to fly over the road. Only reckless young bloods were supposed to drive themselves in high-flier phaetons, not well-bred gentlewomen like Rosalie.
"It's not that difficult," Rosalie replied, reaching up to free a strand of hair that had blown across her lips. "When Rand and I take drives through Warwickshire, he lets me take the ribbons if no one is looking. Needless to say, he never dreamed that I would ever dare to do this without him beside me."
"I'm still amazed that your mother said nothing about us taking this out without an escort or even a footman—"
"She knows that this has something to do with Brummell… she wouldn't dare interfere. Although she's not my natural mother, she raised me from infancy and has always known how much I wanted a father. Now that I have found out who he is, she will not prevent me from seeing him or doing anything I like about him.""Is this her phaeton?" Mira inquired, pulling the hood of her cloak more tightly around her head to keep the wind from blowing it off. The heavy garment was made of camlet, a waterproof fabric of wool, silk, and camel.