"You will adore this place," Rosalie said, her face radiant with excitement as they walked through the Chinese gallery and looked up at the green-and-gold dragons that leered down at them from the ceiling.
"Yes," Rand Berkeley added, his golden eyes gleaming wickedly as he escorted the two women past a row of Oriental colonnades. "Tasteless but amusing."
"There is always something going on," Rosalie continued animatedly. "Water parties, auctions, suppers and banquets, concerts, balls, theatricals…"
"I'm already exhausted," Mira said, but she smiled as she spoke, anticipating all the new sights and sounds she would experience at the Pavilion during the next few days. They stopped to admire a wall painted with delicately scrawled Oriental designs.
"And there is always music playing, for the king is passionate about it and has a private band that performs every morning and evening."
"I can scarcely wait to see him," Mira confessed, having heard so many tales about King George that she knew not what to believe about him. Stout and brilliantly attired, he was reputed to have the most perfect deportment and the most elegant bow in all of England. During their conversation on the long ride from Warwick to Brighton, Rand had explained that George IV invited to Brighton only those who could be of use to him. There was a huge number of socialand political figures staying here. Mira knew that this fact held a secret significance for Rosalie, who was hoping that George Canning, head of the Foreign Office, would be at the Pavilion. Rosalie was determined to speak to Canning secretly about finding a post for Brummell in France, and Mira was prepared do anything necessary to help her in this mission. 1 would prefer that both of you watch your step very carefully for the next few days," Rand said.
Rosalie and Mira looked at each other guiltily. Rand stilt did not know about their secret meeting with Brummell or Rosalie's plan to talk with Canning alone, and it was nerve-racking to keep a secret from him. Rosalie's husband was no fool, and few things escaped his notice.
"Whatever do you mean, my lord?" Rosalie asked with a halfhearted smile.
Rand subjected his wife to a slow, searching look before replying, "Only that the king's taste for older women has changed. Now it appears that he is drawn to young, attractive women of lively disposition. He would easily be encouraged by the smallest word or smile from either of you… and I would rather not have to extricate you from such a situation, since his pride is easily damaged, and he is not a particularly forgiving man."
"1 know that." Rosalie was instantly agitated. "And it would probably amuse him to see me in an awkward situation, since he has heard the rumors about me and Brummell. He never forgave my father after their falling-out, even though Brummell sent him his best snuffbox and made every effort to win back his friendship. The king could easily see to it that my father is allowed back into England, but he won't, because he's too ungrateful and jealous of Brummell to—"
"Shhhh…" Rand whispered gently, sliding a hand to the back of Rosalie's neck and stroking his thumbalong her rapidly throbbing pulse. "I know, fleur." He understood more than any other person alive what Brummell meant to Rosalie, and how easily upset she could become when the subject of her father was mentioned. Taking a deep breath and calming at his touch, Rosalie raised her blue eyes to his.
Mira averted her gaze from the strangely intimate gesture, at once flustered and touched by the revealing scene. At times Rand and Rosalie could shut themselves away from the entire world. In a few seconds they could read each other's thoughts and sense each other's needs in a completely private communication. no matter who was with them or what their surroundings were. At the moment Mira was merely a self-conscious outsider.
As she turned her eyes away from the pair, Mira heard the sound of footsteps at the end of the hall, firm footsteps coupled with a long stride. She looked at the approaching figure… and suddenly her heart beat in a staccato rhythm. Alec. She put a hand to the base of her throat, feeling all the color drain from her face. It had to be Alec. She had missed him so much that her whole being ached with the painful joy of seeing him again. It was Alec… or was it? His hair was coal-black, his form was tall and broad-shouldered, his features were severely perfect and graced with a raffish white smile… but as he came closer, Mira realized with utter bewilderment that the newcomer was not Alec. He was too young, and somehow he seemed less polished, his manner speaking more of cockiness than Alec's self-assurance. And his eyes. . they were not silver-gray but deep green.