Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(103)

Her arms crept around his neck. “No,” she said softly. Rand chuckled as he looked into her deep blue eyes.

“My love… you would smother a flower by giving it too much care, too much water and light. Let this one take root on its own. Agreed?”Reluctantly she nodded, smiling at him and lifting her face for another kiss.

The message was signed with the scrawling initial A. Mira examined the note, delivered into her hands early that morning by Mary. The letters were precise and strongly marked. She was not familiar with Alec’s handwriting, but this looked like a valid sample. He had asked her to meet with him at the northwest corner of the Berkeley estate at three o’clock. Why had he chosen to meet her this way—wouldn’t it have been easier to pay a simple call? Privacy. He wanted privacy, she thought. Her whole body felt as tightly drawn as a bow as she imagined what he might say.

“Rosalie,” she said casually during the midafter-noon meal, “I am going out walking after luncheon—”

“Splendid. I will join you.”

“Actually,” Mira said, giving her a placating smile, “I would like to go alone.” Oh, why hadn’t she just kept quiet and sneaked out later on?

“Alone?” Rosalie turned to’ her husband. “Rand, do you think it is safe for her to go out walking alone?”

“Mira, do you intend to stray far from the Hall?” Rand inquired carelessly.

“No, no…” she said hurriedly. “There is no reason for me to go far. Really, I should not have mentioned it, it is so insignificant.”

“Then I have no objection,” he replied, causing her to relax with an inward sigh of relief.

“Now, what were you saying before about the docks?” Rosalie asked Rand, and he launched into a grim description of the increase in crime that had started to affect his shipping business. Recently the Bow Street runners that he had hired to protect his various cargoes had caught a number of thieves on the docks, some of whom had confessed to being members of Stop Hole Abbey, an extensive criminal organiza-answers, the irrepressible curiosity, the insistent attraction when their eyes had met. “Is that why you wanted to meet here?”

“What?” Alec’s dark brows drew closer together.

“Is that why you—?”

“I came here because of your note.”

“Note?” she repeated in bewilderment. “I didn’t send a note, you did.”

“You think I did?”

“Well, yes, you… you didn’t?” Mira stared at him in rapidly growing dismay. She flushed. “No, of course you wouldn’t have.” She had never felt so foolish, so embarrassed. “Oh, damn. Damn Rosalie. I’ll strangle her for this!”

“It could very well have been my mother,” Alec pointed out, his mouth twisting sardonically. “She’s fond of meddling—”

“No amount of meddling could solve our problems.”

“Not problems… problem. There’s only one obstacle in our way, and that’s you.”

“Me?” she demanded, finding that in one sentence he had managed to send her into a blind rage. After her tears, her agony, her heartache, he stood before her and accused her of creating problems, as if… as if she had refused him merely out of a petty desire to annoy him! “I’m glad everything’s so simple for you! How wonderful it must be to know that you’re completely in the right and I’m wrong—your conscience must be wonderfully clear, you… you…”

“I asked you to marry me,” he pointed out, his voice cutting. “You turned down the offer. It’s that simple… but you’ve been trying to complicate it with talk, empty worries, fears of—”

“It’s clear that you haven’t heard anything I’ve said. You haven’t listened to me at all. My worries are real. You haven’t…” To her horror, Mira felt tears of frustration welling up in her eyes, and she bent her head, trying to suppress them. Once again she had lostanswers, the irrepressible curiosity, the insistent attraction when their eyes had met. “Is that why you wanted to meet here?”

“What?” Alec’s dark brows drew closer together.

“Is that why you—?”

“I came here because of your note.”

“Note?” she repeated in bewilderment. “I didn’t send a note, you did.”

“You think I did?”

“Well, yes, you… you didn’t?” Mira stared at him in rapidly growing dismay. She flushed. “No, of course you wouldn’t have.” She had never felt so foolish, so embarrassed. “Oh, damn. Damn Rosalie. I’ll strangle her for this!”

“It could very well have been my mother,” Alec pointed out, his mouth twisting sardonically. “She’s fond of meddling—”

“No amount of meddling could solve our problems.”

“Not problems… problem. There’s only one obstacle in our way, and that’s you.”

“Me?” she demanded, finding that in one sentence he had managed to send her into a blind rage. After her tears, her agony, her heartache, he stood before her and accused her of creating problems, as if… as if she had refused him merely out of a petty desire to annoy him! “I’m glad everything’s so simple for you! How wonderful it must be to know that you’re completely in the right and I’m wrong—your conscience must be wonderfully clear, you… you…”