Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(112)

“I’m sorry for the way I sent you off,” Mira said softly.

“I shouldn’t have left like that. I should have made certain that you understood—”

“I did understand, I was just being selfish.”

“I don’t mind your being selfish about me.”

“I am, terribly. If I could, I would just keep you in a room all to myself and never let you out.”

“Just so long as it’s the bedroom.”

“Have we ever made love in a bedroom, like other people do?” Mira asked dreamily. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful?”

“We did, once. And yes, it was wonderful.” Gently his teeth caught at her lower lip. “Unspeakably wonderful.”They filled the remaining time they had together with low, soft murmurs, slow kisses, and stolen caresses. Mira did not ask about the week in London, nor about what Alec had discovered about Holt. Perhaps later. But for now, Alec did not mention it either.

The night before the wedding, Mira was unable to sleep. Lighting a candle, she made her way downstairs with the intention of heating some water for a soothing herbal tea. On the way to the kitchen, soft light shining from the library attracted her attention, and she went to investigate its source. Gently she tapped on the half-closed door.

“Come in,” came Rosalie’s voice, and Mira entered the room hesitantly, discovering that her friend was sitting in a leather chair with an open book in her lap and a glass of wine in her hand. “I couldn’t sleep,” Rosalie confessed sheepishly, closing the book. “Heaven knows why, since it’s your wedding… but I came down here to read, thinking that it would help to take my mind off tomorrow.”

“I can’t seem to relax enough even to lie still,” Mira said. Her glance moved to the wine bottle and the neatly polished glasses that were poised on a silver tray. “I was going to take some tea. I think your idea is much better.”

“By all means,” Rosalie said, and they both laughed softly. As Mira settled into a corner of the low-backed sofa, Rosalie’s expression sobered somewhat. “Mireille, I’ve been lending some thought to the fact that this is the night before your wedding, and traditionally… you know that certain things should be discussed so that the expectations of a bride are not too… too… different from what is actually going to-... happen. I know that you… well, we’ve never talked about your past relationships with men, so I don’t know what you may or may not have done with…” She cleared her throat and forced herself to meet Mira’s eyes directly. “But… what I’m trying soineptly to say is that there might be questions that you have about tomorrow night. So if you would like me to-”

“Rosalie,” Mira interrupted, smiling slightly, “I don’t have any questions to ask about tomorrow night.”

“I was afraid you didn’t,” Rosalie said, and suddenly they both chuckled. Taking a sip of the sweet, fruity wine, Rosalie relaxed and sighed. “Still, I wanted to be certain that you were not uncertain about the wedding night. I was always told quite dreadful things about such matters—about a wife’s responsibilities and duties in the marriage bed. The ‘proper’ thing for decent women to do, and all that.”

“What is the ‘proper’ thing to do in the marriage bed?”

“I was told by my mother that a lady just lies back and thinks of England.”

Mira giggled.

“Fortunately,” Rosalie continued, “by the time she told me that, Rand and I had already been together. It would shock many people to know that we had been so intimate before the wedding.”

“I knew how it was between you two when we were all in Anjou,” Mira said, swirling her wine in the glass and sampling it with the air of a connoisseur.

“You did? How?”

“It was the way he looked at you. And the way you looked back at him.”

“Oh…” Rosalie smiled. “I didn’t know it had been so obvious.” Tentatively she added, “Mireille, I believe I have changed my mind to some degree about Lord Falkner. I’ve noticed during the past few visits that he is different from what I thought him to be. At least, around you he is different, and that is enough to reassure me that he truly does care for you.”

“I’m so glad that you feel that way.”

“I hope that he makes you happy. I hope that heregards your happiness, your comfort, your… pleasure as highly as he does his own.”

“Yes. Oh yes, he does,” Mira hastened to reassure her, and blushed. “I meant that he will—”

“I know what you meant,” Rosalie said wryly.

The marriage took place the next morning in a small church in Warwickshire. It was a private and exclusive ceremony, attended by the Falkners, the Berkeleys, and a few carefully selected guests of special rank and significance. It was important to Mira, who already had trepidations about her social responsibilities as Alec’s wife, to keep the ceremony small and to avoid the theatrical aspects of the situation as much as possible. Already society gossip and several London publications were treating her marriage into the Falkner family as a sensational drama… the unofficial headlines were widespread and very popular. There was an element of mystery about Mireille Germain, since no one knew exactly who she was or where she was from. There were rumors that she was originally from a well-to-do French family, and rumors about her involvement with Sackville, and controversy about where and when she had first been “discovered” in England… but nothing was ever proven or disproven. For the most part, she was an intriguing figure who had been brought into prominence by her association with the Berkeleys… and now with the Falkners.