Forbidden or For Bedding?

That was what she must do.

But there was nothing. She could not speak.

Then, like a knight to her rescue, Richard was speaking. Prompting her.

‘Alexa?’

There was nothing in his voice but appropriate social enquiry, but thankfully it served to catalyse her into responding. A quick smile parted her lips.

‘Richard—this is Guy de Rochemont. I had the privilege of painting his portrait a while ago.’

A glint showed in the green eyes. ‘The privilege was mine, Alexa.’ He paused minutely. ‘I did not think you would be here this evening…’ There was the slightest Gallic intonation in the comment, so that it sounded like no more than a passing remark.

She made herself give her quick smile again.

‘Nor I,’ she said. She glanced at Richard, encompassing him in her reply. ‘Richard was kind enough to invite me.’ Her escort smiled acknowledgement. Without noticing it, Alexa leant slightly towards him. There was a flicker of enquiry on Guy’s expression. Richard held out his hand.

‘Richard Saxonby—Guy de Rochemont,’ she said, her voice and manner relaxed.

Guy took the outstretched hand, which was firm and solid. Like the man. Good-looking, too, he acknowledged, with intelligent eyes and a face that found it easy to smile. Personable. Attractive. He could see why Alexa was with him. There was nothing to dislike in this Richard Saxonby.

Which made it illogical, therefore, that he should have a sudden impulse, ruthlessly controlled, to wrest Alexa’s hand from the man’s sleeve, clamp it in his own grip, and walk off with her.

Walk off with her, pile her into a car, take her back to her apartment, his hotel—any damn place, providing it had a bed in it and no Richard Saxonby or any other damn male!—and then strip Alexa of that utterly unnecessary evening dress, loosen the clips on her hair to let its pale waterfall cascade like silk over her shoulders, cover her opening mouth with his and get her beautiful naked body to himself. Completely, luxuriously, satiatingly to himself.

His jaw tightened, and he slammed down on his overpowering impulse. That wasn’t going to happen. Despite the flash of desire momentarily possessing him, Alexa Harcourt was in the past. Everything to do with her was in the past. He’d made his decision, terminated their relationship. So if she wanted to have a relationship with another man, such as this Richard Saxonby, what was it to him? Nothing. Rien de tout.

The familiar sense of self-control settled over him, shutting out everything that had to be shut out, kept down. Smoothly he exchanged the socially required introductions with the man who was now clearly enjoying Alexa’s beautiful body—an enjoyment which was nothing to do with Guy any more, nor would be ever again, and therefore something about which he was unconcerned. Any other reaction was inappropriate to the circumstances. He no longer had Alexa for himself—a decision which had been his and his alone—and therefore if she wished, as evidemment she did wish, to bestow herself upon this man—any other man, in fact—it was of no moment to him at all. None.

And, because it was so, all that was required now was to do as he proceeded to do: loose the man’s hand and give an acknowledging nod of his head towards Alexa. He ignored the fact that her shoulder was brushing that of this Richard Saxonby, with his good-looking face and well-made body and his air of masculine assurance—and why not? He had Alexa in his bed—a presence which would make any man satisfied. With a brief indentation of his mouth in farewell, Guy took his leave and walked away from her and her bed-partner of choice these days, and returned to his own party.

It had been the work of a few moments only—a fleeting episode in an evening which was like a thousand other evenings in his life spent at some social gathering in which he had no particular interest, but where his attendance was expected and therefore was provided. He had not even had to take regard, for those few brief, inconsequential moments, of his fiancée and her gaucherie at this first social outing at his side. For, just before his glancing gaze had lighted on the unexpected sight of Alexa Harcourt, Louisa had murmured her excuses and slipped away to what he assumed was the ladies’ room.

She had still not returned, but he did not begrudge her her respite—indeed, he found himself glad she had not witnessed his exchange with Alexa. Not that it was any concern of his fiancée, or anyone else. Although he had never drawn attention to Alexa’s role in his life, it would have been more marked had he not acknowledged the presence that evening of the woman whom he had commissioned to make his likeness in oils. He had no wish for Louisa to be in a social situation of any kind with any female who had occupied a place in his life that she, as his fiancée and then wife, would never occupy. They were orbits that would never meet, never intersect.

As he resumed the party, slipping back into the banal chit-chat of his company, for a few brief moments in his mind’s eye he saw that eagle again, soaring away over the peaks, far, far beyond. Ahead of him opened the tunnel, leading into the mountain’s stony depths.

‘Richard, would you excuse me a moment?’

Alexa’s voice was steady, her manner just as it had been five minutes earlier.

But only on the outside. On the inside her nerves were jangling as if a current had been set through them. She had to get away.

Hardly waiting for his acknowledgement of her intention, she turned away, threading through the throng towards the blessed respite of the ladies’ room. There was a sickness in her insides, and her throat was tight. The moment she was in the Ladies she plunged into a stall, shutting fast the door and clinging to it. How long she was in there she didn’t know—kne

w only that her heart was pounding, her mind ragged. Gradually, very gradually, the shock—more than shock—of seeing Guy again started to recede. With intense effort she forced herself to calm the hectic beating of her heart, banned herself from letting the scene replay in her head. It didn’t matter—it didn’t matter a jot that she had seen Guy again! She would not let it matter!

She dared not…

She took the deep breath, steadying herself. Then, unlocking the door, she stepped out of the stall. Running on automatic, she crossed to the washbasins and mechanically started to wash her hands. As she did so, she noticed a large, opulent ring, with a glittering stone inset, on the surrounding vanity unit. There was no other person present—not even an attendant. Alexa glanced around. It was not the kind of ring to be left lying there. The area was deserted, but just as she was wondering what she should best do, reluctant to pick the ring up in case she might open herself to accusations of theft, there was a bustle behind her and a little cry of relief.

‘Gott seie Danke!’

Alexa turned to see a young woman dive on the ring and jam it back on her finger. As she did so, Alexa could not but help catch her eye.

‘I’m not used to wearing it,’ the girl said by way of explanation.

There was a slight Germanic cast to her accent. She smiled at Alexa, who found herself answering with a smile as well as she reached for one of the stash of folded linen towels by the basin.