'I just thought I'd mention it…'
'I might take you up on your offer sometime.'
'Ben's coming over again on Monday-if you'd like to join us.'
'Maybe I will.' With a wave and a lighter heart, she left.
Chapter Twenty-four
Once she was back in her studio, the memories came flooding back, and practical considerations gave way to emotion. Sam had stood right there, or lounged in that chair, kissed her there and there and there. No matter where she looked, she was reminded of him. She dreaded going into her bedroom, where the searing images would be all too intense.
She tried to paint for a time, but the unfinished garden landscape only escalated the level of her unease, the sunlit scene giving rise to lush memories of the wild, thrilling rapture they'd shared. She finally threw her brushes down, turned the canvas around, shut the door to the garden, and poured herself a brandy.
Slumped in a chair, her drink untouched at her side, she bemoaned the emotional turmoil that had plagued her since meeting Sam. It wasn't fair, she thought, that he'd entered her life and disrupted her hard-won contentment, nor, she reflected more bitterly, that he'd so easily changed her mind last night.
What really wasn't fair was that he could as easily change any woman's mind. For a jealous moment, she wished him and all his paramours to the devil.
Cooler counsel surfaced a moment later, and she reminded herself that she had been fully aware of his reputation before she embarked on that first fateful carriage ride. And his seduction last night had been delectable and enchanting as usual. So much as she'd like to blame him, she had no one to blame but herself.
Not a particularly consoling thought, nor one that brought her any measure of peace.
Damn him and his irresistible allure.
When Rosalind walked into Alex's studio that evening, Alex's mood hadn't improved. She'd actually drunk two brandies in an effort to mitigate the worst of her temper, canceled two appointments, tried to nap without success, dusted her entire studio, after which she made a note to increase her maid's wages or throw out some of the porcelain and artifacts littering her shelves and tables. And now she was seriously thinking about going to see Harry-as a diversion to her black mood.
'See Harry later,' Rosalind suggested, standing in the doorway of the dust-free studio. 'Right now you have to dress. Have you forgotten we're expected at Caroline's for dinner?'
Alex didn't move from her Empire chaise, her gaze, if not sullen, decidedly morose. 'I'm not going.'
Rosalind settled into a chair in a rustle of pale blue silk, her matching pale blue gaze direct. 'Ranelagh's not worth it,' she said briskly.
A flash of surprise crossed Alex's face. 'Is it that obvious?'
Leaning forward in a twinkle of sapphire ear drops, Rosalind patted Alex's hand. 'He's the divine and glorious Ranelagh, darling. What did you expect?'
'Perhaps I didn't realize the full extent of his deification,' Alex muttered.
'His godlike attributes are well known to anyone interested in dalliance. You've just never concerned yourself with amour before. If you want my advice, I'd suggest you get up, get dressed, go out tonight, and forget Ranelagh.'
'Because he's sure to forget me, you mean.'
Rosalind lifted one bare shoulder. 'How blunt do you wish me to be?' And when Alex didn't answer, she said, 'He leaves them all. But it's not as though you're looking for more.' Her eyes narrowed slightly. 'Are you?'
'No, of course not. In fact, I'm angry with him. Or, more aptly, resentful of his damned expertise-oh, hell… of all the women. I refuse to be another of the hundreds or thousands. I left him this morning while he was sleeping.'
'Really. He must have been surprised when he woke. How clever of you to leave him guessing. I don't expect that ever happens to him.'
'I wasn't intending to be clever. He annoyed me.' But Rosalind's remark offered a new interpretation of Sam's displeasure with her seeing Harry. Was his vanity involved rather than his feelings?
Rosalind leaned forward in her chair. 'Tell me everything.'
'Relax, Rosie. There's no juicy gossip to offer up. We just argued about my seeing Harry. For some reason, Ranelagh felt he could tell me what to do.' She didn't mention their disagreement over the child because Rosalind wouldn't possibly understand.
'Do you think you were mistaken? It hardly seems like Ranelagh to restrict a woman's friendships.'
'I could have been mistaken, I suppose.'
'You're not in this mood just because Ranelagh didn't want you to see Harry?'
Alex shrugged. 'No-I don't know; I'm not sure what I think. I'm trying to sort out my feelings.'
'So you have feelings for him.' Rosalind made a small moue. 'I'm not sure that's wise, darling… considering- well, considering the sheer number of women who have passed through his life.'
'Which is the pertinent point, is it not?' Alex sighed softly. 'I'm trying to deal with this whole episode wisely.'
'Good for you. We'll go to Caroline's tonight and you can show everyone your liaison with Ranelagh has not impaired your better judgment.'
'But Caroline's.' Alex wrinkled her nose. 'It's sure to be boring.'
'If you recall, she's invited the entire Russian ballet troupe currently onstage at the Apollo. It's their night off, and both Serge Voronkin and Nikki Linsky are enough to take anyone's mind off anything at all…' Rosalind's pale brows rose and her smile was suggestive. 'Just a passing thought to jog you out of that chaise.'
'I suppose it's better than drowning my sorrows in vile brandy.'
'You can drown your sorrows in Serge's soulful Slavic gaze instead. Or if you're not in the mood to throw yourself into another man's arms, maybe you could talk to Serge and Nikki about painting their portraits in their costumes from
Alex laughed. 'Have you nothing better to do than suggest lovers for me?'
'But, darling, think how much more exciting my life has become now that you're a wicked widow.'
'I wish I were a wicked widow; then I could cavalierly deal with men like. Sam Lennox. Although if I'm to serve as surrogate for your virtuous life, kindly find me someone who will be enchanting but not
'But it's his specialty, my dear. Why wouldn't he be a superb lover? A diversion will do you good. Wear your Indian silk tonight and those wonderful diamond earrings you bought in Paris, and I'll see that you meet Serge and Nikki.' Rosalind smiled. 'Would you like them both?'
'That certainly would be in the nature of a diversion,' Alex noted sardonically. 'If I felt like talking to a man- which I don't.'
'Nonsense,' Rosalind replied, not inclined to leave without her friend. 'Wait until you meet Serge.'
With Rosalind's nudging and cajoling, Alex was eventually dressed, the vivid gold-shot turquoise silk a resplendent foil for her auburn hair and creamy skin. The sheer silk overlay a crepe slip in a matching hue, the low decolletage and jeweled belt of flamboyant gems a lure to the eye. It was a dramatic gown. But in the mood she was in, Alex welcomed the drama. At least, it offered an alternative to her peevishness. It served as well to project a degage image that suggested she was perfectly fine without Ranelagh, because everyone at dinner would have heard of their liaison.
She wanted to show them she was in excellent spirits.
See.
Dinner was less boring than she'd expected. The darkly handsome Serge sat beside her and flattered her with
