Undone by the Star (19 page)

For several excruciating seconds, the depth of Marc’s anger threatened to overwhelm them both. Then he spun on his heel and walked out. As she knew he would.

Picking her way through the moonlit garden, Alex let out a sigh as she sat down in the shadows of the patio. Sleep was beyond her now. She had made all the necessary phone calls, and then returned to her flat, limp and more miserable than she had ever been before in her life. Once in her sanctuary, she had cried herself dry, then justified to herself over and over, why she had done what she did.

And despite the absolute rightness of every one of her self-directed lectures, all she could think about was Marc and what she had thrown away. But what else could she have done? She had spent her whole life preparing to be the CEO of The Sadler. It had been her destiny – until a disreputable plumber had strolled into the lobby and taught her there were other things worth wishing for.

Alex knew she had to face the fact that she’d been spellbound ever since she’s first laid eyes on Marc. The action hero on the screen had never been a draw for her, not even for a nanosecond, but the slightly scruffy man with his twinkling eyes and passion for history had stopped her heart. No, not her heart – her head. The night in Marc’s arms had awoken her in ways she could not have imagined. She loved him with every fibre of her being.

But she had taken a stupid, careless risk.

And paid the price. Twice over. First with the hotel’s reputation, and then her relationship with Marc.

She’d been replaying their last meeting over and over again in her mind, picking it apart, trying to justify her behaviour, blaming Marc for his. Alex groaned softly and wrapped her arms around herself, a pitiful excuse for a hug. She might never feel his arms around her again, hear the soft laughter meant only for her ears, savour the unique scent of his maleness. And why? Because she, not he, had been careless. In the softly-lit garden night, Alex finally accepted that the blame was more hers than his.

And not for the first time.

Because she was afraid. Afraid that if she followed her heart, she’d lose the dream that had driven her since childhood. The dream that had defined who she was. And now Alex’s heart swelled as her dream was swelling – to become larger, better. To encompass love.

But thanks to Clare, and a very understanding Grannie, once she’d finished expressing her opinion of said newspaper, the situation with the hotel had been declared redeemable. Alex had decided she would not issue a statement. The Sadler Hotel would never have lowered itself to respond to gossip rags in her grandmother’s day, and she wouldn’t either.

Instead she’d called the editors at
Conde Nast
who were even more interested in doing a profile on the new CEO than they’d been two weeks earlier. No surprise there. Alex was very marketable according to the editor she’d spoken with. They’d agreed on the following Wednesday, at The Sadler, with a full crew and a tie-in to London Fashion Week.

Grannie was all for it.

The staff had responded well. It was all business as usual, with one glaring exception. Alexis Kirkwood would never be the same. She would never regret her relationship with Marc, but it would be a long time before she would be able to walk through the lobby, or sit in the Library Bar, without thinking about the moments they’d shared.

Love wasn’t supposed to be painful. It was supposed be magical, full of romance and passion-filled nights with the thought that someday….

Someday didn’t bear thinking about.

With a last lingering look at the night sky, Alex rose to her feet and wandered back through the mews. She couldn’t even enter the archway to her flat without feeling overwhelmed by memories of Marc. This was where they’d shared their first kiss. And this was the where she’d pushed him away in favour of her career. Marc had been shocked, and hurt by her rejection, but he understood how difficult it could be to juggle personal passion and a drive to succeed in one’s own right.

Maybe if their chosen professions had been different, they could have found a way to make it work, but Marc would always be a celebrity, and that made her vulnerable. She knew she would always be in the public eye as the head of The Sadler Hotel, but to think someone had lain in wait to snap their photo and then insinuate that she wasn’t doing her job, galled her no end. She didn’t simper, and she certainly wasn’t “star struck!”

Tamping down a flash of anger, Alex locked up her heart once again.

There was no point waiting until dawn to face the day. Yesterday’s crisis had left a pile of paperwork on her desk.

Head bowed, Marc leaned on the kitchen counter watching the coffee brew. It was pitch black outside, which pretty much summed up his mood. All he could think about was his fight with Alex and how absolutely gutted he was at the thought of never seeing her again.

He’d trampled on her independence, ignored her strength of purpose and instead of asking her what she wanted, in his rush to make things right, he’d done the exact opposite.

All because he loved her, and wanted to protect her.

He’d treated her like a child.

And Miss Alexis Kirkwood had literally turned her back on him.

He’d been so stunned, he’d simply stood there and stared. Until his pride had intervened and saved him. He’d left without a word, stopping only long enough to retrieve his personal belongings from Jeremy who had looked at him accusingly.

Thank goodness he hadn’t bumped into Kate. She would have punched him in the nose and then torn a strip off him.

The coffee pot buzzed three times.

Enough of the self-pity. Marc grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it. He was determined to get past the pain, but even fetching the cream from the fridge was fraught with meaning. Visions of Alex in that gorgeous dress of hers bending over to poke about the shelves for the ingredients to make them an omelette, left him choking with grief.

What a difference twenty-four hours could make.

He slopped a generous helping of cream into his coffee and picked up where he’d left off.

Patrolling the flat like a lovesick puppy.

Picturing Alex, ravishing in her bodice and stockings, opening her arms to him as he drank in her beauty. Trusting him in every way as he took her to his bed…and made her his. And the way she rode his pleasure and made it hers.

Maybe it was better this way, Marc thought as he sipped his coffee. She’d had her life all mapped out before he’d even arrived in London, and now he’d spoiled it – by falling in love with the most dynamic woman he’d even met, and then exposing her to the seamy side of his celebrity. And the worst of it was, he had a sneaking suspicion that his former agent had tipped off the press.

Not that it mattered now. The damage had been done.

Alex had made her choice. A choice he had to respect.

And now he must make one of his own.

The first thing he had to do, Marc realized, was get away. The walls of the flat felt as though they were closing in on him, suffocating him with memories of Alex. She had only been there twice, but he sensed her everywhere he turned. He would quit the flat, leave London, and head somewhere Alex had never been so that he could mend in peace. And that meant Fallowfield. The location had been secured. All he needed to do was catch an early train to York, rent a car, and buy some supplies. He would bury himself in his work and get on with his life.

Decision made, Marc finished his coffee and returned to the bedroom. He stuffed what little he needed back into his bag and got dressed in his usual duds, hoodie and all. Chastising himself for being a sentimental fool, he took a last look around the room, at the mattress on the floor, and the champagne glasses he’d never bothered to return to the kitchen, and went in search of his laptop. He had it slung over his shoulder and was heading for the door when he paused and turned back.

There was just one more thing. He crossed the reception room, and stopped in front of the mantelpiece. It was impossible to keep his sadness at bay as he picked up the tiny Dragoon and slipped it into his pocket.

Life was full of ironies, and regrets, thought Marc as he softly closed the door behind him.

He’d never told Alex he loved her.

Alex woke with a start. She was slumped face forward across her desk with her head on her arms. Her hair had fallen over her right eye like a curtain, and she’d been drooling out of the corner of her mouth.

And having an absolutely horrid dream.

Marc had come for her, but then he’d left and she was chasing after him, running down the street with a horde of other women hot on her heels. And just as she reached out to grab him, he slipped away. She remembered wanting to weep.

With a struggle, Alex opened her eyes. They felt gritty and heavy with lack of sleep. It was nearly daylight; she had to move before somebody found her. She rolled her head to one side, blew her hair out of her face and blinked.

A tiny lead soldier stared back at her.

Alex blinked again. Then sat bolt upright.

Marc!

She scanned the shadowed room hungrily. But there was no one there. She leaned forward, peering at the Dragoon. Begging him to talk, to tell her what she already knew. Marc had been here, in this very room while she twitched in her sleep.

Alex frowned. She’d put her desk light on when she’d arrived a little after four-thirty, unable to sleep or settle, dressed for the day and desperate for a diversion. She remembered looking at the budget for renovating the terrace, and then nothing – exhaustion had finally taken over.

She straightened the papers she’d been lying on, trying to grasp what it all meant. The thought of Marc turning off the light while she slept touched her deeply. It was such a simple thing, but to her it was the thoughtfulness of love.

She stretched out her fingers and drew the Dragoon towards her.

Silent tears slid down her cheeks as she felt the tiny figure warm in her hand. The Dragoon was their mascot, their touchstone, the reason they’d gone to Portobello Road and the link between his family and hers. A snippet of conversation came back to Alex that all but shattered her heart.

Marc had been talking about the main character in his film, an injured soldier devastated by the loss of his wife, who becomes fixated by his childhood collection of lead soldiers.

It’s his way of healing, Marc had explained. And then he’d gone on to talk about his lonely years in Hollywood, and how he was trying to rebuild his life.

Alex gazed at the tiny figure in her hand.

“I’ve been a fool, haven’t I?” she whispered softly.

Then she reached for the phone.

Billows of dust rose in the air as, one by one, Marc whipped the covers off the chairs in a wood-panelled room at the back of the house. It must have been a study at one time, he decided. There was a library table overlooking the manor’s extensive lawns, with built-in book shelves at one end of the room and a massive stone fireplace at the other. Which, according to the estate agent, worked like a charm.

At least, he’d be busy, thought Marc, as he bundled up the dust covers and added them to the growing pile in the back hallway. So far he’d tackled one of the smaller bedrooms, brought wood in for the fire, and scoped out the kitchen.

Fatigue dogged his steps, but he didn’t care. He knew sleep would come eventually. Just as it had to Alex. Marc felt his heart clench. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood in her office, soaking up every breath she took, fighting the urge to wake her up and beg her to reconsider.

But no matter how much he loved her, or how sorry he was for what happened, the decision, if there was one to be made, would have to be hers.

She was no longer his to cherish.

In the end, he’d left his scout to speak for him, and headed for Yorkshire without a word to anyone.

And now, at the end of another long day, it was time for a beer. And a wander about the property.

He left by the kitchen door, noting the walled garden with its overgrown fruit trees. A few herbs struggled to survive amid the weeds in a kitchen garden that must have once provided a fresh supply of vegetables for the household, but years of neglect had taken their toll.

From there, he swung left towards the abandoned outbuildings. He’d parked his car on the cobblestoned courtyard next to an old mounting block. The stable itself was in pretty decent shape and would make a good exterior setting for several scenes, but the interior was a mess of hay and rotting feed. Maybe after the shoot, he would clean out the stables and fill the place with ponies.

And then what? Invite the neighbourhood kids over?

Marc shook off his melancholy. He had everything to look forward to – except Alex. In a few weeks, Fallowfield would be a hive of activity. He would be totally occupied with pre-production, but without Alex to share the joys and challenges of the day, it felt hollow.

And so did he.

Retracing his steps as he sipped his beer, Marc skirted the kitchen garden and looped back around to the front of the house. The sunlight was slanting over the estate, casting late-afternoon shadows across the lawn. He heard birdsong and the low thrum of bees working the bushes near the house. But he must be way more tired than he thought, because he could have sworn he saw a distant flicker of movement near the bottom of the drive.

Shrugging it off as part of the natural habitat, Marc sat down on the flagstone porch and drank the last of his beer. The day was still warm. He set the empty bottle off to the side, and gazed into the distance. A shadow broke ranks and moved towards him.

There
was
something out there!

Heart pounding, Marc jumped to his feet and tore across the gravel, his hand raised to shield his eyes. Suddenly what was dark became light like a shimmering mirage. Marc moved faster and faster as it took shape, breaking into a run when he realized
it
was running towards him.

Alex! It was Alex!

She leapt into his outstretched arms and he swung her round and round until they collapsed on the lawn, dizzy with happiness.