“Anne—”

“I need to apologize to you,” she said. “I realize that now. But not here.”

“No.” His heart thumped once. “Not here.”

IF anything could make the tedium of political maneuvering even slower than normal, it was the knowledge that Anne wanted to speak to him. Wanted to apologize? For what?

Murphy tried to focus on the other parties as each one gave their most self-serving pitch about why it was important for the others to share information before they did. Two hours in, he was ready to murder them all. He’d have the fallout from across Europe to deal with, but he was almost to the point that he didn’t care.

As if sensing the level of subdued violence in the room, Gemma decided to adjourn the meeting early, giving the excuse of needing to speak with Leonor about a shipment of wine grapes. Every other party fled after that, though Murphy and Terry had been trapped by Brigid and Roger, who were concerned that they still had no idea where Rens Anker and his people were staying in the city.

He left Terry to deal with reassuring them and made it back to the Mayfair house, only to find Anne absent from their suite.

“Judith!” he called to the human secretary, who still jumped every time he appeared.

“Yes, Mr. Murphy?” She was fiddling with her hair again. “Did you need something, sir? Can I transcribe your notes from the meeting? Did you need to make any calls?”

“No. I mean yes, but not right now.” He shoved his notes at her. “You can have these. I’ll schedule a call later. Right now, I need to find Dr. O’Dea. Where is she?” If she’d left the house, he might go on a rampage.

“I believe I saw Dr. O’Dea heading toward the pool room, Mr. Murphy. Will that be all?”

He waved her away and stalked down the hall, following the scent of saltwater. The pool beneath Terry and Gemma’s home resembled one of the old Roman baths at Aquae Sulis. Marble lined the walls and columns rose around the perimeter of the large rectangular pool. It was only one of the pools in the home. A smaller one had been built in the family wing. This one was for guests, and Anne swam nearly every night.

He reached the double doors, opened them, and checked for any other company. A human attendant stood near the opposite set of doors, holding towels and looking at a mobile phone while Anne swam laps.

“Leave,” he told the young woman, nodding at the door behind her. “And lock that.”

She glanced at Anne, then at him. He saw a light flush color her cheeks. “Yes, Mr. Murphy.”

“See that we’re not disturbed.”

“Yes, sir.”

He locked the double doors and dragged a heavy lounge chair to the edge of the pool, watching as she flipped and turned under the water.

Patient? He could be patient. But patience was wearing thin.

Anne surfaced at the far end of the pool and turned. “Murphy?”

“Our meetings are finished for the evening, Dr. O’Dea.”

“Are they? That’s good to know.”

She sat on the steps and faced him across the length of the water, then took the elastic band from her hair and dipped the length in the water to smooth it away from her face. He saw the nerves in her eyes, but he couldn’t comprehend why.

“Did you want a swim?” she asked. “You never got yours last night. I know it’s salt, but—”

“You said you needed to apologize to me. For what?”

She paused and he wished she’d come closer, but she remained at the far end. Their words echoed off the marble walls.

Anne rose from the water and he watched it pour off her, fine rivulets running down her shapely shoulders and over her breasts. The water caressed the curve of her waist and her thighs as she walked up the marble steps and out of the pool. She made no attempt to cover herself as she walked toward him.

“I asked Brigid last night what she would do if she lost Carwyn’s love. If he ever betrayed her or broke her trust.”

His heart was beating, the sluggish flow of blood beginning to pulse in his veins.

“I imagine her response bordered on violent.”

“Oh yes.”

She kept walking toward him, and his body rose in greeting, his arousal pressing against the fine wool trousers he’d donned for the evening. He sat perfectly still and watched his mate.

“I wanted to laugh at her,” Anne said. “But then I realized what she really meant was that she would fight for him. For their relationship.”

“Yes.”

“She asked me if I thought love was worth fighting for.”

His voice came out in a low rumble. “And what did you say?”

“I said I did. But then I realized I hadn’t done that. When the time came that our relationship was challenged, I didn’t fight for us.”

A new wave of guilt slapped him. “Anne, it wasn’t your—”

“I was hurt. I was shocked. And I didn’t fight.”

The look on her face tore him apart.

“I was the one in the wrong,” he said. “I know that. I knew it then; I was too proud. I deserved to lose you.”

“But I have to admit my part, Patrick. I walked away to nurse my wounds. I am sorry for that.”

His palms clenched into fists. He rested them on the edge of the chair where he still sat, trying to remain calm as she approached.

“I accept your apology,” he said. “Do you accept mine?”

“Yes.” She paused, closed her eyes, and said, “I forgave you years ago.”