Сара Крейвен – The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience (страница 17)

‘D’accord.’ He waited for a moment as she stood irresolute. ‘There was something else, perhaps?’

‘No, no.’ It was Solange’s turn to shrug. ‘At least—just a matter of some curtain fabric. But that can wait for another time. When Remy is not quite so—occupied.’ She looked at Allie, a faintly metallic note creeping into her voice. ‘Au revoir, mademoiselle. I am sure we shall meet again—soon.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Allie responded, without an atom of sincerity.

A thoughtful silence followed Solange’s departure.

Allie drew a breath. ‘I seem to be in the middle of some kind of situation here. Please believe I—I didn’t know.’

‘You are sure there is anything to know?’ Dr de Brizat sighed a little. ‘Like all the Gerans, Solange is industrious, ambitious, and single-minded. She has a mother who is a trial, and she does not intend to spend her entire life cleaning cottages for tourists.’ He paused. ‘But any plans she is making for the future are hers alone.’

His sudden smile was mischievous. ‘Let me assure you also, ma petite, that she has never been asked to breakfast.’

But that, thought Allie, reluctantly returning his smile, does not make me feel any better about all this.

Remy came striding in, tucking a grey and white striped shirt into charcoal pants, his dark hair still damp from the shower.

Allie was sharply aware of the scent of soap he brought with him, mixed with the faint fragrance of some musky aftershave, and was ashamed to feel her body clench in sheer longing.

He snatched car keys from a bowl on the huge built-in dresser that filled one wall, then reached for Allie’s hand, pulling her to her feet. ‘Viens, chérie.’

She managed to throw a hasty au revoir over her shoulder to his grandfather, and heard him reply, ‘A bientôt, Mademoiselle Alys.’ Which meant that he expected to see her again, she thought, as Remy whisked her into the Jeep and started the engine.

She said breathlessly, ‘Do you live your entire life at this speed?’

‘No.’ The smile he slanted at her was wicked. ‘There are times, mon ange, when I like to take things very slowly indeed. You would like me to demonstrate?’

‘Not,’ she said, struggling not to laugh, ‘in a moving Jeep, monsieur, je t’en prie.’

He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Eh, bien, chérie, tu as raison, peut-être.’

There was a brief silence, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet and infinitely serious, ‘But I am beginning to question, Alys, how long I can exist without you, and that is the truth.’

She felt a tide of heat sweep through her body, leaving behind it an ache beyond remedy. ‘Remy—this isn’t easy for me.’

‘And you think it is for me?’ His laugh was almost bitter. ‘That I expected to feel like this—to know how completely my life has changed in so short a time? That I even wished it, when a few days ago I was not even aware of your existence? No, mon amour, and no.’

The passion in his tone almost scared her, and Allie bent her head. She said half to herself, ‘Oh, God, I shouldn’t have come here…’

‘Do not say so.’ His voice hardened. ‘Do not ever say that, mon coeur, because without you I would be only half alive.’

He reached out a hand, resting it on her bare leg, just above the knee, and she covered it with both her own, feeling the reassurance of its warmth as they drove in silence back to Les Sables.

When they reached the house, Remy switched off the engine, then turned to her, drawing her into his arms. He looked down at her for a long moment, before taking her mouth with his, kissing her with a thoroughness and frank expertise that left her dizzied and gasping for breath, her hands clutching the front of his shirt as if it was her last hold on sanity.

‘Remy…’ His name was a croak.

‘I need the taste of you, mon ange.’ His own breathing was ragged. ‘To carry with me through the day.’ He detached one of the clinging hands and carried it to his lips. ‘I will see you tonight? You will have dinner with me?’

She nodded almost numbly, then got out of the Jeep, shading her eyes from the morning sun as she watched him drive away.

Tante was sitting at the kitchen table, reading her letters, as Allie came into the house. Her calm gaze assimilated the dishevelled hair, the wild rose flush and the faintly swollen mouth, but she made no comment.

‘The coffee is fresh, dear child, if you would like some.’

‘I—I had breakfast at Trehel.’

The older woman nodded drily. ‘So Georges de Brizat told me on the telephone.’ She paused. ‘Your little web of untruth is spreading dangerously wide, ma mie. How long before it breaks, I ask myself?’

Allie sat down at the table, staring down at the oilcloth, tracing its pattern with a finger. She said in a low voice, ‘I know I have to tell him, Tante Madelon, and I will—soon. I promise. But…’

‘But you are so happy you cannot bear anything that might spoil your idyll.’ Tante studied her. ‘You do not trust Remy to understand?’

‘I—I’m learning to trust.’

‘Then learn quickly, ma chère.’ Tante got briskly to her feet and fetched the coffee from the stove. ‘Before he guesses you are hiding something—and begins to wonder if he can trust you.’

I should have listened to her, Allie thought wretchedly, sitting up and easing her back, stiff from sitting so long in one position on the sofa. I should have taken the risk and told Remy everything. But I was too scared of losing him. And in the end, because I was stupid and a coward, I lost him anyway…

The music had ended long ago, and she replaced the CD in its case and switched off the player.

The house was totally silent, the blackness of the night pressing against the windows, making her feel suddenly isolated—alienated.

She thought with a shiver, It’s very late. I should go to bed, instead of tormenting myself with the desperation of the past.

Because Remy won’t be listening to the silence, or staring into the darkness a few miles away at Trehel. He’s not torturing himself with bad memories. He’s put the past where it belongs and set his life back in order, the way it should always have been.

So, he’ll be asleep in that enormous bed, with Solange in his arms, her bright sunflower hair across his pillow and that little victorious smile on her lips.

Solange…

Jerkily, she brought her clenched fist to her mouth. Bit savagely at the knuckle as pain ravaged her.

Solange, she thought, wincing. The girl she’d seen as an irritant, perhaps, but never a danger. Someone she’d underestimated from Day One—that she’d even allowed herself to pity a little. But perhaps her happiness with Remy had made her blind—even arrogant.

She opened the back door and stood leaning against the frame, drawing in deep lungfuls of cool air as she fought for calm.

Because she had been happy in a way that was totally outside her experience, measuring her life only in the hours they spent together. Beginning with the dinner he’d promised her that evening…

‘Richaud has a son at last,’ he’d told her with amusement, as they’d sat eating lobster in a candlelit restaurant overlooking the sea. ‘Papa says he will be drunk for a week in celebration.’

Allie dealt carefully with a claw. ‘Is it really so important to men—this need for a male heir?’

He shrugged. ‘The inheritance laws are different here, but a son at least carries on the family name, and for Richaud it also means a strong arm to help him on his land.’ He looked at her, brows lifted. ‘You think that is a chauvinist point of view, ma belle?’

‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘As long as it doesn’t become an obsession.’

‘Your father would have preferred a son?’ He smiled at her. ‘That I do not believe.’ He paused. ‘For myself, a healthy child born safely to the woman I love is all I would ever want.’ Now, whispered the voice in her head. Be honest with him. Tell him about Hugo—the nightmare of your marriage. Tell him everything—now—and ask for his understanding—his help…

But as she nerved herself the waiter appeared beside them, pouring more wine, whisking away the discarded pieces of shell, and the moment was lost.

And when they arrived back at Les Sables, Tante was waiting up, hiding her private concerns behind polite welcome, but clearly determined not to leave them alone together.

Remy’s goodnight kiss was frankly rueful. ‘Tomorrow,’ he whispered. ‘I am free in the afternoon. Will you come swimming with me?’

‘Yes.’ Allie’s eyes shone as she detached herself reluctantly from his arms. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘We have a pool at Trehel, but I think madame would feel that is too secluded.’ He paused. ‘So, to assure her of my good intentions, I shall take you to St Calot, where there will be many other people.’

She bit her lip. ‘Remy—she really likes you…’

His tone was wry. ‘Yet she still looks at me, mon ange, as if I were a wolf, threatening her only lamb.’ He sighed. ‘However, she is right to care about you. And I have only to persuade her that I care too.’ He kissed her again. ‘A demain.’

Except it’s not you, but me that she doesn’t trust, Allie thought with sudden bleakness as she turned back into the house. And I can’t blame her for that.

The weather continued to be glorious, with each sunlit tomorrow blending seamlessly into the next, and Remy making time to be with her on each of them, in spite of his workload.