Desperate Measures

She tried to watch some television, but found it required more concentration than she was capable of. And a more extensive vocabulary too, she realised uneasily. She would probably have to have some intensive language coaching before she and Alain did any proper entertaining, although she could not imagine herself ever acting as hostess in these frankly formidable surroundings.

In spite of her new hairstyle and new dress, she was still a fish out of water. It was an oddly desolate thought, and her throat constricted suddenly.

Oh, no, she told herself determinedly. You’re not going to cry. You’re just tired and rather fraught after one hell of a day, so you’ll go to bed—and, in the morning, you can start keeping your side of the bargain by getting to grips with this new life of yours.

She was on her way across the wide entrance hall when the telephone rang. For a moment she hesitated in case the Giscards reappeared from whatever fastness they had retired to and thought she was usurping their prerogative, but when its shrill summons went on and on unchecked, she reached out and gingerly lifted the receiver.

‘Alain?’ It was a woman’s voice, low, warm and husky. ‘C’est toi, mon coeur?’

For a second, Philippa felt as if she’d been turned to stone. But what the hell was she surprised about? Alain had made no secret of his proclivities, after all. It was because of them that she was here at all. She just hadn’t expected this kind of confrontation so soon.

She said curtly in French, ‘I’m afraid Monsieur de Courcy is not here, madame.’

‘And who are you?’ Some of the warmth had dissipated.

‘His wife,’ said Philippa, and put down the phone.

CHAPTER THREE

PHILIPPA WAS SHAKING with temper, and another less easily defined emotion, when she closed her bedroom door behind her. If the phone rang again, it could burst into flames before she’d answer it, she told herself. Turning a blind eye to Alain’s amours, as required, was one thing, taking messages from them quite another.

She stood still for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to restore her equilibrium. Madame Giscard must have unpacked for her, she realised, as she looked round her. Her toilet things were waiting for her, and one of the new nightgowns Monica had insisted on was lying, elegantly fanned out, across the turned-down bed.

Philippa looked at it with distaste. Its oyster satin and lace had cost more than she’d been used to paying for a whole term’s clothes at art school, she thought with irritation. What a terrible waste of money for a garment no one would see but herself!

The bed itself came in for its fair share of disapproval too. She glanced at the draped and ruched green silk bed-head, and wondered if she would ever be able to sleep amid such opulence.

She shook herself mentally, telling herself she was now being petty. Maybe a warm bath would relax her a little.

The bathroom, needless to say, was the last word in luxury. Philippa, accustomed to fighting for her turn with half a dozen others, was in the seventh heaven as she lay back in the deep, scented water, feeling the tensions slowly seeping out of her.

She dried herself slowly on one of the enormous fluffy bath sheets, then experimented with some of the deliciously perfumed lotions and colognes provided before putting on the nightgown. She looked at herself judiciously in one of the long mirrors, and grimaced. The tiny lace bodice hugged her small high breasts, and each side of the sleek shimmering skirt was slashed, almost to the thigh. With her hair hanging, straight as rainwater, almost to her shoulders, she looked like a child playing at being an adult, she thought disparagingly.

She flicked the soft brown strands away from her face and walked back into the bedroom, halting with a gasp as she found herself face to face with Alain.

He looked almost as taken aback as she did herself, she realised, her face flaming.

He was still wearing the formal dark suit in which he’d been married, but he had discarded the jacket and silk tie, and unbuttoned his waistcoat.

‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice was husky with embarrassment as she looked round vainly for a robe, or some other covering to shield her from the totally arrested expression in his green eyes. ‘What do you want? It’s late.’

He said slowly, ‘I came to wish you goodnight.’

‘Well, now you’ve said it, perhaps you’ll go.’ Her tone was curt, and his dark brows lifted in surprise and hauteur.

‘I also brought some champagne to drink to our future.’ He indicated the ice bucket and glasses waiting on a convenient table.

‘I don’t think that’s necessary.’

‘But it’s traditional—for a wedding night.’

‘But it isn’t—not really—I mean, we’re not …’ Philippa ground to a halt, her flush deepening. ‘Oh, you know what I mean.’

Alain poured wine into the glasses and held one out to her. ‘I am not sure that I do.’

She took the glass, holding it awkwardly. ‘You said that you’d—wait,’ she reminded him, her voice trembling a little. ‘That you’d give me time to—accustom myself.’

He drank some champagne, watching her meditatively over the rim of the glass. ‘But how much time, my reluctant bride? This year, next year, some time—or never, perhaps?’

Philippa flicked her tongue round her dry lips. The small nervous movement was not lost on him, she realised, her nerves grating. ‘I’ll keep my word—when it becomes necessary. But not yet.’

‘And if I told you that it is necessary now—tonight?’

‘Then I wouldn’t believe you.’ Still holding her untouched glass, she took a step backwards. ‘Please stop saying these things, and leave me in peace as you promised.’ She paused, gathering her courage. ‘Besides, you’re obviously expected elsewhere.’

His dark brows snapped together. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means I’d be grateful if you’d ask your mistresses not to telephone you here.’ Philippa lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps you should have warned the lady in question that you’re now, nominally, a married man. Get her to ring you at your offices from now on. I’m sure your secretary is used to dealing with such calls.’

There was a long and ominous silence. When he spoke, his voice was like ice. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’

‘And how dare you expect me to act as go-between with your women?’ Philippa spoke defiantly, but she felt frightened suddenly, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it quite so precipitately. But she couldn’t retract what she’d said now. ‘Anyway, she’s clearly waiting for you, so I wouldn’t waste any more time.’

‘When I want your advice on how to conduct my personal life, ma femme, I will ask for it.’ There was a tiny muscle jumping beside his grim mouth. ‘However, I have no intention of spending the night anywhere but here.’

There was another profound silence. Philippa swallowed. ‘When you say “here”,’ she began. ‘I hope you don’t mean …’

He gave her a brief hard smile. ‘I mean exactly what you think, ma belle.’

‘No—oh, no!’ She took another dismayed step away from him. ‘You promised me …’

‘Listen to me,’ he said harshly. ‘My first task when I left you earlier was to inform my uncle of our marriage. When he had managed to overcome his chagrin a little, he insisted that we dine with him tomorrow evening—so that he and his family may meet you, Philippa.’ He shrugged. ‘I could hardly refuse.’

‘But he can’t do that!’ She gave him an imploring look. ‘Please—you’ve got to put him off. It’s too soon—I’m not ready to face anyone yet.’

‘Exactly the point I am trying to make,’ Alain drawled. ‘They are expecting, my uncle, my aunt and my cousin Sidonie, to meet my loving and loved wife, not some frightened shrinking virgin. So we will need to present them with a normal marriage, not a pretence a child could see through. You begin now to see the necessity, perhaps?’

‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘No, I don’t. I can’t meet them yet. You’ll have to think of some excuse.’

‘Au contraire,’ Alain said quite gently, and put down his glass. The green eyes swept over her, making her feel, terrifyingly, as if the concealing satin no longer existed. ‘I think I shall have to see what I can do to—persuade you.’

‘Get out of my room.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Don’t come near me—or I’ll scream the place down!’

‘Vraiment?’ His brows lifted mockingly. ‘And who do you imagine will hear you—or care? The Giscards are far too well trained to interfere.’

‘You—bastard!’

‘Calling me names will change nothing. We have a bargain, you and I. On my side at least it has been generously fulfilled, and will continue to be so, as long as I receive equal—generosity from you, ma chère.’ He beckoned. ‘Now, come here to me.’

‘I’ll see you in hell first! You gave your word—and you lied to me.’ Panic was pounding in her chest, almost closing her throat. ‘You can’t do this! You don’t even want me …’

‘What,’ Alain said softly, ‘do you know of desire, petite innocente?’

‘I know I don’t want you.’

The words hung in the air between them. He gave her a long, considering look, then, without haste shrugged off his waistcoat and let it drop to the floor before beginning to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.

His lithe, muscular body was deeply tanned, his chest darkly shadowed with hair. Philippa watched him, petrified, hardly able to breathe as he began to unbuckle his belt. She’d seen men naked before in the life classes at art school, but Alain—this stranger she’d married—stripping in front of her like this was shockingly different.

He looked deep into the confusion in her hazel eyes. He said gently, almost mockingly, ‘Shall I make you beg me to take you?’

She gave a cry like a small hunted animal, and threw the wine she was holding straight in his face.

He was very still for a moment, then he picked up his discarded shirt and dried the moisture from his face and chest, his eyes never leaving hers.

He said quietly, ‘You should have more respect for good wine, ma belle. And more respect for me, also. I see I shall have to teach you.’

The glass dropped from her shaking hand and rolled away on the thick carpet as he came towards her. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her towards him, his fingers hard on her flesh, brooking no resistance. Then his mouth closed ruthlessly on hers.

When he’d kissed her before, he had been gentle. There’d been nothing to prepare her for this—onslaught. She tried to move her head, to escape from the suffocating pressure, but he would not allow that. One lean hand lifted to tangle in her hair and hold her still, while his kiss deepened, inevitably, inexorably.

He parted her lips with his, allowing his tongue to invade her mouth with devastating sensuality, plundering her warmth and sweetness with insolent mastery.

There was no point in fighting him—in struggling, Philippa realised from some whirling, fainting corner of her mind. He was too experienced, and more significantly, too determined. She was made aware once more of his physical power, the sheer muscularity of his body.

And her shocked consciousness told her that in these first brief moments, he was demonstrating to her with swift and frightening emphasis what passion could mean, and what other demands might be made of her before the night was over.

The heat of his hard body scorched through her thin nightgown, and even as she stiffened in helpless outrage she felt his other hand stroke down her body from the point of one shoulder to the curve of her hip, lingering on the way to shape her small, pointed breast in his palm.

She was not prepared for that, or for her body’s shaken, helpless reaction to the first intimate caress it had ever received. She might hate him for what he was doing to her, but she couldn’t control the hardening of her nipple under the subtle play of his fingers, or the swift onrush of moist heat through her whole body.

Then, his mouth still locked to hers, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. He placed her on the cool linen sheet and lay beside her. He stroked her cheek, turning her to face him so that he could kiss her again, slowly and explicitly, his hand travelling unhurriedly from her excited, tumescent breasts to explore with tantalising precision the exposed length of her silken thigh through the deep side-slit of her gown.

When he lifted himself away from her, she thought for one moment of agonised hope that he had relented, only to realise in the next second that he was simply removing the rest of his clothing. She turned away with a gasp to bury her heated face in the pillow.

She felt the slight dip of the mattress as he came to lie beside her again, and her whole body tensed, fear quivering through her, as his hand touched her shoulder.

‘Relax,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘Another promise?’ Philippa demanded bitterly, keeping her back rigidly turned to him.

‘One I intend to keep.’ His mouth touched the nape of her neck, blowing away the soft strands of hair to bare her skin for his caress. A shudder that had nothing to do with revulsion ran through her body.

She was not proof against this, she thought wretchedly, yet she had to be if she was to retain the least element of her self-respect.

He’d lied to her, broken a solemn promise, and she could not forgive him for that. If he wanted her, he would have to take her, she told herself bravely. Because she would not give, no matter what it might cost her.

When his hand began to slide the hem of her nightgown up towards her thigh, she stopped him with a little cry.

‘Don’t!’

‘Then take it off for me.’

‘No!’

‘What is the problem?’ Although she wasn’t looking at him, she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘You have some deformity that you’ve been keeping from me, mignonne?’

‘You know quite well I haven’t,’ she said bitterly.

‘How can I know?’ he said. ‘When I have only uncovered your body in my imagination—until now.’

Philippa, quivering with shame and indignation, found her nightgown deftly drawn over her head, and discarded on the floor beside the bed.

‘Oh, God,’ she said, half sobbing. ‘At least put out the light.’

‘No.’ Gently but implacably he turned her to face him again. ‘I want to see what my money has bought me.’

She closed her eyes, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she endured his lingering scrutiny.

‘What are you so afraid of?’ he asked at last.

‘I’m not afraid. I—I’m disgusted. I thought I could trust you, but you lied to me.’

He laughed softly. ‘And now I’m going to lie with you, my little one. Why don’t you stop fighting me in that stubborn mind of yours, and learn a little about yourself? Who knows? You might get a pleasant surprise.’

‘Being betrayed and degraded hardly features on my list of enjoyable experiences,’ she said raggedly.

‘So you find my presence here with you a degradation.’ His voice held a sudden chill. ‘My profound regrets, madame. But it changes nothing. You can behave as childishly as you wish, but tonight you are going to learn what it means to be a woman. You might find it easier if you made a conscious effort to stop hating me,’ he added drily.

‘Never!’ she said fiercely. ‘I won’t forgive you for this!’

His teeth glinted in a brief, unamused smile. ‘Tant pis,’ he said, and began to kiss her again, his lips warmly, deliberately arousing as they moved on hers, then down the long line of her slender throat to her breasts.

The touch of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue against her flesh was a revelation—a pleasure that was almost pain.

I can’t stand this, Philippa thought, as his lips delicately encircled each throbbing nipple in turn.

‘Don’t,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Just—do whatever it is you’re going to do, then leave me in peace.’

‘In my own good time, mignonne.’ Alain’s fingers feathered against her rounded thighs and lingered with persuasive purpose. ‘Couldn’t you defy your stern principles and meet me halfway?’

There was a new, almost disarming warmth in his voice. Philippa found herself shivering suddenly, tempted beyond all bearing to yield, to let him lead her down whatever sensuous path he wanted.

Her lashes lifted slowly, and she looked into the dark face so close to her own, registering just in time the flicker of amused triumph in the green eyes as he recognised her inner struggle.

It was the expression of a man, she thought dazedly, who was used to succeeding with women. The arrogant seducer who did not intend to fail with his—bargain basement bride.

She brought up her hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

His head jerked back almost incredulously, then he swore under his breath, and his hands came down hard on her shoulders, pinning her to the bed.

She began to fight him in earnest then, her body struggling to be free of the weight of his, her hands flailing at him, nails clawing at his shoulders and chest.

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