His Perfect Partner

‘As I recall, we first made love on the grass,’ Jean-Luc replied quietly.

‘How dare you?’ Rachel continued shakily. ‘How dare you march in here, telling me that I must listen to you? Just who do you think you are?’

‘I know what I was.’

Rachel gasped as Jean-Luc snaked out a hand to prevent her from flouncing off towards the door. He pulled her close and suddenly it was like six years ago as he looked down into her trembling face, except that this time there was an element of punishment and force in his expression, along with the compelling tension and the supreme sexual vitality which was so much a part of him. ‘This place means something to you. Don’t be a fool and allow old prejudices to cloud your judgement just because we were once—’

‘Let me go!’ Rachel struggled free. She didn’t need to be reminded what they had once been to each other. Every nerve end in her body tingled with recollection—with a dreadful and intolerable yearning that had sparked into life the moment she had set eyes on him. ‘You think you can return after all these years and presume to tell me about the way I feel!’ she retorted angrily. ‘You, of all people!’

‘I don’t presume—I know,’ Jean-Luc informed her with disconcerting arrogance. So this was how it was going to be, he told himself—acrimonious, bitter. And to think that he had once been fool enough to imagine she’d loved him as much as he’d loved her.

‘Now.’ He kept his voice hard. ‘I have come here with a genuine business proposition. Are you prepared to stop acting like a petulant little girl and listen, or do you want to lose everything?’ Dark brows were raised questioningly. ‘Think carefully, Rachel, which is it to be?’

CHAPTER TWO

RACHEL wanted to run away. She wanted to scream and cry with anger and frustration—yell at Jean-Luc who was nothing but a cold-hearted, unfeeling swine. He had devastated her life. How dared he come back and open up all the old wounds? How dared he speak to her this way? How dared he?

But she didn’t move. Instinct told her that he would surely get the better of any scene she chose to make, just as before, just as always. And, besides, to display the way she felt would be to indicate that everything mattered—that he mattered—and that was the last thing she wanted.

‘OK.’ Rachel inhaled a steadying breath. ‘Say what you’ve got to say.’

‘Not here.’ He dismissed her offer without the slightest hesitation, pulling back his cuff to glance at the watch on his wrist. ‘Not now. I’m already late for another appointment. It will have to be later.’

‘How much later?’ Rachel struggled to keep the fury out of her voice. ‘I haven’t got that much time. I have an appointment with the trustees of Aunt Clara’s estate and the bank manager first thing in the morning.’

‘We’ll talk this evening—over dinner.’ Jean-Luc surveyed her with a cool expression. ‘Then I will arrange for my accountant and solicitor to meet with your financial advisers so that things can move as swiftly as possible. My car will pick you up at eight.’

‘What if I don’t want to have dinner with you?’

Dark eyes scanned Rachel’s flushed face. ‘It’s part of the deal—besides, that is the only time that I have free.’

‘My, my! What a busy person you are!’ Sarcasm hardened Rachel’s voice, and she turned away towards the window.

‘Eight o’clock.’ Jean-Luc’s voice was brisk and businesslike. There was a slight pause. Rachel had to summon all her will-power not to turn and look at him at the sound of the drawing-room door being opened. ‘Au revoir.’

Rachel watched through the window as he walked to his car, her eyes drawn by every inch of his smartly suited figure. A chauffeur opened a rear door and Jean-Luc climbed inside. There must have been a briefcase on the rear seat for she saw him lift a black leather object onto his lap, open it and draw out a sheaf of papers. He was working.

Was it really as easy as that for him? No time for reflection? Rachel wondered. No need to dwell on the fact that he had seen her again after all this time? Evidently not.

He was shaking. Jean-Luc stared at his trembling hand and gripped the business report he was holding a little tighter. What had he expected? What, exactly? That she would be pleased to see him? That she might care that he had put aside the pain of the past in order to help her when she needed it most?

He looked up and saw that Emile was watching him in the rear-view mirror. What would he be making of this? His employer, usually so cool and calculating, so in control.

Jean-Luc inhaled a calming breath and released it with a vow that he would not allow memories of the past to interfere with the here and now. Foolishly, he hadn’t expected to feel this way, so…disturbed by her. He pictured again the hate in her eyes. Her dismay at seeing him again had been clear.

The car swung away from the Grange and he caught sight of her at the window, watching him. Blonde and beautiful. How many hours had he spent, convincing himself that he was over her, before he’d decided on this course of action? Jean-Luc’s mouth firmed into a formidable line. Too many.

Rachel didn’t move for a long while, even when the vehicle was just a dark speck in the distance and the only evidence that he had been with her was the faint scent of his cologne and the thudding of her heart.

She could scarcely believe that he had been here, that she would have to endure the torture of seeing him again. Rachel held her head in her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break.

Naomi found her some ten minutes later. The old woman bustled into the room, a frown of concern creasing an already lined face. ‘My dear, whatever is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Everything!’ Rachel’s voice broke with emotion. ‘Everything,’ she repeated, picturing the scenes she had had to endure with Jean-Luc.

‘There! There! You have a good cry. I don’t think I’ve seen you shed a tear since your poor Aunt Clara’s funeral. It’s not good for you to keep all that emotion locked away inside. I know you miss her.’ Naomi paused to administer comfort in the form of a plump arm around Rachel’s shoulders. ‘Where’s your visitor?’

‘He’s left.’

‘Wasn’t here long.’ She handed Rachel a wad of clean tissues. ‘These tears aren’t anything to do with him, are they?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘You should have called me. I would have given him a piece of my mind, and him looking so nice and respectable, too. Hounding you for money, was he?’

‘Not exactly.’ Rachel wiped her eyes, struggling for composure. ‘He’s got a…a business proposition he wants to put to me,’ she croaked. ‘I’m meeting him again this evening…He’s picking me up at eight.’

‘You’re going out with him?’ Naomi sounded horrified . ‘But you can’t do that—you don’t know him from Adam!’

Rachel glanced at Naomi and saw from her expression that she really didn’t have a clue as to the identity of the suave and sophisticated gentleman she had shown into the drawing room. If only she knew! Rachel didn’t want to tell her, not at this moment, anyway, not while she herself was feeling so shell-shocked. ‘He comes from a reputable company,’ she murmured. ‘It will be…all right.’

‘Well, I hope so. A business proposition, you say?’ Naomi’s voice brightened. ‘Might there be chance of saving the Grange, then?’ she added hopefully.

‘I’m not sure.’ Rachel struggled to bring her tears under control, but a sob caught in her throat. ‘But if there’s a chance, I suppose I must try…’

She couldn’t decide what to wear—not that it mattered one iota, of course. It was a toss-up between making every effort and making no effort at all. In the end Rachel decided that pride had to show its more attractive face, and she chose a simple, yet elegant long-sleeved dress in fine black wool from her wardrobe.

His car was on time. Rachel, pacing nervously in the hallway, almost jumped out of her skin when the doorbell clanged. She was nervous—more than that, petrified. Jean-Luc’s unexpected appearance earlier that afternoon had had a debilitating effect. She hadn’t been able to do a thing in the intervening hours since his visit. She’d just sat and thought and remembered how it had been during those last glorious few days…

‘Wake up, sleepyhead!’

Rachel stirred faintly as the sensuous voice penetrated her dreams. She moved in the bed, hugging the crisp, white linen sheets close around her slender body, and smiled dreamily.

‘Do you always look this gorgeous in the morning?’ Jean-Luc’s deep voice, heavy with the seductive French accent was soft and enticing against her lips. ‘Baby, come on,’ he whispered, ‘open those beautiful blue eyes.’

She raised dark lashes and looked up in sleepy astonishment at the rugged, handsome face, lifting a hand in something approaching wonderment to touch the angled cheekbone. ‘Jean-Luc?’ Rachel smiled lovingly, hardly able to believe he was here with her. ‘What are you doing?’

He didn’t allow her to finish the sentence, not that she cared. His lips moved with possessive intent over her mouth, and Rachel found herself responding, despite the early hour and the fact that she was still half-asleep, despite the awful possibility that he could be found here in her bedroom by one of the servants or, worse still, her Aunt Clara at any moment.

She entwined her hands around his strong, suntanned neck and accepted his kiss, revelling in the strength and the warmth of his body—wondering once again how she had ever survived without it, ever survived without him.

Jean-Luc was so brave, so bold, so totally alien, like a wonderful being from another planet, entering her cocooned world, changing her perspective on life.

‘Hurry, ma chérie! It’s a beautiful day and I don’t want us to waste a second of it!’ He kissed her mouth lovingly once again, then disentangled her arms and pulled back the bedclothes, a smile curving his mouth at the sight of Rachel’s extremely functional cotton pyjamas.

‘Well, it’s cold in the country!’ She glanced down at her attire, wishing she looked more seductive for him, and pulled a comical face to hide her embarrassment. ‘My bedroom doesn’t have central heating.’

‘Don’t worry, you look beautiful.’ Jean-Luc ran a fingertip along the line of pearl buttons, tormenting her with the lightness of his touch. His dark eyes sparkled. ‘Fresh and sweet as the daisy.’

Rachel pouted. ‘Not even a little sophisticated and alluring?’

He pulled her to him and kissed her mouth. ‘Sophisticated—no. Alluring—definitely. ‘You are the sweetest of temptations.’ He looked at her as she had never seen him look at her before—naked desire in his eyes, the hunger of wanting her, pure rugged masculinity in every taut line, every fleeting expression. ‘Mon Dieu!’ The words were a groan beneath his breath. ‘How to resist you?’

‘Don’t try.’ Rachel’s eyes were wide and bold. She had never felt this way about any man before, knew with a deeply felt certainty that she never would again. ‘You know how I feel about you.’

‘For me it is the same.’ He tugged her into the circle of his arms to kiss her again with a passion that took all her breath away. ‘Always,’ he asserted huskily, drawing back a little to look deep into her eyes. ‘For ever.’

‘You mean that?’ Rachel’s voice was barely a whisper.

‘Of course.’ He kissed her again. Rachel loved the wonderful fact that she seemed to be irresistible to him. It was quiet in the bedroom for several minutes. Rachel knew she would never forget this moment. Jean-Luc’s gaze, his tender hands, told her all she needed to know. He loved her, just as she loved him.

Never mind what Aunt Clara thought, it wasn’t her fault. She was just…old, out of touch, unaware of the depth of feeling between them. Once she understood the seriousness of their relationship, Rachel told herself, everything would be better. She would be happy for her niece, happy that she had found love.

‘You’re frowning.’ Jean-Luc’s dark brows drew together in comical imitation of hers, his smile gently teasing. ‘Have I woken you too early? Would you prefer to be a lazybones and sleep in?’ He lifted her into his arms suddenly and laid her back down on the bed. ‘Would you like to stay here?’ he murmured huskily, kissing her neck. ‘Shall we both stay here?’

‘You know we can’t.’ Rachel linked her arms around Jean-Luc’s neck. ‘If Aunt Clara or Naomi finds you here…’ She glanced towards the closed door of her bedroom, conscious of the sounds of the house below. ‘How on earth did you get up here, anyway?’ she asked, smiling. ‘And don’t tell me you knocked on the front door, informed Hayes that you wished to see me and simply marched straight upstairs to my bedroom because I won’t believe you!’

‘Do I look that mad?’ Jean-Luc replied, with a curl of a smile. ‘No, I did the correct thing and took the tradesman’s entrance.’

‘But surely Naomi was busy in the kitchen?’

‘She was. But I have a very good line in distraction.’ Jean-Luc’s eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘I knocked at the kitchen door, hid around the side of the house, Naomi came out, followed my trail and…’ He gestured with his hands. ‘Voilà! I simply slipped inside.’

‘Trail?’ Rachel’s expression was a mixture of perplexity and excitement. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The milkman had been. There were eggs, a lot of them. I simply placed them in a line which led away from the house. Naomi followed like un canard…a duck, waddling after a trail of bread!’

‘You are incorrigible!’ Rachel smiled happily, kissing his mouth. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Incorrigible?’ Jean-Luc’s sensuous eyes gleamed. ‘What is that?’

‘Naughty!’ Rachel kissed his finely moulded mouth. ‘Very naughty indeed!’

‘I like naughty.’ Jean-Luc cradled Rachel’s blonde head with both hands and returned her kiss. ‘It feels good. Now, come!’ He rolled away from her suddenly, and Rachel knew that he was having to exert the utmost will-power as he rose from the bed. ‘Get dressed. It’s a beautiful morning—the sun is shining, the birds are singing. I want us to share every second of it together.’

Rachel did as he requested. It never entered her head to refuse—why should it? This was what she wanted—this excitement, this sense of freedom and fun. This passion.

Jean-Luc lifted the sash window while Rachel slipped on jeans and a jumper. She watched him as he stood with his back to her, breathing in the fresh spring air. She loved to look at him. Her blue eyes lingered on the broad shoulders, on the dark brown, slightly wavy hair that brushed the collar of his blue linen shirt, on the clean, but undeniably worn denims that hugged slim hips.

He was everything she’d ever wanted. It really was as simple as that. Everything. The fluttering sensations of desire and excitement had been old friends ever since that day almost two months ago when he had first come to work in the gardens for her aunt.

‘Ready?’ He turned, holding out a hand, leading her towards the window. ‘We are taking an alternative route.’ His lips curved at Rachel’s expression. ‘Don’t look so shocked. It will be perfectly safe. See? We step out onto the flat roof, then a careful negotiation of the drainpipes and a small leap down to freedom.’

Rachel smiled. ‘Maybe you should have rung the front doorbell,’ she said, stretching up on tiptoe and kissing him tenderly. ‘I think it would have been a lot simpler.’

‘Ah, but not so much fun. And, besides,’ he continued, with more than a hint of bitterness, ‘I would have had to wait until much later in the day, and then I would have had to endure the disapproving looks of your aunt—it really isn’t the done thing for the gardener’s boy to court the mistress’s niece, is it?’

‘Don’t, Jean-Luc, please, not now!’ Rachel placed a fingertip to the suddenly angry mouth, hating the old argument coming between them once again. ‘Aunt Clara’s just being protective. I’m just eighteen. I’m the only family she’s got. She only wants to look after me—’

‘To stifle you.’ Angry brown eyes held Rachel’s gaze. ‘She imagines I would hurt you?’ The incredulity in Jean-Luc’s tone was hard to miss. He shook his head in disgust. ‘I swear, this house, it is still living in the Victorian times. Your aunt would look very convincing in a black gown with a white lace cap on her head!’ His mouth curved, but beneath the humour the anger was still evident.

‘She doesn’t trust me because I’m a foreigner…or a gardener…’ He lifted his hands in a typically Gallic gesture. ‘What does she think I’m going to do—whisk you off and sell you to the white slave trade?’

‘Jean-Luc!’ Rachel shook her head. ‘Please! Don’t be cross.’ Rachel glanced anxiously towards her bedroom door again.

‘Although, I think,’ he added, pulling her close against his rugged body, his smouldering eyes lingering over Rachel’s feminine curves, ‘it might not be such a bad idea. I think you would fetch a very good price.’

Rachel giggled. ‘Jean-Luc, you are not only incorrigible, you are irreverent, too!’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed his mouth. ‘Do you think that’s why I like you so very much?’

‘Like?’ He pulled her closer still so that she felt the full power of his body against hers, and tipped her face back so that her long golden hair fell free behind her like a waterfall of pure gossamer. ‘What is “like”?’ he growled in mock anger….

Rachel negotiated the climb down over the rooftops, laughing because she had never felt so carefree, so incredibly happy. In a few short weeks Jean-Luc had become everything to her—the sun, the moon, the stars. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked her, walk on a bed of hot coals if it meant spending the rest of her life with him.

In comparison to all of that, a short trip over the rooftops was nothing.

They ran like the wind, hand in hand, around the side of the huge manor house, across the crunching gravel drive and out through the wooden door in the walled kitchen garden into the fields beyond…

Rachel hardly noticed the outside world. Her only thoughts were for Jean-Luc. Uncaring of her aunt’s disapproval, every spare moment was spent with him. Early morning rendezvous became the norm. Beautiful hours spent walking and talking, passionate encounters in orchard or barn—anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as they could be together.

Rachel had never imagined that such happiness as she felt could exist. During the beauty of those few precious weeks together the whole world was transformed into a glorious place. She loved Jean-Luc with all her innocent heart and told him so a thousand times, never imagining that his declarations of love in their most passionate of moments meant as much as his promise that he would stay with her for ever.

In the days that followed Jean-Luc’s departure Rachel tried hard to keep faith, to hope that he would be missing her as much as she was missing him and that he would come back simply because he loved her.

The doubts crept in, of course. Once so sure of what they had together, Rachel began to look at aspects of their time together and understood that what had been for her the most important relationship of her life had been for Jean-Luc simply a passionate holiday romance.

The shock of discovering he was gone, after returning from a weekend visit to a friend, had been profound, to say the least. On that Friday afternoon she had kissed him goodbye without a care in the world, confident that he would be at the Grange, working still and waiting for her on Monday morning. So sure of what they had together—too sure.

At first she refused to believe he’d gone. His letter had clinched it, of course, propped up on her cluttered dressing-table when she had returned…Rachel inhaled a ragged breath. Even now, she could scarcely bring herself to think of it. The letter had been so kind—too kind almost, stilted and strange. The agonies of having to tell her that he didn’t want to see her again, she supposed. Whatever, it had given out little hope.

In some ways it was the kindness, the altered, distant tone of Jean-Luc’s missive, that had hurt Rachel the most. She hadn’t wanted to read about how much their romance had meant to him, how intensely he valued the time they had shared together, that he would remember it always, think of her often. Platitudes, that’s all they had been—empty platitudes.

She wanted him to be there with her—for always.

She thought hard about trying to contact him and was dismayed when she realised that, apart from the region, she knew little about where he came from and who he really was. She had been so wrapped up in each moment, in the precious time they had shared together. When she thought back, Rachel realised that he had been peculiarly reticent about discussing his family, his life in France. Sure, he had talked about the beauty and his love of his country, but very little of it had been detailed or precise. Only when Jean-Luc had gone did she understand why.

It was difficult, coping with her heartbreak alone—impossible, in fact. Aunt Clara was surprisingly sympathetic when a sobbing Rachel confessed why she was in such an appalling state.

‘My dear, I don’t want to say I told you so, but you know I really wasn’t happy about the amount of time you were spending with each other. Did you really believe,’ she added gently, ‘that there could be a future with a man like that?’

‘A man like that?’ Rachel pulled away from her embrace, still keen to defend Jean-Luc, despite everything. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Silly, silly girl! He’s young—only a couple of years older than yourself—virile, full of his own ambitions. You didn’t honestly think that there was a future for the two of you?’

‘Yes!’ Rachel’s expression revealed her anguish. ‘Yes!’ she repeated, the word strangled by a sob. ‘I did.’

Her aunt suggested getting away, and offered to pay for a long-wanted trip to America to visit distant relations. Rachel, although reluctant in the first few days following Jean-Luc’s departure, soon saw the advantages of such a decision. She wouldn’t be reminded at every turn of what she had lost. Every flower, every blade of grass—Jean-Luc, the gardener, her lover, had tended them all.

She didn’t want to dwell on those weeks and months that had followed. Even now, six years later, she could still remember the twisting pain that had accompanied her every waking moment. And there had been dreams—such dreams! Taunting her with their familiarity so that it had felt as if he were still with her, still loving her…

Rachel smoothed the finely knitted dress over her hips. She glanced in the hall mirror and wondered if she had overdone the lipstick. Was it too red? Too bright? Too much an indication that she was trying to impress? Rachel opened her clutch bag and pulled out a tissue, wiping the colour from her lips. That was better. She looked paler now, more fragile, more like her usual self.

Rachel pulled open the door with trembling fingers. Jean-Luc had come himself to fetch her, and had not merely sent his chauffeur, as she’d expected. He stood some distance away with his back to her, surveying the sweeping gravelled front which had looked so pristine in his time here as a gardener but which was now weedy and in need of a massive amount of care and attention.

‘The place looks rather sorry for itself now, doesn’t it?’ He turned and cast dark eyes over Rachel’s figure. It took all of his considerable self-possession not to reveal his pleasure at the sight of her. She looked stunning, as different from his earlier meeting with her as night was from day. Here was a glimpse of the sophisticated, astute career woman he had heard about.

‘You’re ready?’ His smile was brief, almost curt, a dark brow raised questioningly. ‘We should get going. A table has been booked for eight-thirty.’

‘Where are we going?’ Rachel’s voice was faint in comparison to his. She cleared her throat and added in stronger tones, ‘Is it far?’

‘Twenty kilometres or so, I believe.’ Jean-Luc’s response was polite but cool. ‘This area does not have a particularly good choice of restaurants.’

She followed him to his car—a different one from this afternoon, she realised, larger and even more impressive, if that were possible. The chauffeur removed himself from behind the steering-wheel and opened the rear door for Rachel with a brief smile.