The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience

She hurried to fill the silence. ‘You speak marvellous English.’ Oh, God, I sound all eager and—girly.

He shrugged. ‘When I qualified, I worked in Britain for a while. Also America. And when I was employed by the charity English was the common language too. So now, of course, I am given the tourists to deal with at the medical centre.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll—try to lessen your workload and not get sick.’

His mouth quirked. ‘You are all consideration, ma mie, but you seem to be in good health. You are still pale, of course.’ His hand closed round her wrist. ‘And your pulse is too rapid,’ he added softly. ‘But I do not think the symptoms are dangerous.’

Oh, but you’re wrong—so wrong, she thought wildly. Because I’ve never been in such danger before. Never…

She glanced down, realising that his fingers were entwined with hers now, and that somehow his other arm was encircling her shoulders. She felt his cheek against her hair. Became aware that he was lifting her hand, brushing her knuckles gently with his lips, then turning it to press a kiss into the centre of her palm. It was the briefest of caresses. Yet she felt it jolt through her entire body like an electric charge.

And heard herself whisper desperately, ‘No—please. No.’

He released her instantly, but he did not move away from her. She could feel the warmth of him through her thin shirt. He said quietly, ‘No to a kiss, ma belle? Or—no, I may not undress you, as I so much wish to do, and make love to you here in the sunlight?’

‘No to any of it. All of it.’ She stumbled over the words. ‘You mustn’t…I can’t…’ She added desperately, ‘Please take me home.’

There was a silence, thoughtful rather than laced with the anger she’d expected.

He stroked her cheek, then smoothed her hair back behind her ear, his thumb gently brushing the lobe. He said softly, ‘Are you a virgin, Alys?’

She stared wildly in front of her, not daring to turn her head and meet his gaze. She said huskily, ‘You have no right to ask me that.’

‘You think not? But between lovers it is a matter of some importance.’

‘We are—not lovers.’ Her tone had become a croak.

‘Not yet, perhaps. But one day—one night soon—it will happen.’ He added levelly, ‘As you know well, Alys. So do not let us pretend any longer, or play games with words. It follows that I need to know if you are truly as inexperienced as you seem.’

She still could not look at him. She spoke reluctantly, stumbling a little. ‘Then—no. I’ve had sex—before.’

‘Ah,’ he said meditatively. ‘You do not appear to recall it with pleasure.’

She bit her lip. ‘It was at a college party,’ she said at last. ‘In an empty bedroom with someone who’d never paid me much attention before. And nothing really changed, because it was awkward, uncomfortable, and thankfully over very quickly.’ She tried to smile. ‘Afterwards, I wanted to die of embarrassment. My only excuse, and I’m not proud of it, is that I’d had too much to drink.’

And I’ve never told anyone before—so why now? Oh, God, why you…?

‘What a terrible confession,’ Remy said, after a pause. He reached for the bottle and held it out to her. ‘Have some more wine.’

She gasped indignantly, turning on him, then halted. How could she have ever thought his eyes were cold? she asked herself dazedly. They were so alive and brilliant with laughter, mingled with something that might almost have been tenderness.

She mumbled, ‘It’s not funny.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not.’ He poured the rest of the wine on to the grass, and returned the empty bottle to the basket.

He said softly, ‘Let me tell you something, chérie. A man who chooses to make love to a girl when her senses are dulled with alcohol is a fool. When you come to me, Alys, I promise you will know exactly what you are doing at every moment.’

Her heart was battering her ribcage. She said thickly, ‘It will never happen.’

His brows lifted. ‘You doubt my resolve, Alys? Eh, bien…’

He reached for her almost casually, pulling her against him so that she was lying across his body. Then he bent his head, and his mouth took hers—slowly, but very surely.

She knew she should resist. The need to do so was imperative. Absolute. But she had no defence against the warm, mesmerising power of his kiss. And the complete absence of any kind of pressure was her undoing. His lips moved on hers with a tantalising gentleness wholly outside her experience. The tip of his tongue probed softly, coaxing her to open to him. To allow the caressing mouth to take her to a new and more sensuous level.

Almost imperceptibly Allie found her body relaxing against his, her breathing quickening unevenly as she yielded to the intimate exploration of the inner contours of her mouth, the delicate, provocative play of his tongue against hers.

And when at last he raised his head and looked down at her, the blue eyes grave and questioning, she breathed, ‘Remy,’ on a little sigh, and her arms went round his neck to draw him back to her again.

At once his kiss deepened, hardening into a new dimension of heated possession, and Allie responded passionately to his demands, her own mouth as eager—as seeking.

The blood seared her veins as she clung to him, her fingers gripping the strength of bone and muscles in his shoulders through the thin shirt as she tasted—breathed with desire—the erotic male scent of him.

His hand lifted to cup her breast, his thumb stroking its tender peak slowly and rhythmically, teasing it to quivering arousal until she moaned softly into his mouth, her body arching towards him.

Hunger was burning her now—melting her with the first real discovery of her own female physicality. Making her aware of the scalding rush between her thighs. Rendering her defenceless against whatever he might ask of her.

Slowly, almost lingeringly Remy took his mouth from hers, his hand from her body. Even moved back a little, pushing his hair from his face.

She looked up at him, her eyes half closed, drowsy with need as she began one by one to unfasten the buttons on her shirt. To offer herself.

Only to find his hand closing round hers, halting her.

He said huskily, his breathing ragged, ‘You taste of strawberries and wine, Alys.’ He paused, shaking his head almost dazedly. ‘But now I think—I know—that I should take you home.’

‘But I thought…’ The stumbling words were out before she could prevent them, their bewildered message unmistakable.

Oh, God, she thought, shamed to the bone. I’m pleading with him for sex when he’s already turned me down. Please—this can’t be happening to me.

Words slunk from the past to haunt her. Useless—stupid—frigid… All the taunts, the accusations, coming home to roost. Branding her for ever with their terrible truth.

Shocked blood rushed to her face as she realised, too, what she must look like, dazed with desire, her hardened nipples thrusting against the cling of her dishevelled blouse. Stunned, she scrambled away from him, clumsy in her haste. ‘Yes—yes, of course. I—I’m sorry. We should go. Tante will wonder…’

And then the words ran out on a little gasp, and she could only put her hands over her face, unable to bear the renewed humiliation of seeing the pity in his eyes when he looked at her.

Remy said something half under his breath, and his hands clamped firmly round her wrists, tugging them away.

‘You think, maybe, that I do not want you?’ The question was almost harsh. ‘But you are so wrong, Alys. I hesitate only because I do not wish you to think I am like that other man. That I ask only for the pleasure of the moment. For us, that can never be the choice, and we both know it. There must be more between us than just a meeting of bodies.’

‘Then—what?’ Somehow, Allie forced the question from trembling lips.

He sighed. ‘I think that I need you to trust me, mon ange.’

‘I do.’ Her protest was swift.

‘But not enough. Believe me.’ His tone was quiet but forceful. He cupped her face between his hands, the blue eyes intense. ‘How can you, when you hardly know me? When we hardly know each other?’ He shrugged, his smile crooked. ‘So—that must change. And I—I will have to learn patience.’

‘So will I.’ Her admission was shy. She turned her head, pressing a kiss into the warmth of his palm.

‘Ah, mon coeur.’ He took her back into his arms, holding her close for a few heart-stopping moments, releasing her with open reluctance. ‘We had better go now,’ he muttered roughly. ‘Before I am tempted beyond endurance.’

Allie’s glance through her lashes was mischievous as he helped her to her feet. ‘Isn’t that why you brought me here in the first place?’

‘Of course.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘But I am only human, Alys, and therefore allowed to hope—being no saint.’

‘I’m glad.’ She glanced round at the standing stones. ‘The local variety took a tough line with straying girls. Maybe he could have used a little humanity too.’

‘Perhaps we were right not to risk his anger?’ Remy suggested. Then, as she turned away, he halted her. ‘Wait, ma mie, I need to tidy you a little.’ She obeyed, standing demurely while Remy carefully rebuttoned her gaping shirt and brushed tell-tale fronds of dried grass from her clothes and hair.

‘But I can do nothing about your eyes, chérie, or your beautiful mouth,’ he added huskily. ‘You look entirely like a girl who has been in the arms of her lover. I only hope your great-aunt does not bar me from her house.’

She won’t do that. The words remained on her lips, unsaid, as she suddenly realised, with a kind of shock, that she could guarantee no such thing. Tante Madelon was a woman of another generation entirely, with strict views on marriage and its obligations, even when it was clearly as ill-advised and wretched as Allie’s was.

And as it would remain.

Because, all too soon, this brief respite would be over, and she would have to go back. Back to the misery of emptiness and blame.

She glanced sideways at him as they drove away, thinking of the strength of the arms that had held her, the grace of his mouth. Feeling her starving body clench in a swift, primitive craving that screamed out for the ultimate fulfilment.

She’d denied herself a normal life, she thought desperately, trying to appease her conscience. Surely she was entitled to some happiness—just for a while—wasn’t she? A little sweetness to comfort her in the barren time ahead? Was it really so much to ask?

She saw, in the wing mirror, the image of the stone circle, pointing grimly, like so many warning fingers, towards the sky. And realised, as her heart skipped a beat, that her question had been answered.

To hell with it, she told the unseen forces of retribution. I won’t give him up. Not yet. Because I can’t. And if there’s a price to pay, then I’ll just have to face that when it happens.

They said little on the way back to Les Sables. The road ahead was empty, and Remy took one hand from the wheel, clasping her fingers lightly as they drove.

So this is first love, she thought, turning to feast her eyes on him. Come to me at last.

And she saw his mouth slant in a swift smile, as if he’d read her thoughts.

As they drove up to the house, Tante emerged, and stood waiting for them. Her face was tranquil as she watched Remy go round to the passenger door and help her great-niece, very circumspectly, to alight, but Allie was not deceived.

She’s probably been pacing the rug since we left, she thought with a sigh.

Remy must have sensed the same thing, because he said, with a touch of dryness, ‘As you see, I have returned her safely, madame.’

She picked up his tone. ‘Mon cher Remy, I never doubted you for an instant.’ She paused. ‘May I offer you some coffee before you depart?’

‘Merci, madame, but I think I must get back to Trehel. I have some matters to discuss with the builders.’ He made her a small polite bow, then turned to Allie, his face smooth, but little devils glinting in his eyes. ‘Au revoir, Alys. I hope you will permit me to call on you again?’

She looked down at her feet. ‘Why, yes. Thank you. If you wish. That would be—very nice,’ she added wildly.

‘Then I too shall look forward to it.’ There was only the slightest tremor in his voice, but the wickedly prim face he pulled at her as he walked towards the Jeep was almost her undoing.

As he reached it, another vehicle—a blue pick-up—suddenly pulled in behind him with a crackling swirl of gravel. The driver’s door was flung wide, and a girl jumped down.

She was small, with silver-blonde hair and a pretty heartshaped face, all huge brown eyes, and a sexy mouth painted bright pink, with her finger and toenails enamelled to match.

She possessed a shapely figure bordering on the frankly voluptuous, set off by tight white trousers and a scoop-necked top in a stinging shade of violet. And she was smiling widely as she ran across to Remy and kissed him on both cheeks, standing charmingly on tiptoe in order to do so.

‘Chéri.’ She had a soft, throaty voice. ‘I thought I recognised your Jeep. But why are you here?’ She turned to Madelon. ‘Please tell me you are not ill, ma chère madame.’

‘Not in the least,’ said Tante briskly. ‘Dr de Brizat has been kind enough to show my great-niece from England something of the surrounding area. That is all.’

‘You, Remy? Turned tour guide?’ The newcomer gurgled with laughter. ‘Mon Dieu, the world will end tomorrow. And I thought your every moment outside work was spent either with Roland or on the renovations at Trehel.’

‘Not every moment,’ Remy returned coolly. ‘I allow myself some leisure—from time to time.’

Her eyes widened extravagantly in a way that Allie decided must have taken hours of practice. ‘Then your friends can hope to see more of you, maybe? What a pleasure that will be.’

She turned to Allie, her gaze flickering over her. A glance that assessed and dismissed. ‘So—an English visitor.’ She made it sound as if the other girl had escaped from a zoo. ‘Then we must all do what we can to ensure that you enjoy your vacation—Mademoiselle...?’ She paused questioningly.

‘Alys,’ Remy supplied quietly. ‘Alys Colville.’

‘Enchantée. And I am Solange Geran.’ The smile flashed again, but the brown eyes were watchful. ‘I am sure we shall become friends. You intend to remain for a long time with madame, I hope.’

Under the gush, the message reached Allie loud and clear.

She considers me no contest, she thought. But, all the same, she’d be delighted to hear that I’m leaving tomorrow.

She shrugged gracefully. ‘My plans are—fluid at the moment.’

‘But mine, unfortunately, are not,’ Remy said briskly. ‘So, forgive me, but I must go.’ As he swung himself into the Jeep he looked briefly across at Allie, his lips miming a swift kiss before driving away.

‘Alors, I must find my purse,’ Madelon Colville said as the noise of the engine faded. ‘I presume you have brought the eggs, Solange?’

Solange was looking at the road, her lower lip held in her teeth, but when she turned back she was dimpling. ‘But of course. Une douzaine, madame, comme d’habitude.’

‘Then bring them inside, if you will,’ Tante directed. ‘Come, Alys, and help me with the coffee.

‘Solange’s parents bought the farm from me,’ she added in an undertone as she led the way into the house. ‘But when her late father’s health began to fail she took a government grant and began converting the barns and outbuildings into gîtes, which have been a great success. The egg business is now merely a sideline, but at least it enables her to get away from Ravac.’

She pursed her lips. ‘Since she was widowed, Madame Geran has become something of a trial, I understand.’

Allie understood too. We could almost start a company, she thought. Difficult Widows R Us.

She said shortly, ‘Solange has my sympathy.’

Tante gave her an ironic look. ‘I doubt, mon enfant, that she would welcome it. Do you?’

It was an awkward little interlude. Solange arrived with the eggs, and accepted her cup of coffee with pretty thanks. Sitting at the table, listening to her chat away to Tante, Allie was aware that she was being covertly studied, and with no friendly eye.

And until a short while ago, mademoiselle, I didn’t know you existed either, she told the other girl silently.

Solange was amusing about the problems of running gîtes, especially Allie noted, where English guests were concerned. Their eccentricities, messy habits, and petty meannesses were dwelt on with particular relish. But her other main topic was Trehel, and the barn there that Remy was converting into a house for his own occupation.

‘It has taken so long, he is almost in despair,’ she confided. She sighed portentously. ‘But he would employ Gaston Levecq, in spite of all our warnings.’

‘The Levecqs lost their youngest child to meningitis,’ said Tante. ‘And madame suffered terribly with depression afterwards. Remy may have felt Gaston needed the distraction of a new project. And he is a good workman.’

‘Oh, I agree that it is going to be beautiful. All the top floor is finished now, and the view from the main bedroom is formidable.’ Solange played coyly with the handle of her coffee cup. ‘Remy has asked me to help with the décor, you understand?’

She drank the remains of her coffee and rose. ‘And now I must deliver the rest of the eggs,’ she announced brightly. ‘People will be wondering where I am.’

After she left, there was silence. Then Allie said, her smile forced, ‘I think I’ve just been warned off her territory.’

Tante’s voice was troubled. ‘Mon enfant—when you have gone back to your own life, she will still be here, and Remy too. Are you being quite fair?’

Allie bent her head. ‘Tante—please don’t ask me not to see him again, because I don’t think that’s possible.’

Madelon Colville gave a heavy sigh. ‘Mon Dieu,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Has it already gone so far and so fast?’

Colour rose in Allie’s face. ‘No,’ she protested. ‘Nothing’s—happened.’

Her great-aunt’s brows lifted. ‘Nothing? You mean, en effet, that you have not yet given yourself to him?’ Her little shrug was a masterpiece of Gallic cynicism. ‘Well, it is only a matter of time. Every word that was spoken—every look—proclaimed that.’

‘But we didn’t…’

‘Precisely.’ Madame Colville nodded grimly. ‘Alys—I say this only from love. It might be better for you to go now. Leave Brittany before real damage is done.’

Allie looked at her across the table, sudden tears hanging from her lashes. She said, ‘I don’t think I can.’ And her voice broke.

CHAPTER SIX

ALLIE got up early the next morning. She pulled on shorts and a tee-shirt, and let herself quietly out of the house. She didn’t go down to the beach, but walked along the top of the cliff until she reached a patch of grass, where she sat. She turned her face to the sun while the fresh sea breeze lifted the strands of her light brown hair, letting the cloud of Tante’s anxiety which had hung over her since the previous day dissipate, while her heart thudded in eager anticipation.

She did not have to wait long before she was aware of Roland’s hoofbeats, quiet on the short turf, and horse and rider dark against the pale morning sky.

He said softly, ‘I knew you would be here.’ He reached down a hand, pulling her up on to the saddle in front of him. Settling her carefully.

‘Won’t Roland mind?’ She ran a hand over the glossy mane.

‘He will have to accustom himself.’ As they moved off, he said, ‘Is there anything you wish to ask me, ma belle? Anything you need to know?’

‘No.’ His arms around her conveyed all the lovely certainty she needed. She found herself thinking Poor Solange, then added aloud, ‘Unless you have something you want to say to me?’

‘Many things.’ He pushed up the sleeve of her tee-shirt and kissed her bare shoulder, his lips warm and lingering against her cool skin. ‘But they will have to wait.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To have breakfast,’ he said. ‘At Trehel.’

‘Oh,’ she said, a touch doubtfully. ‘Your family won’t mind?’

His lips touched her hair. ‘They will have to accustom themselves also.’

‘But how will I get back?’

‘Naturally I shall drive you home, before I go into Ignac. Or did you think I would send you back on Roland?’

‘It crossed my mind,’ she admitted, and heard him laugh softly.

They were quiet for a while, then she said, ‘Do you know this is only my second time on the back of a horse?’

‘Vraiment? I hope you are a little more comfortable this time. And that you do not find it as frightening.’

‘Oh, I’m still a little scared,’ she said. ‘But for very different reasons.’

‘Ah, mon ange.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Alys, you must know that I would never willingly do anything to hurt you.’

Or I you. Never willingly. But I know in my heart that I shall—because I can’t help myself…

Perhaps their need for each other would be like a summer storm, she thought with sudden sadness. Raging for a while, then blowing itself out, with no lasting harm in its wake. Maybe even enabling them to say goodbye as friends.

‘Qu’as-tu, Alys?’ He must have sensed her disquiet. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘No, nothing. Except—I was thinking how strange life is. How unexpected.’

‘You think so?’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘Yet I know I have been waiting for you since the day I was born. Is it not the same for you?’

‘Yes,’ she told him quietly. ‘Oh, yes.’

And knew, with sadness, that she spoke only the truth. But that it was all, tragically, too late…

Trehel was an old grey stone house, massive among its surrounding grasslands and trees, with three storeys of shuttered windows that seemed to be watching like half-closed eyes as they rode up. Allie could only hope the scrutiny was friendly.

Remy walked Roland round the side of the house to a large courtyard holding stables and outbuildings.

There was a big barn set well back from the yard, and Allie could hear the noise of sawing and hammering emanating from it.

‘Is that where you’re planning to live?’ she asked as Remy dismounted and lifted her down.

‘Yes,’ he said, then looked at her, his mouth twisting ruefully. ‘Ah, Solange must have told you. What else did she say?’

Allie shrugged. ‘That it hadn’t gone entirely to plan.’ Also, she happened to mention the view from the bedroom.

‘The building work has been more slow than I had hoped,’ he admitted. ‘However, it should be finished soon.’

‘May I see round it?’

‘Of course, but not now,’ he said, tossing Roland’s reins to the elderly man emerging from the stables. He added softly, ‘One day, ma belle, when we have more time.’ And the promise in his voice warmed her skin.

Then he took her hand, and led her into the house.

She found herself in a huge kitchen, with a long table at its centre. A tall white-haired man was busying himself at the range with a kettle as they came in, and the two dogs of indeterminate breed who were lying beside him looked up, thumped feathery tails on the rug, then relapsed into doing very little again.

The man turned, and Allie found herself being studied by shrewd blue eyes under bushy eyebrows.

He said, ‘So, Remy, who is this lovely girl you have brought to brighten our morning?’

‘I wish you to meet Alys, Grandpère. She is Celine Vaillac’s granddaughter. Ma mie, this is my grandfather, Georges de Brizat.’