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

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СКАЧАТЬ gasped, and her head went back as if Allie had struck her, the once pretty face twisted with rage and crimson with mottled blood. She lifted her hands, bunched into a semblance of claws, and her voice was thick. ‘Would he still want you, I wonder, if I scratched out your eyes?’

      From the stairs, Remy said grimly, ‘An interesting point, Solange, but we will not put it to the test. And now I think you should go, before you make matters any worse.’

      His feet were bare, concealing his approach, and he’d clearly dragged on his jeans simply for the sake of marginal decency, because they hung, only half-fastened, low on his hips.

      Solange’s small red-tipped hands were suddenly uncurled. Extended in appeal.

      ‘Remy, chéri, I do not blame you for this. A man has—temptations.’ She tried, horribly, to laugh. ‘I—I understand this, and I can forgive—’

      But he cut coldly across the stumbling words. ‘There is no need for forgiveness, Solange. Let me speak plainly. Local gossip may have paired us together, yet I have asked nothing from you, and promised nothing in return. This—understanding between us does not exist.’

      She swallowed harshly. ‘Remy—mon coeur—how can you say that?’

      ‘Because it is true, and you know it.’ He paused. ‘And I would prefer you did not visit here again without an invitation.’

      She stared at him wild-eyed, her mouth working soundlessly, then she whirled round and was gone, the big doors slamming behind her.

      Remy leapt the last few stairs and came to Allie’s side, sliding his arms round her and drawing her protectively against him. She buried her face in his bare brown shoulder, her voice muffled. ‘That was—vile.’

      ‘I woke up and you were gone, which troubled me.’ His voice was uneven. ‘And then I heard talking, and thought that my father might have arrived, or Grandpapa, and that this could cause you embarrassment.’

      ‘I came down to make coffee,’ she said. ‘And she was suddenly—here. But why?’

      ‘It is entirely my fault,’ Remy said harshly. ‘She used to visit often, while the work was being done, in order to find fault with Gaston Levecq, and, I think, to persuade me to employ her cousin instead. Also to offer advice that I did not need. I should have realised—and stopped it when it first began.’

      The kettle came cheerfully to the boil and switched itself off. Remy released her and went to fill the cafetière.

      He said quietly, not looking at her, ‘Alys, tell me, je t’en prie, that she has not made you hate this house—or regret what has happened between us here.’

      ‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘No one—not even Solange—could ever do that.’

      She saw the tension relax from his shoulders. He said softly, ‘Soit.’ And continued making the coffee.

      He said, over his shoulder, ‘I am relieved that it was not Grandpapa who found you just now. Seeing you like that might have provoked une petite crise cardiaque.’

      ‘At least I’m wearing something,’ Allie returned with mock defensiveness. ‘And your shirt was the first thing I found on the floor,’ she added, not altogether truthfully.

      ‘Vraiment?’ The brilliant eyes were dancing with amusement. ‘Perhaps I should make you a present of it, chérie. I know it never looked so good on me.’

      She said huskily, ‘Everything looks good on you, Remy.’ Adding silently, And off, too…

      ‘Ma bien-aimée.’ His voice was gentle. He was silent for a moment. ‘It was a bad moment for me, when I found you gone from our bed. I thought perhaps you were angry with me.’

      ‘Angry?’ She was startled. ‘How could I be?’

      His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Then—disappointed. Because I wished to make it perfect for you—our first time together—to take away all the bad memories. But it was over far too soon.’ He added with a faint groan, ‘And then I fell asleep.’ He shook his head. ‘My only excuse, mon ange, is that I wanted you so very much.’

      She went to him, sliding her arms round his waist and smiling up into his eyes. ‘That sounds more like a very good reason than an excuse,’ she told him softly, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. She added teasingly, ‘And may I remind you that we both went to sleep?’

      She wanted to assure him, too, that the bad memories were all gone. But how could she when there was still the appalling problem of her marriage to be dealt with? she thought, conscious of a nervous tightening in the pit of her stomach. She pressed herself more closely against him, letting the warmth of his body dispel the sudden chill inside her.

      He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face up towards him. ‘Yet there is something, I think, that troubles you.’

      She forced a smile. ‘The aftermath of Solange, I expect. She did call me some pretty foul names.’

      There was a pause, then he said laconically, ‘D’accord. That must be it.’

      I can fix everything, Allie told herself fiercely, as she drank the coffee he’d poured for her. Somehow, I’ll make Hugo see that it was all a terrible mistake, which needs to be put right. After all, he’s had time to think too. He must know that it can’t go on. All it needs is a little goodwill on both sides.

      She was sharply aware that Remy was watching her thoughtfully, and lowered her lashes with deliberate demureness. ‘Has no one told you, monsieur, that it’s rude to stare?’

      ‘It would be a greater insult to ignore you, ma belle.’ His tone was dry. ‘And I stare for a purpose, you understand.’

      ‘Which is?’ She replaced the empty beaker on the counter top.

      ‘I am making a picture of you in my head, Alys, to carry with me always.’

      ‘Dressed like this?’ Laughing, she posed, hand on hip.

      ‘Pourquoi pas? But with a little adjustment, perhaps.’ He leaned across and undid two more buttons on the shirt, then gently pushed it from her shoulder, exposing one pink-tipped breast. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured in soft appreciation. ‘Perfection. If we have to be apart, I have only to remember how you look at this moment.’

      Ludicrous to feel shy after the intimacies they’d shared, but her skin warmed just the same.

      ‘And what about me?’ she challenged with a touch of breathlessness. ‘May I have a picture to remember too?’

      She reached for the zip on his jeans, but he captured her hands, laughing. ‘You may have any image you desire, mon amour—but in the bedroom, perhaps, in case more unwanted visitors arrive.’

      He kissed her, his mouth hot and fierce on hers, and she laughed back and ran with him, aglow and willing, towards the stairs, and the waiting bed.

      A long time later, she said drowsily, ‘I must go. Tante Madelon will be back by now, and wondering where I am.’

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