The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience. Sara Craven
cold and dead lodged like a stone within her, and was immediately dismissed.
No, she thought, he would never do that. Because he would never have to. There would be no lack of willing women in his life. Enough, probably, to embellish the whole of Finistere with stone circles if truth be told.
‘You look very fierce, Alys,’ he commented. ‘Calm yourself with some pâté. It has come from the Intermarche, so it is quite safe.’
Allie, remembering what Tante had said about the cooking at Trehel, was betrayed into a giggle.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see poor Liliane’s fame has reached Les Sables. And yet as a housekeeper she is—formidable. No speck of grime is allowed to exist. Mais, malheureusement, the food is also massacred.’ He shook his head. ‘We try—my grandfather, my father and I—to keep her from the stove, but at the same time we do not wish to hurt her feelings. She is a kind soul.’
The pâté was good, she discovered, as were the thick slices of ham, the chunks of smoked sausage, and the sliced duck breast that followed. To accompany the crusty baguette there was a slab of butter in a refrigerated dish, and a creamy local cheese, wrapped in a checked cloth.
The wine Remy poured for them both was pale and crisp, but she was told there was also mineral water, if she preferred.
She decided to risk the wine, sipping circumspectly, and if he noticed her restraint he made no comment.
To complete the meal there were strawberries, in a bowl lined with green leaves.
Allie pushed her plate away with a little sigh of repletion. ‘That was—delicious.’
‘And I am forgiven for having kidnapped you?’
‘I’ll overlook it,’ she said. ‘This once.’
He smiled at her lazily. ‘I hope it will never again be necessary.’ He paused. ‘I regret there is no coffee, but I think it should be made and drunk while it is fresh. Although, being English, you drink only tea, perhaps?’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Besides, my grandmother was French, don’t forget.’
‘The Vaillac sisters.’ He began to put the used things back in the hamper. ‘My grandfather knew them as young girls, and says they were both beauties.’ He paused. ‘He was surprised, I think, when Madame Colville decided to return. And pleased, too. He says it is good to come back to the place where you were born. So many—just leave.’
He put the hamper to one side and refilled their glasses. ‘He says also that this is not your first visit. That you came here with your father while I was working abroad.’
‘Yes, I did,’ she said. ‘More than once.’ She paused. ‘Which makes my idiotic behaviour on the beach the other morning even more unforgivable. I—should have known better.’
‘And I,’ he said, ‘could have been kinder.’
He had moved closer, she realised suddenly, and his hand was only a couple of inches from hers. She looked down at the long fingers with their short, well-kept nails, and remembered how they’d felt, touching her skin. A tiny flame of forbidden excitement sprang into life deep within her, and had to be suppressed.
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