The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience. Sara Craven
from her throat. ‘Don’t do this to me—to both of us. Don’t leave like this.’
He halted. Swung back, and walked up the stairs to her, his hand closing on her wrist, not gently.
‘Then how, Alys?’ There was a note in his voice that jarred her senses. ‘Or do you hope, perhaps, for a more intimate adieu? For me to pay a final visit to your charmingly eager body?’
He shrugged, his mouth set in a sneer. ‘Eh bien, pourquoi pas? All else may be gone, but sex still remains. What a practical girl you are, ma belle.’ He swung her off her feet almost negligently, carrying her up the stairs.
For a moment Allie was stunned, then she began to struggle against his bruising grip, pushing against his chest with clenched fists.
‘No—Remy—no.’ It was a cry of fear as well as anger. ‘I didn’t mean that. Put me down—now.’
But he ignored her protests, shouldering his way into her bedroom, and when he set her on her feet it was only so that he could access her zip more easily. Halfway down, it stuck, and he took the edges of her dress in strong relentless hands and dragged them apart. She heard the stitching rip irrevocably, then the silky fabric slithered down her body and pooled around her feet, leaving her, she knew, as good as naked under the inimical intensity of his gaze. Then he picked her up again, with almost insulting ease, and tossed her down on to the bed.
Dear God, she thought frantically as she twisted away, trying to cover herself with her hands. She had dressed—scented herself—for this moment. But not like this. Never like this…
She felt a sudden onrush of tears scald her face, and her voice cracked on a sob of sheer desolation as she echoed her own words aloud. ‘Not like this—oh, please—not like this.’
And waited in agony to feel herself touched—taken.
But there was nothing. And when, at last, she dared look at him, he was standing over her, his arms folded across his chest, his mouth a hard, angry line in the bleak mask of his face.
‘Stop crying,’ he directed brusquely. ‘You need not be concerned. I already despise myself for having wanted you at all.’ He added with contempt, ‘I shall not add to my own shame by taking you.’
She watched him walk in silence to the door. Saw it close behind him. Heard the heaviness of his footsteps descending the stairs and, a moment or two later, the Jeep’s engine coming to life. Listened as the sound of it faded. Leaving—nothing.
Then Allie turned on to her stomach and began to weep in real earnest, her whole body shaking with her sobs.
As she began to mourn the love that had begun to fill her life, but which was now lost to her for ever.
It was several hours later that she heard the sound of another approaching vehicle. She’d come downstairs, principally to throw away her torn dress, and had remained. She was now occupying the corner of a sofa, in her dressing gown, hugging one of the cushions for comfort as she stared sightlessly into space. But at the noise she tensed, looking apprehensively towards the door.
It wasn’t the Jeep coming back, she told herself, torn between relief and disappointment. But, even worse, it might be Solange, coming to gloat.
Then the door opened and Madelon Colville came in, walking slowly, leaning on a cane.
She saw Allie and checked instantly, her brows lifting in alarm as she registered the girl’s pale, stricken face. ‘Qu’as tu, mon enfant?’ she demanded urgently. ‘What in heaven is the matter?’
‘Remy.’ Allie could only manage a choked whisper. She picked up the magazine and held it out, open at the appropriate page. ‘Solange found—this. And showed him.’
‘Ah, ma petite.’ Tante took it from her, giving the offending photograph a cursory glance, then tossed it aside and sat beside her, taking the cold hands in hers. ‘I always feared something like this.’ She paused. ‘Is he very angry?’
Allie looked at her with drowned eyes. ‘Furious—and so bitter, because I didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth myself. I think he cared more about that than he did about Hugo,’ she added wretchedly.
Tante nodded. ‘And did you tell him how you had been trapped into this marriage, and how miserable it has made you?’
‘I tried, but he didn’t want to know.’
‘Eh bien.’ Tante patted her hand. ‘In a day or two he will be calmer, and perhaps more ready to listen.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘It is difficult for him in a community like this. He is a young, good-looking doctor. He falls in love with a single girl, and the whole town will come to the wedding and wish them well. But if he is known to be having an affaire with a married woman, that is a different matter.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Foolish as it seems, some husbands might not wish their wives to be treated by such a man.
‘Besides,’ she added candidly. ‘His own sense of honour would balk at a liaison like that, I think.’
‘Yes,’ Allie agreed wanly. ‘I—did get that impression.’ She shook her head despairingly. ‘Oh, God, I’ve been such a stupid, criminal fool. Why didn’t I listen to you when you warned me?’ She bit her lip. ‘More importantly, why didn’t I listen to Remy—and trust him?’ Her voice broke. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘Tomorrow—nothing,’ Tante said briskly. ‘Except rest, and recover your looks and your spirits. Then go to see him, and tell him everything about your life in England. Make him aware of the whole truth about this ill-judged marriage, and explain why, for a little while, you wished to forget your unhappiness, however unwise it may have been. If he loves you, he will listen.’
Will he? Allie wondered. She found herself remembering his eyes, burning with angry contempt, mixed with pain. His words, ‘I despise myself for having wanted you,’ and had to control a shiver.
There had been moments when he’d reminded her of a wounded animal, she thought with anguish, and he might be equally dangerous to approach. Nevertheless, somehow, she had to try.
She leaned forward and kissed the older woman’s scented cheek. ‘It’s wonderful to have you back,’ she said gently. ‘But you’re still limping. Do you think you should have driven back from Vannes?’
Tante gave her a tranquil smile. ‘They are the dearest friends,’ she said. ‘But sometimes—enough is enough.’ She paused. ‘Besides, ma chère, I woke this morning with a premonition that you would need me before the day was over.’ She sighed. ‘But I hoped very much I would be wrong.’
Allie slept badly that night, and spent the following day on tenterhooks, hoping against hope that Remy might relent in some way and contact her.
If he was just prepared to hear me out it would be something, she told herself silently, as she paced restlessly round the garden.
All the same, she knew that her failure to confide in him would still be a major stumbling block to any real rapprochement between them.
It was all he’d ever really asked of her, and she’d failed him totally. Which was something he might find impossible to forgive. And somehow she had to prepare herself for that. Even learn to accept it.
He may not want me any more, she thought desolately. Not after what I’ve done. But maybe—if I talk to him—explain how it was—we could at least part as friends.
Perhaps that’s the most I can ask for. And the most I can offer.
When breakfast was over the next day, she came downstairs and said, ‘I’m going to Trehel.’
Tante looked her over, assessing the elegant cut of the tailored cream linen trousers and the indigo silk of the short sleeved shirt Allie was wearing with them.
‘With all flags flying, petite?’ There was a touch of wryness in her voice.
Allie