In Bed with Her Ex: Miss Prim and the Billionaire / Mardie and the City Surgeon / The Boy is Back in Town. Marion Lennox
that was that. Another stupid fantasy destroyed.
Don’t be so naïve again!
Bringing herself under control, she opened the door and backed away just in time to avoid being lovingly throttled by a girl who was young, sexy, beautiful, vibrant with life.
And she’d called Marcel ‘my true love’.
The newcomer began to babble again in French, then switched abruptly to English.
‘I’m sorry—you must be Mrs Henshaw—and English, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Marcel has told us all about you.’
‘Us?’
‘My papa is Raul Lenoir, Marcel’s lawyer. He has spoken much of Mrs Henshaw, his new assistant who will handle important business for him in London. I am so pleased to meet you.’
Cassie took the hand she held out, murmuring untruthfully, ‘And I am pleased to meet you.’
‘My name is Brigitte Lenoir. Where is Marcel? I have missed him so much.’
‘He went out a moment ago, but he’ll be back soon.’
‘Oh I can’t wait. I have so much to tell him.’
‘I think that’s him now.’
The door opened and Marcel appeared, his face brightening as he saw his visitor. They next moment they were in each other’s arms. Brigitte covered his face with kisses and he laughed, returning the compliment again and again.
‘Brigitte, ma chérie, mon amante—’
Cassie returned to the computer, trying not to hear the sounds coming from behind her.
‘Brigitte, I want you to meet Mrs Henshaw,’ Marcel said at last, freeing himself from her clasp.
‘But we have already met, and I am so impressed,’ Brigitte declared.
‘So you should be,’ Marcel said. ‘She’s a great brain and we’re all afraid of her.’
‘Papa will be most interested to meet her. You must both come to dinner with us tonight.’
Cassie flinched. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘Oh, but you must,’ Brigitte assured her.
Both her mind and heart rebelled at the thought of spending an evening with these two, watching them all over each other.
‘I have a lot of work to do—’
Brigitte began to mutter in French. Without understanding every word, Cassie gathered that she was telling Marcel that he must persuade her. Another woman was vital and Mrs Henshaw would be useful.
‘She’s just what we need. She can keep Henri talking without—you know—’
The meaning of ‘you know’ was all too clear. Whoever Henri was, her duty was to keep him talking without attracting him in a way that might be ‘inconvenient’. In other words, a plain woman. Like Mrs Henshaw.
‘I applaud your desire to work,’ Marcel told her, ‘but joining us for dinner tonight will be part of that work. We’ll dine in the hotel’s most splendid restaurant, and you can give me your opinion of it later. Now, I suggest you return to your suite and prepare for tonight.’
Leaving him free to succumb to Brigitte’s charms, she thought. As she walked away down the corridor she could hear shrieks of laughter which abruptly faded into murmurs. She increased her speed.
In her rooms she found Tina just finishing, and complimented her on the job.
‘It looks so comfortable in here. If only I could just put my feet up, but I’ve got to attend a formal dinner tonight, with the lawyer and somebody called Henri. Why? What’s up?’ Tina had smothered a laugh.
‘Forgive me, madame, but if Henri Lenoir is there it will not be formal.’
‘You know him?’
‘He is the son of the lawyer and Mademoiselle Brigitte’s brother. But apart from that—’ Tina hesitated before going on, ‘Every girl knows him. He is a very naughty man. The rumour says that his wife has thrown him out for the third time.’
‘Because of—?’
‘Because he’s naughty with many ladies. They say he’s returned to his father’s home, and the family is watching over him to make sure that … well …’
‘That he isn’t naughty again. I see.’
‘If he behaves she may take him back.’
And evidently Brigitte saw no danger of her brother misbehaving with Mrs Henshaw. It was practically an insult.
When Tina had gone she threw herself onto the bed, reliving the scene she had just endured. Something had happened that hurt more than anything else so far.
A great brain!
That was what Marcel had called her to Brigitte, but using the words so differently from the way he had once spoken them to herself that now the tears welled up and she rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. Suddenly there was only despair, with nothing to hope for, and she yielded to the darkness, weeping until she was too drained to weep any more.
As she recovered she realised that Marcel hadn’t given her details about when, where and how to present herself tonight. Quickly she called his cellphone, but it had been switched off. She tried his hotel phone but it stayed unanswered.
Whatever he was doing left him with no attention for anything else.
She stared up at the ceiling, aware that she had reached a crossroads. Since Marcel had reappeared in her life she’d been cautious to the point of dithering.
‘Not any more,’ she vowed. ‘Time for a final decision, and I’m making it.’
When Brigitte had finally departed Marcel paced the floor restlessly.
Today he’d shocked himself by doing things he’d never intended, and not doing things he’d vowed were essential.
He’d brought Cassie here to redress the past, although the meaning of that was still vague in his mind. To let her see the riches she’d thrown away, show her the life she could have had instead of the bleak impoverished existence she had now—yes, definitely.
Revenge? Possibly.
But during the flight there had been an unexpected change. At the first sign that she might be vulnerable he’d known a passionate desire to protect her. It was what he’d felt long ago and she’d thrown it back in his face, yet it had leapt out of the darkness at him, like an animal waiting to pounce. And, weakling that he was, he’d yielded to it.
No more weakness. Bringing her here had been a risk, but he wouldn’t back down now. One day soon he would confront her with all the memories she seemed determined to avoid. Then she would answer for what she had done to him. But that must wait until he was ready.
In one sense at least Cassie and Mrs Henshaw were the same person. When a decision was taken there were no second thoughts, no weakening, only a determined follow-through to the end.
This particular decision took her downstairs on winged feet, heading for the fashion shop at the back of the hotel. After studying several glamorous gowns she rejected them all in favour of a pair of tight black satin trousers. Only a woman with her very slender figure could have worn such a garment, but that suited her just fine. To go with them she bought a black silk top with a plunging neckline and bare arms.
It was outrageous, and for a brief moment she hesitated. But then she recalled Brigitte’s face that afternoon, not in the least troubled by the sight of her.
‘So you’re not afraid of Mrs Henshaw,’ she addressed the vision. ‘Let’s see if Cassie