Count Maxime's Virgin. Susan Stephens
and it pleased him to hear her sob in ecstasy.
He could see she was consumed by pleasure as he set up a regular pattern. He stared deep into her eyes to ensure she enjoyed this on every level. Her answer was to urge him on, straining to meet every stroke he dealt her as she closed her muscles around him to draw him deep.
It was more important for him to please Tara than he could possibly have imagined, though the sane part of his brain continued to warn that she had been well trained to please a man. He could see it all now. The Devenish sisters had set out that night in a wholly calculated manner to land a double prize, but whereas Freya might have succeeded, Tara’s future remained in her own hands.
She lay next to him, watching Lucien sleep. The fantasy might be over, but she was determined to imprint every fragment of it on her mind. Biting down on her lip, she remembered the sharp pain that had marked the end of her innocence. But even that pain was precious because it was the only gift she had to give to Lucien.
Though the shock when he had taken her…
He had stretched her beyond anything she could have imagined possible. But he had also reassured her, and it was Lucien’s care and gentle treatment of her that would stay in her mind.
She had been full of lust, Tara remembered, smiling shyly down at him, but Lucien had turned it into more than that, and for that she would never forget him or this night of passion. Whatever life held for her in the future, this precious memory of Lucien Maxime, the Count of Ferranbeaux, would remain safely locked away in her heart.
Which would have to be enough for her, Tara told herself sensibly, settling down in bed a respectful distance away from Lucien. She might have fallen for a man called Lucien, but the man lying beside her was the mighty Count of Ferranbeaux, and she wasn’t silly enough to imagine he felt the same.
CHAPTER THREE
Two years later.
STORM clouds, unusual for the time of year in the far south of Europe, threatened rain as Lucien Maxime, the Eleventh Count of Ferranbeaux, halted his Aston Martin outside one of his many grand country hotels. Opening the car door, Lucien unfolded his powerful frame, retrieved his pale summer-weight jacket and threw it on. Sensing he was being watched, he glanced up. An unremarkable plump young woman with an infant in her arms was looking down at him from a wrought iron balcony.
Tara Devenish.
The shock of seeing Tara again was like a battering ram to his solar plexus and time melted away as he stared back at her. Was it only two years since that night? He’d lost a brother and gained a niece in that time. Guy and Freya had been married little more than a year when they had been killed in a horrific car crash, and the baby in Tara’s arms was their orphaned daughter.
The sight of his niece lifted his heart, but to see Tara holding Guy’s innocent child sickened him. He could only think of that night when Tara had ground her hips so shamelessly against him. She’d been good—better than good, she’d been practised, she’d been excellent—and he had later learned his brother had thought so too.
With a sound of disgust he slammed the car door, remembering how, shortly before the fatal crash, Freya had publicly denounced Tara for sleeping with her husband. Who knew what Guy’s state of mind had been when he’d embarked on that tragic car journey? The way he saw it, Guy’s blood was on Tara’s hands and if she thought that touching cameo of her holding Guy’s child would soften him she was out of luck. Someone should have warned her he was not as gullible as Guy—he was a different man, a very different man. He couldn’t believe he had misjudged her character so badly.
Uniformed doormen, in the claret and gold of the aristocratic Ferranbeaux family, raced to open the door for him, but he got there first. Swinging the door wide, he acknowledged each man in turn by name. He might loathe the fuss and deference many men in his position so avidly courted, but believed that was no reason to brush people off.
Today, with little time to spare, he moved swiftly on. He didn’t need the heraldic shield emblazoned on each man’s jacket to remind him why he was here. The honour of the family was once more under siege, another scandal pending; another situation for him to deal with before the rumours got out of hand. Guy’s death had opened Pandora’s box and now Pandora herself, or that young ingénue, as he had once so foolishly thought of Tara Devenish, was here at his command. She had been easy to manipulate, wanting to see where Poppy would live before agreeing to sign the adoption papers. He suspected she had seen this as one last chance to follow her sister’s lead in securing a wealthy husband. Why else had it taken a single phone call to her lawyer from his for her to agree to this meeting?
His hand strayed to the cheque already made out to Tara in his breast pocket. It was an amount large enough to cover her expenses for Poppy to date, and to buy Tara out of their lives for good. Everything he did for his brother’s child would be above reproach and on his terms. Uproot, unsettle and unmask was the way he had dealt with every scrounger who had plagued him since Guy’s death and he saw no reason to change his modus operandi now. Tara Devenish might think she was very clever, in her sensible shoes and neat suit, wisely deciding to cut a very different figure to her wayward sister, but it would take more than a costume to convince him she was not the double-dealing slut Freya had declared her to be.
Tara could evoke surprisingly strong feelings in him, Lucien realised as thunder rumbled an ominous sound-track to his thoughts. Two years ago he had thought her worth saving, and wanting to help out, he had left money for her on the night stand—lots of money, in the hope that she would use it to make a better life for herself. Now he felt he had been duped. He only had himself to blame. It wasn’t even as if the signs had been unclear. Tara had been drenched in cheap scent and plastered in make-up, wearing an outfit designed to seduce. He could only conclude that his brain must have been lodged below his belt that night.
As the hotel manager hurried across the lobby to greet his Count, Lucien Maxime dealt swiftly with the formalities before making straight for the private sitting room where he had arranged for his meeting with Tara to take place. Lucien gave the room a quick once-over to check that everything was as he had requested. He had specified no flowers, no refreshments—no softening touches of any description. He would not allow Tara to imagine she had him in her sights again.
Having sent the manager to fetch her, he paced the room. Was it the prospect of seeing Tara or his niece that stirred such unaccustomed feelings in him? The truth, he accepted reluctantly, was that Tara had occupied far too great a part of his mind for the past two years. He had even considered looking for her to check on her progress, until of course the world’s media had done that for him. The rage he’d felt then, when he’d read the newspaper reports documenting Tara Devenish’s affair with his brother…
Even now it was all he could do to contain his anger. He shut that anger out, only to have another and even more disturbing image intrude on his thoughts—Tara, as she had looked in his bed.
He still wanted her.
That was the true torment.
As the minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of Tara, Lucien’s expression darkened. She knew he was waiting for her to come down. At the very least, good manners demanded she should be on time for this appointment. Two years ago he had been prepared to indulge her, but no longer. Two minutes more and then he would go upstairs and bring her downstairs. An English court might have awarded Tara Devenish temporary custody of their niece, but both baby and Tara were under his jurisdiction now.
Seeing Lucien again was like a miracle—a miracle that made every part of her feel alive. She had forgotten how beautiful he was and felt a shy embarrassment remembering how well they knew each other. When he quit the car and the wind caught his hair, her body reacted powerfully. When he straightened up all she could think was how safe she had felt in his arms. But when he looked at her and she saw the cold disappointment in his eyes her dreams collided with reality and she rushed to shut that cruel look out.
She was too naïve for her own good, Tara reasoned, walking across the room to put her sleeping niece down to sleep. She could talk herself into believing anything: that he had missed her;