Читать книгу Loves Choices - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 7

HOPE was dreaming. It was an intensely pleasurable dream. She was lying on a warm beach, the heat of the sun caressing every part of her body, its touch so relaxing that she felt as though her flesh and bones were dissolving, becoming part of the sun’s warmth, fluid and formless. But all the time at the back of her mind was the fear that something would take the sun away from her and that without it she would no longer be able to enjoy the languorous pleasure its touch brought.

Even as she enjoyed its caress her fears grew bigger, growing from a small cloud to a large one, a shadow stalking across the sand, obliterating the heat of the sun, depriving her of its touch. The shadow took on human form. Her heart started to pound, her mouth dry with fear as she struggled to recognise the formless person standing over her, knowing that she could recognise the features while struggling to put a name to them, until it swirled from the depths of her subconsciousness, forcing its way past her lips, breaking and shattering her dream, bringing her shiveringly awake, suddenly conscious of her whereabouts and Alexei’s arm curving her possessively against his body.

‘Hope? Are you all right?’ Any hopes she had had that her dream had been pure imagination were shattered as Hope recognised the impatience edging his voice.

‘I was having a dream,’ she muttered, suddenly conscious of the spread of his hand against her midriff, and the pleasurable heat of his body against her back, the same heat she had been dreaming about when …

‘You called for your father. Why? Were you dreaming about him rescuing you?’

The warmth of his hand seemed to radiate right through her body, and Hope had to restrain a small murmur of protest when it lifted, both hands going to her shoulders and turning her so that they were face to face.

‘I can’t remember what I was dreaming about,’ she lied huskily, ‘but isn’t it only natural that I should want my father, that I should dream that he is helping me …’

‘Quite natural, but you cried his name in pain and rejection, Hope, and the tears came afterwards, not before. In short, you were crying because of your father and not for him.’

She wanted to deny it, but all her energy was absorbed in trying to understand her own emotions. When the dark head bent towards her she made no move to avoid it, lying boneless and unresisting as Alexei’s mouth brushed her lips.

‘Pierre has been giving you the Serivace wine, I can taste it on your mouth.’ His tongue licked along the outline of her lips and something seemed to quiver into life inside her, fragile and trembling. She must still be suffering from the after-effects of the alcohol she had consumed, Hope thought dizzily as she lay motionless while Alexei removed her nightgown. She knew she ought to resist, yet she was too curiously weak to do any more than simply follow the movements of the lean brown hands as they dispensed with the fine silk, the moonlight revealing the hard contours of Alexei’s body to her as he thrust back the covers, propping himself up on one elbow to study her silvered curves in silence.

As he watched her Hope felt something happening inside her. It was the same sensation she had experienced during her dream, only this time the heat seemed to come from within herself, spreading languorously through her body, the alcohol relaxing her mind and undermining her defences, so that although she could register the slow movement of Alexei’s hand as it drifted over her body, it was with curiosity rather than tense panic. Her skin relayed the fact that the hardness of his palm and fingertips against her was pleasurable rather than painful, and her mind noted hazily that he was touching her rather as one might stroke a cat, and she felt the same urge to stretch and luxuriate beneath the slow caress.

If she closed her eyes the urge became even stronger, her senses oddly sharpened so that she was acutely aware of the differing textures of their skins. Her breath suddenly caught as Alexei’s hand reached her breasts, his palm cupping one gently until she felt weak with the surging sensation of her own flesh, the need to press herself into his hand, a tugging, aching sensation beginning somewhere deep inside her so intense that in ordinary circumstances it would have sent alarm signals racing to her brain. But now it only made her open her eyes in hazy surprise—not even the suddenly brilliant green of Alexei’s gaze alerting her to impending danger.

It was only when Alexei removed his hand and she glanced down and saw the unfamiliar burgeoning of her breasts, her nipples swollen and aching, that awareness finally pierced through her sleep and alcohol-induced haze, her mind shrinking in panic from the knowledge that she was exposing herself to Alexei like a … like a slave girl bent on teasing and arousing her master.

Instinctively, she knew that the languorous curves of her body were provocative, deliberately enticing the smooth brush of his hand against her, and the knowledge shocked her into panic, her body tensing, the fierce intensity of Alexei’s gaze shifting from her body to her face, his hands clamping on her shoulders forcing her back against the bed, stroking and soothing until panic gave way to a return of her earlier languor. This time it was very much against her will, her mind revolting against the weakness of her body, even while she admitted her inability to do anything about it.

By the time Alexei’s mouth touched the pulsing nerve at the base of her throat, her body was already a quivering mass of responsiveness. She should never have drunk all that wine, she thought weakly, subduing a small moan of pleasure as Alexei’s lips teased the smooth skin of her throat, tracing a line of tiny kisses from her ear to her lips. His breath was warm against her face as his tongue drew the shape of her mouth, his voice husky as he instructed her to part the lips she had tightened against him, teasing her with light kisses until she did so, her body’s involuntary response to the warm possession of his mouth making her tremble convulsively as he held her against him, deepening and intensifying the kiss until nothing else existed.

Vaguely, Hope was aware of Alexei’s hand resting at the top of her thigh, her lungs drawing in deep breaths of air, her body still trembling from the impact of his kiss. His teeth nibbled gently on her ear-lobe, waves of sensation exploding inside her as he explored the shape and curves of her ear, one hand holding her securely against him, the other …

She gasped and tensed, trying to pull away, trying to stop his hand from parting her legs, her small fists making no impression against the breadth of his shoulders, shock and outrage rapidly overtaken by sensations she tried to deny. Her eyes widened in stunned reaction, and she looked straight into Alexei’s face, hard-boned and watchful, something fierce and elemental glittering behind the impassive shadows in his eyes. The touch of his fingers made her writhe and gasp, hating him for touching her so intimately—what he was doing to her was worse, far worse than what he had done last night—and yet unable to prevent her body from responding almost deliriously to him.

‘Stop it. Stop it,’ she panted unsteadily, fingers curling into her palms as she tried to move away, but his free hand merely curled round her throat, tilting her head back until the pale skin was fully exposed. His lips moving lingeringly along it, his kisses punctuated with softly murmured sounds of pleasure, and a furious desperation was building up inside her. Barely aware of what she was doing, Hope uncurled her fingers from her palms, transferring them to Alexei’s shoulders, small whimpers of pleasure forced past her tightly-closed lips, her body abandoning her, seduced by Alexei’s touch, the aching urgency below her stomach increasing in time with the waves of sensation burning through her, her body trembling violently.

Gradually, the touch of Alexei’s hand became soothing rather than arousing, comforting her for the vague sensation of disappointment that somehow lingered, her mind too confused and bewildered by the reactions of her body to martial what was left of its defences. When Alexei’s mouth left her throat to explore the slope of her shoulder she was too exhausted to protest, too drained to even move when his hands cupped her breasts, his lips exploring their curves.

It wasn’t until she felt the rasp of his tongue against her nipple that Hope felt a resurgence of that earlier sensation, a tensing in the pit of her stomach, and then the slow uncoiling of tense muscles, the heady, liquid warmth that spread right through her urging her shamelessly to abandon herself both to the feeling and to the man arousing it.

She heard Alexei’s hoarse murmur of satisfaction as she stretched against him, but it was lost in her own sharp cry of pleasure as his mouth closed once again over her tautly erect nipple, his eyes closing and the moonlight revealing the dark surge of colour to his face as his body responded to the taste and feel of her, the ache inside her still unappeased when he eventually released her swollen flesh.

Hope shivered in rejection as she felt him move away, her mind telling her that what he was doing was wrong, but her body wantonly aching for closer contact with his maleness.

‘Hope, open your eyes.’

Unwilling, she did as she was bid, conscious of Alexei’s hands on her shoulders, his chest hard against the softness of hers.

‘I had no idea our wine would have such an effect on you, little one, or else I might have thought to give you some last night.’ There was humour in his eyes and something else too, that brought her to shivering awareness of where she was and what she was doing.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she stammered bitterly. ‘I hate you …I hate what you’ve done to me … I …’

‘You hate yourself for responding to me?’ he suggested dryly, shaking her gently. ‘Ma belle, that was almost inevitable. Your body is ready for maturity even if your mind is not. Beneath the conventions taught to you by the Sisters, you have a very sensual nature.’ He saw her colour, anger darkening her eyes, and laughed softly, ‘You don’t want to believe me, but I assure you it is true. Tonight, when I came home, you curled into my arms as naturally as though you had always slept there. It was all I could do not to wake you up there and then … Even now, while you are glowering at me, your body craves physical satisfaction, as does mine,’ he added softly, his eyes on her breasts as he held her a little away from him, Hope’s own eyes widening and hurriedly averting from the evidence of his physical arousal.

She tried to tense her body against him, and for a moment her muscles did lock in fear at the remembered pain of his possession, but other alien sensations spread through her as Alexei looked down at her, and when his body moved over hers, he parted her thighs easily, the weight of his body strangely pleasurable, reminding her of the sensation his fingers had induced earlier—an aching, wanting sensation building up inside her, her breathing ragged and unsteady as she felt him move against her and tensed herself for the expected pain.

‘Relax … there’s nothing to be frightened of.’ He seemed to be breathing the words into her, parting her closed lips with the tip of his tongue, coaxing her to relax and share the pleasure of his mouth against hers, his hand touching her as it had done before, bringing back the same sensation of pleasure, only this time increased to such a pitch that she ached for something more, for … As though she had spoken her need out loud, she felt the pulsating hardness of his body against her, within her, but this time without pain, this time bringing only wave after wave of mindless pleasure, until Alexei muttered something against her mouth and the world seemed to shatter into a million brilliant crystals around her, tears cascading down her face as her body trembled in the aftermath of satisfaction.

She came back to earth to find that she was still in Alexei’s arms and that strangely she wanted to remain there. Her lips were pressed against his throat, his skin warm and salty, her body entwined with his, her mind trying to comprehend what had happened. When the Sisters had discussed the sexual act they never mentioned this. The pleasure was a man’s; a woman found hers in the children she would ultimately bear.

Hard on the heels of pleasure came pain and self-disgust, how could she have behaved so wantonly, so abandonedly? She tensed and tried to pull away, but Alexei’s arms merely tightened.

How triumphant he must be, probably laughing at her naïvety and surrender! Tears stung her eyes and she raised her hand to brush them away, tensing when she felt Alexei’s mouth against her lashes, his tongue delicately licking away the salt moisture.

‘I hate you for what you’ve done to me,’ she told him in a low voice that trembled.

His mouth stilled, and then placed a light kiss against her skin, his hands framing her face as he tilted it upwards.

‘No, little one,’ he said softly. ‘You hate yourself for responding to me. That is only natural, but it will pass. There is no shame in finding pleasure in someone’s caresses. I am not ashamed of telling you that I look forward to the day when your hands and lips explore my body with as much pleasure as I have explored yours.’ He felt her tense and pull away and laughed.

‘It is all so very shocking, is it not, but I promise you that will soon pass, and there will come a day when you cease to be embarrassed or humiliated by your body’s sensuality, and instead find pleasure in knowing yourself so responsive to the caresses of a lover.’

‘You are not my lover,’ Hope threw back at him. ‘You are simply a man who has taken me because he wants to be revenged on my father.’

‘And that is why you are so angry, isn’t it?’ he said, watching her. ‘Because there is no love between us? Sometimes two people love each other very much and yet are unable to find the physical pleasure together we have just experienced. Love and sexual satisfaction do not always go together, mon petit, and of the two, I’m afraid I much prefer the latter.’

Cynical, loathsome creature, Hope thought bitterly. Her skin burned when she thought of how he had touched her, and how she had responded. She wanted to pull out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let her, and her body traitorously wanted to remain entwined with his. She felt physically sick whenever she thought of what had happened—of how he had touched her and how she had felt. It must have been the wine, she would never have allowed him to touch her like that if she hadn’t drunk it. He had talked about them sharing ‘pleasure’, but at least then she had retained her self-respect and her pride, now … Shivering, she told herself she must try and get some sleep, although how she was supposed to do that when every breath from the man lying against her brought his body into contact with hers, she didn’t know.

‘Wake up, sleepyhead, I’ve brought you your breakfast, and the morning papers. Sorry to wake you so early, but I have to leave in an hour.’

Groggily, Hope opened her eyes and struggled to sit up, realising too late that she was completely naked, her eyes angrily daring Alexei to look at her as she reached for the protection of the covers.

How long had he been awake? He was wearing a formal business suit, and an immaculate white shirt, the suit emphasising the lean, powerful lines of his body. Against her will, Hope found herself remembering things from the night, a dark, painful tide of colour sweeping over her body.

‘Hope, you must learn that there was nothing to be ashamed of in what happened between us last night. The fault is perhaps mine in that I didn’t fully realise how uninformed the Sisters had kept you, and that it had never occurred to you that you might feel as you did. Am I right?’

Wishing him a thousand miles away, Hope could only wonder at his ability to remain so clinically detached when he asked such intimate questions, the mere sound of which was enough to subject her to another wave of burning heat.

‘The Sisters said that it was men who … who … experienced … pleasure,’ she managed at last, knowing that he wouldn’t go until he had received his answer.

‘And you believed them?’ He had come to sit beside her. She felt the bed depress under his weight and tried to move away, but his hands were on her shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position, her arms folding instinctively over the sheet she had tucked around her body.

‘I … I don’t know …’

‘Umm. What I think you mean is that you had perhaps read that it wasn’t always so, but never expected to experience it for yourself. Only a certain kind of women experience sexual pleasure, that’s what you thought, I suspect?’

He had gauged her thoughts so accurately that Hope could only nod dumbly. ‘I should have talked to you more, prepared you for what you would experience, although something tells me that you would not have believed me, so perhaps after all … Try not to hate yourself too much, Hope. I shall be away for several days, and although I have given instructions to Pierre that you are not to leave the château, my library is at your disposal. Every day I receive several journals and papers from Paris. You might find it educational to read them and discover more about the world you are shortly to enter. That way it may not come as such a culture shock.’

‘You are going away?’ Hope was appalled by the sense of panic that gripped her, the longing to clutch hold of his immaculate jacket and beg him to stay. To punish herself for such a stupid weakness, she added bitterly, ‘I should have thought you would lose no time in whisking me off to the Caribbean to flaunt me before my father, or do you want to savour your vengeance?’

‘Revenge, like a fine wine, matures with keeping,’ he agreed, smiling at her. ‘But you are far from ready to be “flaunted”, as you put it, before your father yet. Only when you are ready to welcome my caresses will we seek out your father. I want him to know that you come to me willingly.’

‘Never!’

He laughed softly, getting up from the bed.

‘Most assuredly you will, and I confess that when you do, my pleasure will not come completely from the fact that I have accomplished another step on the road to fulfilment of my vow to avenge Tanya. You yourself are proving an unexpected bonus, mon petit,’ he informed her lazily. ‘I confess last night, hearing the cries of pleasure on your lips, made me forget why you were in my arms and think only of the pleasure of having you there. Go and shower, and I will pour our coffee.’ He looked up at her and laughed at her expression. ‘Ah, no, you are quite safe this morning, I have no intention of following you there, but perhaps on another occasion … if you were to ask me nicely …’

His laughter followed her into the bathroom, reinforcing her bitter anger. He had humiliated her by subjecting her body to physical need, by kidnapping her and holding her prisoner, and all he could do was laugh. Well, she would show him. Somehow, during the time he was away, she would find a defence against him. What happened last night was not going to happen again!

When she returned from the bathroom he glanced up at her, indicating the chair opposite him. Feeling at a disadvantage wrapped in a towelling robe when he was formally dressed, Hope sat down, picking up the cup of coffee he had poured, inhaling the rich fragrance, studying him over the rim as he read his paper.

‘Taking an inventory?’ His lazy amusement unnerved her, her hands shaking as she gripped her coffee cup.

‘I was just thinking,’ she lied, hastily looking away, flushing when he laughed, and said softly:

‘Liar.’

Before she could repudiate his comment, he passed her one of the papers, her eyes automatically scanning the headlines as she took it from him. Current affairs were included in the school curriculum, but they had been taught as dry, dusty facts, and Hope found her interest growing as she read the front-page stories.

‘You have a keen brain, Hope,’ Alexei remarked as he poured them both a second cup of coffee. ‘Use it and you will find it a constant source of compensation.’ The look in his eyes rather than his words made Hope aware of a streak of cynicism in his nature underlined by the mockery in his smile. The blend of Russian and French blood couldn’t be one it was easy to live with, she reflected thoughtfully, there must be times when war broke out between French hard-headed cynicism and Russian hot-blooded passion. She didn’t need to ask which side of him had prompted his need for revenge against her father, but it was the French blood in him that had carefully thought out the nature of that revenge, not the Russian.

‘I must leave now.’ She saw him glance at his watch and then frown. ‘I’m taking your passport with me, Hope, and I’m not leaving the car. Remember, you gave me your word that you wouldn’t attempt to leave.’

‘It would be too late if I did, wouldn’t it?’ Hope asked dully. ‘My father can’t marry me to Alain Montrachet now, although if I did leave, at least I would spare him the humiliation of having me paraded in front of his friends as your mistress.’

‘You have two choices, Hope,’ Alexei told her evenly. ‘Either you stay here as my … guest … with the freedom of my home, or I shall instruct Pierre that you are to be locked in these rooms until I return—the choice is yours. You can be treated as an adult or as a child.’

‘You accept my word?’ Hope asked him half scornfully and half curiously.

‘I believe that I can do so,’ Alexei said quietly. ‘Am I wrong?’ What could she say? That he couldn’t trust her to keep her word? Biting her lip, Hope looked away. ‘Am I wrong, Hope?’ Alexei repeated.

‘No, damn you,’ she flung at him. ‘You needn’t tell Pierre to lock me in. After all, I’ve nowhere to go, have I? According to you, my father won’t even give me house room now, and I don’t suppose they’d take me back at the convent.’

‘Poor little unwanted girl,’ Alexei mocked. ‘You will always be wanted … by someone, Hope, but first you would be wise to learn to want yourself, to accept yourself as a human being.’ He got up, stooping swiftly to drop a kiss on her unguarded lips, straightening with a smile to tousle her hair and open the door. ‘Think of me tonight, little one,’ he drawled as he paused by it, ‘sleeping alone without the tempting distraction of your body in my arms.’

He was gone before she could think of a fitting retort, and although she heard the car engine fire a little later in the courtyard, she didn’t leave her seat, instead forcing herself to finish her cup of coffee.

An hour later she was dressed, and she had stripped and remade the bed, gathering up the breakfast things automatically. Pierre turned round as she walked into the kitchen and Hope ventured a tentative smile, feeling unreasonably pleased when it was returned.

The day stretched emptily in front of her and she frowned, impatient at her own boredom. She was intelligent, Alexei had said, and that intelligence told her that the blame for her boredom and its relief lay within herself. One day she would be free of Alexei, free of the nightmare that had darkened her life since Alexei arrived in it, but what was she going to do? She chewed her lip as she walked towards the library, remembering her wistful ambition to make a career for herself using her languages. She would do what they had done at school, she decided impulsively. She would make herself think, speak and read in a different language each day, starting today with Russian—the most difficult and least fluent of her languages.

As she had expected, she managed to find some Russian books in the library, and settling down with a selection of short stories by Chekhov, Hope forced herself to concentrate on the written words.

When Pierre came in at lunchtime he found her engrossed, and mimed to her that he had prepared some food. Unwilling to eat alone, Hope followed him to the kitchen, wondering if it would be possible for her to see the wine cellars and the bottling plant Alexei had pointed out to her. It would be pleasant to go out for a good long walk, but Pierre might mistake her motives and she decided she would have to content herself with exploring the gardens, irritated with herself for her self-imposed imprisonment.

If she had not given Alexei her word … If she had not he would undoubtedly have instructed Pierre to stand guard over her night and day, Hope thought wryly. He was unswervingly determined to have his revenge on her father.

What had Tanya been like, she wondered idly. Her portrait showed a startling similarity to her brother, although in Tanya, the harshly masculine features were softened into feminine lines. There was a vulnerability about her, too, that Alexei didn’t possess, and Hope shivered, remembering that she had taken her own life. She must have loved her father very deeply, and he … hadn’t he guessed how she would react when he ended their relationship?

In many ways her father was more of a stranger to her than Alexei. It was a disquieting thought, but one which Hope found recurring as the days passed.

The fourth morning of Alexei’s absence found Hope reading Claire Bretécher’s cartoon in Le Nouvel Observateur, when she heard the sound of a car outside. Immediately her body tensed, but she forced herself to keep on reading, picking up her coffee cup and drinking a little unsteadily from it, not because she was thirsty, but because the action prevented her from jumping up and running to the window overlooking the courtyard.

Masculine footsteps and the deep timbre of Alexei’s voice warned her of his arrival before the kitchen door opened, and Hope was amazed at the wealth of information her senses relayed to her about him long before she lifted her eyes from the papers.

‘Bonjour, mon petit. Have you missed me?’

His tan had deepened while he was away, and Hope felt her stomach clench disturbingly as she looked into his face. Had he been to the Caribbean? Making sure perhaps that the scene was set for his big dénouement. She responded coolly to his greeting, seeing his smile widen, his teeth white against the darkness of his skin, as he bent towards her and murmured against her ear. ‘I have driven at a speed well in excess of the limit all the way from the airport, hoping to find you still in bed, but Pierre tells me you have become an early riser during my absence. Dare I hope it is because you find our bed lonely without me beside you in it?’

‘It is not “our” bed—it is yours—and if I rise early perhaps it is because I have no wish to linger somewhere that holds unpleasant memories for me.’

She had had three days in which to martial her defences against him and Hope had the satisfaction of seeing his mouth tighten, the smile disappearing. The sensual response of her body to his lovemaking was something that still had the power to shock and disturb her and her own intelligence conveyed to her the knowledge that she could not depend on herself to resist him physically. For the sake of her pride and her sanity she had to find some other way to erect a barrier between them and she had come to the conclusion that while she could not resist him physically, she must do so mentally, so that no matter how many times he tortured her with the vulnerability of her body, her mind remained aloof and antagonistic.

Pierre came in with fresh coffee and warm croissants and Hope watched as Alexei poured himself a cup and bit into the flaky, sweet roll. He looked well-pleased with life, a warm smile curling his mouth, faintly reminiscent as though he were remembering something—or someone—with whom he had shared pleasure. What did he do when he wasn’t pursuing his vengeance against her father, Hope wondered sharply. He was a sophisticated man, who had already shown her by his tastes and conversation that he did not remain on his estate all year round, merely tending his vines, and yet he had mentioned his sister’s lack of wealth which seemed to suggest that he himself was far from being a wealthy dilettante, free to pursue a life of pleasure and idleness. No, that was definitely not Alexei, she thought intuitively, his mind was too keen and sharp to be that of a man who did not use it. The papers which were delivered daily to the château covered a diverse number of subjects.

‘You’re looking very thoughtful.’

Hope raised her head, her eyes clashing bitterly with his. ‘And you find that surprising?’ Her temper rose when she saw the indulgent amusement her anger brought to his eyes. ‘Your absence seems to have improved your mood in addition to your tan,’ she said heatedly. ‘What did you find in the Caribbean? That my father is in even greater financial difficulties than you thought?’

‘The Caribbean? What makes you think I have been there?’ The good humour fled from his eyes and he said curtly, ‘You are behaving like a child, Hope. If it has not yet occurred to you that I have a life apart from that which contains my feelings towards your father, perhaps it ought to. I have been to the Napa Valley where I own a vineyard. It is a new venture for me, and one in which I have sunk a large amount of capital. If my “mood”, as you call it, strikes you as “good”, you can put that down to the fact that I now believe my investment will pay off. I am not a wealthy man in the terms that your father and his crowd define “wealth” …’

‘And you envy those who are?’ Hope demanded scornfully. His face tightened and darkened slightly. ‘No, Hope, I do not,’ he corrected slowly. ‘When you have a little more maturity, you will appreciate that men value most that which they earn for themselves. I personally can conceive of nothing worse than inheriting or owning vast wealth. Everyone needs a goal in life, something to work and aim for. My aim, or one of them, is to restore this château to what it once was—that, and to produce a new wine from my Napa Valley vineyards which might one day equal those we produce here in France. My trip to California had already been postponed once, and consequently there is a considerable backlog of work for me to catch up on.’

‘Here at the vineyard?’ Hope asked the question reluctantly. She didn’t want to get involved in Alexei’s day to day life. She wanted to hold herself aloof, to remain distant from him, and yet, in spite of her resolutions, she was interested.

‘Here, in Beaune, where I serve on the committee which upholds the old traditions of this area, and in Paris, where I have an interest in a wine-broking business.’

‘I’m surprised as such a very busy man that you managed to fit in the time to … to kidnap me, and plan your revenge on my father,’ Hope said with what she hoped was a commendable degree of sarcasm, but it was her face that was tinged with betraying colour and not her opponent’s, his face calmly unimpressed as he poured himself a second cup of coffee.

‘You would do well to learn how to wield the rapier correctly, before you attempt to thrust against an expert, mon petit,’ he mocked her, refilling her own cup. ‘Now, have you any more questions for me, anything more you wish to know about my life?’

‘Nothing!’ Hope told him vehemently, too vehemently she feared if his amused expression was anything to go by. She glanced into his dark face and wondered numbly about the women who shared his life, quickly trying to quell the thought. What were they to do with her? Did they resent his absence while he spent his time with her? What sort of relationships did he have that he was able to do so? Was he as remote and taunting with them as he was with her?

‘So many busy thoughts chasing one another through your head.’ He picked up his cup and finished his coffee. ‘What is it that brings such an arrested expression to your face, I wonder?’

‘I was just thinking. You are spending a lot of time with me.’ She had blurted out the truth without thinking, and came to an abrupt halt, realising the dangerous ground on which she was treading, but it was too late.

‘And …’ Alexei pressed softly, the mockery in his eyes daring her to ask the questions she was sure he knew were racing through her mind, prompting her to ignore the warning voice inside her skull and to say instead, her chin lifting firmly:

‘I was thinking you must be a very cold, hard man, and one who does not care where he causes pain, just so long as he is able to accomplish what he desires.’

‘Meaning?’ Now there was an iron hardness beneath the soft tone.

‘Meaning, I am not so naïve as to suppose that you live your life as … as a monk,’ she managed, hating the colour seeping up under her skin, ‘and that it surely must cause your …’