Читать книгу The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 13

ALLIE got up early the next morning. She pulled on shorts and a tee-shirt, and let herself quietly out of the house. She didn’t go down to the beach, but walked along the top of the cliff until she reached a patch of grass, where she sat. She turned her face to the sun while the fresh sea breeze lifted the strands of her light brown hair, letting the cloud of Tante’s anxiety which had hung over her since the previous day dissipate, while her heart thudded in eager anticipation.

She did not have to wait long before she was aware of Roland’s hoofbeats, quiet on the short turf, and horse and rider dark against the pale morning sky.

He said softly, ‘I knew you would be here.’ He reached down a hand, pulling her up on to the saddle in front of him. Settling her carefully.

‘Won’t Roland mind?’ She ran a hand over the glossy mane.

‘He will have to accustom himself.’ As they moved off, he said, ‘Is there anything you wish to ask me, ma belle? Anything you need to know?’

‘No.’ His arms around her conveyed all the lovely certainty she needed. She found herself thinking Poor Solange, then added aloud, ‘Unless you have something you want to say to me?’

‘Many things.’ He pushed up the sleeve of her tee-shirt and kissed her bare shoulder, his lips warm and lingering against her cool skin. ‘But they will have to wait.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To have breakfast,’ he said. ‘At Trehel.’

‘Oh,’ she said, a touch doubtfully. ‘Your family won’t mind?’

His lips touched her hair. ‘They will have to accustom themselves also.’

‘But how will I get back?’

‘Naturally I shall drive you home, before I go into Ignac. Or did you think I would send you back on Roland?’

‘It crossed my mind,’ she admitted, and heard him laugh softly.

They were quiet for a while, then she said, ‘Do you know this is only my second time on the back of a horse?’

‘Vraiment? I hope you are a little more comfortable this time. And that you do not find it as frightening.’

‘Oh, I’m still a little scared,’ she said. ‘But for very different reasons.’

‘Ah, mon ange.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Alys, you must know that I would never willingly do anything to hurt you.’

Or I you. Never willingly. But I know in my heart that I shall—because I can’t help myself…

Perhaps their need for each other would be like a summer storm, she thought with sudden sadness. Raging for a while, then blowing itself out, with no lasting harm in its wake. Maybe even enabling them to say goodbye as friends.

‘Qu’as-tu, Alys?’ He must have sensed her disquiet. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘No, nothing. Except—I was thinking how strange life is. How unexpected.’

‘You think so?’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘Yet I know I have been waiting for you since the day I was born. Is it not the same for you?’

‘Yes,’ she told him quietly. ‘Oh, yes.’

And knew, with sadness, that she spoke only the truth. But that it was all, tragically, too late…

Trehel was an old grey stone house, massive among its surrounding grasslands and trees, with three storeys of shuttered windows that seemed to be watching like half-closed eyes as they rode up. Allie could only hope the scrutiny was friendly.

Remy walked Roland round the side of the house to a large courtyard holding stables and outbuildings.

There was a big barn set well back from the yard, and Allie could hear the noise of sawing and hammering emanating from it.

‘Is that where you’re planning to live?’ she asked as Remy dismounted and lifted her down.

‘Yes,’ he said, then looked at her, his mouth twisting ruefully. ‘Ah, Solange must have told you. What else did she say?’

Allie shrugged. ‘That it hadn’t gone entirely to plan.’ Also, she happened to mention the view from the bedroom.

‘The building work has been more slow than I had hoped,’ he admitted. ‘However, it should be finished soon.’

‘May I see round it?’

‘Of course, but not now,’ he said, tossing Roland’s reins to the elderly man emerging from the stables. He added softly, ‘One day, ma belle, when we have more time.’ And the promise in his voice warmed her skin.

Then he took her hand, and led her into the house.

She found herself in a huge kitchen, with a long table at its centre. A tall white-haired man was busying himself at the range with a kettle as they came in, and the two dogs of indeterminate breed who were lying beside him looked up, thumped feathery tails on the rug, then relapsed into doing very little again.

The man turned, and Allie found herself being studied by shrewd blue eyes under bushy eyebrows.

He said, ‘So, Remy, who is this lovely girl you have brought to brighten our morning?’

‘I wish you to meet Alys, Grandpère. She is Celine Vaillac’s granddaughter. Ma mie, this is my grandfather, Georges de Brizat.’

‘But of course.’ The rather stern mouth softened into a warm smile. ‘I was foolish not to have known at once. You are very like her, mademoiselle.’

And you, she thought. One look at you, and I know exactly what Remy will be like as he grows old.

And she felt pain slash at her as she realised she would not be there to see him…

Oh, God, she thought, this is all so wrong. I shouldn’t even be here now. The whole situation’s getting out of hand.

But she recovered herself instantly, shook hands, murmuring a polite greeting, and sat at the table to be served with warm rolls, cherry jam, and large bowls of hot chocolate.

‘Where is Papa?’ Remy asked.

‘The Richaud baby. They telephoned at dawn after the first contraction, I think.’

‘Well, it is understandable,’ Remy said tolerantly. ‘After four girls, Richaud is desperate for a boy.’ He grinned. ‘It has become a matter of public concern, Alys. They have been laying odds in the Café des Sports.’

Her mouth was suddenly bone-dry. ‘Poor woman—to have so much expected of her,’ she managed, and gulped some of her chocolate.

Georges de Brizat came and sat at the head of the table, followed hopefully by the dogs. He gave Allie another thoughtful look. ‘You are staying with Madame Colville, mademoiselle? She is well, I hope.’

‘Absolutely fine.’ She forced a smile.

‘Good.’ His nod was faintly abstracted. ‘Good. You will tell her I was asking about her? Also, give her my best wishes?’

‘Yes—yes, of course.’

‘We knew each other many years ago, during the bad years of the Occupation. She and her sister were brave girls. Brave and very beautiful.’ He paused. ‘They had happy lives—with their Englishmen?’

‘Yes,’ Allie returned, faintly surprised. ‘Very happy.’

He nodded again, then applied himself to his breakfast.

One of the dogs came and laid a chin on her leg, and she stroked his silky head and fondled his ears, before slipping him a morsel of bread and jam, while Remy watched her with such tender amusement that she wanted to get up from her chair, and go round the table into his arms, to remain there for ever.

But he was getting briskly to his feet. ‘I must go and shower. Get ready for work.’ As he passed his grandfather’s chair, he dropped a hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘Be gentle with Alys, Grandpère. No Resistance-style interrogation, s’il te plaît.’

When they were alone, Dr de Brizat cleared his throat. ‘Remy likes his joke, Mademoiselle Alys. But a beautiful girl at the breakfast table is a rarity in this house, so I am bound to be intrigued. How did you meet my grandson?’

Allie carefully added butter and jam to her remaining fragment of roll. ‘I was on the beach below Les Sables. Remy warned me about the tide, but I stupidly took no notice, so he—came back for me.’

‘He behaved with great wisdom,’ said his grandfather. ‘You are planning a lengthy visit to Madame Colville?’

She flushed. ‘I’m not altogether sure of my plans—at the moment.’

She was bracing herself for more questions, when the rear door opened, and a voice called, ‘Remy? Tu es là?’ Solange Geran walked into the kitchen. She presented a more muted appearance this morning, in denim jeans and a matching shirt, her hair pulled back from her face.

She checked when she saw Allie, looking thunderstruck. ‘You?’ Her tone was less than friendly. ‘What are you doing here?’

Georges de Brizat got politely to his feet. ‘Bonjour, Solange. As you see, we have a guest for breakfast.’ He added mildly, ‘I hope you have no objection?’

‘Why, no. I mean—how could I?’ The girl gave a swift trill of laughter. ‘How absurd. It was just—a surprise to see Mademoiselle Colville again—so soon.’ She glanced around. ‘But where is Remy?’

‘Taking a shower,’ his grandfather returned. ‘May I pass on some message?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘You are quite sure? It must have been a matter of some urgency to bring you here at such an hour.’

The pretty mouth was sulky. ‘It is my mother,’ she said. ‘The trouble with her knee. She complains that she hardly slept last night. I hoped that Remy would call at the farm on his way to Ignac.’

‘I regret that will not be possible, as he will be driving Mademoiselle Alys to Les Sables before going to work.’ He added tranquilly, ‘But if you bring your mother to the medical centre later in the morning, he can examine her there.’

‘Since my father’s death, my mother rarely leaves the house.’

Monsieur de Brizat shrugged. ‘Then, instead, I will request my son to pay her a visit once he returns from the Richauds’.’ His tone was dry. ‘He used to attend madame, so he is well acquainted with the case.’

In spite of her embarrassment, Allie had to stifle a giggle. Game, set and match to Dr Georges, she thought.

Solange’s face was like a mask. She said stiffly, ‘That is—kind. I shall tell Maman to expect him.’

‘D’accord.’ He waited for a moment as she stood irresolute. ‘There was something else, perhaps?’

‘No, no.’ It was Solange’s turn to shrug. ‘At least—just a matter of some curtain fabric. But that can wait for another time. When Remy is not quite so—occupied.’ She looked at Allie, a faintly metallic note creeping into her voice. ‘Au revoir, mademoiselle. I am sure we shall meet again—soon.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Allie responded, without an atom of sincerity.

A thoughtful silence followed Solange’s departure.

Allie drew a breath. ‘I seem to be in the middle of some kind of situation here. Please believe I—I didn’t know.’

‘You are sure there is anything to know?’ Dr de Brizat sighed a little. ‘Like all the Gerans, Solange is industrious, ambitious, and single-minded. She has a mother who is a trial, and she does not intend to spend her entire life cleaning cottages for tourists.’ He paused. ‘But any plans she is making for the future are hers alone.’

His sudden smile was mischievous. ‘Let me assure you also, ma petite, that she has never been asked to breakfast.’

But that, thought Allie, reluctantly returning his smile, does not make me feel any better about all this.

Remy came striding in, tucking a grey and white striped shirt into charcoal pants, his dark hair still damp from the shower.

Allie was sharply aware of the scent of soap he brought with him, mixed with the faint fragrance of some musky aftershave, and was ashamed to feel her body clench in sheer longing.

He snatched car keys from a bowl on the huge built-in dresser that filled one wall, then reached for Allie’s hand, pulling her to her feet. ‘Viens, chérie.’

She managed to throw a hasty au revoir over her shoulder to his grandfather, and heard him reply, ‘A bientôt, Mademoiselle Alys.’ Which meant that he expected to see her again, she thought, as Remy whisked her into the Jeep and started the engine.

She said breathlessly, ‘Do you live your entire life at this speed?’

‘No.’ The smile he slanted at her was wicked. ‘There are times, mon ange, when I like to take things very slowly indeed. You would like me to demonstrate?’

‘Not,’ she said, struggling not to laugh, ‘in a moving Jeep, monsieur, je t’en prie.’

He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Eh, bien, chérie, tu as raison, peut-être.’

There was a brief silence, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet and infinitely serious, ‘But I am beginning to question, Alys, how long I can exist without you, and that is the truth.’

She felt a tide of heat sweep through her body, leaving behind it an ache beyond remedy. ‘Remy—this isn’t easy for me.’

‘And you think it is for me?’ His laugh was almost bitter. ‘That I expected to feel like this—to know how completely my life has changed in so short a time? That I even wished it, when a few days ago I was not even aware of your existence? No, mon amour, and no.’

The passion in his tone almost scared her, and Allie bent her head. She said half to herself, ‘Oh, God, I shouldn’t have come here…’

‘Do not say so.’ His voice hardened. ‘Do not ever say that, mon coeur, because without you I would be only half alive.’

He reached out a hand, resting it on her bare leg, just above the knee, and she covered it with both her own, feeling the reassurance of its warmth as they drove in silence back to Les Sables.

When they reached the house, Remy switched off the engine, then turned to her, drawing her into his arms. He looked down at her for a long moment, before taking her mouth with his, kissing her with a thoroughness and frank expertise that left her dizzied and gasping for breath, her hands clutching the front of his shirt as if it was her last hold on sanity.

‘Remy…’ His name was a croak.

‘I need the taste of you, mon ange.’ His own breathing was ragged. ‘To carry with me through the day.’ He detached one of the clinging hands and carried it to his lips. ‘I will see you tonight? You will have dinner with me?’

She nodded almost numbly, then got out of the Jeep, shading her eyes from the morning sun as she watched him drive away.

Tante was sitting at the kitchen table, reading her letters, as Allie came into the house. Her calm gaze assimilated the dishevelled hair, the wild rose flush and the faintly swollen mouth, but she made no comment.

‘The coffee is fresh, dear child, if you would like some.’

‘I—I had breakfast at Trehel.’

The older woman nodded drily. ‘So Georges de Brizat told me on the telephone.’ She paused. ‘Your little web of untruth is spreading dangerously wide, ma mie. How long before it breaks, I ask myself?’

Allie sat down at the table, staring down at the oilcloth, tracing its pattern with a finger. She said in a low voice, ‘I know I have to tell him, Tante Madelon, and I will—soon. I promise. But…’

‘But you are so happy you cannot bear anything that might spoil your idyll.’ Tante studied her. ‘You do not trust Remy to understand?’

‘I—I’m learning to trust.’

‘Then learn quickly, ma chère.’ Tante got briskly to her feet and fetched the coffee from the stove. ‘Before he guesses you are hiding something—and begins to wonder if he can trust you.’

I should have listened to her, Allie thought wretchedly, sitting up and easing her back, stiff from sitting so long in one position on the sofa. I should have taken the risk and told Remy everything. But I was too scared of losing him. And in the end, because I was stupid and a coward, I lost him anyway…

The music had ended long ago, and she replaced the CD in its case and switched off the player.

The house was totally silent, the blackness of the night pressing against the windows, making her feel suddenly isolated—alienated.

She thought with a shiver, It’s very late. I should go to bed, instead of tormenting myself with the desperation of the past.

Because Remy won’t be listening to the silence, or staring into the darkness a few miles away at Trehel. He’s not torturing himself with bad memories. He’s put the past where it belongs and set his life back in order, the way it should always have been.

So, he’ll be asleep in that enormous bed, with Solange in his arms, her bright sunflower hair across his pillow and that little victorious smile on her lips.

Solange…

Jerkily, she brought her clenched fist to her mouth. Bit savagely at the knuckle as pain ravaged her.

Solange, she thought, wincing. The girl she’d seen as an irritant, perhaps, but never a danger. Someone she’d underestimated from Day One—that she’d even allowed herself to pity a little. But perhaps her happiness with Remy had made her blind—even arrogant.

She opened the back door and stood leaning against the frame, drawing in deep lungfuls of cool air as she fought for calm.

Because she had been happy in a way that was totally outside her experience, measuring her life only in the hours they spent together. Beginning with the dinner he’d promised her that evening…

‘Richaud has a son at last,’ he’d told her with amusement, as they’d sat eating lobster in a candlelit restaurant overlooking the sea. ‘Papa says he will be drunk for a week in celebration.’

Allie dealt carefully with a claw. ‘Is it really so important to men—this need for a male heir?’

He shrugged. ‘The inheritance laws are different here, but a son at least carries on the family name, and for Richaud it also means a strong arm to help him on his land.’ He looked at her, brows lifted. ‘You think that is a chauvinist point of view, ma belle?’

‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘As long as it doesn’t become an obsession.’

‘Your father would have preferred a son?’ He smiled at her. ‘That I do not believe.’ He paused. ‘For myself, a healthy child born safely to the woman I love is all I would ever want.’ Now, whispered the voice in her head. Be honest with him. Tell him about Hugo—the nightmare of your marriage. Tell him everything—now—and ask for his understanding—his help…

But as she nerved herself the waiter appeared beside them, pouring more wine, whisking away the discarded pieces of shell, and the moment was lost.

And when they arrived back at Les Sables, Tante was waiting up, hiding her private concerns behind polite welcome, but clearly determined not to leave them alone together.

Remy’s goodnight kiss was frankly rueful. ‘Tomorrow,’ he whispered. ‘I am free in the afternoon. Will you come swimming with me?’

‘Yes.’ Allie’s eyes shone as she detached herself reluctantly from his arms. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘We have a pool at Trehel, but I think madame would feel that is too secluded.’ He paused. ‘So, to assure her of my good intentions, I shall take you to St Calot, where there will be many other people.’

She bit her lip. ‘Remy—she really likes you…’

His tone was wry. ‘Yet she still looks at me, mon ange, as if I were a wolf, threatening her only lamb.’ He sighed. ‘However, she is right to care about you. And I have only to persuade her that I care too.’ He kissed her again. ‘A demain.’

Except it’s not you, but me that she doesn’t trust, Allie thought with sudden bleakness as she turned back into the house. And I can’t blame her for that.

The weather continued to be glorious, with each sunlit tomorrow blending seamlessly into the next, and Remy making time to be with her on each of them, in spite of his workload.

But as the days passed Allie found the idea of sharing the truth with him was becoming ever more difficult. She felt totally detached from her previous life, as if Marchington Hall existed on some other planet, and the sole reality was here and now, with the man she loved and wanted so passionately.

‘I am going to Vannes tomorrow, to visit some old friends,’ Tante announced one evening. She added drily, ‘I take it that you will not wish to go with me?’

Allie flushed. ‘I’d rather stay here—if you don’t mind.’

‘Au contraire, chérie. I suspect you would not have an enlivening day with Emil and Annette. And I am also sure you will not be lonely.’ She paused. ‘I do not condone, but I understand, ma chère,’ she added quietly, ‘and I simply—bow to the inevitable.’

There was a silence, then Allie said huskily, ‘Tante, I—I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. And I can’t go on deceiving him. I know that.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Tomorrow. I’ll try and tell him then.’

‘After, one presumes, you have at last rewarded his admirable restraint?’ Madame’s tone of voice conveyed a hint of true Gallic cynicism. ‘You are wise, Alys. A well-satisfied man is likely to be more—indulgent.’

Allie’s face burned. ‘You make me sound so calculating.’

‘I think you should be,’ her great-aunt said frankly. ‘It is time, ma chère, that you began to consider, very carefully, your future, and what part in it, if any, is destined for your young doctor. Because,’ she added, ‘he will undoubtedly wish to know.’

The weather began to change not long after Tante’s departure the following morning. Clouds were massing in the west, and the wind had freshened sharply. When Allie, suddenly restless in the confines of Les Sables, went out for a walk, she could hear the roar of the waves, thrashing at the cliffs, and found she was struggling to keep her balance against some of the gusts.

By the time Remy arrived it had begun to rain, and Allie was outside struggling to deal with a recalcitrant shutter.

‘Let me do it.’ He pushed the stiff bolt into place. ‘Madame is not here?’

‘She’s spending the day with some people in Vannes.’ Allie stood back, dusting her hands. She looked up at the sullen sky, with its scudding dark clouds, and sighed. ‘It’s hardly a day for the beach.’

‘But good, perhaps, for sightseeing.’ He kissed her, his mouth warm and lingering on hers, and she felt the pleasure of it lance like wildfire through her body.

She said breathlessly, ‘Under cover, I hope?’

‘Naturellement.’

She collected her bag, and threw a cotton jacket over her black vest top and cream denim skirt.

They had been travelling for several minutes before she realised they were heading towards Trehel.

‘But I don’t understand,’ she began. ‘You said—’

‘That I had somewhere you would want to see.’ He sent her a swift smile. ‘And so I have. I hope you will not be disappointed.’

She gasped. ‘Your house!’ she exclaimed. ‘You mean it’s actually—finished?’

‘All except the work I plan to do myself.’ Remy nodded. He added softly, ‘And you, ma belle, will be my first visitor.’

‘Oh.’ She felt her face warm. ‘Well, I’m—honoured.’

‘No.’ His voice was gentle. ‘The honour, mon amour, will be all mine, believe me.’

He was telling her that the waiting was over, and her throat tightened at the promise in his words—just as her body began to tingle in excitement, mingled, at the same time, with a kind of trepidation.

Because Remy might be the one to be disappointed, she thought with a pang of unease. After all, what did she know about pleasing a man? Less than nothing, as she’d been told so many times in the past. And, however much she might love Remy, she was still the same person at heart, and even his patience could not last for ever.

Frigid—fumbling—useless. The words were like scars on her psyche.

I don’t have to do this, she told herself, swallowing. I can find some excuse. Tell him it’s the wrong time of the month. Anything.

Maybe that I’ve—simply—changed my mind.

Except, of course, he would only have to touch me, she thought, feeling her entire being shiver in anticipation—and yearning…

And then they were at Trehel, and somehow it was too late to turn back, even if she’d wanted to.

It was raining heavily, so Remy parked the Jeep close to the barn, then took her hand and ran with her, pushing open the big double doors.

The room she found herself in was enormous, with a flagged floor, a large stone fireplace at one end, and a state-of-the-art kitchen at the other. Apart from that, it was still completely unfurnished, but Allie could imagine how it would look, with sofas grouped round the fire, and maybe a huge dining table where friends would eat and talk late into the evening.

But the really breathtaking feature was the long range of arched full-length windows opposite the entrance, with panoramic views over the paddock and the wooded hills beyond it.

Even with rain sweeping across in great swathes, the outlook was spectacular.

She said, with a catch in her voice, ‘It’s—amazing.’ She wandered into the kitchen, running her hand along the marble work surfaces, admiring the gleaming oven and hob with lifted brows. ‘Does it all work?’

‘But of course.’ Remy mimed mock pique. ‘Shall I prove it by making you some coffee?’ He paused. ‘Or would you prefer to see the rest of the house?’

‘The rest—I think.’ She felt suddenly shy, her heart pounding as they walked towards the wooden staircase that led to the upper floor.

Say something, she adjured herself. Try to sound casual. Normal.

‘Do you know yet how you’re going to furnish it?’

Oh, God, she sounded as if she was presenting a makeover programme on television.

‘I have already begun.’ At the top of the stairs, Remy opened a door, and stood back to let her precede him into what was clearly the master bedroom. It was another big room, soaring up into the barn’s original vaulted roof, with windows on two sides capturing every atom of light, and its expanse of wooden floor softened with sheepskin rugs.

But, above all, there was the wide bed, made even more massive by its high, ornately carved headboard. Dominating the entire space as it was clearly intended to do.

And, she realised, freshly made up, too, with crisp white linen and a glamorous satin coverlet the colour of sapphires. Mounded with snowy pillows. Waiting…

She halted, eyes widening, as she began to tremble, and felt his arms go round her, drawing her back against him. Holding her strongly.

He said quietly, ‘Lie with me, Alys. Lie with me here, in my house. In my bed.’

And she turned, lifting her face for his kiss and whispering, ‘Yes,’ against the warm urgency of his mouth.