At The French Baron's Bidding

She sighed, realizing she was beaten and that actually she rather wanted to go for a drink. Plus, there really could be no possible harm in joining him in the bar of one of Paris’s best hotels, she justified.

Soon they were seated in the corner of the dimly lit bar and Raoul ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon. The atmosphere was fun and young, and Natasha eyed the bar counter—a replica of a huge slab of ice, internally illuminated—intrigued.

‘Like it?’ Raoul asked, following her gaze. ‘It’s fun, isn’t it? I like coming here.’

It was only then that he saw a slim familiar figure silhouetted across the room, seated with friends by the window, and his heart sank. Clothilde sat, sylphlike and languorously elegant, dressed as always in the latest Dior fashions. Her dark-eyed gaze fulminated as it rested upon him. Raoul glanced away. Why hadn’t he remembered that she’d probably be here tonight? Hopefully she would be too proud to make a scene.

But his hopes were dashed when two minutes later Clothilde snaked between the tables, her slim hips swaying, then stood before him, her long black hair shrouding her face, a cigarette waving in her nervous fingers.

‘Monsieur le Baron,’ she threw sarcastically, ‘to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence here tonight? I thought you were ruralizing for a while.’

‘Good evening, Clothilde. May I introduce an English friend of mine, Natasha de Saugure?’

‘Non!’ Clothilde exclaimed. ‘I’m not interested in your friends or your lies,’ she spat venomously, sending Natasha a scathing look. ‘You’re a liar and a cheat, Raoul d’Argentan, and I’ll make sure all of Paris knows it. Be careful of him,’ she added, addressing Natasha, ‘he’s the biggest bastard in town.’ Then, tossing her head, she turned on her spiky high heels and stalked back to her table, where her cohorts sat watching approvingly.

Raoul sighed and shook his head. ‘Sorry about that,’ he murmured. ‘I’m afraid Clothilde is rather theatrical.’

‘Who is she? Your girlfriend?’

‘Ex-girlfriend. If you can call her that. I dated her for a while and she thought it was more serious than it ever was. Why is it that women always fall into that trap?’ he enquired, brows knit. ‘I don’t understand why they can’t just accept the status quo and enjoy it. It always amazes me how they complicate life.’ He shook his head and let out a sigh.

‘Perhaps the women you run into have a deeper sense of commitment than you do,’ she replied, tongue in cheek, before taking a sip of chilled champagne.

‘Maybe. But no commitment ever existed in the first place. Not on my side anyway. I made that abundantly plain from the outset.’

‘But things can start out as casual in life and then become deeper as time goes on,’ Natasha argued.

He shrugged in what she considered to be a very French gesture. ‘I never make promises that I might break. And I never offered marriage or even an in-house living arrangement to Clothilde. I really don’t see why she’s so upset.’

‘Well, she seems to think she has a ton of reasons,’ Natasha remarked tartly.

‘You see?’ He turned and threw his hands up. ‘That is exactly what I mean. Women are all the same—always filling in the blanks with all sorts of reasons and justifications for getting their own way. I will never understand them.’

Natasha smothered a smile and decided there was little point in pursuing the subject. But Clothilde’s burst of anger had left her thinking. It was clear that Raoul was a seasoned playboy, used to getting his own way. Perhaps she should take the other woman’s warning seriously. After all, she knew nothing about him except that he was her neighbour in Normandy.

Later, as they drove back to the apartment through the quiet streets of the city, she determined to keep her distance from this man. She’d learned her lesson with Paul, hadn’t she? The minute you trusted you could also be betrayed. And, frankly, she had very few reasons to trust Raoul.

When they reached the imposing building he stopped the car and parked. ‘How about inviting me in for a nightcap?’ he said with a grin.

‘I don’t think so. I’m quite tired tonight. I have a long day tomorrow—meetings with my grandmother’s lawyers and so on.’

‘Ah, you’re meeting with Perret, I take it.’ He nodded. ‘He’s quite a good man on the whole, but I told Marie Louise she might want to consider a change of legal counsel.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Oh, I’ll tell you some other time, when you have more time on your hands,’ he answered affably.

Natasha could have kicked herself for falling into the trap.

‘Right—well, I’d better be going.’ She began opening the door, but he leaned quickly across her and held it closed.

‘Not so fast, ma belle,’ he murmured, his voice turning husky. ‘You can’t be in that much of a hurry.’

‘I—’ Natasha felt her body click into overdrive. What was it about this man that left her mesmerized, unable to react as she should? When his hand slipped behind her neck and he drew her close, his lips dropping a trail of deliciously feathery kisses on her cheek, down past her lips, her throat, then slipped to her breast, instead of repulsing him she let out a pent-up sigh of longing.