The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience

And also watch my step from now on, she added silently. Madame Drouac is clearly nobody’s fool.

They spent a quiet evening, preferring to listen to music rather than watch television. But it was not long before Tante announced that she was tired and going to bed.

‘And I think you would benefit also from an early night, Alys.’

Allie nodded. ‘I’ll be up soon.’

But when the Chopin nocturne ended, she slid Debussy’s ‘Prelude à l’après midi d’un faune’ into the CD player, and settled back against the cushions to listen, allowing the music to recapture for her all the drowsy, languid warmth of a magical afternoon. A time when anything could happen.

Like that first afternoon with Remy, she thought, a fist clenching in her stomach. Never to be forgotten.

She’d sat tautly beside him in his Jeep, she remembered, her hands gripped together in her lap, staring through the windscreen without absorbing much. Conscious only of the man beside her.

‘Relax, Alys,’ he had commanded softly. ‘Or you will make me nervous too.’

‘Not much chance of that,’ she muttered.

‘No?’ There was amusement in his voice. ‘You would be surprised. But you will feel better, perhaps, when you have had something to eat.’

‘It’s not always a question of blood sugar levels, monsieur le docteur,’ she countered. She shook her head. ‘I still don’t know why I’m doing this.’

‘I hi-jacked you, chérie,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I like to look at something beautiful during my mealtimes.’

Her brows lifted. ‘Really? I thought most Frenchmen preferred to look at what was on their plates.’

‘Then you know very little about Frenchmen.’

‘And,’ she said, ‘believe it or not, I was perfectly happy in my ignorance.’

He burst out laughing. ‘One day, ma mie,’ he said, ‘I shall remind you of that.’ He turned the Jeep off the narrow coast road they’d been following, and drove inland along a rough track towards a circle of standing stones silhouetted against the horizon.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Allie commented brightly as he brought the vehicle to a halt. ‘This used to be a place for human sacrifice, and I’m the main course.’

Remy grinned at her. ‘Legend says that they were all bad girls from nearby villages, lured here by a local saint in the guise of a handsome young man, who turned them to stone when they refused to repent their wicked ways.’ He took a rug from the back of the Jeep and tossed it to her. ‘Maybe a sacrifice would have been kinder.’

‘And the men who weren’t saints?’ she enquired tartly, as he lifted out a hamper. ‘Who’d contributed to the girls’ downfall? I suppose they got off scot-free?’

‘That might depend, ma belle, on whether or not they were found out by their wives.’

Allie gave him a cold look and followed him, holding the rug against her as if it provided some kind of defence.

They walked through the stones and down into a small sheltered hollow, where Remy spread the rug on the short grass and began to unpack the basket. Allie stationed herself at a distance and watched. It was, she reflected, quite a sophisticated performance, with covered pottery dishes, gleaming silverware, a white linen cloth, and crystal glasses wrapped in matching napkins. Not a plastic spoon or limp sandwich in sight. And a means to an end if ever she’d seen one.

Seduction-by-Sea, she told herself wryly. And I wonder how many other girls he’s brought to this same secluded spot?

On the other hand, what could it possibly matter? He was here with her for the first time and the last, and whatever plans he might have for post-prandial entertainment were doomed to disappointment.

Unless, of course, he decided to use force…

For a brief moment something cold and dead lodged like a stone within her, and was immediately dismissed.

No, she thought, he would never do that. Because he would never have to. There would be no lack of willing women in his life. Enough, probably, to embellish the whole of Finistere with stone circles if truth be told.

‘You look very fierce, Alys,’ he commented. ‘Calm yourself with some pâté. It has come from the Intermarche, so it is quite safe.’

Allie, remembering what Tante had said about the cooking at Trehel, was betrayed into a giggle.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see poor Liliane’s fame has reached Les Sables. And yet as a housekeeper she is—formidable. No speck of grime is allowed to exist. Mais, malheureusement, the food is also massacred.’ He shook his head. ‘We try—my grandfather, my father and I—to keep her from the stove, but at the same time we do not wish to hurt her feelings. She is a kind soul.’

The pâté was good, she discovered, as were the thick slices of ham, the chunks of smoked sausage, and the sliced duck breast that followed. To accompany the crusty baguette there was a slab of butter in a refrigerated dish, and a creamy local cheese, wrapped in a checked cloth.

The wine Remy poured for them both was pale and crisp, but she was told there was also mineral water, if she preferred.

She decided to risk the wine, sipping circumspectly, and if he noticed her restraint he made no comment.

To complete the meal there were strawberries, in a bowl lined with green leaves.

Allie pushed her plate away with a little sigh of repletion. ‘That was—delicious.’

‘And I am forgiven for having kidnapped you?’

‘I’ll overlook it,’ she said. ‘This once.’

He smiled at her lazily. ‘I hope it will never again be necessary.’ He paused. ‘I regret there is no coffee, but I think it should be made and drunk while it is fresh. Although, being English, you drink only tea, perhaps?’

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Besides, my grandmother was French, don’t forget.’

‘The Vaillac sisters.’ He began to put the used things back in the hamper. ‘My grandfather knew them as young girls, and says they were both beauties.’ He paused. ‘He was surprised, I think, when Madame Colville decided to return. And pleased, too. He says it is good to come back to the place where you were born. So many—just leave.’

He put the hamper to one side and refilled their glasses. ‘He says also that this is not your first visit. That you came here with your father while I was working abroad.’

‘Yes, I did,’ she said. ‘More than once.’ She paused. ‘Which makes my idiotic behaviour on the beach the other morning even more unforgivable. I—should have known better.’

‘And I,’ he said, ‘could have been kinder.’

He had moved closer, she realised suddenly, and his hand was only a couple of inches from hers. She looked down at the long fingers with their short, well-kept nails, and remembered how they’d felt, touching her skin. A tiny flame of forbidden excitement sprang into life deep within her, and had to be suppressed.

She hurried to fill the silence. ‘You speak marvellous English.’ Oh, God, I sound all eager and—girly.

He shrugged. ‘When I qualified, I worked in Britain for a while. Also America. And when I was employed by the charity English was the common language too. So now, of course, I am given the tourists to deal with at the medical centre.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll—try to lessen your workload and not get sick.’

His mouth quirked. ‘You are all consideration, ma mie, but you seem to be in good health. You are still pale, of course.’ His hand closed round her wrist. ‘And your pulse is too rapid,’ he added softly. ‘But I do not think the symptoms are dangerous.’

Oh, but you’re wrong—so wrong, she thought wildly. Because I’ve never been in such danger before. Never…

She glanced down, realising that his fingers were entwined with hers now, and that somehow his other arm was encircling her shoulders. She felt his cheek against her hair. Became aware that he was lifting her hand, brushing her knuckles gently with his lips, then turning it to press a kiss into the centre of her palm. It was the briefest of caresses. Yet she felt it jolt through her entire body like an electric charge.