Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King

‘Well, that’s a first,’ he murmured. ‘Do a twirl,’ he suggested. ‘I’d like to see the full effect of that beautiful dress.’

Kate’s brows rose fractionally before she obeyed. But Guy didn’t make her feel like a clothes-horse, he made her feel like a valued, cosseted… She actually stamped her foot as she ground to a halt in front of him. This was ridiculous! What was she thinking of? ‘Look, Guy, this dress—’ She lifted the diaphanous skirt, subtly shadow-printed in shades of blue, and unconsciously ran her other hand over the figure-hugging bodice. ‘Well, it’s fabulous. But quite frankly—’

‘Quite frankly?’ he pressed, his silver-grey eyes dancing with amusement.

‘It must have cost a fortune and, well, I’ll never wear it again, will I?’ she said, trying reason on him.

‘I don’t see why not,’ he argued. ‘It’s perfectly lovely.’

Kate’s striking green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits of emerald light. ‘That’s exactly my point.’

Guy’s face adopted a mildly bemused expression. ‘You don’t like it because it’s lovely?’ he queried, sliding one strong tanned hand into the pocket of his grey tailored trousers.

Conscious that her eyes had followed his every move and he’d probably noticed, Kate shifted position uncomfortably. In the process she almost toppled off the high-heeled Jimmy Choos, forcing Guy to reach out and steady her. As he stood back again she protested, ‘That’s exactly my point. I don’t live your kind of life. I’m more of a—’

‘Garçon manqué?’ he supplied. ‘Tomboy, I believe, is how you say it in English.’

‘You know very well how we say everything in English,’ Kate scolded, noticing how he lifted his hand and kept the back of it across his mouth so that she had no idea if he was laughing or not. ‘Well, I’m hardly the Countess de Villeneuve, am I?’ The words flew out of her mouth.

‘Indeed. But surely it won’t hurt you to wear this lovely dress for one day?’

‘But if I’m clearing the cottage—’

‘True,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘I’ll have a selection of dungarees and work-boots delivered to you later this afternoon.’

Kate narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. It was hard to tell if he was serious or joking.

‘Meanwhile,’ he said, ‘we’ll have lunch…here,’ he added, pointing to the lakeside, where she could see a table had been laid with all the finest china and glass and a taupe canvas parasol had been erected to protect them from the midday sun.

‘I should be getting back.’

‘You will eat something first,’ he said firmly, offering her his arm.

Slipping her hand through the crook of Guy’s arm was like putting a key into the gate to paradise, Kate warned herself. But surely there was no harm in sampling the role for which he had dressed her, just for lunch. There was something almost unbearably seductive about strolling with a devastatingly handsome French count through an avenue of sculpted box to a winding path that led down to the edge of a crystalline lake in front of his château. And, just in case her imagination faltered, the glade in which their table was set was shielded by a group of willow trees in their first flush of greenery. They provided a whispering chorus as the light breeze danced through their supple branches and, in front of these, streamers of skylarks offered a scintillating cabaret as they dive-bombed the water to drink.

‘Mademoiselle,’ Guy murmured, releasing her arm. And then a manservant, so still, so discreet Kate hadn’t even noticed him standing there, stepped forward to hold out her chair, then pour the wine and serve the salad. Guy was doing everything he could think of to help her get over the shock of the fire, she realised.

‘I could get used to this,’ Kate confessed as the man faded into the background again.

As Guy’s sensuous lips pressed together he hummed a sound she failed to interpret.

‘But, Guy, I must insist—’

‘You must?’ he murmured, making it sound like a challenge as he gazed at her over the rim of his wine glass.

Trying to ignore the heat that sped to the area currently enclosed by the tiniest lace thong she had ever seen in her life, Kate steeled herself to continue. ‘I cannot possibly wear any of those clothes I found in the dressing room. They are far too—’

‘What? Beautiful? Feminine? Tell me,’ he demanded, still in the same low and very disturbing voice.

‘They are all very beautiful and extremely feminine,’ Kate admitted, ‘but that’s not what concerns me.’

Twin furrows appeared between his sweeping sable brows. ‘So, what does concern you?’ he pressed.

‘I only needed one outfit at most,’ Kate explained. ‘But you must have ordered half a summer collection.’

‘All of it,’ he said casually. ‘And the fashion house was good enough to track down shoes, bags and lingerie for me too—and at such short notice. Of course, I haven’t had a chance to examine every item. So, you must choose, Kate. Keep whatever you want and I’ll send the rest back. Keep everything, or nothing. It’s up to you, Kate.’

Kate was far too stunned to come up with a reasoned argument. ‘But I can’t possibly—’

‘OK, so now I’ve got an even better idea,’ Guy said decisively.

Kate’s sigh of relief was audible as she laid down her knife and fork.

‘You always did like dressing up. I remember you coming to your aunt’s in that hideous school uniform and then pouf! The next day you would reappear in some exotic concoction she had dreamed up for you. One day you were stiff and anxious and the next…’

As he paused to view her thoughtfully, as if searching for a way to describe how she had looked back then, Kate found her own concerns centring on her current appearance. Making a discreet check, she discovered just how diaphanous the top of her new dress really was.

‘And the next?’ she pressed, hoping to deflect Guy’s interest, which she saw she had drawn to the generous amount of cleavage currently overflowing the cunningly designed bodice.

‘And the next day you would be anyone you wanted to be,’ he said, relaxing back with an open-armed shrug. ‘Bandanna and jeans meant I had to beware of the pirate queen. Those pretty muslin skirts much like the one you wore yesterday…’ He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe you would be a romantic peasant girl for the day, or maybe even a fairy princess.’

‘Yuk!’ Kate grimaced and then looked down at the dress she was wearing. ‘And this?’

Guy shrugged as he threw back his head to give a short, very masculine laugh. ‘The Countess de Villeneuve, perhaps? For the day at least,’ he qualified provocatively. His stare was like a challenge to which she responded exactly as he anticipated.

‘I’m warning you, Guy. Don’t tease me.’ Kate waited for a moment until she was sure she was ready to return to the attack. ‘Why don’t we get back to this idea of yours?’

‘Leave the clothes here,’ Guy suggested casually. ‘That way, any time you feel like some role play—’ His brows rose infinitesimally, but enough, and there was laughter in his eyes and something darker and far more disturbing. Some of the underwear was—Kate didn’t even dare think about it, at least not while she was sitting so close to him.

‘Are you ready to go to the cottage now?’ he said when they had finished lunch.

Kate agreed that she was. She had realised instantly that she wasn’t up to sexual jousts with Guy, even if they were only verbal. Her arena was business, and if she’d had any sense that was where she would have kept their relationship. ‘Yes, I’m ready,’ she confirmed. ‘And if the cottage has been pronounced safe—if the bedrooms are in any way habitable—I should like to stay on there. I know there will be a lot of clearing up to do before the builders and decorators can start their work and I’d like to help.’ She watched his jaw tighten but, like her, Guy was intent on keeping his thoughts to himself. The most he permitted himself now was a brief nod of agreement.

‘If that’s what you want,’ he agreed, ‘Madame Duplessis will send hampers of food and drink and I’m sure we have some oil lamps and an old oil heater somewhere that will do for now.’

‘There’s really no need to bother. I’ll be fine,’ Kate said, knowing what she really needed was a clean break with the château. Her body told her that anything other than the most limited contact with Guy, Count of Villeneuve was going to lead to complications she would never be ready to handle.

‘Nonsense!’ he said, springing up before she could think of any more excuses. ‘I’m going to take you back there now and find out exactly what you need.’

CHAPTER FOUR (#u980907a6-e312-53db-8103-36f3f3c12f63)

THE drive back to the cottage took just a few minutes in one of the estate’s four-wheel drive vehicles, but it was a few moments more before Kate could bring herself to check out the damage.

‘Come on,’ Guy urged impatiently, slamming his door. Flinging her door open, he stood there waiting. Only then did Kate’s mind click into gear. He’d been up half the night on her behalf and he was sure to have other things to do. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, making light of her shock at seeing the smoke-blackened exterior. ‘I was just steeling myself.’

As soon as he was sure she was following, Guy strode briskly up the path. ‘I wouldn’t have brought you up here if the cottage was burned beyond redemption,’ he called over his shoulder. Reaching the front door, he pushed it open. The first thing that hit Kate was the smell, a dank, rancid stench that caught in the back of her throat as she adjusted her eyes to the gloom.

‘Look, it’s not too bad,’ Guy said as he forced the door across a heap of something damp that squelched as they walked over it. ‘And we’ve had the “all clear” from the fire service and… What?’ he said when she made a small wounded sound.