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

Her mouth dried.

‘Mademoiselle could not possibly leave you out, Monsieur le Comte,’ Monsieur Dupont exclaimed as he turned from one to the other like a spectator at a tennis match. ‘Well, could you, mademoiselle?’

‘No, of course not. You’re very welcome, Guy.’

‘You don’t sound too sure,’ he murmured so that only she could hear. ‘Don’t forget to send that invitation.’

‘I won’t,’ Kate promised, backing her way towards the entrance. ‘Well, thank you, Monsieur Dupont…everyone… Guy.’

‘Not so fast,’ Guy drawled, coming after her. ‘I have to see you home, remember?’

‘I can manage…honestly,’ she protested when he insisted on guiding her out by the elbow. ‘I can walk.’

‘So can I,’ he pointed out. ‘Or we can ride back. It’s entirely up to you.’

‘You don’t have to treat me like a child. I hurt my hand, that’s all. It’s been attended to. Thank you very much for your assistance—’

‘Et au revoir?’ he suggested sardonically.

‘Yes. No,’ Kate amended quickly, realising how ungrateful he must think her.

‘Walk, or ride?’ he demanded.

The day had mellowed into a hazy, lazy afternoon and in spite of all the warning klaxons sounding in her head, Kate chose to walk. She waited outside under the green and white striped awning of the pharmacie until Guy found one of the young village lads to ride his horse back to the stables at the château.

‘You’re very trusting,’ she said, seeing the young boy’s face light up with excited anticipation as he urged the magnificent animal into a brisk trot.

‘Yes, aren’t I?’ Guy agreed dryly. ‘But since I’ve known Leon since birth, as I have all the youngsters in the village, I’d say it was a calculated risk. I didn’t pick him out at random. He is one of the best young riders we have around here. Letting him ride Fireflash is my way of showing my appreciation for the hours he puts into his training.’

‘I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me. I should have realised—’

‘Forget it,’ Guy said, steering her in the direction of the shops.

‘Where are we going now?’ she demanded when he paused to stare into the window of the patisserie.

‘Cake? No,’ he said, reading her face. ‘I take you for a bread, cheese and salad woman right now.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Kate asked suspiciously.

‘Cake signals self-indulgence to me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but, right now, you strike me as being in a rolling up your sleeves kind of a mood.’

‘Hardly,’ Kate said, struggling to rein in her wayward senses as she raised her bandaged hand to make the point.

‘Well, as I suppose I’m indirectly responsible for that, how about I do the labouring and you give the orders?’

‘Count Guy de Villeneuve labouring?’ Kate exclaimed as she threw him a look.

‘I am quite a capable individual,’ he confided, moving in close. ‘Believe it or not, I can even put jam on my own croissant in the morning.’

As his breath warmed her ear, Kate backed away. ‘Please stop teasing me, Guy.’

‘Why?’ he murmured. ‘You used to love it when you were a little girl.’

Her heart thundered at the reminder. Once any attention from the handsome young aristocrat had been bliss, but now it only spelled trouble.

‘What do we need food for anyway?’ she said, trying to keep her mind from straying on to dangerous territory.

‘I get very hungry when I work.’

‘You’re not going to be doing any work,’ Kate insisted firmly. Her original resolution still held firm. No one was setting foot inside the cottage until she was completely satisfied that the interior had been returned to its original pristine condition—and that included Guy. No, especially Guy, she thought, shooting a glance at him. ‘So, you don’t need to eat.’

‘Nonsense!’ he said, steering her into the fromagerie. ‘I’m hungry. We’ll have a picnic.’

Kate sighed with frustration. And she’d thought she was self-willed! She hadn’t known the meaning of that state until now!

At least she succeeded in getting her own way over one thing. Pleading a muddle at the cottage, she set out the food Guy insisted on buying for them on the grassy bank above the narrow stream that meandered through the garden. And somehow the years seemed to peel away until it was almost like being back in the time when groups of holidaymakers, villagers, estate workers and even members of Guy’s own family had congregated on the banks of the main river that ran through the town to loll away the sunny afternoons eating and chatting. But then Guy wouldn’t always have chosen to sit with her…or, more precisely, lie by her side, Kate realised as she took the greaseproof wrapping paper off the cheese. The bread shop had furnished her with a red gingham cloth and a wicker basket in which to put the mountain of food Guy had acquired on his trawl round the village square. There was chilled wine, a fragrant crusty loaf, some fat green olives and a selection of cheeses to arrange on top of the makeshift table she had adapted from a tree stump.

Removing a graceful strand of meadow grass from his mouth, Guy rolled over on to his side. Resting his head on the heel of his hand, he gazed up at her. ‘Ready yet?’ he murmured. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Ready,’ Kate confirmed, feeling her face growing hot beneath his scrutiny. He looked gorgeous, she realised, trying to find comfort in the fact that he seemed so at ease…deceptively so, she warned herself, and not a moment too soon.

‘Feed me,’ he called across to her in a softly seductive voice.

‘Get it yourself,’ Kate blurted, too shaken to realise she had reverted to the way she might have spoken to him when she was a cheeky teenager.

Picking up on her mood, Guy countered by falling back into the role he had once played in her life…and it was a dangerously provocative role that carried far more risk than the sophisticated manner that had marked his behaviour towards her since her return.

‘It’s a no to that, Katie Foster,’ he drawled lazily. ‘You feed me, or you pay the penalty. You owe me a favour. And now I’m calling it in.’

Guy’s apparent languor didn’t fool Kate for a moment. He was just as likely to launch himself on her at any moment and tickle her to death, she remembered, trying not to let her disappointment at the likely outcome become too apparent.

‘I need to build up my strength for the hard work to come,’ he reasoned, tossing a languid glance towards the cottage.

Kate doubted that, judging by the muscles bulging beneath the pewter-coloured polo shirt he was wearing…and his thighs. She dragged her eyes up again, conscious that he was still watching her. ‘Don’t worry about that now, Guy,’ she said, forcing her attention back to more mundane problems. ‘There’s really no need if your men are coming tomorrow—’

‘I can’t allow you to go another day with boards across the windows,’ he insisted. ‘It’s intolerable.’ His voice grew harsh, as if they had both returned at the same time from their brief visit to the past. ‘If I’d had any idea at all that you were trying to live here—’

‘I haven’t been here all that long.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said firmly. ‘It must have been a shock for you finding the cottage in this condition.’ He sat up abruptly and levelled a penetrating stare straight into her eyes. ‘And on top of everything else—’ He pressed his beautifully shaped lips together as he shook his head. ‘Please accept my apologies.’

‘Accepted,’ Kate said as she broke the bread into chunks. She wasn’t sure which was safer—Guy playful or Guy serious.

‘So now you can feed me,’ he murmured, rolling on to his back again.

Kate’s hands remained suspended in mid-air. For a moment it seemed as if the bees stopped humming and the soft breeze rustling through the leaves died away. Then Guy’s laugh splintered her trance.

‘Hurry up, Kate. Or I’ll just have to come over there and make you,’ he warned.