The Gift of Loving

by Wilson, Patricia

  His eyes moved slowly over her face, searching for some sign of mental instability in every feature, apparently, and Lucy looked at him warily.

  'I—I was going to take a photograph.' Her breath wasn't quite her own yet and it became even more unsteady as he moved slowly, his body brushing her own. He lowered her to the ground, resting on one elbow to look down at her, studying her face.

  'You were not then poised to attack me from this advantageous position?' His dark eyes were filled with ironic amusement and she found herself looking right into them from an alarmingly intimate situation.

  'Of—of course not. I was photographing the chateau. It's not too easy from close up.'

  It wasn't too easy being close up to Guy Chabrol either. His skin was lightly tanned, subtly darker than an English skin, and now that she was so near she could see that his eyes were very dark brown and not black at all. He had thick eyelashes and his mouth was long, sensuous, and, at the moment, not so cruel-looking as usual. Of course, that was because he was laughing at her and not in his usual disdainful frame of mind for some unfathomable reason. He seemed to find this all very amusing even though he had taken a fall with her on top of him.

  He looked down at her for a few more seconds, his eyes narrowed and intent, and sparks of feeling began to tear into her, making her

  face pale. A shiver raced over her skin as his eyes burned into hers.

  There was something frighteningly familiar about him, as if she had known him long ago. A flush seemed to cover her whole body, invisible but burning, and a strange little sound welled up in her throat.

  He suddenly stood with unbelievably smooth, graceful movement, reaching to pull her to her feet. It brought her to her senses. The dazed feeling vanished and she was utterly flustered, wondering what had happened to her then. She felt as if she had been somewhere else, lost in time. It must have been the shock of the fall.

  'I'm sorry if I hurt you when I fell on you.'

  'You did not fall on me, mademoiselle. I caught you. As to your weight, it seems not to be there at all. Does Madame Balfour starve you? Is this why you are so slight?'

  His lips twisted in amusement that was not now so benign and Lucy was back to embarrassment, wishing him miles away.

  'I come from a very thin family.'

  'Hmm,' he murmured scathingly, his glance flaring over her. 'I have only observed one other member of your family. From my observation of her I would very much doubt it.' His eyes slid over her face, lingering on the high cheekbones that were very pronounced. 'Your aunt is remarkably well cared for, mademoiselle.

  You are all eyes. We must feed you up and observe you later.'

  'I won't be here long enough for any experiments,' Lucy snapped, colour rising under her skin. She hadn't felt at all odd until she had met Guy Chabrol. The long lips quirked, back to cruelty or very close to it.

  'That, I would imagine, will depend upon how quickly your aunt discovers what she is seeking.'

  It was a funny way of putting things and Lucy looked at him firmly.

  'She's busy right now, Monsieur Chabrol. She's enthralled by the books.'

  His eyebrows rose, though whether at her sharp tone or her remarks she couldn't say. 'You have decided then that I am to be monsieur and not le comte?' he queried mockingly.

  'You said you didn't use the title,' Lucy reminded him, wondering if she had made a big social mistake but not too bothered.

  'I said that the title was now worthless,' he corrected. 'You are quite right though, I rarely use it, unless I wish to impress someone who irritates me.'

  'Then you should use it with me,' Lucy said crossly, annoyed at being tied into knots by his ready tongue.

  'But you do not irritate me, mademoiselle. I am merely astonished at your peculiarities.' He looked down at her for a second and then smiled to himself sardonically, some thought running through his mind that she could not fathom. He was a very unfathomable man, after all, and she would be very glad to get away from here and see the last of him.

  'You need photographs of the chateau?' he murmured. ' Alors! I will escort you.'

  'Thank you, there's no need -' Lucy began until his amused tone stopped her.

  'But there are so many walls, Mademoiselle Balfour. With your odd behaviour, I fear for you.' He picked up the reins of his now calm

  horse. 'Come. I will show you a good place for a photograph. It will be something for you to remember.'

  CHAPTER THREE

  THERE didn't seem to be any way of getting out of it, and Lucy walked silently beside the count as he led his horse away from the building and headed out towards the thick woods that lay beyond further fields.

  'I didn't realise there were stables here.' Lucy glanced back at the white buildings and he stopped, turning to look back also.

  'The chateau was built in the fifteenth century. It was not then as big as it is now but it was still very forbidding, a fortress. As it was used to house soldiers too, it required stables. Coaches were also kept there. It is now partially a museum, the coaches well-preserved.'

  'Really? Can I see inside it?'

  Lucy looked up at him hopefully and he nodded, his eyes slipping over her.

  'Whenever you wish, but I must take you. Normally the place is locked. At the moment I am keeping my horse there but it will only be for a while.'

  'Where do you usually keep it?' She stroked her hand down the sleek neck of the animal and he looked at her sharply.

  'You are not afraid? I would have thought that something of this size would terrify you.'

  'I've spent most of my life in the country,' Lucy said simply. 'I'm not afraid of horses. Where do you usually keep the horse?' she persisted.

  'I have another chateau.'

  He was brief to the point of surliness and Lucy glanced at him out of her eye corners. He was quite intriguing when you came to look at things closely. She had thought he was walking straight into her aunt's trap but he had not been doing any such thing. He was waiting instead as if he had a trap of his own to spring. Luckily she was beginning to get the feeling that she was merely on the edge of things.

  His glance flashed across and he caught her looking at him but her thoughts were so absorbed that she looked straight back, not even flushing as she had done so often with this disdainful Frenchman.

  'What about your photographs?'

  The dark eyes held hers and she came swiftly back to the present, aware now that she had been staring and that her skin was tingling in a very odd manner again.

  'I—I'll do it from here.' She turned away flustered, looking back at the chateau to escape from looking at him, and for a moment he came to stand by her, the reins looped over his arm.

  'Shots from this distance are best, if the camera is up to it and if it was not damaged by the fall,' he murmured. 'Why do you wish to take photographs like some tourist?'

  'Aunt Wanda asked me to. She wanted them for her book.'

  'Really?' He looked very grim for a moment but then seemed to relent, his peculiar humour resurfacing. 'If you make a nonsense of them will she beat you?'

  'I won't make a nonsense of them!' Lucy snapped, looking up at him irritably. 'I get on very well with my aunt and I know how to take photographs, thank you. I may not be talented but I'm not quite stupid!'

  To her surprise he grinned down at her, his eyes moving over her pale face and her angry eyes.

  'I begin to realise that you are a mouse who retaliates when attacked.

  I must try to remember that.'

  'I'm not a mouse!' Lucy informed him crossly.

  'Then why do you permit your aunt to bully you? I would have thought that you would fear me more.'

  'She doesn't bully me! I've just told you that I get on very well with her. I suppose you mean last night at dinner? She didn't really mean any harm.'

  'No? It is not the first time that I have heard her say sweetly disparaging things about you. She even sent you to bed at the hotel.'

  'You wer
e the one who was unforgivably rude last night,' Lucy pointed out hotly. 'As to the hotel, I was very glad to go to bed.' He just stared at her deeply and she looked away hastily; her temper was running away with her again. Pretty soon he would order them out of here and tell her aunt that she was to blame. It might be wise to humour him. 'In any case,' she added quickly, 'you don't understand about my family. Talented people tend to be a bit difficult. They expect to be spoiled and to say anything they wish.'

  'Indeed? They pointed this out to you when you were very young so that you would know your place?'

  'No, they didn't. I just grew up knowing it.'

  'You say that you are not stupid. Why then did you not break free?

  Your aunt told me that your parents died. Did you feel the need to move into further servitude?'

  'It's not servitude! I gave up my job deliberately to take this one with my aunt. I'm not trained for anything. I can't do anything except type a little. My aunt rescued me from... She offered me the chance to...'

  'To what?' He looked down at her steadily with narrowed eyes, obviously going over her words in his mind, and she felt suddenly subdued. Why had she told this arrogant man about her problems? It was because he goaded her and she rose to the bait like an idiot instead of telling him to mind his own business. Clearly she was stupid or she would have kept her lips firmly closed and played a quiet role as she had planned to do.

  'To—to see France—and help her.'

  He changed the subject, obviously tiring of hearing about her drab life, his eyes moving over the sombre spectacle of his property.

  'From inside, the view from the upper rooms of the east tower is magnificent. You can see the Loire and many miles beyond.'

  'Do you like it here?' Lucy asked, greatly pleased to be reprieved.

  'Dieu! I do not!' He turned and swung into the saddle. 'I will leave you to it, mademoiselle. I do not think you can come to much harm unless you deliberately seek danger. I will see you later.'

  He just turned and cantered off across the soft grass and she watched him until the horse entered the woods and moved out of sight. It was easy to make up dreams about the Comte de Chauvrais, easy to imagine him dressed from some older time as he rode across the open fields and into the old woods.

  Dreams about him would tend to be cold though and probably violent, because, although he had shown no sign of rage as yet, she was sure that it lurked below the surface. At the moment he had the air about him of someone who was hunting. His every action was

  calculated and alert. He was a very worrying man and she would be glad when her aunt had finished here and they could go.

  She turned to the chateau again and began to take photographs. He obviously hated being here. So why had he come? Why was he indulging her aunt when he so clearly despised her? She pushed the thoughts away but she could not rid her mind of the thought of Guy Chabrol. His dark, sardonic face was printed firmly in front of her and she had the really astonishing thought that she would never be able to forget him. The coldly handsome face seemed to be too deeply etched into her mind.

  She stayed out as long as she could and only just managed to find her way back by lunchtime. Her aunt had not missed her and only answered vaguely when Lucy spoke. She was clearly well into her research and Lucy was glad. The sooner they left here the better as far as she was concerned.

  They had the dining-room to themselves, their lunch served by the very old and very grim-looking butler. The Comtesse de Chauvrais was not there and Lucy felt a pang of something closely resembling disappointment when Guy Chabrol missed lunch too.

  The room was still cold even though the sun was very warm outside and as her aunt left to go back to the library Lucy followed her thoughtfully. Why did she feel that the place was boring if that cool-faced man was not there? She supposed that he was the nearest thing to excitement she had ever had in her life. Calculating what he would do next was more exciting than all the rest of her life put together. She had never met a man like that before. He was as far above her very ordinary life as a dark-faced god.

  As they entered the library her heart gave an uncomfortable leap as they encountered the count just leaving it. He gave a slight bow to her aunt and then looked at Lucy.

  'You have your photographs, mademoiselle?' he asked politely.

  'Yes, thank you.' She hoped he wouldn't taunt her about her odd actions of this morning and get her aunt interested. He didn't. He simply nodded to her too and walked off, but Wanda stood and stared after him.

  'I wonder what he was doing in the library?' she mused, and Lucy looked at her in surprise.

  'I expect he'll keep an eye on us. The library is full of treasures.'

  'How would you know, dear?' Wanda asked with a burst of amusement.

  Lucy felt a spark of rebellion, and was quite pleased to be able to say, 'The count told me.'

  Wanda looked extremely interested, but she didn't say anything and, once again, Lucy was intrigued. Crossing swords with Guy Chabrol seemed to have brought her to life and she noticed that her aunt's voice was a little flustered as she handed a notebook across and murmured, 'You'd better take a few notes. Follow me around. I'll dictate. I'll start with a list of the books I've already decided to use.'

  As they were in French and as Lucy did not speak the language it proved to be a pointless exercise, an exercise that ended up as a sort of trail around the room with Wanda pointing and Lucy carefully copying titles. Wanda was finding her something to do. She knew that for sure. So why had her aunt brought her here and paid for her keep at that expensive hotel? Of course, Guy Chabrol had paid in the end, but Wanda was not to have known he would be so

  chivalrous. It would have been cheaper to leave Lucy back in England at her own job.

  Was her aunt disparaging? No, she just spoke without thought as her parents had often done. It was the artistic nature perhaps? Guy Chabrol was making her suspicious of everything and everyone. He was the villain if there was one. She realised impatiently that she was looking at her aunt with entirely new eyes, expecting sinister happenings. It was this great place and the dark, daunting master of it. She would do well to keep suspicion right at the top of her mind as far as he was concerned.

  * * *

  Over the next few days it became very obvious to Lucy that Guy Chabrol was really playing some game of his own. He was as silent as ever but there was an air of waiting about him that kept her nerves on edge. Even the servants appeared to be waiting, none of them seeming quite at home in the place, their sullen looks not abating at all.

  Wanda apparently noticed nothing whatever. She was utterly absorbed with the books and merely finding jobs for Lucy to do.

  Lucy was quite touched by it. It became clearer every day that her aunt had merely been rescuing her from her dull life. Sometimes she was unable to find anything at all and then Lucy was free to roam out of doors in the continuing good weather, to explore the outer perimeters of the chateau.

  She took her courage firmly in hand and faced Guy Chabrol one day as she found him also out of doors.

  'You said I could see the old stables, monsieur,' she reminded him with a smile, subduing her resentment of him to get her own way.

  His dark eyes rested on her face. The smile seemed to have brought

  sunlight into it, the blue of her eyes deepening. He stared at her and then nodded and simply turned in the direction of the stables.

  'No time like the present, mademoiselle. Let us go there now.'

  'I hope I'm not interrupting anything -' Lucy started apologetically, but he cut in before she could go on.

  'There is nothing to interrupt. I am simply waiting. I think that perhaps you and I wait together but for different reasons.'

  'I'm not waiting for anything,' Lucy assured him blithely, still congratulating herself on having wheedled him into doing what she wanted.

  'In which case, why are you so free at this moment? You are what the English call "at a loose end", n'est-ce pas?'

/>   'Well, at the moment,' she admitted reluctantly. 'There's nothing for me to do in the library.'

  'I am amazed that there ever is anything for you to do,

  mademoiselle. You do not speak French. The books are in French.

  Your position as helper seems to be very limited.'

  'When my aunt starts with her notes I'll be invaluable.' Lucy looked at him firmly but to her surprise his lips quirked and he glanced down at her as she walked along beside him, a slender girl with fine, delicate bone- structure.

  'And what is she doing now? I would have thought that the note-taking would have begun.'

  'Oh, she's still looking through the books. After all, there are so many. I don't think she's got what she wants yet.'

  'Neither do I, Mademoiselle Balfour. You see, we are in agreement.

  It is quite possible to get on well together.' There was a little warmth in the amusement this time and Lucy stopped to look at him but he urged her onwards, his hand against her back. 'The stables,' he reminded quietly. 'Let us make the most of your free time.'

  They had come to the square stable block and Lucy stopped abruptly. It was quite dark inside. He switched on lights, his face amused as he glanced at her.

  'Modern facilities, mademoiselle. An attack of nerves is not necessary. Allow me to show you around.'

  Her small feeling of superiority fled. He could reduce her to size with one glance but she was determined to enjoy this unexpected treat.

  There were stalls for horses, but only one was now there, the chestnut horse that the count had brought here with him. The harness-room smelled of leather and the old tackle there was still in very fine condition. Obviously this place was considered to be worthwhile and as they moved to the coach-house she saw why.

  There were five coaches, all very uncomfortable- looking but all well-preserved. It was like being back in time and she looked longingly at the most elaborate one, startled when the count suddenly said, 'Step inside. Be a countess for one brief moment.' He opened the carriage door and handed her in before she could protest, and, although she felt a trifle foolish, she was thrilled as she sat on the quilted seat, a smile edging her lips.