The Gift of Loving

by Wilson, Patricia

  'Impressive,' he murmured mockingly. 'With a little attention to your appearance and a little more poise you would pass as the real thing.'

  'On a very dark night,' Lucy muttered, the pleasure wiped from her face.

  'I have offended you?' He blocked her way as she made an attempt to get out. 'I assure you that my remarks were complimentary. Have I not tried to make you comfortable here in the chateau?'

  'Not terribly,' Lucy said clearly, trying to edge past him. 'I know perfectly well that you're laughing at me all the time, however polite your face. I also know that you don't like either my aunt or me.'

  'Your innocent instincts are working overtime,' he assured her softly, the dark eyes gleaming. 'I admit to not liking your aunt but have I not already said that I find you charming? I even said it in front of your aunt and my stepmother.'

  'You didn't mean it, and why should you? It was just another way of getting at me to amuse yourself.'

  To her consternation he lifted her out, his hands staying firmly around her tiny waist.

  'You are unkind to me, mademoiselle. Also you are not very grateful. Think of the things I have done for you. I have saved you from a nasty fall when you climbed the wall with your camera. I have brought you here the very first time you mentioned it but, most of all, I have seen to it that you are warm and cosy at night. You have never thanked me at all.'

  Lucy looked up at him guiltily. After her complaint that she had slept badly because she was cold, there had been a fire in her room each night, the cheerful blaze making her comfortable. It was quite true that she hadn't once thanked him.

  'I—I'm sorry,' she pleaded softly. 'I wanted to thank you but each time I've seen you my aunt has been there and I didn't know if...'

  'You didn't know if I had ordered the same comforts for her?' he prompted. 'I have not. In the first place, she did not complain of the

  cold. She is so eager to be here that I believe she would have been content had the roof been removed. In the second place, as you so astutely remarked, I do not like her. I am grateful for your consideration in not speaking about it in front of her. You may thank me now.'

  'Th-thank you,' Lucy said tremulously. 'It was very kind and I find the blaze cheerful.'

  The powerful hands tightened on her waist and she was securely trapped, her back against the old coach. He seemed to be towering over her and a very queer excitement began to shiver through her, making her lower her eyes and look down as he watched her intently. In here he seemed more like a dark god than ever; an exciting alien air about him, the tilt of his head, the firm, carved lips.

  'Very nice words,' he mocked softly. 'I prefer deeds. I will be quite satisfied if you kiss me for the favours I am bestowing on you while everyone else freezes.'

  'I—I don't understand... I... You can't say that...'

  Lucy was shocked into looking up and his hand captured her face like a butterfly in a net, keeping it turned to his.

  'Why not? You owe me thanks. That is all the thanking I require.

  One kiss.'

  'No! Please, no!' Panic welled up in Lucy and she tried to move but his arm tightened around her waist and the hand on her face was firm, keeping it tilted to his.

  'You are too much of a mouse to kiss a man?' he jeered quietly, and Lucy's blue eyes flashed sparks of resentment. This was merely to amuse himself, a very chauvinistic way of amusing himself. He had no intention of kissing her.

  'Yes!' she snapped, looking up at him angrily. 'In any case, I don't kiss people I hate!'

  'Then I will kiss you,' he murmured. 'There is very little timidity in me and no hatred at all.'

  Lucy struggled frantically but she had no chance to free herself. His arm was like an iron band and the long sensuous lips closed over her own, the warm hand on her face sliding into her hair.

  She was completely unprepared, because even though he had been speaking like that she had not really believed it to the very last second. She had imagined this to be merely another of his taunts. It was no such thing. He was kissing her thoroughly, his arms tightening as she gasped and tried to escape.

  'Relax. Tout va bien, little mouse,' he murmured in amusement against her parted lips. 'There is nothing to fear. You have never been kissed before? It is not a dangerous occupation.'

  It was. His mouth caught hers swiftly and feeling began to flood her whole body as he deepened the kiss, drawing her tightly into warm, strong arms. She had never been held like that before, never felt this sort of response, never felt so wrapped up in warmth and pleasure.

  Fear left her as she softened, her face tilted of its own accord. His mouth opened over hers, draining her sweetness with sensuous, drowsy movements as his hands moulded her closer.

  She was aware that the boys who had kissed her before were not at all experienced, something that had never occurred to her when she had found their kisses utterly unexciting. Now she felt in danger but her inner urges were to step more deeply into it.

  She was trembling and silent when he lifted his head to look down at her flushed face. There was a burning response inside her that

  shocked her into silence. She was leaning softly against him, subdued and willing.

  'You learn quickly,' he murmured. 'You tremble in my arms, melt to me. Perhaps this is your talent?'

  Lucy began to come back to life, stunned at her own lack of resistance, but he went on before she could do anything, his hand coming to stroke her hair from her hot face.

  'You look better with colour. Your skin is soft, your hair smells of shampoo and you smell of sweet soap, like a baby. With a little perfume, a trip to the hairdresser's and a few hours at the beauty salon, you would look almost human.'

  The cruelly contemptuous words snapped her out of the hazy cloud she had been floating on and she came to earth with a bang, her trembling more pronounced, her eyes threatening to fill with tears.

  'You think I have some redeeming features, then, monsieur?' she managed through trembling lips. 'Unfortunately, I can't say the same for you. You're cruel, rude and insensitive. If this is the result of being an aristocrat then I'm quite content to be a mouse!'

  She pushed free of him and marched off towards the door, her eyes so filled with tears of humiliation that she tripped in the shadows cast by the dim lights and fell headlong, banging her knee painfully.

  He was beside her instantly, helping her to her feet and then glaring down at her knee, which was cut and already beginning to bleed.

  'Dieu!' he muttered through clenched teeth. 'You are the most guileless, feather-headed creature I have ever had the misfortune to meet. How that woman expects you to assist her here is quite beyond me. Looking at you is like looking into a piece of clear glass. Everything is visible.'

  'I don't wish to be clever and subtle,' Lucy assured him with a catch in her voice. 'It might mean I had to be like you. I'll just go on being stupid.'

  'As you have no alternative, that is a good decision,' he snapped, swinging her into his arms and walking out into the sunlight.

  'You can put me down,' she ordered tearfully, but he didn't even look at her, he simply continued towards the chateau, his dark face tight and annoyed.

  'Please put me down,' she begged more quietly. 'People will see me coming.'

  'And no doubt they will hide,' he muttered sarcastically. 'In future I will do the same thing. As to people, I employ all of them. They think what I tell them to think and if they do not then they have sufficient intelligence to keep quiet. My stepmother already knows that I am a law unto myself. As to your aunt, at this moment I hope for her sake that we do not encounter her.'

  They didn't, and Lucy found herself carried right up to her own room, very thankful that in this huge place they had met nobody at all. She sat still on the chair by the bed when he ordered her to do just that and he came in after a minute with a bowl of water and a cloth, bathing her knee even though she protested.

  'You will keep still and be silent,' he rasped. 'I brought this abo
ut. I will correct it.'

  'I fell over in the dim light,' she began but he looked up at her furiously as he knelt and began to bandage her leg.

  'You fell over in a panic because I kissed you,' he corrected.

  'That—that's ridiculous,' she stammered. 'I—I've been kissed before.'

  'Like that?' His eyes flashed to her pale face. 'I doubt it! And I would not attempt lies were I you,' he muttered harshly as she opened her mouth. 'As I have told you, you have no subtlety.' He stood and surveyed his handiwork and then glanced at her sardonically. 'You may, however, say in the future with truth that you have been kissed.'

  Lucy dared not look higher than her knee.

  'You've done the bandaging very well,' she said in little more than a whisper and his angry eyes came back to her knee and the white bandage.

  'Like you, I am not afraid of horses,' he bit out. 'I have done my fair share of seeing to their needs. Fillies also have long slender legs.

  The principle is the same.'

  He walked out before she could start blushing and her door was closed with a certain amount of violence. Guy Chabrol was beginning to show just what lay beneath that cold exterior. He was dangerous. Even so, Lucy still felt how warm his arms had been, how persuasive his lips. She had been quite willing to stay there and be kissed after all. Her face flooded with colour when she realised that. Maybe she was as clear as glass? Maybe she was as stupid as he thought too? And why was he so angry with her aunt when he had invited her here himself? She stayed in her room and nobody missed her at all. It was like being on a rather weird holiday.

  * * *

  She tried to avoid him each day after that, playing a quiet role when she was forced to meet him at dinner or other meals, ducking her head to avoid the intent gaze he turned on her and speaking only

  when necessary. She was well aware that his stepmother considered her to be dull and entirely lacking in any sort of social grace but it mattered not at all. Each day was spent in avoiding the count as best she could.

  It was only by silence she could manage it, because he seemed to spend a great deal of time wandering about and popping into the old library when he was least expected. The fact seemed to agitate her aunt too and she found plenty of work for Lucy, note-taking and searching for specific books.

  The job was boring because almost everything her aunt dictated seemed to be sparse and uninteresting, not at all notes for some work that she hoped to sell. Nevertheless it did mean that Lucy was able to keep her head down and her face turned away when Guy Chabrol sauntered into the room. She began to breathe more easily when he was about—and that was a mistake.

  'Get that green book for me, Lucinda,' her aunt ordered one afternoon. 'It's the small leather-bound one at the end of the top row there.'

  She pointed to the higher books, those that needed a ladder to be reached, and Lucy located it, moving the ladder and climbing up to get it as her aunt watched.

  'This one?' She leaned across and Wanda's voice came very quickly.

  'Yes. It's the only green one on that row. Be careful. It's probably priceless. Don't drop it whatever you do.' She gave a sort of small gasp and then her tone changed like magic. 'Oh, good afternoon,

  monsieur,' she murmured, and, even if she hadn't, Lucy would have known that Guy Chabrol was in the room, again unexpectedly.

  He was able to unsettle her by doing very little and the mere fact of his being suddenly there made her feel shaken. Her desire to get

  down the ladder became urgent. She was wearing another short skirt and as usual it made her very conscious of her appearance, especially as she was stuck up at the top of the ladder.

  She made a grab for the book and missed, the rather violent action making the ladder sway and a small sound of alarm left her lips when it came away from the shelves. It seemed to be about to slide sideways and Lucy hung on to the shelves, knowing that she was about to be left dangling there in a very ungainly position.

  The ladder was steadied and held firmly in place and she looked down rather fearfully to see the count gazing up at her in ironic surprise.

  'Pardon my intervention, mademoiselle,' he murmured sardonically.

  'I thought you were about to fall. Clearly, though, you are well able to look after yourself and not accustomed to requiring aid.'

  His dark eyes were amused and Lucy made a very hasty descent of the ladder. She felt flushed and dusty and it did nothing to make her feel better when he grasped her arm and turned to her aunt.

  'I would like to borrow your helper for a few moments, madame,' he said coolly. 'If you have no objection I will take her with me now.'

  'Of course, monsieur!'

  It was clear that her aunt wanted him out of the library with all speed but her eyes were very suspicious as she looked at Lucy.

  Suspicion was on Lucy's mind too but hers was more of a certainty.

  He was himself at 'a loose end' and wanted to do a little goading.

  She turned on him as the door shut behind them.

  'If you wanted to speak to me about being stupid, then don't bother,'

  she snapped. 'I know all about it. If you hadn't been there I would have fallen again. Thank you for saving me. Goodbye!'

  She made to walk off but his hand closed around her arm tightly and he turned her in the other direction.

  'I am not about to tease you, mademoiselle. I wish to hold a very civilised conversation with you. I enjoy taking care of you and I do not mind at all that I am constantly catching you as you fall, or picking you up after the event. You have thanked me very nicely and -'

  'I'm not thanking you in any other way,' Lucy announced, suspicion back on her face.

  'After last time, I wouldn't dream of it,' he assured her drily. 'The aftermath was very painful for you and very irritating for me. I see that your leg is nicely healed,' he added, glancing down at her. 'Does it hurt now?'

  She didn't deign to answer that. 'What do you want to talk about?'

  She set her feet firmly and stopped right where she was.

  'I am about to have coffee. I have ordered tea for you. I intend to be very courteous. There is nothing to be uneasy about. Come.'

  She had very little alternative unless she wanted to make a scene, and she found herself being urged forward to a room further along the great corridor that led to the outside. She was surprised to find that it was small and reasonably cosy and looked around suspiciously. Like the rest of the chateau it looked as if it belonged to a museum, not at all the sort of place to live in. The furnishings were very old and obviously irreplaceable, just like the books in the library. Had this place belonged to her she would have locked it up and posted guards; she would definitely not have chosen to live here.

  The whole place overwhelmed her. The count overwhelmed her too and she looked at him warily as a grim- faced Madame Gatien came

  in with tea and coffee. She was doing the work of a servant and Lucy had no doubts of her opinions in this direction. Her grim face warned Lucy that the blame was to be placed squarely on her shoulders.

  'It is time that you and I had a quiet conversation,' Guy Chabrol said firmly as the housekeeper left the room and closed the door. 'I think that here you will be reasonably safe, providing that you remain seated. There are no steps to climb.'

  'What do you want to talk about?' Lucy eyed him carefully, taking a sip from her tea. She was too filled with suspicion by this turn of events to make any comment about his sarcastic observations.

  'I wish to know what your future plans are.' He looked at her determinedly. 'I assume, mademoiselle, that your position of

  "helper" is a very temporary post? What will you do when you arrive back in England?'

  'I'll probably go on helping my aunt,' Lucy stated, gathering her courage and looking him in the eye. 'I've told you already that I haven't any training or qualifications. If she doesn't want any more help then I'll— think about it. There are other jobs.'

  'Why have you no qualificatio
ns?' he persisted. 'Your parents were trained, surely, and you are intelligent. You were lazy at school?'

  'I didn't go to school at all until I was fourteen!' Lucy snapped, exasperation flooding through her. 'My father was originally a teacher and I was kept at home to study there. They didn't want me to—to mix with other children. They had very set ideas.'

  His eyebrows rose sharply as he watched her rebellious face. 'They were not in trouble with the authorities for this unusual conduct?' he enquired wryly.

  'All the time,' Lucy muttered, looking away from the dark intensity of his eyes. 'My father maintained he had the right to teach me at home though and he managed to make the battle last a very long time. It was a tricky point of law.'

  'I would imagine it was trickier still for you. How did you manage to fit in studies between your duties as helper?'

  'Quite easily,' Lucy informed him crossly. She was tired of his attitude. He just sat there and questioned her, his eyes coldly on her face as if she were a freak. 'The house was always full of people.

  Artists, poets, writers. I picked up a lot of information.'

  'And yet you are neither an artist, a poet nor a writer?'

  'I haven't any talent! I finally took a dull job and did it in a dull way!' Lucy snapped sarcastically.

  'They reared you to be an oddity,' he stated firmly, looking very pleased with his conclusions, and Lucy glared at him, putting her cup down and preparing to walk out of this 'civilised conversation'.

  'More of an oddity than you imagine, monsieur! I liked the flowers, the birds, the animals. I like to be free. Until I was thirteen I wore no shoes at all. I don't remember possessing any. I never wanted any.'

  'Which may explain why now you frequently fall over your own feet,' he cut in smartly.

  'If you've quite finished, monsieur?'

  'I have not.' He signalled her back to her seat when she jumped up angrily. 'I now know more about you. I understand why you are very different from other people. 'You are strange—old-fashioned, n'est-ce pas! It does not trouble me at all. It has its own charm. I have a job for you, mademoiselle. When your aunt leaves I would be very