'Of course, monsieur,' Wanda said uneasily. 'Which one? I'm not using many. It's most unlikely that -'
'The green one,' he said pleasantly. 'The leather-bound green book that your niece was reaching for yesterday. I cannot now see it either on the shelves or on the desk you use. Perhaps you have been reading it in your room?'
'Well, no. I—I...' Wanda looked round the room for inspiration but none came and she faced the count's dark eyes with a very flushed face.
'Then where is it, madame? ' he asked quietly. 'I know it was here yesterday. It is, as you probably know, the most valuable book in this room. It is priceless. Neither of you will be allowed to leave here until the book is found.'
'How—how dare you, monsieur?' Wanda demanded angrily, as Lucy looked at him in horror. 'Are you suggesting that Lucinda or I...? What about the servants?'
'I am merely searching for a book, madame, and pointing out its value. As to the servants, none are allowed in here except Madame Gatien. She has been with my family for years and is above reproach. The chateau and its contents are in my keeping. It is my
duty to guard them. I therefore require the book. At once, s'il vous plait!'
'If you wish to search my room, monsieur. ..' Wanda said angrily.
'Regrettably, I do, madame, unless you can tell me where you put the book. It is distasteful but necessary.'
'I shall leave here at once!'
'When the book is discovered.' It sounded utterly menacing and Lucy was too shocked to be embarrassed. The room was filled with books and he only had to search, so why was he making this scene?
Her aunt looked very upset and Lucy was unable to help at all; everything seemed to have gone out of control with frightening speed.
The book was not in Wanda's room, although she turned it upside-down in front of the cold dark eyes of her host. The eyes were then turned on Lucy.
'Your room if you please, mademoiselle, ' he requested quietly, and Lucy went tight-lipped to her own room, the count and Wanda following. Dread was in her mind as if she had walked into some diabolical trap, and she remembered her fear as she had seen this daunting chateau, as she had seen this daunting man. Had it been a premonition of all this?
It didn't take much of a search. It was in the bottom of Lucy's case, wrapped carefully and placed in a thick envelope and Lucy just stared at it without a word. She was so stunned that she could think of nothing at all to say.
'Lucinda! How could you?' Wanda's voice was filled with distress. 'I know you've got no money but how could you shame me after all I've done for you?'
Lucy turned dazed eyes on her aunt, her mind unable to struggle out of this nightmare. 'Aunt Wanda, I didn't -' she began, but the count took control at once, his cold gaze on Wanda.
'Mademoiselle Balfour does not speak French,' he pointed out harshly. 'She could not have known the value of this book or what it would fetch with a private collector. Innocence does not sit easily on your face, madame. Your niece is merely the method of getting the book out of France should you be suspected. Unfortunately, it means that you are both thieves and the police will have to be called. I would like you to remain in your room until I send for you.
Do not attempt to leave the chateau. You would not get very far and it would merely add to the unpleasantness.'
He turned to Lucy. 'I will speak to you downstairs, mademoiselle.
Come with me.'
Lucy looked at her aunt and needed no further proof. There was nothing but annoyance now on her face; no remorse, no embarrassment. It was all true. She followed him down the long passages and down the stairs, all rebellion crushed. The only thing in her mind was that her own aunt had done this, had not only taken the book but had arranged for Lucy to shoulder the blame if she should be caught.
Now she understood why, after years of indifference, her aunt had found her company necessary, but still the reality of theft would not sink in. The world seemed to have crashed in on her with brutal force since she had been here.
The idea of police filled her with dread. They would say that she was an accomplice. Guy Chabrol had already said as much and he clearly believed it. Her only chance was to plead with him and she knew how far that would get her. He was cold and dominant, icily cold now as he walked beside her across the darkened hall.
'Sit down,' he ordered as she went with him to the small room he had used the previous day, but she could hardly move from the doorway. He closed the door and indicated the chair she had sat in before.
'I'll stand, thank you,' she whispered but he came and took her firmly by the arm, leading her to the chair.
'You will sit,' he grated and she didn't seem to have much choice.
'I didn't take that book,' Lucy said, looking up at him white-faced. 'I saw it for the first time yesterday when I nearly fell from the ladder.
I've not seen it since until -'
'Your aunt took the book,' he assured her grimly. 'It is not the first time that she has stolen books. The last two stolen were, however, from people I know, and she was out of France before their loss was discovered. It was then too late and pointless to accuse her. No doubt she has done it many times before but the owners have kept quiet or not yet discovered their loss.'
'So—so why did you let her come here?' She was bewildered, unable to look away from the cold eyes that watched her relentlessly.
'I intended to catch her. The last time she stole a book of value it was taken from a very old man, a man I have known all my life. For him, living in a chateau does not denote wealth. If his books were to have been sold he could well have used the money himself, but instead he held on to them, the history of his family, treasures handed to him for safekeeping as mine were handed to me. He has never fully recovered from the loss, from the shock of knowing that a woman who was granted the privilege of seeing and using such treasures should then rob him. I assumed that I would be on her list.
I made myself readily available.'
She could understand now how he had walked into her aunt's blundering trap. His trap had had a great deal more finesse, and she was in it herself.
'You—you might not have caught her,' Lucy ventured in a low voice, seeing again the ruthless power on his face.
'There is an inventory. Had I missed her sleight of hand you would not have been given transport from here until I had checked that inventory. In any case, I had a very good idea of the book she would select. It was the most valuable, the one most likely to interest a collector. It would have disappeared for all time, for some greedy person to gloat over in secret. It was given to one of my ancestors by the king himself and it is of great interest to more than my family.
Students have the use of this library from time to time. It is visited by students from all over the world.'
'Then my aunt must have known that...'
'She knew,' he assured her grimly. 'Her books may be scantily researched but her victims are researched thoroughly. But she did not know quite everything.' He looked at her steadily, his dark eyes like stone. 'There is indeed talent in your family, Mademoiselle Balfour. Your mother was an artist, your father a poet and your aunt is a thief.'
'But I'm not!' Lucy pleaded urgently.
'Indeed? How will you prove it to the police, mademoiselle? It is obvious from her reaction that she will not exonerate you. The best you can hope for is that she will take the major blame and that you will be classed as merely an accomplice. You will probably get a lesser sentence.'
Lucy's face went whiter than ever. In her mind, cell doors were already closing on her and the count looked implacable.
'You know I didn't take it,' she whispered, her eyes blue and enormous.
'Yes, I know,' he agreed calmly. 'I have already said that you are as clear as glass, utterly without subtlety. When I saw you in Paris I must admit I imagined you to be an accomplice but after only a few words with you I decided that you could not possibly be dishonest.
Innocence is clearly on your face as guilt is o
n your aunt's face.'
'Then you can tell the police that...'
'I am merely telling you, mademoiselle,' he pointed out. 'I am setting your mind at rest. This conversation will go no further. The police will draw their own conclusions and there is little doubt as to what those conclusions will be. Even I may be wrong; perhaps you are cleverer than you look?'
'How can you do this?' Lucy gasped, staring at his implacable face in horror.
'I need an heir and I have no desire to be married permanently. I do not trust women at all. I have chosen you to be my wife for a little while, the mother of my child. I did inform you that the way there may well be painful as you refused to agree. You now have two choices. Marry me or go to prison with your aunt. The book is more valuable than you imagine. The sentence may well be lengthy.'
'You're a maniac,' she whispered, looking up at him with shocked eyes, a wave of faintness washing over her.
'But a very determined one,' he assured her. 'The choice is yours,
mademoiselle, and you have about two minutes to make that choice.
I cannot delay my call to the police for much longer.'
'My aunt will tell them that -'
'If you agree, it is my intention to set your aunt free and send her on her way,' he murmured in what he appeared to think was a reasonable tone. 'You will remain here with me and she will be under no illusions as to what will happen to her should she ever return to France. In any case, it would be pointless. I will circulate her name. You have the ability to allow her to go free and escape a term in prison, you also have the ability to escape from the shame yourself. The decision is yours alone.'
'I haven't done anything at all,' Lucy whispered. 'It's not fair.'
'C'est la vie, mademoiselle,' he murmured sardonically. 'There are winners and there are losers. You have lost.'
'I—I couldn't bear to be in prison,' Lucy pleaded. 'I can't bear to be trapped indoors, even.'
'Marry me, Lucinda, and you will have a lifetime of freedom. At the very most you will be needed for eighteen months. After that you will be rich, titled and free, with the total freedom that comes from wealth without responsibility, and you will have earned it.'
'I don't have a choice, do I?' she asked weakly, but he smiled, his brows raised ironically.
'Most certainly you do, Lucinda. The choice is simple. My wife for a little time or prison for a long time. Make your choice now!'
'All right,' she whispered, her eyes downcast, her mind still trying to refuse to believe it.
'Louder, mademoiselle. I wish you to make no mistake about this.
You will be unable to take back any promise, because I will not hesitate to have your aunt brought back to France and to accuse you both. Therefore say it louder so that you will remember.'
'All right!' Lucy shouted, standing up with clenched hands to face this tormentor. It was the final thing to make her shock resurface and the world swayed dizzily as she collapsed back into the chair, her eyes closed and her face as white as chalk.
When she came round a second later he was kneeling by her, a glass of brandy in his hand, some even now being trickled between her pallid lips, and she looked at him accusingly.
'I'll always hate you,' she said in a low, trembling voice.
'Hate, Lucinda?' he queried wryly. 'You are not made for hatred. If you had been then it would have been directed at life long ago and you would not have sublimated your life for others. You would not even know how to begin to hate.'
He stroked back the soft hair from her forehead, his hand lingering on her skin.
'I am not a savage. While you are with me you may have anything you want. Perhaps when you go we will even remain friends, eh?'
She couldn't stop the shudder that ran over her skin. If she had to choose a friend it would never be anyone who forced her into marriage with prison as the alternative. It would not in any case be someone like Guy Chabrol. Power radiated from him, power and ruthlessness. He was outside her understanding.
He came to escort Lucy down to dinner and it was as well that he did. She was so filled with shock and the feeling of unreality that she would never have managed alone. So far she had not one idea about how to get herself out of this but she knew that she must.
There had been a terrible scene with her aunt, and only Guy's fury
and cold threats had stopped her vicious tongue as she had turned on Lucy.
Now he was cold and calm, waiting for her.
'Nobody at all knows of this except you and I,' he informed her as he waited at her door and watched her reluctance to move from her room, observed her pale face and her uneasiness. 'There is no need whatever for anyone, not even Veronique, to be enlightened. The matter is closed and you are simply about to become my wife.'
Lucy was grateful, astonishingly so when she thought of the price she would have to pay for this consideration. It was Guy Chabrol who had got her into it, after all. Not entirely, she mused. Aunt Wanda had set her up with no mercy whatever and she knew that if she had gone to England as her aunt had suggested there would have been no mercy there either. She would have been offered a trip to France each time her aunt wished to steal another book.
He simply announced his plans with no preamble. When they were seated at the table, Veronique looking surprised but relieved that Wanda was not there, Guy made his announcement.
'Madame Balfour has left the chateau,' he stated calmly. 'She had a pressing need to return to England and will not be coming back to France.'
'I hope it's not a serious matter, mademoiselle?' Veronique said politely, looking intrigued that Lucy was still there but too courteous to ask why.
'It could have become serious had she remained,' Guy murmured blandly. 'Trouble has been averted, though. Lucinda is to remain, however. She has consented to be my wife.'
It was a bombshell of some proportion, its effect stunning.
Veronique Chabrol simply stared, apparently speechless, and there was a great rattle of silver as the butler juggled with a tray that seemed to have been about to fall from his nerveless fingers.
'It—it is so sudden,' Veronique muttered with difficulty. 'I had no idea that...'
'Things like this are very often sudden,' Guy murmured smoothly, glancing at Lucy with a smile that must have cost him a lot. It was almost loving. 'When the time came, I could not bear to let her go.
Had she gone, I would merely have followed her and what is the sense in that? We know our own minds already. I have seen more of Lucinda than anyone realises. We plan to marry very speedily.'
During the rest of the meal Lucy was very conscious of Veronique's eyes on her. She was being summed up for her new position and definitely being found wanting. It made her more nervous and gauche than ever. It was only with Guy Chabrol that she seemed to realise her own character. The very man who had scared her from the first sight of him and who had now trapped her was the only one who appeared to be able to bring her out of her shell.
Mostly it was anger that did it but she had never felt anger like that with anyone before. He also made her feel very safe sometimes and she cast a sidelong glance at him as he sat dark and powerful at the head of the table. She didn't know him at all. How could she go through with it? Her mind refused to contemplate the details. She must get away.
Later, Lucy found herself alone with the count once more as he invited her to take coffee with him and she blurted out her fears without much thought.
'I'm not suitable for this job! I'm not going to fit in with your lifestyle for even a day. Your stepmother already knows it. Even the servants glare at me and -'
'They are not glaring at you,' he informed her in amusement, 'they are simply glaring. They do not like being here. It is as alien to them as it is to you. My family have not lived here for generations. This place is never used. There is a caretaker, several in fact, and they are now taking a short break. The butler was called out of retirement to impress your aunt. Tomorrow he will return with consider
able joy to his own house, the staff will be back on duty and we will return to my house closer to Paris. Nobody lives here, Lucinda. It is normally only opened when students wish to use the library. They make their appointments through their colleges and -'
'Then, why...?'
'A honeyed trap to catch a thief,' he explained drily. 'That it also caught you is very satisfying but originally it was merely intended to catch your aunt. In the normal course of events you would have found the chateau apparently deserted. In any case, it is well out of the way and not in the guidebooks. I did not plan this on the spur of the moment. The wrath of the servants is quite understandable. They think, like you, that I have taken leave of my senses. Tomorrow you will see a great improvement in their general attitude. I have ordered that the place be closed again and the following week it will be back as it was originally, the caretaking staff here, no sign that anyone has lived here for centuries. Your aunt was well aware of the value of my library but she did not know that we rarely even visit this dismal place.'
'You were prepared to go to all this trouble to get my aunt?' Lucy looked at him with some awe.
'I am prepared to take trouble with any scheme I have.'
He looked at her evenly and her face flooded with colour. She felt almost sick with apprehension.
'I can't... How will I be able to...? Babies don't just appear!' she stammered, her face even more red when he smiled mockingly.
'Let us leave that matter in abeyance for now. There are several hurdles to cross before then, not least a marriage for which you will have to be prepared. We will get to know each other. I have already told you that I am not a barbarian.'
Oh, but he was! It was cold-blooded, terrifying. She wanted to set off running and never stop until she was safe. He had said that he would fetch them back, though, and such was her awe of his power that she believed he would be able to do that. She would never get out of France.
'I'm trapped,' she whispered and the dark eyes narrowed on her distressed face.
The Gift of Loving Page 7