The Gift of Loving

by Wilson, Patricia

  'Je ne suis pas un sorcier!'

  Guy's impatient growl had Lucy's cheeks flooding with colour. She could follow that all right. He wasn't a wizard and obviously he thought it would take a deal of magic to turn her into anything acceptable.

  'Guy!' Veronique sounded shocked. 'If you love this girl then surely you don't want her to be embarrassed when she sees the sort of people you mix with? You must do something to help her!'

  'What, exactly?' Lucy heard him push his chair back and begin to pace about. 'She will not in any case be mixing with people a great deal.'

  'You intend to simply keep her to yourself and not allow anyone else to see her? There is the wedding. There will have to be dinners to introduce her. Unless you intend to sneak away and -'

  'I am not given to sneaking!' Guy was annoyed but Lucy begged to differ. He had, after all, sneaked up on her. ' You had better do something about her appearance,' he muttered crossly. 'I agree that at the moment she looks very much like a farm servant.'

  'Guy! Really! I begin to feel sorry for the child. I can well understand why you have not yet married! I certainly will take her in hand. As a lover you closely resemble a dissatisfied commanding officer!'

  'Did I say that I was dissatisfied?' he queried drily. 'Lucinda is exactly the wife I want. She will do very well.'

  'You sound as if you have sent for her out of the paper—as if she has been purchased! If this is modern love then I am content to be middle-aged!'

  Veronique stormed out and went so far as to slam the door, and Lucy felt like storming in. So this was what he thought in that arrogant mind? She was like a farm servant, but she would do nicely for the Comte de Chauvrais for a little while. She wondered what Veronique would say if she knew the whole story.

  She didn't storm in though. She went to her room and had a good look at herself, her conclusions no different than they had been before. She looked like a mouse, a cross one at the moment, with resentful, deep blue eyes. No amount of effort from Veronique was going to change that.

  She was rather grim-faced at dinner and Guy noticed.

  'You are feeling unwell, ma chere?' He looked across at her solicitously for the benefit of Veronique and Lucy had a great desire to snap at him. Instead she kept her head lowered.

  'I'm perfectly fine, thank you,' she murmured, well aware that Veronique's eyes were on her intently. 'Everything is rather new and strange, though. I'll have to try to get used to it.'

  'You will, Lucinda,' Veronique said with angry determination.

  'Tomorrow we will go into Paris and— er—fit you out.'

  Like a battleship? Lucy cast a small malevolent glance at Guy from beneath her lashes but he was watching closely too and his dark brows rose in surprise that she had the temerity. He took her to task when they were alone after dinner.

  'If you continue to throw such looks in my direction then nobody will long be in doubt as to the true state of affairs!' he remonstrated sharply, and Lucy turned on him at once.

  'Looks are not what I would like to throw in your direction,

  Monsieur le Comte!' she snapped. 'I would like something much more substantial—like an anvil! And don't you "mo chere" me! I'm nothing to you. I just work for you and I'm to be paid when it's all over!'

  'Mon Dieu, you are a shrew with sharp teeth!' he grated, grasping her arms and pulling her forward. 'If I do not utter some endearment then Veronique will become suspicious!'

  He glared down at her and Lucy glared back. 'Isn't she suspicious already? Doesn't she think it odd that you're about to marry someone who looks like a farm servant?'

  His face went perfectly still and Lucy blushed brightly at giving away the fact that she had been eavesdropping.

  'So! You have been climbing walls again?' he queried softly, his dark eyes narrowed on her flushed face. 'You have been hanging from windowsills and flicking up your little pointed ears?'

  'They're not pointed!' Lucy raged, embarrassment gone.

  He brought her hard against his chest, his eyes staring into hers. 'I will investigate,' he murmured sarcastically, and, before she could move, his teeth had captured her ear, nipping sharply, making her freeze to the spot in case he closed those perfect white teeth on her tender skin.

  'Afraid, little mouse?' he murmured, laughter now at the back of his voice. 'Would I injure the one who is to be the new Comtesse de Chauvrais? Relax. It is, after all, love-play.'

  His tongue inspected the delicate whorl of her ear and she shuddered, unable to escape when he drew her forward.

  'I have told you to relax,' he reminded her softly. 'I am accustomed to being obeyed. I will have to train you.'

  He lifted her face, cupping her head in two hands, and kissed her, and Lucy stopped struggling as heat spread from her chest and seemed to reach every part of her body at once. Guy made a peculiar low sound in his throat and drew her fully into his arms as he deepened the kiss, searching her mouth with something like hunger.

  She forgot everything—forgot why she was there and who she was and when he lifted his head she just stared up at him in a daze.

  He didn't look the same. His mocking humour had quite gone and he stared back at her, a frown on his dark face.

  'Tomorrow I will accompany you on this shopping trip,' he said abruptly, letting her go and turning away. 'I could do with some light entertainment.'

  'Why are you so cruel?' Lucy whispered shakily.

  He had entranced her unexpectedly, reducing her to a trembling being in his arms, and now he was back to being sardonic, quite sure that an afternoon with her, watching Veronique attempt to transform her, would be light entertainment.

  'I am not cruel,' he muttered harshly, his back to her as he stared out of the window. 'I merely have a greatly developed sense of self-preservation.'

  Lucy turned and walked out of the room without answering. It seemed to her the only dignified thing to Jo. She wished she had a greatly developed sense of self- preservation but clearly she hadn't.

  Guy could get to her without even trying. In any case, she didn't understand him. Her mind told her that she didn't want to anyway put inside she was still quivering, a feeling beginning to surface that frightened her more than anything she had ever known. She suddenly felt a bitter sense of loss and she hugged her arms around herself. If she began to think with anything but dislike about Guy Chabrol she would be lost forever.

  In her room she too stared out of the window. To say that she was out of her depth was an understatement of considerable proportions.

  She had lived a strange but very simple life and the chateau itself told her that her life here, even though it was for a very short time, would be beyond her imagining. There was the bargain too. She faced it squarely for the first time.

  She had never even been kissed so possessively as Guy kissed her.

  How could she contemplate any real physical intimacy without love? She would play along with this temporarily until she could escape. Her mind refused to see any further into the future. As to having a child and then willingly leaving it! Real horror enveloped her. She couldn't think about that.

  For the moment there was no way out of this, but it would come.

  For now it was too soon. He could still call the police and, apart from her own horror of it, she had a foolish lingering desire to see her aunt escape. He was determined and he could be very cruel—he

  was very cruel otherwise he would not have trapped her here. He knew she had no part in her aunt's crimes. He didn't know what was in her head, though. He just thought he could take her life into his hard hands and mould it to his will.

  She got ready for bed in a sort of daze, shivering when she heard Guy come upstairs and walk along to his room. For a second he stopped outside her door as if he was thinking of coming in. She was glad the light was out until she suddenly remembered that he had not looked too pleased after he had kissed her this evening.

  Maybe he had changed his mind? Maybe he was thinking of coming in and telling
her she could go?

  She reached her hand out to switch on the light but he was already walking away and she sank back to the pillows, her face flushed when she realised that she didn't really want him to send her away.

  She would never forget him. Perhaps she was lost already? It was not a good thought to take with her into dreams, and in any case her dreams recently had been of Guy's dark, impatient face. She was dreading tomorrow. He was sure to goad with his usual lack of mercy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MORNING found Lucy driving to Paris with two slightly hostile companions. Guy was grim and silent and Veronique simply stared out of the window until the city was in sight. Evidently she had not forgiven Guy for his comments to her when she was in his study and also Guy had clearly been dwelling on the subject of Lucy's suitability.

  'I will drop you off and join you later for lunch,' he remarked over his shoulder as they entered the city. 'A visit to a beauty salon does not fill me with wild anticipation.'

  'As you wish,' Veronique agreed stiffly. 'Perhaps after lunch you will care to take over yourself? After all, I presume you know what you like to see?'

  'I might just do that,' Guy countered, with a slanting look at Lucy that promised mischief. She hadn't the faintest idea what they were talking about and felt she would rather not know. The goading look was back in his eyes.

  She soon forgot about him as Veronique led her to a glittering beauty salon and issued swift orders with no smile at all. Whether she was ashamed to have to take responsibility for this un-chic English girl, or whether she was still annoyed with Guy, Lucy did not know. She didn't much care, either, after a few minutes because she began to receive the cosseting of a lifetime.

  Never before had she done more than wash and brush her hair. Her face had joined the rest of her body in the shower and that had been that. Now she was walked around, fussed over, discussed and worked on by experts.

  'A little styling, I think, madame.' A very impressive young man walked around Lucy and then addressed himself to the matter of her

  hair. 'The face is unusual, the large eyes, the high cheekbones. She has the gamine look, yes?'

  Veronique nodded impatiently and it was all out of Lucy's hands.

  He wielded his scissors with a great deal of flourish and her hair seemed to spring into startled life, pretty much how she felt when Guy touched her. It was curved around her face, widening her cheekbones, enlarging her eyes even more. She watched in astonishment and the young man smirked to himself. He was in no doubt about his skill and her expression bolstered up an already soaring ego.

  She was then handed over to the beautician who worked on her face for what seemed like hours. Lucy found herself falling asleep in the comfortable chair, disappointed when she was told to get up.

  She gulped as a mirror was held in front of her. The mouse had gone. Except for the clothes, the mouse might never have been there at all. Wide-eyed, clear-skinned, subtly made-up, she hardly recognised herself and she saw a certain amount of grim satisfaction on Veronique's face. It seemed to be some sort of contest between Guy and his stepmother and Veronique was in no doubt that she had won.

  When they met Guy for lunch he said nothing at all. He glanced at her very comprehensively but then got on with ordering. Lucy was almost tearfully disappointed. She wanted him to notice how changed she was. She wanted him to be stunned. He wasn't. He simply looked bored. He managed to surprise her though.

  'I will take Lucinda with me now,' he stated as lunch finished. 'As you said, I know what I like. I will see to it that she is well on the way to being fitted out before we go home.'

  There it was again, the battleship syndrome! Lucy shot a snapping look at him and once again the dark eyebrows rose in astonished enquiry.

  'You do not wish to have beautiful clothes?' he asked icily, as they left Veronique and walked back to the busy streets.

  'I don't like to be spoken of as if I were a boat that needed a lick of paint!' Lucy snapped.

  She had his whole-hearted, amused attention at once.

  'The lick of paint has already been applied, most skilfully,' he murmured, glancing over her flushed face. 'They are good, eh?'

  'They must be if they've done anything for me.'

  She turned her face away but he stopped and tilted it to his, ignoring intrigued passers-by.

  'They have brought out the gamine look but it was already there. Do not underestimate yourself, Lucinda. You are beautiful—in your own way.'

  He said it quietly, with a certain amount of mockery, but Lucy suddenly felt foolishly happy. She tried to glance at herself surreptitiously in the shop windows as they passed but she didn't really need to. If Guy said she had a sort of beauty then she must have.

  She wanted to cling to his hand but he didn't offer it. Instead he took her arm firmly. He knew where he was going and he had already said that he knew what he wanted, but then he always did. She wondered what she would look like after this little expedition.

  It was no 'little' expedition. Guy took her to a very expensive salon and immediately models were drifting across Lucy's vision, showing fabulous clothes that she had never even imagined existed. Guy nodded or shook his head as a rather anxious-looking lady watched over this display. Alone, she would have intimidated Lucy, or anyone else for that matter, but Guy Chabrol had a monopoly on intimidation and his frequent dismissal of gowns, dresses and suits brought an atmosphere of anxiety to the whole place.

  He nodded plenty of times though and Lucy dared not say anything at all. She wondered which of the selected ones he wanted her to have; they seemed to be piling up sky-high.

  'I think that's enough to be going on with,' he finally announced, to the obvious relief of everyone. 'Now it is your turn to be a model,

  ma chere.'

  She didn't remonstrate with him this time about calling her that and his smirk of amusement at her nervous glance passed right over her head.

  'You—you want me to walk about and...?'

  'Mais naturellement! I know how the garments look on these models but I am not about to buy them anything at all. I wish to know how they look on you.'

  The manageress seemed to be praying silently that Lucy would behave herself and she was too overwhelmed to do anything else.

  She went to change and Guy settled back on the gilt chair to enjoy himself. This was his light entertainment, then? If her legs hadn't been trembling so much Lucy would have been very annoyed. As it was, she was simply embarrassed.

  It soon passed, though. After the first appearance when she stood stiffly in front of Guy, turning like a wooden doll as he twirled his

  hand, her annoyance rose to the surface and helped enormously. She began to drift about as the models had done and Guy's narrowed, amused eyes told her that he noticed this small display of defiance.

  She soon tired of it. Why couldn't he choose? Why hadn't he pointed and said, 'We'll take that one?'

  'Splendid!' he announced as her defiance began to turn to exhaustion and the last garment was reached. 'Mademoiselle will have everything she has tried. They are all suitable. Please deliver them this evening.'

  'Yes, Monsieur le Comte. At once!'

  'All of them?' Lucy whispered in horror, too taken up with the enormity of the purchases to keep quiet. 'I'll never wear even half of them!'

  'Of course you will. You need even more. There are dinners to attend and we will also be entertaining. As my future wife you will be constantly with me. There is also the matter of a honeymoon. In any case, they will not fit you for long—when the baby is started.'

  'Please don't talk about that!' Lucy begged urgently, her face flushed with embarrassment.

  'I intend to do more than talk about it.'

  'Please!'

  'All in good time,' he murmured sardonically, nodding pleasantly to the greatly relieved manageress as she bowed them out of the salon.

  He glanced down at Lucy as they stepped into the street and he must have had his fill of light
entertainment. He draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close.

  'That is enough,' he said quietly. 'The battle is over, Lucinda. Today you have been transformed into my fiancée and tonight you will wear my ring. It is too late for hysterics.'

  'I'm never hysterical,' Lucy muttered, very glad that he was holding her upright because she felt like sinking to the floor and staying there.

  'No, you are not. You are a mixture of temper and shyness. You are given to strange actions and astonishing statements but you are never hysterical. Deep inside you have courage. It will not be needed. I will take care of you until this is all over. Until then we are in this together.'

  If he wanted to depress her he was certainly going about it efficiently, Lucy thought. She began to think about what it would be like when she never saw him again but her mind shied away from it.

  She didn't want to think about that at all. There were lots of things she didn't want to think about but not seeing Guy again was the biggest dread in spite of this bargain.

  She sighed and he glanced down at her, moving his protective arm and taking her hand.

  'You are, however, given to bursts of drama,' he assured her in amusement. 'Viens, ma chere, face the worst when it presents itself.'

  'It did, the moment I first saw you,' Lucy said untruthfully.

  He simply laughed and walked on but she was very glad that he held her hand warmly. It made her tingle inside and she had to really be firm with herself to stop clinging to him. He was clearly practising being engaged. She wished she were as good at acting.

  He didn't bother to keep it up for long. After dinner he escorted her to his study, a huge room with a gold and white ceiling, and she was instantly nervous.

  'I wish to place the ring on your finger,' he said impatiently when she stayed as far away from him as possible. 'Am I expected to chase you first? It would simplify matters if you could bring yourself to step closer.'