The Gift of Loving

by Wilson, Patricia

  She tried telling herself that this was merely an arranged marriage, but Guy's cool logic didn't help much. She could never have a child and then abandon it. She would end up begging to stay and she knew Guy's ruthless thoughts on that score. He didn't trust women, especially those who were clinging.

  'You are to be taken to choose a wedding gown.' Guy's announcement stopped Lucy in her tracks as she walked in the

  garden. He had come out to join her to make this statement and she looked up at him as calmly as possible. His presence seemed to dominate her, an almost deliberate air of menace about him.

  'I thought I had plenty of nice dresses.'

  She let mutiny well up to cover panic. There was a finality about it.

  The wedding gown, then the wedding, then... Her face was pale and his eyes narrowed in disapproval.

  'You need a wedding gown, not a dress. It will be a society wedding and you will be under considerable scrutiny.' He spoke curtly, staring at her coldly. 'In any case,' he added impatiently, 'the clothes you chose when you were with me are not "dresses", they are also gowns.'

  'I didn't choose them,' Lucy reminded him. 'You chose them. As to dresses or gowns, I don't know any better, do I? They're all frocks to me.'

  'It is how they look on you,' he sneered. 'However, we have done our best. Perhaps other people will be taken in long enough for us to get this thing over with.'

  He took one satisfied look at her distressed face and then left, and those few insulting words made her mind up for her. She was in her room within minutes, her clothes thrown on to the bed, her canvas grip that she had stubbornly refused to be parted from being stuffed with her own things. She would get away if she had to work as a kitchen maid in Paris until she had her fare. She was angry that she hadn't done it before. Guy was mesmerising her. Well, he wouldn't get the chance now! If somebody kidnapped her on the way, well, so much for that! Wasn't she kidnapped now?

  She didn't take one single item that Guy had bought and she left the wardrobe doors wide open to prove it. He wasn't going to be able to

  say she helped her aunt to steal and then also stole clothes. As to the police, if he called them, she would hide out, sneak about like Guy did. She was so angry and insulted that it all seemed possible.

  Nobody knew her except the few people she had met at the dinner party and the servants here, and with this thought clearly in her head she made her way downstairs stealthily, her eyes wide and alert on the closed doors that led off the great magnificent hall.

  There was nobody about. Guy would be in his study, brooding and seething, no doubt, and Veronique had probably taken herself off to bed with a headache after all the strain. The fresh air was a tonic and she skirted the lake at the back, her eyes anxiously on the study window, her breath almost held until she was into the woods at the side of the lake.

  She had explored this area plenty of times since she had been here and she made for the path that led to the long winding drive. Today the florist's van had come to the chateau, the assistant carrying in great flower arrangements for Madame Gatien to put into place. She had seen him from her window but he had never seen her. She glanced at her watch. Soon his van would come back towards the village. She would beg a lift.

  The van almost took her by surprise as she trudged along deep in gloom. He was going fast but she stepped out and waved frantically and to her relief he stopped, his eyes peering at her speculatively. It gave her pause for thought, but if she could deal with Guy she could deal with anybody.

  'Can you give me a lift, monsieur?' She made no attempt to stammer out her non-existent French and he grinned at her cheekily.

  'Oui, mademoiselle. Where do you want me to lift you to?'

  The fact that he spoke English was such a relief that she almost ignored his innuendo and the look in his eyes. She became prim once she was inside the van.

  'I would like a ride to Paris, but if you're not going that far, then anywhere on the way,' she said firmly.

  'You work at the chateau, mademoiselle?' He let in the clutch and she breathed more easily. She was on her way.

  'Not any more. I—er—I've been there for a while but the count is back now and my services aren't needed. I'm going home.'

  'I'm surprised he did not give you transport, mademoiselle. He is a very generous man and well liked. Still, they say he is getting married to a very beautiful English girl. Perhaps he is too involved with her to remember his obligations?'

  'Yes,' Lucy muttered. It was the first time she had been called a very beautiful English girl. It was easy to understand as nobody had seen her.

  'You are English too. What a coincidence.'

  'Yes. I—er—I've been a maid to the countess but I don't speak French and I think she got tired of speaking English. She's getting a French maid.'

  He nodded and lapsed into silence and she was glad of it. She was glad too that his original speculative looks had subsided. She could well do without an amorous Frenchman on this lonely road.

  In the village he stopped, smiling reassuringly at her small gasp of dismay.

  'It is all right, mademoiselle. I am going to Paris and I will take you there. I have just realised that there was to be another delivery and I have no address. I must contact my office. I will be no more than a moment.'

  Lucy subsided thankfully. A lift into Paris. At least she was able to get that far. As Guy had been unwilling to be anywhere near her recently he wouldn't find out about her disappearance before dinner and by then she could be on her way again, perhaps with Paris behind her.

  Maybe he would just be glad to see the back of her? She looked down at her hands folded in her lap and saw how tight they were, how tense. It was no relief to feel that Guy would be glad to see her go. The life seemed to have gone out of her with every mile that distanced her from him and she remembered that, even at this chateau, the day had been spent in waiting for a glimpse of him even though he was usually frowning.

  It was a pretty hopeless muddle and she would just have to put it out of her mind as she had put so many things out of her mind in her life. She knew perfectly well how she felt about Guy but there was no future in it at all.

  She looked up and saw the driver coming towards her. He was just sauntering along. She wished he would get a move on. She wanted to be miles from here before Guy realised she had left. He wasn't just sauntering along; he was dawdling, stopping to speak to people who looked as if they had better things to do, and Lucy watched him impatiently, quite irritated by the time he got himself to the van and started the engine.

  'Did you have another delivery?'

  'No, it was cancelled.'

  Lucy was pleased to hear it; any more hanging about and she was going to be stuck in Paris at night-time, with little chance of a further lift. He set off and went so slowly that she could have shaken him but she resolutely kept quiet, beggars not being choosers, and she even managed to stay calm when he began to sing under his breath, a discordant sound that set her teeth on edge.

  They were a few miles along the road to Paris when a large black Mercedes shot past and drew in in front of them with all lights flashing and Lucy sank low in her seat as Guy got out and slammed the door, stalking threateningly back towards the van. The driver didn't wait for him to arrive. He got out, his deceitful face covered with smiles.

  'I have her safely, Monsieur le Comte,' he announced smugly. 'I hope I did the right thing?'

  'You did.' Guy dived into his back pocket and handed over what looked like a large roll of notes, waving aside the driver's protests.

  'Take it. I am grateful. She means everything to me and a silly quarrel has brought this about. I am glad she chose to beg a lift with you. Not all people are so trustworthy.'

  Lucy got out, her eyes stormily on the van driver.

  'You -!' She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought but Guy intervened quickly.

  'Come home, cherie,' he said, before she could get out more than the one word. 'I was ter
rified when I found you gone. No more quarrels.

  If I lost you I would not want to live.'

  His arms came round her and she could feel threat there, his eyes too were menacing. If she said one word to let the driver know the true state of affairs no doubt Guy would strangle her. She kept quiet

  and allowed herself to be led away, her eyes carefully avoiding the driver.

  Guy lost no time in turning the car and heading back for the chateau, and the last glimpse she had of her betrayer was the sight of him counting his money with a look closely akin to astonishment on his face.

  Guy said nothing. His silence was as alarming as his expression and Lucy sat tensely on the very edge of the seat. At the chateau, he got out and came to help her, his actions outwardly chivalrous but the tight hand on her arm telling her that he would not take any more nonsense.

  'My grip!' She stopped as he led her forward but his hand did not slacken.

  'It will stay there. This evening I will get it for you. If there is anything in it that you desperately need then you will have to manage. I am not about to inform the whole staff that you were fleeing. It is more than enough that the delivery man knows. Let us hope that the ransom I paid for you will keep him quiet.'

  'It wasn't a ransom, it was a bribe!' Lucy informed him. In fact she was in a state of total dismay. At the sight of him as he had furiously approached the van, her heart had leapt, not with fright but with excitement and even now, with his hand hard on her arm, she was flooded with warmth and a sinking feeling of gladness.

  He led her straight to her room, coming in with her and locking the door and her eyes went from the door to his tight face.

  'Why have you done that? What are you -?'

  'I am not about to beat you, mademoiselle,' he assured her caustically, advancing on her steadily, his dark eyes narrowed on

  her frantic face. 'I am about to do what I should have done a long time ago.'

  'What—what's that? What do you mean?'

  Lucy retreated as he advanced but he came on steadily until her retreat ended, the wall by the window hard against her back.

  'I am about to put you out of your misery, ma chere.'

  She just stared at him and his dark, probing gaze made her nerves tighten, her flesh beginning to tingle even before he touched her.

  She felt the colour drain from her face and his lips curved cruelly, his eyes burningly intent.

  'What did you expect?' he enquired in a low voice. 'You almost managed to escape, to abandon the bargain and leave me without a wife. It is fortunate that the driver recognised you.'

  'He—he didn't!' Lucy stammered, thankful he had stopped and was just standing looking at her. 'I—I told him I was a maid.'

  'Then why did he telephone me and say that he had my future wife in his van?'

  'I—I don't know. Maybe it was because I'm English. He didn't know me though. He said that you were going to marry a beautiful English girl, so he thought that -'

  'You do not know that you are beautiful, Lucinda?' he asked mockingly and her face flooded with colour, her eyes downcast.

  'I know I'm not. Don't be cruel, Guy. I can't take any more.'

  'I have already told you that in your own way you are beautiful,' he reminded her softly, his eyes raking over her face. 'Unusual and

  challenging, your pert little face defiant, your blue eyes wide and bewildered. Your beauty is a temptation, mademoiselle.'

  'Why do you keep calling me that?' she breathed fretfully, sanity beginning to leave her. There was an electric current of feeling flashing between them and she knew it wasn't all coming from her.

  Did he really want her, after all?

  'What do you want me to call you? You want me to say, Lucy?'

  'Yes. No! I—I don't know...'

  'We will find out.'

  He reached for her slowly and she had plenty of time to resist but she didn't. It was as if fate had decreed that she should meet Guy and be unable to escape. She was numb with the inevitability of it and her eyes closed as his hand slid beneath her hair to close warmly around her nape.

  Feelings flooded through her, her lower limbs beginning to melt towards him as a soft, velvet warmth raced from the very core of her being.

  'I can't help it.'

  She thought the words were in her mind only but Guy's dark head lifted as his lips had begun to close over hers and his eyes burned into her own. She just gazed back and saw a flicker of something that was not scorn. It looked like a flare of excitement. His face darkened and he drew her completely into his arms.

  'Why try to?' he murmured. 'Your fate was decided the moment I saw you.'

  She argued in her head. No, not the moment you saw me. You looked at me as if you despised me. It was only when the idea came to you, when you knew I wasn't a thief that you decided... It was all so much madness. A cruel trap.

  'No!' She struggled, but his reaction was swift; he swept her up into his arms, kissing her harshly.

  'Yes!' His lips closed over hers again, very different from the other times he had kissed her. His mouth was hungry, parting her lips, probing, cruel, moving over hers expertly. She felt the softness of the bed beneath her as he lowered her to it and came down with her, his body almost covering hers.

  Her small cries were lost against his hard lips and he kissed her until her struggling hands subsided against his chest and then crept up to cling around his neck helplessly. She wanted to be here with Guy.

  No amount of denial would alter the fact.

  Salty tears escaped from beneath her lashes and mixed with his kisses and he relaxed his cruel grip, his tongue catching the tears like some pagan ritual.

  'Perhaps I cannot help it either,' he breathed against her mouth.

  'Perhaps I do not wish to find out if I can.'

  She felt his body harden against her own and reality left her almost completely. She softened to him, exciting him further, and his hands twisted in her hair as he raised her face.

  'Now, ma chere,' he said thickly. 'Now we will dispose of your fears. Now, Lucy.'

  Somehow the sound of her name on his lips, especially in that dark, hoarse voice, sent a shudder racing through her. Desire tore through her, recognisable now, sweet and thrilling, and she moaned aloud,

  trying to release herself from this torture, but he seemed to have expected it and there was no release.

  'No, Lucy. It is time. I want you.'

  His mouth was urgent, something wild winging between them, and she was almost panic-stricken at the pounding of her own heart, at the heat that passed through them like a fire generated from deep inside each of them.

  'Guy!' She gasped his name against his lips and he brought her more tightly to him, his movement almost savage, his hands caressing her body with restless, urgent movements, his fingers searching her back beneath her sweater. His hands moved upwards, the sweater moving with them and anxiety raced back into her mind. She had never worn a bra. To her it was as restrictive as shoes had been and now he would know. She murmured, her body freezing, but he was relentless and the sweater slid over her head with hardly any pause in the kiss.

  His hands closed over her breasts, roughly caressing, and excitement surged through her veins like wine as a startled cry left her lips. He lowered his head, his white teeth closing experimentally over the tight pink nipple, nipping her erotically before his mouth soothed the sharp pain.

  'Why did you run away?' He raised his head and looked down at her flushed face. 'You imagined it would be like this on our wedding night, savage, frightening?'

  She shook her head. It wasn't frightening. The only thing frightening her was her own feelings. She couldn't look away from the dark eyes that held hers and his hand closed over her breast, his fingers caressing as he watched her face.

  'Feelings have only just begun. What will you do when they get stronger?'

  She couldn't answer and she realised that she was shaking, grateful when his eyes stopped probing her mind as his li
ps brushed hers.

  'You want me,' he murmured darkly. 'You ran from me and yet you want me badly. I have done what no man has ever done. I have awakened you. You want me to make love to you and never stop.

  You think you are not beautiful?' He raised his head and looked at the high, rosy peaks his hands caressed. 'Your skin is like pearl, pearl topped by rosebuds. You taste sweet, fresh, honeyed.' To prove it his lips covered her breast, tasting and arousing, and she melted limply towards him, helpless, drowning in emotion, a terrible hunger growing inside her as he satisfied his desire to taste her.

  'Oh! Please! No!'

  As his hands found the zip of her skirt and slid it downwards she flinched anew, confused by the shattering of every thought she had ever had about this, but he simply ignored her gasps of fear, his hands freeing her skirt and letting it slide to the floor. He lifted her and his tongue traced streaks of fire across her stomach, a low tormented growl of sound deep in his throat as his teeth bit gently into her hip.

  He raised his head, his eyes probing hers, probing her mind as he saw the languid fascination she felt under his caresses.

  'I want to take you now, to settle your foolish fears,' he murmured thickly, his eyes hotly roaming over her breasts. 'But this marriage will be legal, my heir legitimate. It will not be a dry as dust marriage, though. That was a mistaken idea. I will enjoy our wedding night, and so will you. You feel part of what a woman is supposed to feel and we have not even begun.'

  He stood, looking down at her for a moment as she lay aching and bewildered, and then he strode to the door, unlocking it and turning to look back at her as she raised herself on her elbows and stared at him like someone hypnotised.

  'Do not attempt to run away from me again,' he threatened darkly, his glance flaring over her. One brown finger jabbed the air, pointing at her and emphasising his rasped order. 'And do not again tell me that you are not beautiful. It is for me to decide and I have decided. When you come down to dinner I expect to see a woman, not a frightened mouse. If you are a shrew, I will return to this room with you after dinner and set your mind right again.'