'Is this what you learned in the meadow of buttercups?' he asked huskily after a while. 'Did you walk barefoot to the river, dreaming up ways to ensnare a man? I cannot move from you. You are an enchantress.'
Lucy laughed softly, her hand stroking his dark head. 'I'm not much at all,' she pointed out quietly, but his head rose and he looked up at her.
'You are not glamorous,' he agreed slowly. 'You are peculiar in your own small way.' His hands moved experimentally over her, his lips smiling. 'There is also not very much of you but what there is seems to have bewitched me.'
She stifled the small hope that leapt inside her. He was a sophisticated man. He would naturally say things like that to a woman. It was necessary to make sure he had an heir and he was making it as easy as he could for her. The smile died out of her eyes and she turned her head away but instantly he was over her, alert and intent.
'What is wrong, petite? I have said something to alarm you?'
He turned her face to his, looking deeply into her eyes, and she avoided his gaze, anxious now that he had not left her, wanting to retreat into herself.
'No. You've not alarmed me. I'm grateful to you for making this as easy as possible. I know that you don't like it any more than I do and...'
He swore under his breath, jerking her up until she was arched below him, her body a slender bow.
' Dieu! You are an oddity!' he grated. 'Last night you asked me if I was sorry. Tonight you thank me for my consideration. What if I were to tell you that I do not feel considerate, that I want you like this?'
He crushed her beneath him, his lips ravaging hers until she felt desire shudder through him, a desire he was not at any pains to conceal. It was nothing that filled her with fear. At least he wanted her, even if this was all a pretence. Her body softened against him and instantly the black passion fled as he stroked her closer.
'You know far more than you imagine,' he murmured against her lips. 'Not many women can change my mood with one sigh.' She felt tears fill her eyes at the thought of other women but he breathed his desire against her skin, his intent whispers sending shivers of delight through her, and he possessed her almost tenderly and later she fell asleep curled against him, his arm strangely protective, his deep breathing assuring her that he too slept with some sort of contentment.
In many ways it was a week of happiness although she could not say that she knew Guy any better. She knew his lovemaking, knew his strange moods that ranged from black anger and total silence to amused gentleness, but the man himself was still a complete mystery to her. He was warily aloof the moment she made any move to be closer. The only closeness he would allow was when he made love to her and even then he seemed to resent it that she could make him feel anything at all. Passion raged inside him whenever he held her close but his mind remained his own and Lucy dared not intrude.
As they stood in the suite and waited for their luggage to be collected on the last day, Lucy felt mournful. In spite of her determination to show no feeling her legs seemed to lead her to the white bedroom with the view of the sea.
'You are saying goodbye?' Guy came and stood beside her as she gazed out of the window and she kept her head carefully turned away.
'I don't suppose I'll see anything as beautiful again,' she said truthfully. If Guy was not there she would see no beauty at all.
'Of course you will, you strange creature,' he said, and laughed. 'The world is full of beautiful places and you will visit plenty of them. In any case, you will be able to come back here.'
Without Guy? Her heart cried out in denial but her tongue protected her.
'When I'm a rich ex-countess with pots of money I've earned, you mean?' she enquired coldly.
His reaction was furious and instant. He spun her round, glaring down at her. 'The shrew has returned, I see!' he bit out. 'I thought we had vanquished both the mouse and the shrew. Obviously we are not yet in control of them!' He crushed her against him, his mouth grinding into hers, ignoring her muffled cries until he suddenly relaxed and began to kiss her gently. He was holding her so close that she could feel every muscle in his chest, his legs hard against hers, and she groaned although the pain had stopped. They were simply clinging to each other, Guy's lips moving over hers passionately.
'You are too kissable,' he muttered, his eyes intent on her pale face as he lifted his head. 'Did I hurt you?'
'No.' She looked at him stubbornly, her only defence. He had hurt her but it was not the harsh kiss that had suddenly softened. It hurt to think that one day not even a harsh kiss would come to her from Guy.
'Then there is no harm done,' he snapped caustically. 'Let's go.'
It seemed to set the tone for the future, because the Guy who had held her in his arms and called her an enchantress simply ceased to exist when they returned to Paris and the chateau. His recently neglected financial affairs took him away constantly and Lucy was left alone for most of the time, coping with her new lifestyle as best she could.
Often he was overseas for days on end and he never asked her to go with him. Why should he? she asked herself. This was a marriage of
convenience, made for only one reason. The time now was one of waiting and Guy needed her no more. No doubt there were other women. He was too virile, too experienced to be without female company even if Michelle was out of his reach.
Her loneliness and unhappiness were all the greater because she could not confide in anyone. In any case, there was nobody to tell.
She only wanted to tell Guy and even when he was there she knew she could not mention anything.
If she became pregnant her world would be darker still. She dreamed of having Guy's baby, wanted it desperately, but she would be expected to go, to leave it behind. Could he be so cruel? Could he make her go, never see her own child again?
Yes, he could. He would simply remind her of the bargain or look at her as if she were odd. He often did that. He was in very little but when he was she would find his eyes on her as if he was making quite sure she was mentally stable and capable of bearing a child to continue his line. She prayed it would never happen, that he would tire of waiting and send her away where at least she would not have to see him and want him.
Finally the thing she had been subconsciously dreading happened.
Guy came home one day to announce that there would be a dinner in a couple of days. She took the news in silence, a thing that seemed to readily bring on his black moods.
'Where will it be?' she asked after he had glared at her and said absolutely nothing.
'As I am giving it, it will be here,' he snapped, turning away in annoyance as if the sight of her irritated him utterly. 'You will have the chance to be hostess. It is a thing long overdue.'
'I—I can't!' The words were out before she could stop them and in any case she knew her own shortcomings well. This place was like a palace; she wouldn't even know how to begin and Madame Gatien terrified her because the woman had not softened one bit in all the time she had been here. She daily brought things to Lucy's attention that Lucy had no thoughts about at all and when Veronique was there the woman turned to Veronique and ignored Lucy totally. To begin to plan a dinner party with Madame Gatien was like having a lovely day with Count Dracula.
'What do you mean, you can't?' Guy rasped, swinging to face her.
'You are my wife, the Comtesse de Chauvrais. Can't is a word that is not in your vocabulary!'
'I know my own vocabulary,' Lucy snapped, angered by his refusal to accept any weakness at all. 'The word can't figures largely in it and I can't plan a dinner party for your friends and associates!'
'Veronique will help you,' he bit out at her, beginning to turn away again, his impatience obvious.
'Veronique is in Cannes and you know it!'
'Then Madame Gatien will help you,' he muttered, tired of what was to him a clearly stupid discussion.
'Into the jaws of death! Thanks a damned bundle!' Lucy raged.
'Dieu! You will not speak in that
coarse way!' His eyes blazed down at her and she blazed right back.
'I can't help it, it's my lowly upbringing; artists, poets, thieves...'
He grabbed her and hauled her tightly against him, fury on his face, but she stood her ground. She had been hurt by the way he had ignored her, even though she knew why, but this was above and
beyond the call of duty as far as she was concerned and she wasn't going to do it.
For a long second they glared at each other and then his eyes began to laugh as his long lips quirked in amusement.
'I remember saying that your peculiar ways would amuse me endlessly,' he began, but Lucy did not let him finish—she was too hurt.
'Not endlessly,' she pointed out bitterly. 'Only until the baby can be left and then I'll be running fast and far. After that you can get yourself another paid clown.'
He went very pale and she was sure she had gone too far but he let her go so suddenly that she almost fell. He did not notice. He turned away abruptly.
'Until then, countess, you carry the responsibility for which I will also pay,' he grated. 'There will be a dinner. If it is a shambles you will still face it at my side. Get your help wherever you think fit but the date is set and the guests will arrive. You will greet them standing by me and if you wish to be barefoot and in rags you will still be there. You will be there when we dine, as befits your position.'
'And what exactly is my position?' Lucy asked bitterly.
'You know that as well as I do,' he reminded her with equal bitterness. 'You will have my child and then run as far and as fast as possible. I am amazed you have forgotten; not two minutes ago you pointed it out to me.'
CHAPTER NINE
Lucy didn't get the chance to approach Madame Gatien. Guy had gone again and as soon as she was alone the rather forbidding face of the housekeeper appeared. She had her notebook at the ready and Lucy knew without doubt that Guy had informed her about the dinner party, making sure that Lucy could not carry out her threats.
'You would like to discuss the dinner party, madame?' The icy cold face gave nothing away and Lucy took her courage firmly in both hands and faced her for the very first time.
'I would like to discuss it, Madame Gatien, but it will do very little good. I'm not at all used to this sort of life as you've no doubt realised. Arranging a dinner party is quite beyond me.'
'The countess will perhaps take the responsibility?'
She meant Veronique and Lucy felt her face flush. This woman had ignored her ever since she had been here.
'She is in Cannes, madame, and will not be back in time. I will take the responsibility and I'll help but you will have to help me too. I know absolutely nothing about arranging dinner parties and certainly not on the scale that the count expects.'
Madame Gatien looked a little nonplussed for the first time ever. 'If I were to—to assist in your arrangements, madame, the servants would perhaps...'
'Think less of me?' Lucy asked candidly. 'I'll have to risk that, Madame Gatien. It's better to face their surprise than face the count's annoyance when things go wrong, surely?'
It was a trump card and Lucy realised that in all probability there were few in the chateau who had not at some time faced the count's
wrath, especially now when he was so clearly bitter and angry, waiting for this time to pass so that he could get on with his life.
'Very well, madame. We can perhaps keep things to ourselves?'
Lucy smiled and motioned to a seat. 'Thank you. Sit down and let's get on with it now.'
It clearly was not going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship but Lucy saw no reason to pretend to be somebody she was not and Madame Gatien must have organised hundreds of functions for Guy.
If Veronique had been in command then no doubt the housekeeper would remember and pull things together.
She did. It took quite a long time but when she left she looked rather satisfied with herself and Lucy breathed a little easier. It had made a nice change to have someone to talk to. If Guy neglected her much more and if Veronique went to her own apartment in Paris when she came back then Lucy felt she would soon forget how to speak at all.
Guy did not return and as the day of the dinner party drew near Lucy knew without much need of second sight that he was deliberately staying away until the event so that he would not have to see her. She would have felt angry under normal circumstances but circumstances were anything but normal and she had a very listless feeling that seemed to be growing daily.
The florist's van came and Lucy was at great pains to avoid seeing the man. She went to her room, a suite of rooms that she and Guy occupied, each with a separate bedroom because Guy no longer slept with her when he was home. She was there when Madame Gatien came in some time later, the usually icy face flushed with annoyance and what looked a great deal like panic.
'Is something wrong? Surely the dinner party is -?' Lucy began but Madame Gatien merely looked more agitated.
'Everything is going well, madame. The chef is delighted with the menu and things are well under way. It is the flowers. The arrangements for the tables have not arrived and the man says they were not put on the van. It is too late now to -'
'I'll do it.' Lucy got up immediately and walked to the door but the housekeeper just stared at her anxiously.
'It is for a very important dinner party, madame. Normally the flowers -'
'Well, things aren't normal, are they?' Lucy pointed out. 'The gardens are full of flowers, in fact I can't understand why we don't do our own.'
Later, as she foraged in the kitchen for suitable containers, the staff came to a virtual halt as they watched her slim, jeans-clad figure busily occupied. It was the very first time she had ever ventured into there and they took it rather well as Madame Gatien explained the crisis.
'It looks beautiful, madame!'
Lucy and the housekeeper stood back to survey the table later—
much later, because it had taken over three hours to select the flowers and arrange them. They looked very good though, Lucy had to admit. It was something she had always liked doing but she had never had so many beautiful blooms to go at before.
'I'd better get changed.' Lucy glanced at her watch and realised how short a time there was before the guests would arrive. She was horrified to see that her hands and arms were cut with picking the roses, some of her nails broken, and Guy's mention of a farm servant came back.
'Oh, madame! Your beautiful hands!'
Lucy hurried away, startled that she had beautiful hands. Maybe Madame Gatien thought she needed some sort of boost to her courage. She thought that too.
Guy came at the last minute, showered in his own bathroom and then walked into the sitting-room they shared. She wasn't ready and he tapped on her door.
'Lucinda? They will be here almost immediately. Surely you can be ready when you have had nothing to do all day but bathe and dress?'
Grumpy as usual, Lucy thought with a grimace. She kept her thoughts to herself and called that she would not be long, hearing him walk away angrily.
She looked at herself and sighed. She felt lethargic, the burst of energy that had appeared as she did the flowers now gone. The cream satin of her dress showed the faint gold of the tan she was beginning to get, one that had started in Sicily, but under it she looked pale, her eyes once again over-large in her face. Her hands were still scarred with rose thorns and there had been little she could do about it. They were beginning to sting too but her nails looked all right. She took one last anxious look at herself and went down to join Guy.
It was all a great success. Most of the men were businessmen with their wives, one or two of whom were particularly nice to Lucy, whether from choice or because they had been told to act well she did not know. No doubt their husbands were anxious to keep on the right side of Guy. He radiated power and Lucy had no doubt that he would use it as he thought fit.
Albert Colliot was there but not Michelle and he spent a great deal of time talk
ing quietly to Guy, who frowned and nodded but whose
eyes strayed frequently to Lucy as she sat looking a little fragile at the other end of the huge table. The frowns were for her. She was fairly sure of that and after dinner when they all went into the white and gold salon for coffee and drinks she found out why.
'What have you been doing to your hands?' he rasped in a low voice, drawing her to his side. 'It is small wonder you were not ready if you have been digging holes in the garden. I am greatly surprised that there is no earth beneath your fingernails!'
She couldn't answer. She had felt tearful and tired for days and now she had to stand there and take it from Guy with no chance to turn on him. Not that she wanted to; she was weary of all this, weary of being lonely and unloved by the man she wanted more than anything in the world. She pulled away and walked to the other end of the room, choking back tears, and Guy's eyes followed her, threatening and angry.
It was a great relief when they all went, Albert Colliot hanging on until the last minute to talk to Guy again, and Madame Gatien appeared as the last guest departed.
'It was a great success, madame,' Guy said to her with one of his tight smiles. 'The choice of food was excellent and the table was spectacular, the flowers astonishingly beautiful. Surely it is not the same florist?'
'No, monsieur. The countess and I planned the menu together but I am afraid the florist let us down, not for the first time. The countess did the flowers herself, a long and very skilled task.'
'My stepmother? I did not know she had returned.'
'She has not, monsieur. The countess did the flowers, Comtesse Lucinda. She has a great flair for such things, the staff are much impressed. We were in a panic but she saved us. Did you notice,
monsieur, that the small containers were soufflé bowls? It was impossible to tell, no?'
She gave what must have been a very rare smile because Guy's eyebrows shot up and he turned to a very flushed Lucy.
'You did them?'
'Somebody had to,' Lucy muttered, wishing that Madame Gatien would go away and not stand there smugly with her hands folded in front of her like a prison guard.
The Gift of Loving Page 14