Her Own Rules

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Meredith had spent most of Tuesday with Agnes, and she had been surprised that her French partner had not probed too deeply about the weekend; Agnes had asked only a few cursory questions. But then, they had been very preoccupied with their plans for the inn and busy rushing around Paris. They had visited innumerable antiques shops and fabric houses, taking Polaroids of furniture and collecting samples of fabric and wallpaper. Since they had similar tastes and the same ideas about the decoration and furnishing of the inn, there were no problems in this respect.

  It was on Wednesday afternoon, when they were sitting in Agnes’s office at Havens, that Meredith mentioned Luc. The two of them were selecting fabric swatches and lining them up on a flat board, endeavoring to create viable color schemes.

  Quite suddenly Meredith said, “Last night Luc invited me to the château again. This weekend.”

  Agnes glanced up. “I’m not surprised, he likes you a lot.”

  “And I like him.”

  Agnes laughed. “Most women do. He’s irresistible. I’ve always wondered why he’s never remarried.”

  “Perhaps it’s taking him a long time to get over his grief for his wife.”

  “Oh, so he told you about her?”

  “Yes, which is more than you did, after you’d promised. I sort of blundered in on that one, and I was afraid I’d upset him.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t phone you, as I promised, but Chloe was so sick, I had my hands full. Anyway, Alain and I had a chance to talk only on Sunday afternoon, and I certainly didn’t want to call you at Talcy to gossip about your host.”

  “No, I understand that, and I’m glad you didn’t, I would have been embarrassed.”

  “Alain has known Luc off and on for many years, Meredith, but not really well. We became a bit closer to him only in the last year, mainly because he was designing a house for Alain’s sister. And even so, he never discussed Annick . . . his past was sort of . . . well . . . vague to us, and we’re not the kind to pry. . . .” She did not finish her sentence, merely looked across at Meredith and shrugged.

  Meredith said, “I understand. You can know people, be very friendly, and yet not know too much about their private life at all.” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her long legs. “There’s so much I like about Luc, Agnes. I mean as a person, and he’s very straight, honest. Also, he really listens, pays attention. That’s a rarity these days.”

  “I believe him to be the kind of man who’s worth taking seriously. I know for a fact he’s not a playboy. Not at all, not one bit the philanderer.” Agnes eyed Meredith and probed. “Could you become involved with him? On a serious level?”

  There was a brief hesitation on Meredith’s part and then she said, “Yes, I could, Agnes. He’s the type of man I like, the kind I thought I’d never meet again. Men like Luc are usually well and truly spoken for.”

  “You are indeed correct, ma chérie, but I think Luc has chosen not to be spoken for. Until now. He did tell me he liked you, wanted to get to know you better.”

  Meredith stared at Agnes. “Oh. And when was that?”

  “Last week, just after he met you.”

  “And you never told me. Thanks a lot, friend!”

  Agnes burst out laughing. Shaking her head, her gray eyes full of merriment, she said, “He didn’t tell me not to say anything, but I thought discretion was the better part of valor, and all that. In any case, I didn’t want to frighten you away from him. I thought you’d probably bite my head off and tell me I was a romantic fool. Consider them, Meredith, the various men I’ve introduced you to in the past eight years. They were attractive, eligible, but you never seemed interested in them. Not one little bit.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “But you are interested in Luc?”

  Meredith nodded.

  “Mmmm, I can’t say I blame you, he is very sexy looking. Sensual, I think, no?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  They worked together in Luc’s office from the moment they arrived at Talcy until seven on Thursday night. And then they started again at nine the next morning.

  Once more it was a long day, broken only by lunch. Late on Friday afternoon Luc put his pencil down and looked across the room at Meredith. She was seated at a small desk, pasting fabric, carpet, and paint samples onto boards, creating her first schemes for the inn.

  “I shouldn’t have done this to you,” he said, leaning back in this chair, his eyes lingering on her.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, looking up.

  “I’ve kept you cooped up in this office since yesterday morning, and all because I wanted to work and wanted you near me while I did so.”

  She said nothing, merely stared back at him.

  He went on. “I’ve been rushing, trying so hard to finish the plans for the pond and complete this drawing of it. I feel guilty, though, about you. I should have sent you walking or riding, or at least let you rest—”

  “Luc, I enjoyed being here with you,” she interrupted, “working alongside you. And I would have been doing the same thing in Paris anyway, sorting through the swatches, making my boards. Truly, it’s been wonderful sharing this time here with you.”

  “Has it?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Meredith?”

  “Yes, Luc?”

  He opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, and stood up, walked over to her. He placed the sheet of paper he was carrying in front of her on the desk. “This is the drawing of the pond, as it will look when it’s finished.”

  “Oh Luc, how marvelous! It resembles the fishpond here!”

  “I positioned the pond near the small wood behind the manor in Montfort-L’Amaury, in the same way the pond is next to the orchard at Talcy. I think it is picturesque, don’t you?” As he spoke he bent over her, his finger tracing the drawing of the pond, the copse, and the manor house in the background.

  She could feel his warm breath against her neck and she held herself perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. Her cheeks flamed and she felt an unexpected warmth spreading through her, desire flooding her.

  He said, “I wanted to please you, Meredith.”

  Meredith half turned her shoulder to look at him, tilted her face up to his. “I love it, Luc, it’s perfect.”

  She smiled.

  He was dazzled.

  He said nothing. He was unable to speak. I want you. Those were the words on the tip of his tongue. It was the only thing he could think of at the moment. He had been thinking of it for days. He was about to tell her so, but instead he leaned closer to her and before he could stop himself he kissed her on the lips, lightly at first, and then, as she responded ardently, his kisses became more intense.

  He paused after a moment, but only briefly, in order to pull her to her feet. She was in his arms instantly. He held her close; her arms went around his neck. They were clinging to each other, their passions rising.

  Meredith thought: Oh Luc, my darling, I’ve longed for this, longed to hold you in my arms. But her thoughts were unspoken; his hungry kisses stopped her words.

  And then he stopped abruptly and said in a voice thickened by emotion, “I want you, Meredith, I’ve desired you since the clay we met.”

  “Oh Luc—”

  He was kissing her again, greedily, as if he were about to leave her forever. He pulled her closer to him, fitting himself to her body, and he thought how perfectly they blended together; she was almost as tall as he was.

  She knew this was how it should always be between a man and a woman. He was kissing her cheeks, her eyes, her brow, her neck, her ears. His mouth went back to her mouth, and then he whispered against her neck, “I’ve thought about you so much, I feel as if we’ve already made love. Do you understand what I mean, how I feel?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m serious about you, Meredith. Say no to me now if you don’t feel the same way. Because once we start this, there’s no going back. Not for me.”

  “I want you, Luc, I
feel as you do.”

  He held her away from him, his hands firm on her shoulders, and looked deeply into her eyes. Smoky-green eyes, always mirroring her thoughts, her feelings, mirroring her soul. He had seen intelligence shining there, and reflectiveness and merriment, but also a deep-rooted sadness. Now he saw only desire and longing, and it was for him.

  He took hold of her hand and led her across the room, and still gripping her tightly he hurried her up the back stairs and down the corridor.

  Once inside his bedroom, he locked the door with one hand, drew her into his arms, kissing her over and over as he walked her in the direction of the bed. Releasing her at last, he pulled down the quilt, threw his jacket on a chair, struggled out of his sweater and jeans. She did the same.

  Luc reached for her, pulled her to him, repeating her name as they fell onto the bed. They lay together, still half dressed, their bodies entwined. He ran his hands up into her thick golden hair, caught hold of it, wrapped his fingers around it, brought his face down to hers, his mouth, his tongue grazing her lips, touching her tongue lightly, tantalizingly.

  Meredith responded to him eagerly; she knew this was right, that it was meant to be. She harbored no qualms about this man. The desire in his voice, the yearning in his dark eyes, had told her everything she needed to know.

  Her heart lifted. She wanted him, wanted to feel his hands all over her like this, taste his kisses, savor his passion. She wanted to be with him, joined to him.

  Luc was fully aware of her desire for him, her growing ardor, and this further inflamed him. The most sensual sensations rolled over him; he wanted to give himself up to them entirely.

  Somehow they hastily shed the rest of their clothes, came back into each other’s arms. He looked down into her face for a moment, took pleasure from seeing her pleasure reflected there, now just visible in the fading afternoon light. He brought his hand to her face, traced a line down her cheek and across her mouth, and he did so with tenderness.

  Arms entwined, legs entwined, mouth on mouth, hands smoothing and stroking, caressing and exploring, each of them hungry for the other. It had been too long for them both.

  Luc gave himself up to the pure joy of her touch, of her kisses falling on him. On his mouth, his face, his eyelids. He rolled on top of her, aligning his body to hers.

  Silken arms, silken legs wove themselves around him, bound him to her, the most welcome and softest of ropes. He moved into her deeper, harder, heard the soft moans escaping her throat. Deeper and deeper he sank, reveling in the sheer pleasure of her, knowing he had found the right woman. At last. The woman he had known would one day come to him . . . to fill the darkness, fill the void in him, and as he buried himself yet deeper in her, there was, miraculously the total cessation of pain. She had liberated him, set him free. He soared. Higher and higher.

  Meredith was moving against him, matching his rhythm; they were joined, became one entity. A perfect mating, he thought, and it was exactly as he had imagined, had known it would be.

  And as she had known too. Luc was touching the core of her, reaching to her heart, filling her as she had never been filled, not since she was a young girl . . . so long ago . . . time past. He slipped his hands under her buttocks, brought her closer to him. I want you closer still, she cried out silently, all of you, Luc, I want all of you. And she willingly abandoned herself to him.

  Luc could feel his heart pounding as he moved against her, almost violently now, caught up in the rhythm of their moving bodies; their joy was mounting.

  Oh God, he thought, there is only this. Only this woman. Only me and her and this joining. She is all I will ever want. For the rest of my life, until the day I die. With her I am made whole again. And then he stopped thinking as they moved together in a sudden frenzy, flying higher and higher until they reached that peak of pure sensation. He wanted it to last forever, this ecstasy.

  And Meredith understood that she had found her true mate at last, after all these years. He carried her upward with him.

  He was shuddering, racked by spasms, shouting her name as he lost himself in her. And she answered him, calling out, “Luc, oh Luc.”

  Later, when their frenzy had ceased, he held her in his arms, stroking her hair. She moved closer to him, draping her leg over his, and he tightened his hold on her.

  Her face was against his chest. She kissed it, then he felt her smile.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because I’m happy, Luc.”

  “This is only the beginning,” he answered, and bent over her, kissed the top of her head. “I thought I would never find you.”

  “Were you looking for me?” Her voice was light, filled with happiness.

  “Oh yes, ma chérie, ever since—For a long time.”

  “And I’ve been looking for you, although perhaps I didn’t realize it. I was beginning to think I’d never find the right man.”

  “Am I?”

  “Are you what?” she teased, knowing what he meant.

  “The right man, Meredith?”

  “Oh yes, Luc, very much so, and in every way.”

  “We’re good together, Meredith, very good. I enjoy every minute we are together, and just now, well, you gave me such pleasure, I’m still reeling. And you? Did I please you?”

  “Of course. You must know that.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do, but it’s nice to hear it from your lips, Meri.”

  He felt her stiffen against him. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like me to call you Meri?”

  “I don’t mind,” she replied quickly, catching the note of concern in his voice. “It’s just that few people do.”

  Pulling her around and up into his arms, he touched her face lightly, gazed into her bright eyes, and said in the softest of voices, “I don’t want to see that terrible sadness in your eyes ever again. There’s been too much hurt and pain in your life, too much sorrow.”

  She did not respond.

  “I’m here for you, Meri, if ever you want to talk about it. Sometimes it is helpful to unburden oneself.”

  “One day, perhaps.”

  He nodded, leaned forward, and kissed her on the lips. “You have become very dear to me and in such a short time. I’ve fallen in love with you, Meri.”

  Meredith stared at him. Unexpectedly, tears welled in her eyes. She swallowed hard, trying to push them back, but she could not. Slowly they rolled down her cheeks.

  “Oh, ma chérie, don’t weep, there’s nothing to weep about.” Luc lifted his hand, wiped away her tears with his fingertips. “Do you think you could fall in love with me?”

  “I already have,” she whispered, and began to cry again.

  “Thank God!” Luc exclaimed, and kissed her on the lips. And as he kissed her cheeks and her eyes he tasted the salt of her tears. “No more sorrow. I’m going to make sure of that,” he said against her clamp face. “Only happiness from now on, Meri.”

  But he was wrong.

  PART TWO

  TIME PRESENT, TIME PAST

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Meredith stood at the far end of the drawing room, leaning against a Sheraton break-front. The interior of the antique piece was illuminated, its shelves filled with priceless Meissen figurines.

  A few minutes before, she had wandered over to look at this unique collection and had suddenly felt weak. Reluctant to maneuver through the crowded room looking for somewhere to sit down, she had stayed where she was, nursing a glass of champagne.

  She took a deep breath, hoping she was not going to have one of her attacks, which was what she had begun to call them. There had been two in January when she was in France, then three last month, and she wondered how many she would have in April.

  They passed as quickly as they occurred, and she was never the worse afterward; nonetheless, they made her nervous. She never knew when one would strike her.

  The other day in the office, she had tol
d Amy about them, had explained how they had started in Paris and had continued off and on.

  Amy had said at once, “They’re becoming too frequent. I think you should get medical advice. Let me make an appointment for you with Jennifer Pollard.”

  Meredith had shaken her head, told Amy not to call the doctor. Now she asked herself if she had been foolish. Perhaps she should have listened to her assistant. At that moment her legs were weak, she could feel the fatigue slowly creeping through her entire body, and she could not help wondering whether she would be able to last through the evening.

  She must do that, no matter how she felt. Tonight was a very special occasion in her daughter’s life, and in hers. It was Cat’s engagement party, and she had been looking forward to it.

  Meredith believed that by rights she should have been giving the party, but Keith’s sister, Margery, and her husband, Eric, had insisted on hosting it at their Park Avenue penthouse; she had had no alternative but to acquiesce.

  She fully intended to plan a celebration dinner for Cat and Keith, which she would give in the next few weeks. She hoped Luc would be able to attend. He had spent the past week in New York with her, and had planned to stay on for the engagement party. Then at the last minute he had been called back to France. A problem had developed with one of his larger architectural jobs, a shopping complex in Lyons, and his presence on the site had been imperative.

  They were both disappointed he had been forced to leave, but he was coming back to New York in ten days to spend a long weekend with her at Silver Lake. She could hardly wait for his return. They were very much in love, and in the past two months had grown extremely close. They were rarely apart when they were in the same city, and when separated by the Atlantic they spoke every day by phone. He’s everything I want in a man, she thought now, missing him. How she wished he were there with her tonight.

  Meredith constantly marveled at her luck in meeting Luc, and at their extraordinary compatibility. Her children knew him now and liked him, and he was very taken by them. He and Jon got on extremely well; aside from having Yale in common, they were both sports aficionados and especially addicted to football. And Cat was equally at ease with Luc since they both had artistic natures. He was impressed by Cat’s talent as an illustrator, thought her an accomplished artist. Meredith had been very proud when he had congratulated her on her fine children, noting the admiration in his voice.