Unwelcome Invader (Harlequin Treasury 1990's)

by Angela Devine

  ‘Your eyes are full of secrets,’ he complained as he caressed her face with his fingertips. ‘I never know what you’re thinking.’

  ‘I’m thinking how terrible it is to want something really badly and fear that you’ll never be able to get it,’ she admitted huskily.

  A brooding look came into his face and he seemed on the point of saying something, but then frowned and fell silent. Rising to his feet, he crossed to the window and stood with one arm flung up against the architrave, gazing moodily out at the countryside beneath. When at last he did speak, his words surprised her.

  ‘I suppose you’re thinking of your vineyard in Tasmania,’ he said over his shoulder.

  No, I was thinking of you, Jane wanted to exclaim, but the words faltered on her lips and remained unspoken. To her astonishment she realised that she had scarcely given a thought to her vineyard ever since they had left Tasmania. All she had thought of was Marc. Yet she could hardly tell him that when he was so remote, so aloof, so intent on reminding her that she had no permanent place here in his home. So insistent that any suggestion of marriage between them was utterly ridiculous.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she lied, and her mouth hardened.

  Marc swung around and gazed at her with an intent, piercing scrutiny.

  ‘It must mean a lot to you,’ he said with a touch of bitterness.

  ‘It means everything to me!’ she flashed. She could hear the passion and anger and love vibrating in her own voice, and could only hope that Marc would believe it was her vineyard that she cared about so intensely.

  ‘I see,’ he muttered, and for a brief moment he was himself again. Calm, detached, indifferent. ‘Well, I’m sure we can work something out. I’m not an ogre. I don’t want to deprive you of what’s rightfully yours.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ she challenged. ‘That’s nice of you. But it all comes back to a rather difficult question, doesn’t it? What is rightfully mine?’

  The light was fading fast, so that she could no longer see his features clearly. Against the rectangle of silvery sky he looked dark, ominous, threatening-every inch the unwelcome invader she had once considered him. Her heart began to thud unevenly, so that she felt she would suffocate from her burden of mingled hate and love. She knew perfectly well what she considered rightfully hers. Marc Le Rossignol as her husband, lover and the father of her children, to stand by her for the rest of her life. But that was the one right he would never concede her. In the gathering gloom she thought she saw his lips curl in a sardonic line.

  ‘You’re in a strange mood,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ve been acting oddly ever since we arrived here.’

  She vowed to match his coolness with her own. Although she was almost shaking with the intensity of her feelings, she forced herself to appear composed.

  ‘Have I?’ she demanded blandly, rising to her feet and beginning to reach for her clothes. ‘Well, why not? Changeability is a woman’s privilege, isn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly seems to be yours, at any rate,’ he growled resentfully. ‘You came on this trip of your own free will and you seemed to be enjoying yourself in America and Paris. Now, ever since we’ve arrived here, you seem to be on thorns…No, what do you say? Like a cat on hot bricks! Why? What’s the matter with you?’

  Jane hunched one shoulder and smiled bitterly, fastening her dress with swift, angry movements.

  ‘Guess,’ she invited.

  Marc swore under his breath. Unlike her, he did not bother to hurry into his clothes, but seemed quite indifferent to his own nakedness.

  Darting a covert glance at that savage, virile body, Jane wished she could remain so easily indifferent. His presence was a torment to her, a reminder of an intense physical intimacy that was unmatched by any corresponding emotional union. In that moment they seemed so distant from each other that they might have been total strangers or even sworn enemies. Had she really given herself to a man who was never going to let her cross the threshold of his heart? The thought wounded her so deeply that her eyes blazed with hostility.

  ‘Is it possible that you’re tired of me so soon?’ he drawled insultingly. ‘There’s no need for this little amour to continue, you know, if it no longer amuses you. We can part whenever you wish.’

  ‘Just as you like!’ flared Jane. ‘We don’t want it to become tedious, do we?’

  Her throat felt so raw and scraped that she could barely swallow, and hot, stinging tears rose threateningly in her eyes. Had they really descended to this point, and so soon? Well, she couldn’t say Simone hadn’t warned her! Obviously Marc had been only amusing himself with her and was now looking for a way of giving her the brush-off. She caught her upper lip between her teeth and fought to control herself.

  ‘So you’re bored, are you?’ asked Marc in a conversational tone. ‘Ma foi! That didn’t take long.’

  ‘I’m not bored!’ burst out Jane, too distraught for further subterfuge. ‘I’m upset and I’m confused. It may all be a big joke to you, but I don’t go around just having affairs for the fun of it. When your father talks as if he’s expecting us to marry, it makes me feel cornered. It makes me feel…Oh, I can’t…It…We…’

  Her voice trailed off as she found herself quite unable to say what she meant in the face of Marc’s unnervingly silent gaze. With a disconcerting suddenness he drew the curtains and snapped on a lamp-switch so that a soft, peach-like glow lit the room.

  ‘What do you want to do about it?’ he asked levelly.

  I want to marry you, she thought, but pride would not let her utter the words. Not when he was standing there gazing at her with that mocking lift to his eyebrows and that cruel smile flickering around the edges of his mouth. Desperately she sought for some way to gain a hint of his intentions, some sign that his feelings were engaged and not merely his sexual appetite. If he planned to return to Australia, wouldn’t that mean that she had at least some hope of developing a real relationship with him?

  ‘What are you going to do about my father’s property?’ she asked abruptly. ‘Do you still intend to buy it and manage it yourself?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ he snapped, his eyes glittering. ‘Frankly it’s not a question of major importance to me any longer. On the whole, I very much doubt it.’

  A shudder went through her and she closed her eyes briefly, as if a knife had just pierced her flesh. So she might never see him again once this French trip was over. How would she ever bear it?

  ‘I see,’ she said shakily. ‘Look, Marc, you asked me what I wanted to do. Well, I’ll tell you. This affair we’re having is more than I can handle. I want to stop sleeping with you.’

  If she had hoped he would argue with her, demand explanations, drag her into a tempestuous quarrel which would clear the air, she was disappointed. He simply shrugged and began to pull on his clothes.

  ‘Just as you like. As a matter of courtesy to my parents, I hope you’ll stay another week or two to see the region before you return to Australia. There’s a spare bedroom at the foot of the tower. I’ll move your things down there tonight.’

  ‘Won’t your mother think——?’ began Jane in a tormented voice.

  ‘She’ll think nothing!’ he snapped. ‘There’s no need for her even to know about it.’

  Jane winced as Marc finished dressing with an ominous scowl on his face.

  They went down to dinner in a highly charged, hostile silence. This was a pity, really, since Marc’s mother had clearly gone to a good deal of trouble over the meal. The heavy mahogany table was covered in a starched white double damask tablecloth, with a vase full of orange lilies in the centre and a setting of fine china, crystal wine glasses and heavy silver cutlery, all illuminated by flickering candlelight. Faced with such a welcome, Jane did her best to be an agreeable companion and was soon deep in conversation with Marc’s father about her recent six-month stay in the Champagne country.

  The food was very good. Scallops in a cream sauce followed by a casserole of beef with olives and tomatoes serve
d with pasta, and a lemon mousse for dessert. What had begun as mere good manners soon became a genuine pleasure as Jane discovered an unexpected link with Marc’s mother in the form of a shared interest in collecting old lace. They were deep in a discussion of lacemaking techniques by the time Marie brought in the coffee and Jane’s mercurial spirits were beginning to rise again. Perhaps she would be accepted here—perhaps both Marc’s parents would grow fond of her. And, when he saw how well she fitted in with his family, perhaps he would begin to reconsider his opposition to marriage. She flashed him a hesitant peacemaking smile across the vase of lilies, but he merely frowned in reply.

  ‘Oh, Marc,’ said his mother, interrupting this silent byplay. ‘I want you to keep tomorrow free. I’ve invited the whole family for lunch so that they can all meet Jane.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ replied Marc without much interest.

  ‘And there’s something else, chéri. Simone telephoned this afternoon to find out when we were expecting you and I told her you were already here. She said she had some matters of great importance to discuss with you, so I’ve invited her to stay for a few days.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JANE dropped her coffee-cup into her saucer with a clatter. As if things weren’t bad enough between her and Marc, now she was going to have Simone here, gloating over her discomfiture! But surely Marc wouldn’t allow it? Surely he would make some protest, take some defensive action to keep the two of them apart? After what had happened between him and Jane in recent weeks he couldn’t possibly want to throw the two women together…could he? To her dismay Marc merely raised his eyebrows slightly at his mother’s announcement, gave a thoughtful half-smile and nodded.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I intended to track Simone down. This will save me the trouble of pursuing her.’

  Jane could scarcely contain her outrage at this bland statement. When Marc’s father suggested a game of cards she pleaded a headache that was rapidly becoming genuine and escaped to the oldest part of the château. Marc caught her up in the tower room as she was busy cramming her clothes into her suitcase, with her lips set in a thin line and a stormy expression in her green eyes.

  ‘Do you still want to desert me, then?’ he asked in a mild tone.

  She cast him a burning look.

  ‘Yes,’ she said shortly.

  As a matter of fact, she was by no means as sure of her decision as she sounded. When she had first heard of Simone’s imminent arrival a crazy impulse had seized her to alter her decision about deserting Marc’s bed. A primitive urge to cling to her man and fight off any rival females. Yet a brief reflection had shown her how ridiculous that was. If Marc didn’t care about her enough to try and persuade her to stay or to make any genuine commitment to her, then sharing a bed with him was hardly likely to make any difference! No doubt if Simone was coming to the château with the express purpose of seducing him, she would soon persuade Marc to get rid of Jane without any difficulty at all! No, it was much better to preserve her pride and end their love affair by her own choice. Flashing him another look full of loathing, Jane did up the clasps on her suitcase with shaking fingers.

  ‘Is everything ready to go, then?’ he asked.

  She could have hit him.

  ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ she flared.

  ‘What else is there to say?’ he demanded mockingly. ‘Should I tell you that I’m desolated at your desertion? That you’ve wounded me beyond measure?’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ snapped Jane, unable to bear any more.

  As Marc carried the two heavy suitcases effortlessly down the spiral staircase Jane was uneasily conscious of the oppressive atmosphere between them. He was almost insultingly calm about the whole episode, but she thought she saw something dangerous flash in his eyes as he set her bags down on the floor of the spare bedroom. A heady feeling of anticipation swept over her and she wondered if they were on the brink of a confrontation which would strip aside all their polite pretences and lay bare their true feelings for each other. It was almost a disappointment when Marc wished her goodnight with a cool nod.

  Left alone, she locked the door as if she were in some danger of attack and then undressed impetuously, flinging her clothes all over the floor in a way that would have made Marc shudder. Then the realisation that Marc would no longer know or care how untidy she was sent an odd twinge that was close to pain through her. Even the simple task of pulling on her nightdress was a reminder of how much life had changed since she had met him. In the past she had worn tatty old cotton pyjamas, but this frothy confection of pale green charmeuse satin with a cream lace jacket had been bought purely for the purpose of dazzling Marc. It seemed a pathetic irony that she should now be wearing it as she huddled alone in the centre of a vast antique French bed. A room like this would be wonderful for lovers, but was overwhelming and rather spooky for someone on her own.

  It’s going to be awfully lonely without him, thought Jane with a sinking feeling. Oh, don’t be such a wimp! she told herself crossly. Lots of women break off affairs with men they love, and they don’t all fall to pieces once they’re alone.

  Men they love…The phrase echoed in her head, making her flinch. Yes, that was the trouble. She did still love Marc, so why had she insisted on this separation, when it wasn’t what she really wanted at all? Even now she could still creep up the stairs to Marc’s room and find herself tumbled across his bed in a display of passion that would have her gasping; she knew that without a doubt. But in the morning nothing would be changed, she told herself bitterly. I still wouldn’t know whether he cares about me or whether it’s all just some kind of combat sport to him. It’s better to keep what’s left of my pride and refuse to sleep with him any more.

  A small nagging voice inside her head told her that if she really had any pride she would leave the château completely and never see Marc again. Oh, no, I couldn’t! she protested at once. It would offend Marc’s parents. Yet deep down she knew that this was only an excuse. The truth was that she craved his company so desperately that she wasn’t strong enough to give him up. It was like being hooked on some addictive drug which she could only relinquish slowly, with a constant danger of relapse…And it would be worse once Simone arrived. How on earth could she bear to see him with the other woman?

  Surprisingly it was less of an ordeal than she expected to confront Marc the following morning. Shortly after seven o’clock there was a tap on her bedroom door.

  ‘Come in!’ yawned Jane, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her eyes.

  The massive oak door swung open with a creak and there stood Marc, already dressed and posed like a waiter on stage with a circular tray uplifted on the palm of his right hand.

  ‘What in the world——?’ began Jane.

  ‘A peace offering,’ explained Marc, transferring the tray to waist level with a flourish and then setting it on her lap. ‘I thought we might have coffee and croissants and then go for a walk together. It’s time you saw some of the local countryside—-if you’re going to stay?’

  There was just a hint of a question in the last phrase and Jane felt her cheeks grow warm as Marc watched her steadily. Unable to meet his eyes, she gave a small, shamefaced nod.

  ‘Yes, I am going to stay,’ she replied in a rush. ‘But I’m not going to share a room with you, Marc. I just feel——’

  His fingers touched her lips, halting her disjointed explanation before it really began.

  ‘You don’t have to explain,’ he told her carelessly. ‘There are plenty of other pleasures we can share. Sightseeing, dining out, shopping…’

  Jane sighed faintly as she took her first sip of hot, dense black coffee. Somehow Marc managed to put their lovemaking on the same level as any other enjoyable pastime. Was that all it meant to him? She didn’t dare to ask for fear of straying into a minefield where she would feel dangerously vulnerable.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she agreed, striving to match his careless mood. ‘Do you have any plans, then?’

>   Marc bit into a pastry covered with currants and a sweet glaze and nodded.

  ‘Mmm. My parents never surface on Sunday mornings, so I thought that you and I might walk into the village of St Sulpice, have a look round and then come back in time for this wretched family lunch at one o’clock.’

  Half an hour later Marc and Jane paused on the path leading towards the village to look back at the château, sitting solidly on a carpet of vivid green grass with symmetrical rows of vines surrounding it in all directions. The bright morning sun glinted off the steep, tiled roofs and sent long shadows plummeting down from the clipped box shrubs that bordered the terrace. Beyond the turreted part of the building, the eighteenth-century addition was just visible behind a clump of assorted trees—silver birch, ash, elms and a couple of pine trees.

  ‘It’s an amazing place, isn’t it?’ said Jane, shading her eyes. ‘Almost like two completely different separate homes, just joined together by that connecting hall.’

  ‘That’s exactly what it is,’ agreed Marc. ‘According to family tradition, one of my ancestors in the eighteenth century wanted to marry a certain girl, but she didn’t like the old château. She complained that it was dark and poky and inconvenient, so he spent more than half his fortune building a new house to please her.’

  ‘Oh, how gorgeous!’ cried Jane. ‘What a nice man he must have been. Would you do that if you really loved someone and wanted to marry her?’

  ‘No,’ said Marc shortly. ‘I think women are quite unreasonable enough as it is without any encouragement from men.’

  Jane pulled a face.

  ‘You don’t really like women much, do you?’ she demanded accusingly.

  Marc smiled with that lazy, sardonic twist to his lips that always made her long to hit him.

  ‘They’re all very well in their place,’ he replied in a bored tone. ‘But a man would be a fool to let them have the upper hand. Or to rearrange his life to please them. I never would.’