by Kim Lawrence
‘I’m afraid not,’ their hostess said smoothly. ‘A family get-together without two male members of the family and with the addition of two unexpected guests. Par for the course,’ she observed philosophically.
‘I’m not staying,’ Rachel said, getting to her feet. Her skin wasn’t really thick enough for this intrusion stuff. If Sir Stuart wasn’t here there wasn’t much point in her staying, and there was always the worrying possibility that Ben would appear. ‘In fact I think I should go now. I’m very sorry to intrude.’
‘Here’s coffee now. You must join us. I insist.’ Beneath the smile Rachel could see the definite glint of steely determination. At least Sir Stuart didn’t get entirely his own way at home. This thought offered her small comfort as she desperately tried to think of a reason for her immediate departure.
‘But my friend is picking me up.’ She glanced down at her wristwatch to illustrate the imminence of this event.
‘Well, we’ll get them to send him up to the house when he arrives. It is a he?’
‘Yes. His name’s Fauré.’ She decided to be gracious in defeat.
‘French!’ The dark-haired daughter of the house pushed a dog off the sofa and installed herself cross-legged in its place. ‘I think continental men are simply delicious. So much more sexy than boring Brits.’ She flashed her brother a meaningful glance. ‘Especially Frenchmen. All my lovers shall be French or maybe Italian.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ her brother said drily. ‘I’ll just take Libby up to bed; she’s due her nap.’ He patted the sleeping child on his shoulder gently on the back. He murmured a soft aside to his wife and she nodded.
‘Get them to ring down to the gate about Rachel’s friend, Tom.’
‘Will do.’ He nodded, before turning his attention briefly back to his sister. ‘If I can’t excel as a Latin lover—’ he struck a mock-heroic pose and then slumped his shoulders pathetically ‘—I’ll just have to earn my keep being useful round the house. Incidentally, Nat, maybe you should wait until you’ve got the ironwear off the teeth before you start working your way through the continental studs. A moment of passion and their crowns could be dust.’
‘Shut up, you; I don’t know how Ruth puts up with you!’ his sister yelled after him. ‘I shall have beautiful teeth,’ she observed, tapping the metal framework around her front teeth.
‘You will, my dear,’ her mother confirmed. ‘Ah,’ she said, inclining her head to one side in an attentive attitude. ‘I recognise that slam. I do believe Benedict is back.’
‘Oh, excellent.’ Sabrina got to her feet slowly and regarded her reflection in an ornate mirror on the wall opposite with a smug smile.
Rachel got to her feet, too, like a puppet whose strings had just been jerked particularly viciously, but she wasn’t smiling. She was still wondering if she could make it safely through the French windows before he entered the room when the door was pushed open.
‘Darling.’
‘Sabrina, what are you doing here?’ Benedict’s response would have dampened more sensitive spirits than Sabrina, who smiled seductively and glided across the room. ‘Good God, Rachel!’ He literally froze.
Someone released the tension on those invisible strings and her knees started to quiver. ‘I’m just going, Mr Arden.’ Her voice showed a tendency to quiver too. She heard it and Benedict did too; she watched his lips curve into a cruel smile. He looked to be in one hell of a temper.
‘Mr Arden?’ he echoed mockingly. ‘Miss French, no, you’re not leaving!’
‘Really, Ben, darling, it is the weekend; I’m sure the girl has better things to do than—do whatever secretaries do.’
Sabrina, Rachel thought despairingly, was probably the only person in the room that hadn’t read, and personally translated, the undercurrents. Lurid reading those versions probably made, too.
‘I’m not his secretary!’
‘She’s not my secretary!’
The two hot denials emerged simultaneously and seething grey eyes clashed with smouldering brown ones.
‘What is she, then? And why is she here?’ asked the blonde, with a disgruntled expression. She didn’t like conversations that didn’t include herself.
The crinkly lines Rachel loved around Benedict’s eyes deepened as he regarded her with narrow-eyed interest. ‘Good question. What are you, and why are you here, Rachel?’
He was gloating, enjoying her discomfiture. Later, when she was rehashing the day’s events, she might be able to come up with the perfect cutting rejoinder that would wipe that smug grin off his face, but right now she had to rely on the transparent subterfuge which had got her in here.
‘I brought some papers for your father to sign.’
‘What papers? Where are they?’ He looked around the room, apparently confident he wouldn’t discover any.
‘I expect they’re on your father’s desk, Benedict. You look terrible.’ Rachel thought he looked sinfully gorgeous but she could see what his mother meant. His eyes were definitely bloodshot and he hadn’t shaved; in fact he looked more like Charlie’s guardian angel than the sleek legal eagle. ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’
Rachel shot a grateful glance in Emily Arden’s direction. She needed all the support she could get.
‘I’ve spent the best part of two hours camped out on Rachel’s doorstep.’
‘You can hardly hold me responsible,’ Rachel said indignantly in response to his smouldering glare. ‘If you choose to waste your time that’s your affair.’
‘Talking of affairs…’ he drawled.
He wouldn’t! The dark eyes shone mockingly back at her. He would! Her stomach churned in misery and embarrassment. ‘What am I supposed to do—wait in on the off chance you might want me?’
‘I don’t think there’s any might about it.’ His wry tone left no room for misinterpretation. She knew what he was thinking as his eyes made the journey from her toes to the top of her head with dramatic pauses to enjoy certain aspects of her figure, and so did everyone else in the room! She’d never felt so humiliated in her life—or as angry!
The slow, contemplative smile on his face broadened as the hot colour flared in two angry bands of red across her cheekbones.
‘If you don’t care about my feelings you might at least have the common courtesy not to embarrass your family,’ she choked furiously. The bland look she received in return didn’t display any signs of remorse.
‘I’m not embarrassed,’ Natalie observed chirpily.
An expression of shocked comprehension crossed Sabrina’s face. ‘But she’s…’ Her perfect nose wrinkled in confusion as she compared her own willowy reflection in the mirror with Rachel’s slightly shorter, more curvy figure.
‘She’s going,’ Rachel snapped. She didn’t need the blonde to remind her of the disparity in their claims to beauty. And unlike Sabrina there was no way she could ever hope to match Benedict’s sophistication. How he must be cursing the moment of madness that had tied him to her. She could imagine how relieved he’d be when he knew that there was no need to do the ‘right thing’. His father certainly knew which buttons to press, she thought bitterly; Benedict wasn’t the most obvious candidate for old-fashioned values.
‘Not till I say so, you’re not,’ he replied in a cold, clear voice from which old-fashioned chivalry was noticeably absent.
Rachel heard a collective startled gasp and a nervous giggle, but she didn’t notice from where it had originated. Her head was filled with the dull roar of the blood pounding in her ears.
‘I’ll go when and where I like, and if you try to stop me you can…’
‘I can what?’ he goaded.
She looked around and saw that all the audience was waiting for her answer with bated breath. Well, he might not mind providing a floor show for his nearest and dearest but she did!
‘You know something, Ben? Meeting you is right up there with mumps and acne. You’re the most insensitive, self-centred, manipulative…’ She made a sound of
disgust low in her throat. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if my life depended on it.’
‘What makes you think it doesn’t?’ If anything the aggressive tilt of his square jaw had grown even more pronounced.
‘You were right, Ruth. I owe you a tenner. He proposed! Well, I’ll be—’
‘Tom!’ Benedict snarled, evincing no sign of brotherly love as he swung around to face the man who’d entered the room behind him. ‘As a matter of fact I have. I’ve proposed and been refused. Thinking of offering me advice, are you?’
The eldest of the Arden brood bit back a grin and arranged his mobile features into a suitably sombre mask. ‘Actually I just came to tell Miss French—Rachel—that her lift is here.’ His green eyes sparkled with lively interest.
‘Show him in, Tom,’ Emily Arden instructed. ‘Them in,’ she corrected herself drily as the door swung open and Charlie walked in, followed at a more sedate pace by her uncle.
Charlie looked calmly around the room, completely unfazed by the unknown faces. ‘This place looks like something off a magazine cover,’ she remarked admiringly. She grinned at her mother. ‘Hi, Mum!’
‘She must be old.’ Sabrina’s chagrin was almost comical. She looked indignantly from Rachel to Charlie and back to Rachel again as if she expected to see her age before her eyes.
It was then that Charlie saw Benedict.
‘Ben!’ Her small face lit up and she ran like a heat-seeking missile straight at him.
That’s what I want to do. Rachel felt the dull pain of acknowledgement. For a split second all she felt was deep envy for the ability to display such spontaneous pleasure.
Hiding her feelings meant she had to consider every word, every gesture. The expression on Benedict’s face as he bent forward and lifted her high brought a heavy, emotional constriction to her aching throat. There could be no doubting the genuine nature of his feelings where Charlie was concerned.
His family watched with varying degrees of shock as Benedict swung the youngster up into the air before placing her back down on her feet and ruffling her halo of damp golden-blonde hair.
‘I was wondering where you were.’ He saw for the first time who had followed Charlie into the room. It was as if someone had flicked a switch. He was projecting such intense hostility, you could almost see the waves of loathing emanating from his eyes.
‘I was with Uncle Christophe.’ Charlie’s vivid blue eyes turned happily to the figure who had so far been silent. ‘We went swimming.’
‘Ah, yes, Uncle Christophe.’ His dark eyes met Rachel’s. The contempt she read there made her jaw tighten and her chin go up in automatic defiance.
He obviously thought she’d created another story to spare herself Charlie’s awkward questions, but she couldn’t squash his nasty theory without revealing the fact that she’d let him believe a lie. Her glance moved worriedly to Christophe and she wondered how the older man would respond to Ben’s hostility. She knew she only had Charlie’s presence to thank for Benedict’s restraint so far.
‘Charlie is an excellent swimmer.’ Christophe smiled warmly at his niece.
‘When I go to France I shall swim in the sea—it’s warm there—won’t I, Mum?’ Not daring to look in Benedict’s direction, Rachel nodded weakly.
‘And when is this trip arranged, Charlie?’ Benedict asked, no discernible expression on his face.
There was no question of drawing blood from a stone; Charlie was only too happy to reveal her plans to Ben. Rachel listened with deepening resignation as her daughter told him their plans in tiresomely meticulous detail.
‘Wouldn’t it be great if Ben could come too, Mum?’
That really did focus her attention!
‘Great!’ she echoed hollowly. ‘But he’s a very busy man and he’ll probably be in Australia by then.’ She met the glittering mockery in Benedict’s eyes with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘My schedule is flexible.’
‘My plans aren’t.’
‘We have an open house; any friend of yours is welcome, Rachel.’
She silently mouthed ‘no’ to Christophe and grimaced to indicate this wasn’t a good idea. All her furtive pantomime achieved was to make Christophe look even more confused. She wished now that she’d given him an explanation for her trip here this morning.
With her luck the way Benedict’s mind was working he’d probably think poor Christophe was inviting him to form part of some sort of ménage à trois! Before Rachel could divert Christophe’s native hospitality Benedict spoke up.
‘Open…?’ he mused slowly. The derision seeped around the edges of his languid drawl and Rachel instinctively moved to stand protectively in front of Christophe. ‘Myself, I like boundaries. In homes, in jobs, most importantly in marriages. It cuts down on confusion.’
Christophe Fauré looked bemused and Rachel could understand why. She just hoped he’d stay that way. As he was completely innocent of marital infidelity, Benedict’s heavy-handed irony wasn’t likely to prick his conscience.
‘Why doesn’t Ben like Uncle Christophe?’ There was an embarrassed silence as Charlie glanced enquiringly at her mother. She tugged imperatively at the loose white shirt Benedict wore tucked into his blue denims. ‘He’s nice, Ben.’
‘I’m sure he is, Charlie.’ He visibly reined in his aggression. He flexed his fingers as they unfurled from the balled fists which had rested suggestively at his sides. His breathing was almost normal as he smiled reassuringly down at the child.
‘Well, I think Frenchmen are very nice.’ Natalie got to her feet and crossed the room towards her brother. Her mother smiled on proudly as, displaying maturity beyond her years, her daughter successfully took the spotlight off her sibling.
‘Thank you, mademoiselle.’
‘I’m Natalie.’ With a self-confident smile she extended her hand and eyed this mature example of the breed with open approval. She gave a laugh of delight as it was raised to his lips. ‘Watch and learn, boys,’ she advised her brothers.
‘Are you Ben’s sister?’ Charlie asked curiously.
‘For my sins.’
‘You look alike.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ she replied, with a grimace. ‘But, unfortunately, he’s much prettier than me.’
‘You’re too kind,’ her brother responded drily.
‘Do you like horses, Charlie?’ Natalie continued in her friendly manner. She squatted down until she was at eye level with the little girl. ‘I was just on my way out to the stables…’
‘I used to ride,’ Charlie explained, her eyes sparkling in response. ‘But we live in the town now.’
‘Would you like to come and see them?’
‘I’m afraid we’ve intruded long enough.’ Rachel ignored the reproachful spaniel look her daughter threw in her direction. ‘Christophe has an appointment in town this afternoon.’ If he didn’t pick up her desperate signals this time she’d just die.
‘Yes, unfortunately I do need to leave.’
Rachel sighed with relief and sent him a grateful smile.
‘That’s no problem; I can give you and Charlie a lift back later, Rachel. I was going that way anyway.’
Fear was supposed to sharpen your wits, lend an extra edge to your mental faculties. I must be the exception to the rule, she thought, unable to tear her eyes away from Benedict’s gaze. The insolence in those dark eyes was deliberate; he was daring her to get out of that one. She’d have loved to rise to the occasion but her brain was the consistency of mush.
‘I…that is….’
‘That’s settled, then. Shall I show Mr Fauré to the door?’
‘It’s a bit late to play the perfect host, Benedict,’ his mother said lightly. ‘Mr Fauré, let me do the honours and possibly persuade you to come and visit again when things are less…’ she eyed her son thoughtfully ‘…volatile?’
‘Come on, Charlie,’ Natalie said, chivvying the dogs with a piercing whistle. ‘We’ll go and see the horses.’ She leant close to
her brother. ‘This will cost you big,’ she said softly.
‘I know.’ Benedict’s eyes didn’t leave Rachel’s face for an instant.
‘And I expect a blow-by-blow—’
Benedict did look at her then with indulgent tolerance. ‘Get a life, Nat,’ he advised, not unkindly.
‘Some chance of that; you want to try being sixteen,’ she tossed back, taking Charlie by the hand and leading her out into the garden.
‘Weren’t you going to show us those photos of the big bash for your brother’s engagement, Sabrina?’ Tom shot a slightly apologetic look towards his wife as he pulled her to her feet. ‘Ruth was amazed when I told her who was there.’
This was enough to draw Sabrina’s resentful eyes from the silent tableau of the two remaining figures in the room. ‘Did I tell you that…?’ She began ticking off all the minor members of royalty and media personalities who had been there on her carmine-tipped fingers. ‘And she’s much fatter than she looks on TV.’ Rachel never did discover who this was: the doors in the Arden mansion were very solid.
‘Alone at last.’
‘I didn’t say goodbye to Christophe. He’ll think…’
Benedict’s expression grew harsh, his jaw clenched in anger and his eyes were obsidian-hard. ‘He’s history,’ he said with a dismissive shrug. ‘And if he’s got an ounce of intuition he knows it, and if he hasn’t…’ His sensual lips thinned to an unpleasant line.
She could hardly believe this was the same man with a solution to the most complex of legal problems who was displaying an amazing willingness to solve this problem with his fists. Violence was implicit in every line of his athletic, power-packed body.
‘How dare you act like a…a barbarian? And if you touch me I’ll scream…’ she warned, backing away in panic as he moved towards her. If he touched her it would only be a matter of time—very little time—before she was begging—and this time she wouldn’t be pleading for him not to touch her…
‘As a family our mating rituals tend to be noisy; I don’t think anyone will come running.’
‘I’m not interested in your family.’