Had the despicable René insisted that his terrified bride join him on this bed? Emily wondered with a shiver. Had Luc’s unhappy mother slept in this room, until she had been drawn to end her life rather than remain at the château any longer?
‘Luc!’ Ghosts from the past seemed to lurk in every corner of the room and with a cry Emily spun round, catching the sounds of a modern power shower that was a welcome intrusion on her imagination. ‘We have to talk.’
The bathroom adjoining the master bedroom was a clever compromise between the château’s historical past and modern requirements, and although the enormous bath set on its carved, gold-plated feet dominated the room, the shower cubicle at one end did not seem out of place.
‘Are you listening?’ she demanded of the shadowy figure whose outline was just visible through the frosted glass. ‘As you’re so keen to point out, I am your wife and as such I have rights, too. The days when women were treated no better than cattle and were viewed as their husband’s possession are over. I’m not the feeble, frightened girl that René’s wife must have been and I won’t allow you to bully me!’
‘Bully you!’ There was a volcanic eruption from the shower and Emily took a hasty step backward, away from the door, but she was too late. The glass doors separated and one wet, hair-roughened arm snaked out to drag her into the cubicle where the powerful spray soaked her clothes in seconds. ‘My restraint where you’re concerned has been nothing short of saintly,’ Luc informed her furiously, as Emily backed up against the tiled wall.
Saintly was not a word she would have used to describe him, she thought faintly as her eyes were drawn to his magnificent, naked body, watching the way the soap suds clustered amid the hairs that covered his chest and trailed down over his hips to the powerful muscles of his thighs. He was sinfully gorgeous with a body that would incite the most ardent saint to think wicked thoughts. Hers must have been transparently visible in her wide, shocked eyes as she continued to stare at him, transfixed by the hardness of his shaft that lifted and swelled to burgeoning, throbbing arousal.
‘Mon Dieu, I don’t need this,’ he muttered, and her startled gaze swung to his face to see a tide of colour stain his cheekbones. ‘Stop looking at me like that, ma chérie, unless you are prepared to take the consequences.’
‘I’m not looking at you like anything,’ she snapped, desperate to disguise her excitement as heat coursed through her. ‘You pulled me in here. I can’t help it if your body is…’
‘Hot? Hard? There’s no dispute on that one, is there?’ he taunted as he stood barricading the door of the shower, his legs apart, gloriously unashamed of the potent force of his arousal. ‘Desperate to finish what we started on the plane? Is that why you’re here, Emily? Foreplay wasn’t enough and it left you aching for my full possession? You don’t have to worry,’ he assured her silkily as he moved towards her with deliberate intent. ‘I’m more than willing to help you overcome your reluctance to resume your role as my wife.’ He gave a harsh laugh, his derision directed solely at himself. You always did unman me, chérie. I have never needed any woman the way I need you.’
‘Luc, no!’ with the tiny part of her brain that was still functioning, Emily fought against the overpowering chemical reaction between them, which was adding to the steamy atmosphere of the shower cubicle. As he pulled her up against his chest he turned off the tap and she gasped, shamefully aware that her nipples were prominently displayed beneath her clingy wet top and her skirt was moulded to her thighs. ‘I came in here to talk about Jean-Claude,’ she muttered, her eyes focused on his mouth as he lowered his head towards her. ‘I don’t want this.’
‘Chérie, you’re gagging for it,’ he said bluntly, and she shuddered at the crudity of his words. Where was her pride? she demanded frantically, but then his mouth captured hers in a kiss that stole her sanity and drove every other thought but her driving need for him out of her mind. He removed her wet clothes with deft movements, his lips never leaving hers and she trembled at that first touch of his naked skin against hers, the hard sinew of his thighs pressing on the softness of hers as he pushed her up against the shower wall.
She should stop him. Every instinct warned her that she was following a path she would later regret but the burning fire in his eyes set her alight. Gone was the cold, aloof businessman she had felt so in awe of, in his place the passionate Frenchman who in the first weeks and months of their marriage had been unable to keep his hands off her. She revelled in the fact that his control was teetering on the brink. It made her feel feminine, desirable, all the things she hadn’t felt since she had fallen pregnant with Jean-Claude and Luc had retreated from her, both physically and emotionally.
‘You want this every bit as much as I do,’ he breathed as he trailed his lips to her ear where he nipped the sensitive lobe with his sharp teeth before sliding lower to her throat and finally her breasts, taking one throbbing nipple and then the other into his mouth.
Emily wanted to deny his taunt but she was helpless, sucked into a vortex of exquisite sensation so that she dug her fingers into his hair to hold him to his task. She trembled when he moved lower still, the muscles in her stomach quivering as his tongue dipped into her naval, created havoc, and then continued on his relentless path to the junction between her thighs. He wouldn’t, she thought dizzily as her legs buckled and he supported her weight while his lips moved over her wet curls until his tongue was able to explore her in an intimate caress that heightened her arousal to fever pitch.
Suddenly he straightened and, before she had time to guess his intentions, lifted her into his arms so that she was forced to curl her legs around his thighs, feeling the solid strength of his erection push against her belly. With his hands cupping her bottom, he stepped out of the cubicle and strode into the bedroom, halting by the huge bed. Emily opened her eyes as reality intruded with a vengeance.
‘This is where I should have brought you on our wedding night, where all the Vaillon wives have given themselves totally and utterly to their husbands,’ Luc told her, his eyes glittering, and she recognised that he was fast approaching the point of no return. ‘If I take you now, on this bed, I can never let you go; you will for ever be mine. You have about thirty seconds to stop me, ma petite,’ he warned her, but Emily was lost. This was Luc, the man she had once loved, still loved if she had the courage to look into her heart. His hard arousal was pulsating against her thighs and with no other thought than that she needed him, she wriggled lower down his body, her legs still wrapped tightly around him.
Luc muttered an imprecation in his own tongue as he lowered her onto the edge of the bed, his hands beneath her bottom lifting her as he entered her with one powerful thrust that made her gasp. It had been a long time and she closed her eyes as he filled her, waited a second for her muscles to relax around him before he withdrew, only to thrust again, deeper this time, the sensations he aroused in her unbearably intense. It was no gentle seduction. Gone was Luc the skilful, controlled lover, in his place a man intent on assuaging a driving need that had been building for over a year. He took her with a hunger, a savagery that made her tremble, although not with fear, but an answering passion that she was powerless to deny.
She clung to his shoulders as lowered his head once more to take her mouth in a fierce kiss that warned of his ultimate possession, and all the time his body moved within hers, hard against soft, dark olive skin an erotic contrast to the milky whiteness of her thighs. On, on, higher and higher he drove her and she could only hang on for dear life as waves of sensation built inexorably, reached their peak and sent her crashing over the edge, her body shuddering as she drowned in pleasure.
He was mere seconds behind her, his brow beaded with sweat, and she stared at him poised above her, his face a rigid mask as he fought to stem the tide of pleasure that threatened to engulf him. ‘Emily…’ Her name was wrenched from his throat and once again she marvelled at his total loss of control where once his restraint had been so absolute. His aim ma
y have been to humiliate her but there were no winners in this power struggle, only losers, she thought, blinking back the sudden rush of tears.
Their bodies might be satiated, still trembling with the last aftershocks of their mutual climax, but it had been sex at its most primitive, the need to appease a basic urge. At least for him it was, she conceded sadly. He did not confuse lust with love but for her they were inextricably linked and although her body was replete her heart ached and over-spilled with the words he didn’t want to hear.
‘I think that proves we can dispense with the idea of divorce once and for all, don’t you?’ The hint of smug satisfaction in Luc’s voice demolished the remnants of her self-respect, and she wrapped her arms around her body in a purely defensive gesture. ‘I have to admit I found your dedication to duty impressive.’
‘I don’t give a damn what you think,’ Emily told him tightly, her voice thick with tears she was desperate to hide from him. For a moment he stilled and she felt his eyes on her, although she refused to turn her head and look at him.
‘Emily…’ There was a curious huskiness in his voice but she steeled herself to ignore it. Luc had been hewn from the same stone as his medieval château and any hint of softness was in her imagination only.
‘Go to hell,’ she told him succinctly. ‘You’ve got what you wanted and so have I. Let’s just leave it at that shall we? Quits.’
For one terrifying moment she thought he would join her on the bed and she silently prayed that he would leave her before she broke down. Her tears would be the final humiliation. She couldn’t bear him to see her cry and she released her breath on a slow hiss when he eventually moved away.
‘As you wish, chérie. I suggest you remain here and rest. You look…shattered,’ he commented silkily as he strode towards the en suite, ‘and Robyn has organised a small reception for tonight, a chance for you to meet some of my friends who live locally. Everyone is curious to see the new mistress of the Château Montiard,’ he added as Emily stared at him, unable to conceal her dismay.
‘You mean Robyn’s here?’
‘Naturellement,’ he replied with a shrug that screamed of his indifference to her reaction. ‘Where else would she be?’
‘Where else indeed?’ Emily muttered thickly, shocked not so much by his announcement but by this open display of his cruelty and the level of her pain. Robyn, one of the most stunningly beautiful women of her generation and indubitably Luc’s lover, was here at the château and any tenuous hopes she might have harboured about her relationship with her husband drained away.
Luc halted in the doorway to the bathroom and gave an impatient sigh. ‘I’ve explained that my work base is now here at the château and Robyn is my personal assistant. I rely heavily on her organisational skills so try not to let your vivid imagination run away with you, ma petite.’
Emily’s brows shot skywards and she called on every ounce of her acting ability as she surveyed Luc with cool disdain. ‘I’m sure her organisational skills are the least of her charms, but have it your own way. One thing, though, which of us will you introduce as your mistress of the château? I suggest you think about it before you cause your friends embarrassment,’ she murmured, and winced as he slammed the door with such force that it shook on its hinges. Only then did she bury her head in the pillows and cry until there were no more tears left. At some point exhaustion took over and she slept, unaware that Luc had returned and stood staring down at her tear-streaked face before he covered her with the quilt and finally left her in peace.
CHAPTER FIVE
THIS DAY SHOULD be forever etched on my mind as the day I had first held my son, Luc brooded. Instead, there was only one person who dominated his thoughts.
Emily.
Her name swirled around in his head, teasing him, tormenting him as she had always done. With a muttered oath he strode into the dining room, recalling with stark clarity the way she had writhed beneath him a few hours earlier. Her hoarse cries as he’d driven her to the pinnacle of sexual pleasure and the way she had sobbed his name with the power of her release were not things he would forget in a hurry and even now, with less than an hour to go before the damned dinner party Robyn had arranged, his body was responding to those memories with an enthusiasm that made him ache. How the hell was he going to sit through dinner like this, when all he really wanted to do was go upstairs and make love to his wife with a thoroughness that would atone for the months they’d spent apart?
Not that he would be welcome, he admitted grimly. He had been every inch the barbarian Emily had accused him of, so driven by his own damnable need that he had been rough with her, maybe had even hurt her. It was not a comfortable thought and he walked over to the window to stare out at the spectacular view across the Loire Valley. Hurting her had not been part of his plan but if he was honest, he didn’t have a plan other to reclaim what was rightfully his. It was a frightening admission for a man who exerted supreme control over every aspect of his life. He couldn’t remember a time when he had acted on instinct rather than following a preordained programme. He didn’t like surprises, which was why he had found his reaction to Lord Anthony Dyer’s youngest daughter so startling.
Heston Grange represented one of the finest pieces of real estate in England. It would be a lie to deny that his original interest had been solely in acquiring the magnificent country houses with a view to refurbishment. It would represent a huge coup for his development company, he’d acknowledged, but he had felt some sympathy for the Dyers, who had owned the house for generations.
From the start he had been aware of undercurrents within the family, especially from Anthony’s pushy wife Sarah, and he had been mildly amused by the hinted suggestion that marriage to one of the Dyers’ daughters could result in a drop in the asking price of the estate. Sarah had been desperate to keep a foothold in the door of Heston Grange and her three older daughters were certainly attractive, but as far as he had been concerned, marriage was not on his agenda.
And then he had met Emily.
Even now, two years on, he could not repress a smile as he recalled his first sight of her. With her flushed cheeks and tangled hair she had reminded him of a wood nymph, her beauty completely natural, earthy and unbelievably sexy. The fact that she had been as shy and awkward as a young colt had only added to his fascination. He’d spent that first evening unable to take his eyes off her and although he had accepted Anthony Dyer’s invitation to stay at Heston and discuss the most important business deal of his life, he had found himself drawn with annoying regularity to the stables.
He had needed every ounce of his patience as he’d sought to break down Emily’s reserve, he remembered, but she had been worth the wait. The first time he’d kissed her he had shocked them both with the level of his hunger, but far from frightening her she had revealed a hidden depth of passion that had left him mad with longing. There had been no plan in his head, no carefully thought-out decision to ask her to marry him. He had reacted on pure instinct, as if his soul had recognised its mate and could not bear to let her go. But presumably she had not felt the same way, which was why she had left him.
‘Will there be anything else, Monsieur Vaillon?’ Simone’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he swung round, dredging up a smile for the maid. She had finished putting the final touches to the table, checking the cutlery and adjusting the position of the centre display of old-fashioned roses. Their exquisite perfume hung heavy in the air, their petals reflected in the highly polished veneer of the table, and he felt his tension ease a little.
‘Everything looks perfect,’ he complimented in his own language and Simone blushed with pleasure. He had every confidence that the dinner party would run without a hitch, aided by Sylvie’s excellent cooking and Philippe’s imperturbable presence at the table, but his main thanks would have to go to his personal assistant.
If only Robyn had consulted him first, before arranging a social event for Emily’s first night at the château, he thought grim
ly. He hadn’t expected her to even be here and had assumed she would remain at her Paris apartment where he’d phoned to say he was bringing both Jean-Claude and Emily back to the château.
Why had Robyn immediately driven down? The paperwork she had said was vital had been an excuse, he was sure of it. She had dealt with far more complex affairs without his help before. She better than anyone was aware of the tensions that had existed within his marriage. It was Robyn he had confided in when he had been unable to reveal his innermost fears to Emily. Surely she could appreciate his desire for some time alone with his wife and son?
Perhaps her presence would be a good thing, he mused, a way for him to demonstrate to Emily that there really was nothing going on between him and his PA. But he was tied to Robyn by the past. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with his brother’s death, and she relied on him as her emotional prop. It was churlish of him to feel restless but suddenly he wished she would pick up the threads of her life once more and allow him the freedom to carry on with his.
As Simone made to go he called her back. ‘I want you to take this up to Madame Vaillon,’ he requested, handing the maid a flat box engraved with the name of an exclusive boutique from the nearby city of Orléans. ‘It’s a present, something for my wife to wear tonight,’ he explained. ‘My secretary has just returned with it.’ Simone nodded, her eyes shining with an excitement he only hoped would be reflected in Emily’s blue gaze.
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