‘Madame, it is time for you to wake, I think.’
Emily opened her eyes and stared into the anxious face of Luc’s maid.
‘It is almost the dinner,’ Simone explained agitatedly in her broken English, and slowly Emily sat up. She was in the master bedroom, Luc’s bedroom, lying on the vast bed. And she was naked, although fortunately someone had covered her with the heavy silk quilted bedspread. The knowledge did not alleviate her embarrassment and she shuddered as her memory returned. Had Simone discovered her wet clothes in the shower where Luc had stripped her? Had he sent Simone to check on her, perhaps to make sure she hadn’t been tempted to throw herself out of the window like two other Vaillon wives before her had done? Heaven knew what the young maid was thinking. Emily groaned as she wrapped the bedspread round her and inched towards the edge of the bed.
‘I’ll quickly shower and dress,’ she explained with a mixture of gestures and her schoolgirl French, and Simone’s face cleared.
‘Monsieur Vaillon asked me to give you this. His assistant bought it for you,’ she said cheerfully, her eyes widening as Emily opened the box to reveal a simple but exquisite sheath of navy blue silk, with delicate shoestring straps and a lowcut bodice.
‘C’est très belle,’ Simone breathed reverently and Emily reluctantly had to agree that Robyn had exemplary taste.
‘It’s very pretty,’ she agreed briskly, replacing the dress between the layers of tissue in the box, ‘but I have my own clothes.’
She frowned when she discovered her empty suitcase on a chair and further investigation revealed that her clothes had been hung in one of the wardrobes, her few brightly coloured outfits looking lost and out of place against the backdrop of the grand antique furniture. ‘I think I’ll wear this,’ she said defiantly, selecting her one dress that came anywhere near formal. It was a cerise pink halter neck with a long skirt that looked demure until she moved and revealed a split that reached mid-thigh. Elegant it was not, she conceded, noting Simone’s dismayed expression, but it was bright and funky and, more importantly, hers. She refused to wear a dress that had been chosen by Luc’s mistress.
‘But Monsieur Vaillon—’
‘Does not tell me what to wear,’ she finished for Simone. ‘Did he ask you to hang my clothes in here?’ she demanded, and the maid nodded, her confusion palpable when Emily instructed her to transfer all the items in the wardrobe to the empty room across the landing.
‘Monsieur Vaillon will not be happy,’ Simone muttered, and on that one Emily was forced to agree, but Luc’s anger would be vented on her—she could bet on it—not the hapless Simone.
She showered and changed in record time, piling her long chestnut hair into a loose chignon and adding a touch of make-up, emphasising her long eyelashes with mascara and defining her lips with a clear gloss. In the nursery Jean-Claude greeted her enthusiastically and she lifted him into her arms with a sigh of pleasure, rubbing her cheek against his satiny curls.
‘I’ve just given him some yoghurt,’ Liz warned. ‘He might be a bit sticky and you’re all dressed for dinner.’
‘I don’t care,’ Emily returned cheerfully. She would never be one of those mothers who cared more about her appearance than cuddling her baby. ‘It’s rather late for his teatime,’ she commented, and Liz nodded.
‘I’m afraid he slept all afternoon and now he’s raring to go but I’ll play with him while you’re busy with your guests.’
‘Even better, I’ll take him down to meet them,’ Emily said decisively. ‘Can you give him the quickest bath on record, while I choose his outfit?’
If Liz was surprised she said nothing, and Emily smiled at her son, her heart clenching with love as she received a cheeky grin in return. She refused to look too closely at her reasons for wanting to take him down to the dinner party. Perhaps it was to emphasise her role in his life to Luc, or maybe it was just because she wanted to show the baby off.
‘You are the most gorgeous little man in the whole world,’ she told her son a short while later, when Jean-Claude had been bathed and dressed in a smart sailor suit.
‘Thank you, chérie, but not so little, as I hope I demonstrated earlier,’ came a throaty voice in her ear, and her cheeks flamed as she swung round to find Luc close behind her. For a moment she stiffened and then her lips twitched. He was an arrogant devil and she had forgotten how he’d loved to tease her mercilessly, until their shared laughter had slowly died and the chemistry between them had fizzed out of control. Her eyes darkened with an array of emotions she could not disguise and the answering gleam in his grey gaze told her he was aware of her wayward thoughts.
He didn’t play fair, she told herself crossly as she swung her back on him and fought to bring her hormones under control.
Resplendent in his black dinner suit and white silk shirt, he looked good enough to eat and she was hungry. Making love with him earlier had whetted her appetite after more than a year apart but it couldn’t happen again, she told herself firmly. Luc had to understand that she was an independent woman, not a puppet who would jump when he pulled the strings.
‘We must share the same thoughts,’ he murmured, and her cheeks turned scarlet at the very idea of him being party to her fevered imagination. ‘I also came to collect Jean-Claude,’ he added coolly, lifting the unresisting baby into his arms, and Emily sighed at the look of delight on Jean-Claude’s face as he laid his head on Luc’s shoulder.
‘You’re honoured,’ she muttered bleakly. ‘He doesn’t usually take to strangers.’
‘But I’m not a stranger, I’m his father,’ Luc pointed out quietly. ‘Perhaps he recognised me from here, in his heart, in the same way that I recognised with absolute certainty that he is my son.’
Emily was startled by the raw emotion in his voice. The flash of pain in his eyes as he looked down at Jean-Claude was real. No one could act that convincingly. Once again she was filled with guilt that she must have misjudged him. But if that was true, why had he dismissed the chance to see Jean-Claude after his birth? Nothing made sense and she sighed, unaware that he had noted the misery in her eyes.
‘Is something troubling you?’ he queried politely, as if he were addressing a member of his staff rather than the woman he had made love to so passionately only hours before.
She laughed bitterly. ‘Other than being kidnapped and held in your damn great castle against my will, you mean?’ she flung at him sarcastically, and his jaw tightened.
‘If you insist on leaving, I’ll have Philippe drive you to wherever you want to go.’
‘But not with Jean-Claude?’
‘Non.’ His reply was cold, unemotional but utterly implacable, and she gave a frustrated sigh.
‘You know I’d never leave him.’
‘Then it is a prison of your own making, because I will never let you take him again, and if you try…’ He broke off and glanced down at the child in his arms, his eyes flaring with a level of emotion he had never awarded her. ‘You will be sorry,’ he promised flatly, and she shivered at the inherent threat. How had they come to this? she thought miserably as tears stung her eyes.
‘Do you ever wish we could turn back the clock?’ she whispered, and his harsh laugh scraped across her already raw nerves.
‘Every day of my life, chérie—and for so many reasons,’ he added obliquely, but she was sure he was referring to their marriage, certain he regretted the day he had made her his wife, and all her old insecurities flooded back. ‘But unfortunately we cannot change the past. I have missed so much of Jean-Claude’s babyhood. Precious time that cannot be replaced, and for what?’ He rounded on her bitterly. ‘Mon Dieu, Emily, I am trying very hard to understand where I went wrong, but did my crimes really deserve such a cruel punishment? Do you know what haunts me the most?’ he demanded. ‘If you hadn’t filed for a divorce, I still wouldn’t know the whereabouts of my son. Perhaps I should count myself lucky that you only sentenced me to a year of despair. You could have kept him from me for ever.�
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‘I told you I was coming back to England,’ Emily defended herself. ‘I wanted us to share custody of Jean-Claude.’
‘Only because you were running out of money,’ he said scathingly and her head jerked back as if he had struck her.
‘That’s not true. I don’t need money. I don’t need anything from you. All I ever wanted was a little of your time,’ she muttered thickly. ‘I wanted us to build a relationship outside the bedroom but you made me feel as though my only function was to provide convenient sex.’
‘Which you hated, I suppose?’ he mocked angrily, his eyes flashing fire. She sighed, aware that she wasn’t getting through to him. ‘I didn’t hate it but I was unhappy that it was the only form of communication between us. A marriage can’t survive solely on sex, as we discovered once I fell pregnant and you refused to come near me. There was precious little communication between us then, was there Luc?’
‘You sound like a spoilt child whingeing for attention,’ he ground out furiously as he fought the sharp needles of his conscience that reminded him he hadn’t spent enough time with her. He wasn’t used to sharing, he acknowledged grimly. He’d got into the habit of compartmentalising his life and when he’d come home from work he hadn’t wanted to bore her with details of his day. He’d wanted to lose himself in the sweetness of her body. His role had been to protect her, to provide for her, and he’d been determined to do so to the best of his ability. But instead of appreciating his efforts, she had been so unhappy that she had walked out on him.
Women were totally incomprehensible, he decided bitterly. It seemed that whatever he did he couldn’t win, but children were a different matter. His feelings for his son were uncomplicated. He loved him unreservedly and he was determined not to make the same mistakes his own father had. Jean-Claude would never have reason to doubt his love, he vowed fiercely. According to Emily, he had been a useless husband but he was going to be the best father ever.
He swung round and headed for the door of the nursery, pausing for a moment to glance back at her impatiently. ‘Did Simone not give you the dress I bought you?’
‘She did, but I told you I don’t want anything from you.’ Certainly not a dress he had requested his personal assistant to choose for her, Emily thought furiously. How insensitive could he get? ‘I prefer to wear my own clothes but I don’t suppose my cheap dress meets your exacting standards.’
‘Non, you look like a slut,’ he said coldly, and instantly could have cut off his tongue as she paled. Why the hell did he want to hurt her? Was it really because he hated the fact that the dress was more revealing than he was happy with? It had never bothered him when his previous lovers had paraded around in next to nothing but Emily was his woman, his wife and he wanted to lock her away from the world. He was no better than his barbaric ancestor, he acknowledged disgustedly, no better than his father. The thought shattered all his preconceived notions about himself.
‘Our guests are already here,’ he muttered, tearing his eyes from the dejected slump of her shoulders. Her head came up.
‘Good, because the only clothes I possess are shorter and briefer and altogether more sluttish,’ she told him fiercely. ‘Not at all what your designer brigade friends are used to.’ She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing his one vicious taunt had demolished her self-confidence, but as she stormed past him he gripped her arm.
‘My friends have waited a long time to meet you and are under the impression that, together with Jean-Claude, we are one happy family. Let’s not disillusion them,’ he warned softly.
‘Meaning what?’ Emily demanded ungrammatically, and he paused at the top of the stairs to stare down at her.
‘Meaning that tonight you will act the part of my adoring wife, blissfully happy that we are reunited.’
Why was he so eager to prove that their relationship was happy? Emily wondered with a frown. He was a fiercely proud man. Perhaps he couldn’t bear the idea of his friends knowing that she had walked out on him. ‘I’m afraid my acting ability’s not that good,’ she informed him coolly as she swept down the stairs in front of him and he laughed sardonically.
‘Then improvise, chérie, like you did this afternoon. You were so adamant that you didn’t want sex with me but I would never have guessed it from your wild response when you shared my shower. You’re more talented than you think.’
Emily was still searching for a suitable retort when they reached the door of the salon and a tall, elegant blonde stepped forward to greet them.
‘Emily, it’s been a long time,’ she murmured in the cool, faintly amused tone that Emily remembered so well, and her heart plummeted. Robyn was as stunning as ever in sumptuous, floor-length black velvet that was moulded to her body like a second skin, and Emily was immediately conscious of her cheap, brightly coloured dress. What on earth had induced her stupid spurt of rebellion? she wondered dismally. She should have worn the dress Luc had bought her, but it was certainly too late to change now and the familiar sick nervousness tied her stomach in knots as she braced herself to meet his guests. ‘Everyone’s dying to meet the mysterious Madame Vaillon,’ Robyn murmured, so softly that only Emily heard. ‘Let’s hope they’re not disappointed.’
As Luc’s friends instantly surrounded him Emily felt as though she were invisible and hung back as he proudly introduced his son. Of course Jean-Claude was adorable, she acknowledged ruefully, and, far from being upset by the attention, he was lapping it up but as she slunk into a corner Luc turned and held out his hand.
‘I’d like to introduce my wife, Emily,’ he said, his burning gaze searing her as his eyes settled on her face and he lifted her hand to his lips. ‘As you can see, I am doubly blessed to have such a beautiful mother for my son.’
Never mind her acting ability, Emily thought frantically, her cheeks burning as he pressed his mouth against her hand. He was surely in line to win an Oscar, but even the knowledge that it was all pretence did not stop her heart from pounding, especially when his lips found the pulse that jerked unevenly in her wrist. She could almost believe that the flare of warmth in his eyes was real and she trembled when, instead of releasing her, his lips travelled along her arm to caress the vein that throbbed in the crease of her elbow joint. His friends would be left in no doubt of his devotion to her but only she knew it wasn’t real.
As an ice-breaker, Jean-Claude’s presence was far more effective than the finest champagne and her initial awkwardness was forgotten as conversation with Luc’s guests revolved around sleepless nights and teething gel. Far from being the social climbing business associates that she remembered from their life in Chelsea, these people were evidently Luc’s trusted friends, people he had grown up with and who now had families of their own. Gradually Emily began to relax.
‘I adore Jean-Claude’s little suit,’ commented a pretty, vivacious woman from the group that had circled round to admire the baby. Nadine Trouvier was the wife of Luc’s closest friend, Marc. The mother of two small girls, she owned a successful babywear shop in Orléans and had confided that she was about to open another in Paris. ‘Where did you buy it?’ she queried interestedly. ‘It’s exquisitely made, especially the hand smocking at the front. Without wanting to appear rude, it must have cost a fortune. Only the best for your son, hmm, Luc?’
‘Naturellement,’ he replied coolly, but Emily knew from the way his eyes had narrowed that he was speculating on how she had been able to afford expensive baby clothes when she had little money.
‘Actually, I made it,’ she informed Nadine cheerfully. ‘I lived…in Spain for a while.’ She felt Luc stiffen but continued, ‘And I fell in love with the incredible baby clothes sold in the markets. But I found that although they looked beautiful, they were impractical and the fabric was often stiff and uncomfortable. I searched for better fabrics and redesigned the very formal baby clothes that the Spanish love so that they were more wearable. See…’She showed Nadine. ‘The collar of Jean-Claude’s suit is detachable and the
suit fastens underneath so that dressing him is easier. He doesn’t have a lot of patience for lying still while I dress him,’ she added with a rueful smile, and Nadine nodded eagerly.
‘I had the same trouble with my own two. Emily, this is wonderful. Do you have many other designs?’ Nadine demanded enthusiastically. ‘Have you ever thought about making them to sell? I would be very interested in stocking this sort of thing in my shops.’
‘Well, I’d started up a little business in Spain,’ Emily admitted, refusing to meet Luc’s gaze. ‘My friend runs a cookery school, predominantly for middle-aged ladies who bought my clothes for their grandchildren. They proved so popular that I started to receive orders from around the world. I employed a few girls from the village to help with the sewing and now it’s a thriving little business. Fortunately Laura is overseeing things while…’ She hesitated, about to say while she was away, but the darkness of Luc’s expression made her change to, ‘At the moment. It was good to be able to earn money doing something I enjoyed and at the same time care for Jean-Claude. Sewing was the only thing I was any good at when I was younger.’
‘Along with riding,’ Luc interrupted, taking her by surprise as he strolled across the room and slipped his arm around her waist. ‘My wife is an excellent horsewoman,’ he proudly told his guests. ‘She’s quite fearless aren’t you, chérie?’ His smile had the sickly sweet quality of an old movie but everyone seemed to be taken in by his attentiveness and no doubt believed they shared a marriage made in heaven, Emily thought grimly. Only she knew the truth, that Luc’s loving looks had been a ploy to turn the conversation from her life in Spain without him. For some reason he wanted to project an image of a blissfully happy couple but she didn’t know why and if she didn’t stop smiling soon her jaw would surely crack!
‘Seriously,’ Nadine said, when Emily had handed Jean-Claude over to his nanny and they filed into the dining room, ‘you’ll have to persuade your husband to set up a workshop for you in the château. There’s a ready market for the superb-quality hand-stitched clothes you can make. Parisian mothers will love them and I’m prepared to offer you an excellent deal if I can stock them in my shops. We’ll save our discussion for another time,’ Nadine added quietly as Robyn stared over at them, unable to disguise her annoyance for a few seconds before her tight smile slipped back into place. Emily smiled gratefully at the Frenchwoman, glad to have found an ally. She had a feeling she was going to need one.
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