The Frenchman's Captive Wife

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘Not at all. I fear I am a little early,’ the bank manager replied gallantly. ‘I understand that you want to discuss proposals for a business venture, Madame Vaillon,’ he pressed on, valiantly trying to ignore the simmering tensions in the room. ‘I am most impressed by the business plan you sent me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Emily murmured, her eyes focused on Luc who had strolled over to join them and was leaning over to study her ideas for the babywear business. She wanted to snatch her folder from his hands and only a desire to spare Monsieur Laroche embarrassment forced her to retain a dignified silence. ‘I’m certainly considering starting up my own business—’

  ‘But not at the moment,’ Luc finished for her, ignoring her gasp of indignation as he stood and offered his hand to the manager in a gesture that clearly indicated the meeting was at an end. ‘My wife still has many things to consider before she goes ahead,’ he murmured, the disturbing softness of his tone sending out a warning that he did not expect to be contradicted.

  ‘I can’t believe you just dismissed the poor man like that.’ Emily rounded on him as soon as they were alone. ‘It was so rude, especially when he had come all this way.’

  ‘Whose fault is that?’ Luc queried shortly, and her temper ignited.

  ‘Certainly not mine. I couldn’t drive into town because you won’t lend me a car.’

  ‘A decision that is obviously justified when you sneak behind my back at the first opportunity,’ he said grimly. ‘We discussed this and you knew I didn’t want you to work.’

  ‘Exactly, that’s the reason I didn’t want you to find out just yet. I’m fighting for my independence here, Luc,’ she cried despairingly. ‘I don’t just mean financially. I need to be my own person. You can’t simply expect me to live here in your country, in your grand house. I refuse to live my life as a poor imitation of the wife you lost,’ she yelled at him, and then gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. It was too late, the damning words were out and she bit her lip as Luc’s expression turned thunderous.

  ‘Why do you insist on dragging other women into everything? My first wife bears no relation on our life now,’ he growled, and Emily shook her head.

  ‘She has everything to do with it. She haunts me constantly,’ she admitted brokenly. ‘Sabine was so incredibly beautiful. She must have been the ideal wife and mistress of the Château Montiard and I really can’t compete. I don’t understand how you could even bring yourself to sleep with me, you must have found me a poor substitute.’

  ‘You understand nothing,’ Luc flung at her savagely as he stormed over to the door and almost wrenched it off its hinges. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, chérie. Sabine never installed a damned great bolster in our bed!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS PAST midnight when Luc entered the bedroom and instantly disappeared into the en suite. Emily huddled beneath the covers, listening to the sounds of him showering and tried to banish the memories of the time he had dragged her beneath the spray with him. He emerged with a towel hitched round his waist, his hair still damp, and she noted the beads of moisture that clung to his chest hair, his skin gleaming in the soft glow from the bedside lamp. The powerful muscles of his abdomen rippled as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, vainly trying to steady her breathing so that he would assume she was asleep.

  ‘You’re a hopeless actress, ma petite,’ he drawled when the mattress dipped and she felt him slide between the sheets, although he kept to his side of the bed and the bolster remained firmly in place. ‘I know you’re awake, in the same way that I know how little sleep you get each night.’

  ‘I don’t know how, when you always fall asleep within minutes of your head touching the pillow,’ Emily snapped, grateful that he had doused the lamp and her burning cheeks were hidden from his view.

  ‘I’ve been awake, too. Sexual frustration’s hell, isn’t it, chérie?’ he added softly.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she muttered, aiming for a bored tone but sounding annoyingly breathless. ‘Goodnight.’ She rolled onto her side to glare at the offending bolster and from the other side she heard him sigh.

  ‘I owe you an apology. That last crack in the salon earlier was uncalled for.’

  ‘But true,’ Emily said miserably. ‘Robyn told me how much you loved your first wife and how devastated you were by her death.’

  ‘Did she?’ Luc stared up at the canopy above the bed and gave a silent groan. He could hear the hurt in Emily’s voice, the self-doubt. Would she feel any better if he revealed that he had fallen out of love with Sabine long before her tragic death? He had been afraid to tell Emily about his first marriage. It had not been the most edifying chapter of his life, he conceded grimly, and he had failed not only to be a good husband but also ultimately to save Sabine. Emily had hero-worshiped him, certainly at the beginning of their relationship, and he had liked the way she’d looked up to him. It had made him feel good about himself. Now she was looking at him as if she would never trust another word he said and he could hardly blame her. ‘I didn’t tell you about Sabine because she was in the past and not relevant to our future together. Obviously I was wrong,’ he said heavily, ‘and I wish you hadn’t learned of her in the way that you did.’

  ‘Robyn has always been determined to cause trouble between us,’ Emily said wearily, but to her amazement Luc did not jump to his PA’s defence.

  ‘It seems so,’ he admitted quietly, and she held her breath, not daring to hope that at last he was listening to her.

  ‘Then ask her to leave. There must be plenty of other suitably qualified staff you could appoint as your personal assistant.’ ‘It’s not that simple,’ he replied heavily and she sat up and glared at him over the bolster.

  ‘Why, because she was once married to your brother? You told me Yves died four years ago, and although I appreciate how devastating it must have been for Robyn, isn’t it time she moved on with her life?’ The silence stretched between them and she sighed. ‘You said you wanted us to give our marriage another chance,’ she reminded him huskily, ‘but it’s doomed to failure while Robyn remains between us—especially when you believe her word over mine every time,’ she added bleakly. ‘Does she have some kind of hold over you?’ she demanded, her impatience growing at his continued lack of response.

  ‘In a way.’ His quiet confession shocked her to the core and she stared at him, wishing she could see his face properly, but his expression was shadowed in darkness. ‘It’s difficult to explain,’ he added, wondering how he could possibly ask Emily to understand Robyn’s fragile state of mind. She had adored Yves and his death had left her virtually suicidal with grief.

  He had become her emotional prop, Luc acknowledged, and for the first time he realised how much Robyn must have resented losing his exclusive attention when he’d married Emily.

  ‘How can you expect me to stay here with Jean-Claude when there are so many undercurrents that I don’t understand?’ Emily demanded angrily. ‘Is it any wonder that I want to start up my own business and gain some independence, instead of being dragged into the murky underworld of secrets that you seem to inhabit?’

  At that he sat up and snapped on the lamp so that she blinked at him owlishly. ‘The Château Montiard is not a murky underworld,’ he growled furiously. ‘I thought you liked it here.’

  ‘I do.’ She gave up and flopped onto the pillows. She was talking and he was listening but somehow the messages were being scrambled and neither of them knew the code.

  ‘I appreciate that you may feel cut off here but the city is not far away.’

  ‘It is when you won’t allow me the use of a car, and don’t think I haven’t guessed your reasons. You’re afraid that I’ll disappear with Jean-Claude, aren’t you?’

  ‘Trust has to be earned, ma chérie,’ he said harshly, ‘and going behind my back to discuss your business plans with the bank manager is hardly the way to impress me.’

  Was it possible to beat a man sensele
ss with a feather-filled bolster? Emily wondered. ‘I’ve already explained that I wanted to research all the possibilities before I discussed them with you but I don’t suppose you’d have listened even then, would you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ His control over his temper was more tenuous than she’d realised and his sudden shout of frustration made her jump, her eyes widening as she watched him rake his hand through his hair. She had never seen him so disquieted and despite everything her heart went out to him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she offered huskily. ‘I know you don’t understand and maybe even think I’m being ungrateful. From a financial point of view you can see no reason for me to work when you’ve provided me with such a wonderful place to live, but it’s something I want to do, Luc, something for me. I never excelled at anything when I was younger,’ she confided. ‘My sisters were blessed with brains as well as beauty and I was always made to feel a failure. Designing and making clothes for Jean-Claude was a revelation. I’d finally found something I could do well and it developed into a successful little business in Spain. With Nadine Trouvier’s help I know I can start up again here. Nothing big. I’m not talking mass production,’ she explained, leaning across the bolster in her eagerness to share her plans, ‘but there is a place at the top end of the market for exclusive, hand-sewn babywear.’

  ‘And it really means so much to you?’ There was a new softness in his tone and his eyes were no longer hard bolts of steel but glinted with a curious emotion she couldn’t define.

  ‘As much as being reunited with Kasim,’ she told him huskily and caught her lip between her teeth. ‘You don’t know how wonderful it was to see him again. I was…speechless.’

  ‘I noticed,’ he murmured dryly, ‘possibly because it doesn’t happen very often.’

  ‘And then afterwards we argued and I never did thank you properly.’ It was hard to think straight when he was looking at her like that. Her fingers itched to remove the bolster but something held her back. Sex between them would be as mind-blowing as always and she didn’t doubt for a second that he was aware of the sparks of electricity that were practically arcing across the bed. Their physical compatibility had never been in doubt but where once she had settled for any small scraps of his attention he was willing to give, now it was not enough. She had grown up during their time apart, and although her love for him hadn’t lessened, her self-respect had gone up several notches and she refused to let him destroy it.

  Perhaps he understood the battle that was waging inside her better than she realized. Certainly he seemed to want to make it easy for her as he leaned across the bolster and cupped her face with his hand. ‘Is it really so wrong to want to recapture what we once had?’ he whispered, his mouth millimetres from hers so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. ‘Is it really so hard to trust? You put in place this barricade to separate us and I swore I wouldn’t breach it, however much I believe you want me to,’ he said, his lips brushing as light as a feather against hers. ‘But if you move it you’ll find I’m more than willing to meet you halfway.’

  It was more tempting than he could ever know, and for a few seconds her fingers curled around the bolster that had come to represent a wall as thick and unbreachable as the defences of the château. He kissed her with the pent-up hunger of a starving man, drawing her response as he used all the seductive skill at his disposal to part her lips and plunder the inner sweetness of her mouth. It was bliss and she couldn’t bear for him to stop as heat coursed through her veins. It would be so simple to push the bolster out of the way and pull him down on top of her, wind her arms around his neck and hold him captive, but something held her back.

  If she weren’t the mother of his son, would she be here now? Would he have tried so hard to find her if Jean-Claude hadn’t existed? She wanted to be wanted for herself, not because continuing with their marriage was in the best interests of their son. And what about Sabine? she thought despairingly. And Robyn? She accepted that he hadn’t been unfaithful but she still mistrusted his emotional attachment to his personal assistant. Without trust, their love-making was reduced to a basic, primitive urge, devoid of any emotion.

  She was breathless when at last he lifted his head, and the pulse at the base of her throat thudded unevenly. Her lips felt soft and swollen and she traced them with the tip of her tongue as if to capture the taste of him while he watched her through hooded eyes that masked his hunger.

  ‘I’ll move the bolster on the day you appoint another personal assistant,’ she said steadily, and he stiffened, outrage and desire fighting their own fierce battle.

  ‘You can’t expect me to fire a woman who I both like and respect, and who has proved herself to be an excellent employee, because of a whim. She was my brother’s wife!’ he snapped.

  ‘And as your wife I expect you to put my wishes above those of a member of your staff.’

  ‘It’s hardly fair to make Robyn a scapegoat for the problems within our marriage.’

  ‘Without Robyn, we wouldn’t have any problem. It’s her or me, Luc,’ she warned. ‘Your choice as to whether our marriage lives or dies. And until you’ve made a decision, this stays put.’ She thumped the bolster emphatically and received a glare of such bitter fury that she withdrew to the furthest side of the bed and burrowed under the covers while he swore long and hard and she was grateful for once of her poor grasp of French.

  Another week slipped past. Luc made no further reference to her demand that he dismiss Robyn but tension simmered between them. Gone was the laughter and friendship that had begun to develop between them and the ghost of Sabine continued to haunt her. If it hadn’t been for Jean-Claude the atmosphere in the château would have been unbearable, Emily thought miserably. The weather, perhaps sympathising with her mood, had changed from glorious sunshine to long grey days of relentless rain and the château seemed dark and gloomy as winter approached. Luc’s brooding presence in the nursery didn’t help, although she noted that the only time he smiled these days was when he was playing with his son, and it reinforced her belief that he only tolerated her presence at the château for the sake of his son.

  Perhaps he was frustrated, she thought bleakly, remembering his taunt about sexual frustration being hell. He possessed a huge sex drive. She could not forget those early months of their marriage, when his desire for her had been almost insatiable. Often he had made love to her for the whole night, leaving her exhausted while he then went off to put in a full twelve hours at the office. It was impossible to believe he had spent the year of their separation celibate, although it would certainly explain his foul mood, she acknowledged grimly. But she had problems of her own and suddenly Luc’s sex life was the least of them.

  Her period was only a few days late, she reassured herself as she noted the date on Luc’s newspaper. Five days at most. There was no need to panic but she had quietly requested Liz to bring back a pregnancy test kit from the village.

  ‘What is it?’ Luc had lowered his paper fractionally and speared her with a hard stare as he took in her pale face. ‘Has something in the news upset you?’ he queried, flicking the front page round to scan the headlines. ‘Your French must be improving, chérie, if you can follow an article about government fraud.’

  ‘It’s not that. It’s nothing,’ she muttered, trying to quell a feeling of nausea as Simone set a cup of rich, aromatic coffee in front of her. ‘I’m not feeling all that well this morning. I’ve probably picked up a bug.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Luc looked plainly unconvinced and she shifted uncomfortably beneath his all-seeing gaze. Sometimes she felt he could read her mind and right now that would not be good. If, and it was a big if, she was pregnant, she didn’t want to share the news until she’d had time to come to terms with it herself.

  How could she have been so stupid? She castigated herself. One accidental pregnancy was bad enough, but at least when she had fallen pregnant with Jean-Claude it hadn’t been her fault. This time it was purely down to carelessness
. She hadn’t given contraception a thought, and although a small voice in her head argued that neither had Luc, he wasn’t the one who would have to carry another child. It wasn’t that she did not want another baby, she mused, a soft smile lighting her face as she watched Jean-Claude pour yoghurt over the tray of his highchair and then play in it. He was the best thing in her life and a little brother or sister could only increase her joy, but she doubted the same could be said of Luc. He had always maintained that he didn’t want children, and despite his obvious adoration of his son, she shuddered to think of his reaction if she broke the news that he was to be a father for a second time.

  ‘I have something I want to show you.’ Luc’s voice broke into her reverie and she blinked at him, wishing that the sight of him in jeans and a black polo shirt, open at the neck, did not play such havoc with her hormones. He had been away for the past two days. An urgent business meeting, Philippe had explained, but despite the tension that simmered between them whenever they were in the same room, she had missed him.

  It was a pity the trip hadn’t done anything to improve his mood, she mused, unaware that he had returned to London or that his conversation with his housekeeper at the penthouse was responsible for his brooding stares across the breakfast table. If it wasn’t such a ridiculous idea, she could have sworn he was hiding behind his newspaper.

  ‘It can wait until tomorrow if you’re unwell,’ he added, and she shook her head, willing to do anything to prolong the moment when he would retreat to his study for the rest of the day.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied brightly, surreptitiously pushing the coffee away from her. With her attention firmly set on mopping up Jean-Claude, she did not notice Luc’s frown.

  Luc took the steep steps leading to the west tower of the château two at a time, needing to find a release for his pent-up aggression. What the hell was he going to say to Emily? How could he admit that he had been wrong about her, that he had misjudged her and had done so on the word of the woman she had always suspected of trying to wreck their relationship?