Beloved Intruder

by Patricia Wilson

  'You could have left me alone!' Beth said hotly, the effort making her begin to cough. He waited until the spasm of coughing was over, but even then he had to wait further. Beth was not finished with him. 'You made no effort to get to know me, to consider my wishes! I have been told what to do and how to do it for the whole of my life; now, I am on my own!'

  'Obviously, mademoiselle!' he shot out sarcastically. 'You are ill, with no one to care, you were working when you should clearly have been tucked up in your bed, you are heiress to thousands and you are living here.' His eyes said, 'and looking like that', but he kept that to his scathing gaze.

  'I have told you that I am happy and comfortable here, monsieur!' she said tightly, her eyes hot with tears of frustration. 'And if I were not, it would be your fault!'

  'Correction, mademoiselle! It is your fault!' he bit out sharply. 'You are in this situation because of your stubborn refusal to agree to plans made for you by caring adults. In my house in Paris there is every comfort that you could wish for, a standard of living that you are accustomed to, suitable companions should you wish to choose friends who do not race through the streets on motorbicycles!'

  'There is nothing wrong with my friends!' Beth said sharply, 'and how did you know where I was working?'

  'I was here earlier in the day, mademoiselle, and no doubt you remember that you have a neighbour who occupies the room opposite. She was quite willing to talk to me,' he finished smugly.

  'I bet she was!' Beth snapped, her grey eyes raking over him in their turn from the long, powerful legs to the handsome, arrogant face.

  'Tiens!' he blazed angrily. 'In France, it is not considered proper for a young girl to speak like that!'

  'From what I have seen on my frequent visits to your country with my uncle, monsieur,' Beth answered sharply, 'young girls have a great deal of freedom and speak as they choose. They seem also to behave as they choose.'

  'Not if they are from a good family, mademoiselle,' he assured her angrily. 'No young girl in France behaves with indiscretion if she is well brought up. You come from a very good family!'

  'I am not a young girl, monsieur,' Beth reminded him with some heat, 'and I do not come from a family at all. I come from a school. It may have been one of the best schools but it was still only a school.'

  Unexpectedly, he was silent, his face not quite so furious. It seemed suddenly to dawn on him that she was utterly alone, had been alone for years in actual fact. Unexpectedly too, Beth found her eyes filling with tears, and crying was the last thing she intended to do right now, but she was not used to battles, not used to putting up a fight against an aggressive man.

  She did not feel well either, in fact, she was feeling worse by the minute. In spite of the gas fire and the cover she was still cold and she was hungry. He was silent, but she refused to look up at him and finally he said in a quiet voice. 'Eh bien! It is time then, mademoiselle, that you did have a family, and it appears that, with your uncle dead, the responsibility of providing you with a safe home background rests with me.'

  Anything that Beth would have said remained unuttered, because at that moment there was a sharp knock on the door and Gaetan Vernais moved with the litheness of a great cat to swing the chair free and aside, opening the door with almost no break in his smoothly co-ordinated movements.

  'I thought I heard…' Her landlady, Mrs Bateman, stood there, very prim in her dark dress, her eyes startled as she gazed up at the lean, towering height of the Frenchman. 'Miss Craig!' she continued in her most righteous voice. 'I've told you before, no men in your room!'

  There was a brief silence as the black eyes of Gaetan Vernais moved over Beth and then he turned back to the door.

  'Do not be alarmed, madame,' he said stiffly. 'I do not come into the category that you so clearly mean. I have come to collect Mademoiselle Craig and take her to Paris. I am her guardian, madame, and if you would kindly prepare any bill for her rent, I will pay you now. She is leaving tonight!'

  'Well…there's usually a month's notice required…' Mrs Bateman managed, staggered by events, while Beth sat almost open-mouthed, stunned by the Frenchman's high-handedness.

  'I will give you the necessary money in lieu of notice, madame,' he said smoothly, 'anything else that is needed, too. Perhaps in return you would be good enough to throw out anything that Mademoiselle Craig decides to leave behind? We will not have the time.'

  'Yes, well—er—yes.'

  'Merci, madame.' He dismissed her politely and firmly, closing the door and turning angry dark eyes on Beth.

  'You appear to be living in a manner that would have greatly displeased your uncle, mademoiselle, since she feels it necessary to remonstrate with you so speedily and vigorously!'

  'It's in the terms of the letting,' Beth said with acute embarrassment. 'This is the only time she has ever heard a man's voice in here, because there has never been one.'

  She had jumped up in agitation and both of them turned startled eyes to the door as yet another knock echoed in the room. With an angry mutter, Gaetan Vernais pulled the door open to stare with annoyance at the second visitor.

  It was Carl Glover standing in the passage outside in his black leathers, his motorcycle helmet under his arm. He too looked annoyed as he took in the height and power of the Frenchman.

  'The old dragon at the shop said that you'd left with a man. Who is this guy, Beth?'

  'He—he's my guardian.' Clearly the Frenchman was not about to help. He looked ready to explode with rage.

  'Your guardian! Pull the other one!' Carl was beginning to look really nasty and Beth hurried forward, stepping outside and closing the door on the furious face of Vernais before he could stop her.

  'It's true, Carl! He's come to take me to Paris. I told you about him ages ago!'

  'I thought you were spinning a yarn! You're not going, for God's sake? What do you want with a guardian at your age?'

  'It was in my uncle's will,' Beth sighed defeatedly, knowing deep down that she had already partly accepted the idea. The words that her clearly bad-tempered guardian had snapped at her since they had come back to her room had begun to take effect. She was alone, prey to any misfortune. 'He's told the landlady that I'm leaving and now I'll have lost my room. Mrs Dennison at the shop was told too that I wouldn't be coming back.'

  'Why the hell did you let him?'

  'I feel ill, Carl! It's the virus. I can't seem to stand up for myself.'

  'I'll stand up for you then!' he said rather boldly, considering the power of the French fiend who waited in her room. She did not want more trouble than she already had.

  'No! Maybe I should go for a while. It will be a holiday and it will get me my allowance back. I'll talk him round when I feel better,' she added with a feeling of hysteria that she should even imagine such a thing possible with someone like that.

  'That is enough time for you out in this cold passage, mademoiselle!' The door shot open and she was pulled firmly back into the room. 'She will write to you from Paris, no doubt!' he said with a look that dared any argument from Carl. 'Goodnight, monsieur!'

  He slammed the door and turned furiously on Beth.

  'I can see, mademoiselle, that your unfortunate landlady has good cause to complain! That young man obviously knew the way to your room!'

  'Of course he did, he helped me to move in here! Mrs Bateman was standing watching all the time, though! He couldn't even have got into the house if you hadn't left the door downstairs unlocked! You've got my key! You left it open! Nobody has ever been here before!'

  She was dizzy with standing up, cold, hungry and shaking and to her horror, she suddenly burst into tears, covering her face with her hands to shut out the sight of him.

  She was stunned by the soft warmth of the deep voice so recently violent, and too bemused to put up any resistance as two strong arms drew her to the power of his hard chest.

  'Come, Elizabeth. In my anger and frustration, I have misjudged you. Do not cry. We will sort you out and
then things will not seem so bad, eh?' He tilted her face, wiping her tears with a large white handkerchief from his pocket before drawing her head back to his shoulder, his warm hand beginning to massage the back of her neck. 'You must come with me. Mon Dieu, you are too slender, too light! A strong gust of wind would blow you into the air and out of sight. It is surely only the weight of this beautiful hair that holds you to the ground. You know that you are not well, and who will care for you? That fierce old woman who recently knocked so violently on your door?'

  His hand was wonderfully soothing on her nape and she found herself nestling into his warmth. 'I will help you to pack and we will be off to Paris within the hour,' he said, a satisfaction in his voice as he felt her tight body relax against him.

  'I can't! I don't want to!' She drew back, stiffening like an alert animal scenting danger, but he caught her shoulders in his strong hands and looked down at her seriously.

  'I think that you must, Elizabeth,' he said. 'I cannot leave you here. You are my responsibility and I intend to carry out my promise to your Uncle John no matter what protests you make. You know perfectly well that you should not be here, alone. At this moment you seem to be incapable of even standing unaided. You need to be looked after, even when you are well. Put aside your resentment. Two years will pass very quickly and then you will be a very rich young lady with a polish that you will get in Paris. You will be more mature, more capable of striking out on your own.'

  'It's not two years,' Beth corrected with still the snatch of a sob in her voice. 'It's a year and a half.'

  'Eh bien! A year and a half.' His long, mobile lips twisted in wry amusement. 'You have your prison sentence worked out exactly. Give it a try!'

  'You don't understand, do you?' she said with a little sigh. 'All my life, people who did not particularly care for me have been telling me what to do. For the first time ever, I have freedom. You've come to take that away from me.'

  He looked down at her steadily, his dark eyes thoughtful. 'I confess, Elizabeth, that I had not thought of it like that at all. Your Uncle John cared for you,' he added with a soft reproof, and she nodded.

  'Yes, he was a wonderful man, taking me on like that, but I saw him so rarely. He was too busy, that's why I was always in school. I'm free now.'

  'Do you call this freedom?' he said quietly. 'What are you free to do? Free to become ill while nobody cares? Free to be in danger? I will not offer that kind of freedom to you in Paris. I wish to take care of you.'

  'But why? I'll only be a nuisance.'

  His glance softened and he pulled her slowly close, his eyes flashing over the astonishing gold of her hair and her pale, anxious face.

  'I will not permit you to be. We will come to some kind of understanding, believe me.' She did!

  'I—I won't fly to Paris!'

  She had silently admitted almost from the first moment that she had seen him that her rebellion was over. She felt too ill to fight any more, and in any case, there were lots of times when she was lonely. Already she felt a kind of connection with this man, even if irritation was the only thing that would bind them together. She wanted someone of her own, someone to talk to, to share her worries, even to tell her what to do sometimes.

  'You will not be asked to fly,' he answered, his satisfaction at her surrender very clear. 'I have my car, as you surely noticed. As I have had a considerable amount of travelling to do since I traced you, I thought it best to have my own car.'

  'How did you find me?' Beth asked, sitting down as soon as he released her, her legs being too shaky to hold her upright.

  'You wrote to your headmistress, finally,' he reminded her with a return to quiet accusation. 'She had the good sense to contact me.'

  'Were—were you looking for me?' Somehow the thought heartened her. She had thought that he had just stopped her allowance in a fit of rage and had intended to let her starve to death or whatever she chose. He gave her a wry glance.

  'Oui, mademoiselle, I was looking for you!'

  Beth flushed and looked away, realising that she should have expected it. Miss Rogers would have been worried about her, it was obvious that she would have contacted him. Maybe she had deliberately overlooked it, maybe she had wanted to be caught? It mattered little now. This man was in charge of her life for many long months and the idea of trying to get round him and then come back was really only a wild thought.

  He lifted her suitcase effortlessly from the top of the wardrobe.

  'Change into trousers. It is warm in the car, but ports are bleak places at the best of times.'

  'I haven't many clothes to take,' she murmured quietly but he continued to move around the room efficiently, taking complete charge now that she had given in.

  'I cannot say that I am alarmed at that,' he said in a sarcastic murmur, glancing at her clothes. 'Provided that you have some jeans and a warm sweater for now, everything else will sort itself out. If you do not feel up to packing your clothes, I will do it for you.'

  'No!' She stood quickly on decidedly shaky legs and he glanced wryly across at her.

  'What else do you wish to take?' His eyes were on the many books that brightened the room.

  'I want to take those, and my pictures!' She was half expecting that he would tell her to leave them to be thrown out but he did not. His eyes were on the framed photographs of her Uncle John and the couple who were laughing out at him from an older framed photograph, her mother and father, indescribably young to have been dead for so long.

  'I will try to get a few boxes from your landlady. You may change while I am out.'

  'Thank you, monsieur.' She could not help the slight resentment that coloured her voice at his overbearing attitude, and he glanced at her warningly, one dark eyebrow raised.

  'Do not delay, mademoiselle! I shall not be long and I do not intend to wait outside in the cold passage.' To be certain of that, he took the door key with him and Beth hurried. By the time he came back she was dressed in faded but clean blue jeans and a thick red sweater, and her dark blue jacket was ready to be picked up. He looked pleased to see this change of outfit, and also to see her methodically packing her one suitcase.

  He took off his jacket and looked more alarming than ever as he crouched down to pack the books, his brown hands precise and efficient, but Beth was pleased to see that he handled her precious photographs with great care.

  CHAPTER TWO

  She had never been manipulated so smoothly and subtly, Beth thought later as she sat in the car waiting for him to close the boot. The hour was by no means up and yet she was changed, packed, her things boxed and carried downstairs and a bewildered Mrs Bateman had been paid and left to clear up whether she wanted to or not.

  'Good! We go at last!' he said with satisfaction as he slid into the car. 'Fasten your seat-belt, mademoiselle, and we will be on our way.'

  She tried to but it defeated her, and after watching her struggles for a second he leaned across and fastened it himself. He smelled good, a clean and slightly tangy smell that she knew was aftershave, and his hands were deft and quick. For a brief second, his arm pressed against her small, rounded breasts and an odd feeling shot through her that frightened her enough to have her drawing back tightly against the leather seat.

  He felt her reaction and glanced at her quickly, his face puzzled in the soft internal light of the car.

  'I have hurt you, Elizabeth?' he asked, a frown creasing his broad forehead.

  'No! No, Monsieur Vernais,' she said a little too quickly, and he sat upright, his eyes glancing at her sideways as he started the engine, flicking off the internal light, plunging them into the peace and luxury of the darkness.

  'I do not wish you to call me that,' he said firmly. 'Although I have taken on the responsibility for you, I do not require this strict formality. You will call me Gaetan.' She couldn't think of an answer and after a brief pause he said quietly, 'You are Elizabeth, which to my mind is a beautiful name, but few people call you that, do they? You seem to be
called Beth and I will call you that too, if you have no objections.'

  'I have no objections, Monsieur Vernais,' she said dully. She was already drowsy, the luxurious warmth, the smooth ride and the comfort of the seat seeping into her cold and aching body.

  'Gaetan!' he corrected, glancing sideways at her when she merely murmured, 'Yes.' She was almost asleep, delicately childlike, the heavy braid of golden hair pulled forward over her shoulder. Now that she was wearing jeans, the long and outrageous skirt discarded, her violently bright blouse replaced by a high-necked sweater, she looked younger than ever. There was no defiance now on her softly beautiful face, and for a moment he considered stopping the car so that he could look at her without the shimmering grey of her eyes looking defiantly back at him. He grunted irritably and drove on in the darkness.

  The crunch of tyres on gravel and bright lights penetrating the car brought Beth from her light doze as the car stopped, and she turned anxiously as she recognised a very smart and expensive hotel.

  'Why have we stopped?'

  'I remembered that you had not eaten,' he said, apparently amused at the sound of her sharply anxious voice. 'Neither have I. Here will do. You know the place?'

  'No, but I can see what sort of place it is. I can't go in there, monsieur!'

  'Gaetan,' he corrected mildly. 'And why can you not go in there, Beth? It does not appear to be a place of ill-repute.' He was laughing at her, even though his face was perfectly serious and she flushed swiftly.

  'I cannot go in there, monsieur,' she said with determination, 'because I am not dressed for the occasion.'

  'Fine feathers do not make fine birds,' he reminded her coolly.

  'Perhaps not, monsieur,' she retorted, 'but dingy feathers make dingy birds!'

  'You prefer to go hungry?' He looked at her coldly, seeing that he had no way of getting her inside unless he was prepared to take her in under his arm. 'Very well, mademoiselle,' he said evenly, taking his cue from her and returning to formality. 'We will proceed!'