Harlequin Presents January 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: The Secret His Mistress CarriedTo Sin with the TycoonInherited by Her EnemyThe Last Heir of Monterrato

by Lynne Graham

  After all, she thought, what else could he say?

  It was marginally easier when people began to arrive, and all she had to do was stand between Andre and his father, smiling and saying ‘Bonsoir,’ as one introduction succeeded another in quick succession.

  I hope I don’t have to answer questions later on who I’ve met tonight, she thought, as the faces began to merge into a blur.

  When the last guests had arrived, she managed to detach herself from Andre, enmeshed in a discussion with other vignerons, and find a quiet corner in which to draw breath.

  But, almost at once, she found herself accosted by Monique Chaloux in dark green brocade.

  ‘One would hardly recognise you, mademoiselle. What a difference expensive clothes can make.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Ginny returned coolly. ‘I can’t afford such pleasures.’

  Mademoiselle’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yet you are wearing a Louise Vernier tonight. A present from Monsieur Andre, perhaps, to pay you for whatever services you have provided, before he sends you on your way?’ She tittered. ‘He has been generous, so you cannot be as dull as you seem in bed.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Ginny said, her voice shaking. ‘I paid for this dress myself.’

  ‘You have two thousand euros to squander? Permit me to doubt it.’

  ‘Two thousand?’ Ginny stared at her. ‘You’re being ridiculous. It cost less than two hundred.’

  ‘No,’ Monique said cuttingly. ‘If you believe that, you are the fool, mademoiselle. But Monsieur Andre will soon tire of you, so enjoy your good fortune while you may.’

  She moved away, leaving Ginny trembling from a mix of emotions in which anger predominated.

  When Andre appeared at her side, she said furiously, ‘Did you really pay for this dress?’

  His brows lifted. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I wondered why notre chère Monique had sought you out. How good of her to tell you.’

  ‘Then it’s true.’ She took a deep breath. ‘How could I have been stupid enough to think I could afford even a handkerchief in that shop?’ She glared up at him. ‘For two pins, I’d take the dress off and throw it at you.’

  ‘Then it is fortunate I do not have two pins,’ he returned, the faint amusement in his voice doing nothing to placate her. ‘At least not at this moment because we have an announcement to make.’ He took her hand and led her through the laughter and talk of the party to the little rostrum built to accommodate the band.

  ‘Messieurs et mesdames.’ At the sound of his voice a hush fell on the room. ‘You joined us tonight to remember the anniversary of the Baron Emile, but I have another cause to celebrate. To my great joy, Mademoiselle Mason—Virginie—has consented to be my wife. I present—the future Baronne de Terauze.’

  There was a concerted gasp, then applause rang out as the Baron stepped forward, beaming, and proffered a flat velvet case. Inside, shimmering with crimson fire, lay the ruby necklace from the portrait in the salon, and the guests clapped and cheered as Andre fastened the jewels round Ginny’s throat, before bending to kiss her hand and her lips.

  She stood in the curve of his arm, forcing herself to smile in response to all this goodwill. As she and Andre stepped down from the rostrum, they were immediately surrounded by well-wishers offering handshakes and embraces, with one exception. Over the heads of the crowd, Ginny saw Monique standing by the wall, her face a mask of fury and disbelief.

  Resolutely dismissing the image from her mind, she let Andre guide her through the throng, his hands lightly clasping her waist, pausing now and then to receive congratulations and boisterous good wishes.

  At the same time, she found herself wondering wistfully how it would have been if Andre had indeed been marrying her for love.

  Gaston’s announcement that the food was being served managed to divert everyone’s attention and, while plates were being filled, Ginny found Andre once more at her side.

  He touched the rubies glowing round her throat, saying softly, ‘They were made for you, mignonne,’ before allowing his fingers to drift down to where the first swell of her breasts lifted above her low neckline.

  ‘Just as you, ma belle, were made for me.’ He bent forward, his breath fanning her ear as he whispered, ‘Sleep with me tonight, Virginie. Let me know that you belong to me.’

  His face seemed strained, his gaze oddly intense. He said again, ‘Virginie...’

  The swift hammer of her heart was half-joyous, half-fearful. She wanted so badly to say yes and know that, for an hour or two, he would belong to her too, lost in the exchanges of sexual pleasure. But with the added danger that she might so easily be betrayed into saying what he did not want to hear—and what must for ever remain unspoken. The words, I love you.

  But as she hesitated, she heard the loud clang of a bell and saw a surprised Gaston hastening to the front door.

  She saw the candles flare in the sudden draught as the door opened to admit the late arrival. Through the shifting mass of people, she saw a woman, her mass of blonde hair spilling on to her shoulders as she pulled off her woollen cap. For a moment, she thought it must be Dominique Lavaux, who had not replied to her invitation, but then, above the buzz of conversation, she heard a voice she knew all too well, announcing autocratically, ‘I’m here to see my sister, Virginia Mason. Where is she, please?’

  She stood, numb with disbelief, as Cilla, in her violet quilted coat, came pushing her way through the crowd towards her. But only to walk past as if she was invisible.

  ‘Oh, Andre.’ There was a note of hysteria in Cilla’s voice. ‘I had to come, because everything’s just awful and I don’t know what to do.’

  And with a strangled sob, she threw herself straight at Andre, burying her face in his shirt front as he caught her.

  For a moment there was total, astonished silence. Then Jules appeared from nowhere with a chair. He detached the weeping girl from Andre with cool authority, made her sit, and when his aunt arrived with brandy, encouraged her firmly to drink.

  It occurred to Ginny, suddenly transformed into helpless bystander, that this was one party no one would forget in a hurry. Least of all herself.

  She stepped forward into the breach. Raising her voice, she said in her clear schoolgirl French, ‘Madame Rameau, would you have the goodness to prepare a room for my sister. She has had a long and tiresome journey and needs rest.’

  Madame gave the drooping beauty an old-fashioned look, but nodded and bustled off.

  Ginny walked over to the chair and put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘Has Mother come with you? Is she waiting somewhere?’

  ‘Mother?’ Cilla reared up, nearly spilling what was left of the brandy. ‘You must be joking. She’s turned me out and won’t even speak to me—not since Jon broke off our engagement. Why else would I be here?’

  Why indeed? thought Ginny. Conscious of the eyes and ears around them and Baron Bertrand’s shocked face, she said, ‘We’ll talk about this later. Why don’t I take you upstairs to freshen up in my bathroom?’

  ‘Your bathroom?’ Cilla seemed to focus on her for the first time, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the rubies. ‘What’s going on here? What’s the celebration?’

  Ginny kept her voice steady. ‘Among other things, my engagement to Andre.’

  ‘Engagement,’ Cilla repeated. Her laugh was breathless as she looked back at Andre, who was standing stony-faced, his arms folded. ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘Au contraire, madame.’ It was Jules who spoke. ‘The marriage of our future Baron is a serious affair, but also a time of great happiness for the Château Terauze.’

  Cilla got to her feet. ‘But I thought,’ she began, then paused, swaying slightly, a hand to her head, as she whispered, ‘Andre...’

  Then, as Andre took one slow step towards her, Jules again intervened. ‘You are clear
ly not yourself, mademoiselle. You must allow me to assist you.’

  And before anything more could be said or done, he calmly lifted Cilla into his arms and carried her across the room and up the stairs, leaving an amazed silence behind him.

  ‘Did you expect this to happen?’ Andre asked harshly. ‘You received some advance warning, perhaps?’

  They were in the petit salon, the last guests having left half an hour before and the Baron having bade them a tactful goodnight.

  Although there’d been no mass exodus from the party, Cilla’s arrival had changed the whole atmosphere of the evening, offering another sensation for the participants to mull over.

  And, in private, a different confrontation.

  ‘No,’ Ginny protested. ‘Of course not. I told my mother we were getting married, but I thought she was simply ignoring it like all my other messages. And clearly, she hasn’t told Cilla.’

  He said icily, ‘But what irony, n’est-ce pas, that on the night of our engagement, your sister arrives to say her relationship with Monsieur Welburn is at an end.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because le bon Jonathan is now free to choose again. You may regret even more our afternoon of delight.’

  And what about you? she thought, stung by the note of derision in his voice. Everyone in the room saw you take that step towards her. If Jules hadn’t butted in, I’d have had to watch you carrying her up the stairs.

  When, only minutes before, you’d been asking me to sleep with you...

  Because it’s obvious why she’s come here, she thought, and it’s not to see me.

  She said, ‘And you may be reading too much into a lovers’ tiff brought on by pre-wedding stress. It happens.’

  ‘But not, I think, in this case.’ He paused. ‘You will be speaking to her?’

  ‘In the morning. She’s had a cup of bouillon, followed by one of Madame’s tisanes so I’ve been instructed to let her sleep.’

  He nodded. ‘Clothilde is very wise.’ He added quietly, ‘We all need to sleep. Everything will be different tomorrow.’

  Everything has changed already...

  Including the rubies that now seemed to resemble drops of blood against her skin.

  She reached to the back of her neck, fumbling for the clasp. ‘I should return these. I expect they belong in a safe somewhere.’

  ‘Permit me.’

  Ginny tried not to flinch as he dealt with the awkward fastening, the brush of his fingers against her nape a brief but telling agony.

  ‘You can manage your dress?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Her response and involuntary recoil were both too hasty, as she was reminded of how the night might have ended. Of the taffeta slipping to the floor with a rustle like autumn leaves as Andre undressed her. His hands lingering in erotic persuasion as he explored her naked flesh.

  Let me know that you belong to me.

  At least she hadn’t said yes to him, with all the hideous embarrassment that would have led to under the circumstances. But being spared such an aftermath was no real consolation, although perhaps that too would seem different in the morning.

  She thought, I can only hope.

  She summoned a travesty of a smile. ‘Well—goodnight.’

  He was already turning away. ‘Bonsoir, Virginie, et dors bien.’

  Nodding jerkily, she headed for the door. Walked without hurrying to the stairs and climbed them steadily. Then began to run, as if pursued by demons, to the room that was still nominally hers and closed the door on her fragmenting world.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Cilla listlessly. She was reclining against her pillows looking enchanting in a low-cut blue silk nightdress trimmed with lace, a tray holding a barely touched breakfast on the bed beside her.

  No amount of designer dresses could ever turn me into competition for her, Ginny thought with a pang. She moved the tray and sat down.

  ‘Not hungry?’

  Cilla shrugged. ‘Not for bread and jam. Is that all that passes for breakfast round here?’

  ‘Pretty much, although you can have croissants or pains au chocolat if you ask before the trip to the boulangerie. And there are eggs, of course.’ Ginny tried a smile. ‘I’ve just fed the hens.’

  ‘Aren’t there servants to do that? The woman who gave me that revolting drink last night, for instance.’ Cilla shuddered. ‘I thought she was trying to poison me, and this morning she turns up with breakfast. No wonder I have no appetite.’

  Ginny said quietly, ‘What’s gone wrong, Cilly-Billy? I mean between you and Jon?’

  Cilla’s head lifted sharply at the idiotic childhood nickname. But instead of delivering the expected blast, she seemed to be fighting tears.

  She said huskily, ‘Nothing that wasn’t already a problem. But I suppose going to the Seychelles brought it all to a head. It was only when we were on the plane that I found Mother had deliberately left the phones behind, so we couldn’t be contacted. “Bothered with stupid questions” was how she put it. When we got to the hotel, I tried to call Jon, but his mother answered and I knew she’d only give me a hard time, so I hung up. After all, she’s never liked me, and finding that I’m penniless hasn’t helped one bit.’

  She added bleakly, ‘I should have left him to you, but Jon was the catch of the neighbourhood, as Mother never failed to point out. And, to be honest, I fancied being lady of the manor and living in that beautiful house.

  ‘What I didn’t want was the endless talk about horses and farming and Lady Welburn’s lectures on gardening, and the importance of a good mulch. And certainly not for the rest of my life.’

  ‘You can’t mean that,’ Ginny protested.

  ‘Actually, I do.’ Cilla played with the embroidered edge of the sheet. ‘The Seychelles gave me time to think, and I realised that if Jon was my one true love, I’d never have simply gone off like that—or done a lot of other things either. So I was all set to suggest we should think again. Only he beat me to it.’

  She chewed at her lip. ‘You see, I paid Andre a visit at his hotel one afternoon, and one of the chambermaids saw me leaving his room. By the time I got back, the word had spread as far as Welburn Manor.

  ‘Jon came right out with it. Demanded I tell him what had happened.’ She shrugged. ‘And I said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and handed back his ring.

  ‘So I had to tell Mother,’ she added wryly. ‘And then all the real hell broke loose.’

  She shuddered. ‘She started screaming at me, telling me I must be insane. That I’d humiliated her in front of the entire neighbourhood, and she’d never forgive me. That I could starve in the gutter because there wasn’t a chance in hell of her letting me scrounge off her, or saddling Howard with me either.’

  Ginny’s head was spinning, but she managed to ask, ‘Who is Howard?’

  ‘The man she met playing bridge at our hotel. Quiet, quite nice-looking, living in Hampstead and all set to be our next stepfather. Or mine, anyway,’ she added. ‘I don’t think she’s mentioned you.’

  ‘But she’s only just been widowed,’ said Ginny. ‘Does he know that?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. She spotted him and had him attached to her side before the end of the first week. She’s quite an operator, our ma.

  ‘And, of course, this time the marriage will have no strings attached because he has a son and heir already.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Cilla shrugged again. ‘Apparently she and Andrew had an agreement. He wanted a legitimate heir. She promised she could provide him with one. But she’d had a bad time when I was born, and somehow persuaded her doctor to perform some procedure to ensure she’d never get pregnant again. A “tubal ligation”, she called it. She thought that she could fob Andrew off with some excuse for her failure to produce, but eventua
lly he insisted they both had tests, and the truth came out.’

  Ginny drew a sharp breath. ‘Oh, my God. He must have told Andre and that’s why he called her a cheat.’

  ‘But she didn’t see it like that,’ said Cilla. ‘She wanted money and comfort, so, to her, the end justified the means. It still does, because I don’t think she’s any more in love with Howard than she was with Andrew.’

  She glanced round the spacious, pretty room. ‘After all, you seem to have fallen on your feet,’ she commented with acerbity. ‘Who would have thought it?’

  Ginny bit her lip and rose. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had such a difficult time, but I’m sure Mother will come round eventually. In the meantime, I’m sure Andre will let you remain with us while you sort out your future.’

  ‘Oh, I know that already,’ Cilla said, smiling up at her with a kind of lazy contentment, her eyes shining. ‘He visited me earlier—so sweet of him— and said I could stay as long as I wanted. So that’s all right.’

  Ginny nodded and headed for the door, where she turned, longing to leave but impelled to speak.

  Her voice shook a little. ‘Cilla, tell me, please. What did happen in Andre’s hotel room that afternoon?’

  Her sister’s smile deepened to mockery. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ she said.

  And she began to laugh as Ginny, feeling sick, stumbled from the room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AS THE LONG, agonisingly slow days passed into weeks, Ginny began to feel that she’d become a bystander in her own life, watching helplessly from a distance as Cilla morphed into the role of Andre’s future wife.

  It was achieved with great charm and an eagerness to learn she had never displayed before. Baron Bertrand, having recovered from the shock of her arrival, was now openly indulgent. Even Madame Rameau, inclined at first to eye the newcomer askance, had been won over and was actually teaching Cilla the basics of cooking.

  She’d pretty much taken over the daily shopping too, Ginny watching and listening in envious admiration as Cilla chatted away to the shopkeepers and stallholders in what seemed to be flawless French, courtesy, of course, of her stay at that exclusive establishment in Switzerland.