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‘Tell me,’ he asked, ‘you’re good friends?’
Sorcha nodded emphatically. This was easy. ‘The best. She’s been there for me since—’ She broke off, stopping her runaway mouth, and finished, ‘Since for ever. We’ve known each other since we were ten…and got discovered at the same time by a scout from Dublin when we were fifteen.’
At that moment their food was delivered. With relief at finding his intense focus off her for a moment, Sorcha tucked into the food, suddenly ravenous. They shared starters of traditional samosas and spring rolls wrapped Vietnamese-style in rice paper. Then Sorcha had ordered a main dish of steamed sea bass, while Romain had opted for a dish unique to the region, khad khargosh—wild hare.
When his meal was placed in front of him, and he saw Sorcha wrinkle her nose slightly, he asked, with a quirk to his mouth, ‘You don’t approve?’
Horrified to be caught like that, she said quickly, ‘Oh, no. It’s just the thought of the poor little hare…sorry.’
He speared a morsel and ate it, completely unperturbed. ‘But you’re not a vegetarian. You ordered steak that day in Dublin.’
When she’d fled the restaurant like a bolshy teenager…
She looked slightly shame faced and put her fork down for a moment, lifting her eyes to his. All he could see was their luminosity. Her colouring was exotic against this backdrop.
‘I don’t normally run out like that.’
He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. And felt surprised. He was used to women being petulant, yet that day he knew she hadn’t been. Her speedy exit had come from something much deeper. He’d touched on a raw nerve, and he remembered that they’d been talking about her project—the outreach centre. What he’d said then seemed to him to be unbelievably insensitive now. He’d still been labouring under his misapprehension, not believing that she might be different, reformed.
And was she?
Introspection kept him quiet. He was thinking about how professional she was. So far she’d been nothing but pleasant, polite, helpful, quiet…not a hint of divadom at all. All qualities his aunt had professed her to have again when he’d taken her for dinner. A dinner in which he’d had to focus just to get Sorcha out of his head. That was why he’d largely ignored her when Dominic had called him up to the set in New York. He’d known that seeing her would have the potential to scramble his brain. And he was not comfortable with that at all. He’d known her for less than three weeks, and hadn’t even slept with her…yet.
With the last succulent morsel of sea bass dissolving on her tongue, Sorcha sat back and dabbed her napkin to her mouth. ‘That was…amazing.’
Romain sat back too. ‘Yes. And if you want you can tell Kate you had champagne…the works…I’ll back up your story.’
Sorcha grinned and held up her bottle of beer to gently clink it with his in collusion. It was only when she took a swallow and saw some kind of triumphant gleam in his eye that her blood ran cold. What was he doing? Acting as if she and he might be in a situation in the future where they would create this little in joke to share with Katie…or whoever? Almost as if they were a couple.
And what the hell was she doing? This man was the enemy…and yet at this lunch it felt as if he was anything but. She felt shivery and trembly inside. This man was playing with her, that was all.
The plates were cleared away, a clean table lay between them. And then her fears were compounded.
He leant forward, two elbows on the table. Intent. ‘I owe you an apology.’
Sorcha tensed slightly. ‘You do?’
He nodded. ‘That day in Dublin, what I said about your outreach centre, it was unforgivable. I had no right to judge something you’ve been working on—no right to judge your motivations for doing something like that.’
Sorcha floundered. This Romain was way, way more dangerous to deal with than the autocratic, overbearing Romain.
‘Well, thank you.’
Now please drop it, she begged silently.
‘Would you tell me about it?’
Sorcha fought against closing her eyes. Her plea had gone spectacularly unanswered. She thought quickly. What harm could it do to tell him just a little? Surely it wouldn’t really give away anything? She took a deep breath.
Romain had seen the conflict cross her face, the shadows in her eyes again, the effort it was taking for her to open up to him at all. It made him feel a whole host of conflicting emotions, not least the desire to ask himself, what does she have to hide?
Sorcha looked out to the lake, and when she looked back to Romain her eyes were guarded. ‘When my father died…Well, we were very close.’
Romain gave a tiny nod of his head, encouraging her to go on. She looked at him steadily, and he was aware at that moment of something powerful passing between them.
‘He was my best friend, my confidante.’ She shrugged lightly and looked down for a second. ‘I was the ultimate daddy’s girl. He used to happily tell everyone that he was wrapped around my finger…he’d bring me to his office…everywhere. He died suddenly. No warning—nothing. I got the call from my mum while I was at school. My older brother was away with his family…’ She shrugged again, and this time it was jerky, as though she was fighting to keep the emotion down.
‘I kind of went off the rails a bit. I left school that summer, and Katie and I had both been offered work in London. Unfortunately I got involved with a crowd of less than savoury characters, and a guy called Christian. I was still very angry about my father’s death, and hadn’t really dealt with it. At that age there’s not a lot of emotional support unless you get it at home…’
Romain stayed very still and quiet, his eyes holding hers, and when she looked at him they seemed to her to be like beacons. Crazy…but very, very seductive. She kept talking.
‘I guess that’s where the desire came from to do…something. For years I’ve always thought that if there had been some place…somewhere to go…that had offered impartial, confidential advice and support, I might have gone. And I might not have…’ She didn’t finish, and couldn’t look at him any more.
Romain reached across the table and took her hand, covering it with his warmth. Dark against pale. She only realised then that she was shaking.
‘Was Dominic a part of that crowd?’
She looked at him. ‘How…?’
‘He mentioned something at the start about knowing you from years ago. I put two and two together.’
She nodded. ‘Christian was his friend.’
‘Was Christian your lover?’ he asked sharply.
Her sense of danger skyrocketed.
How can I say I’m not sure…? Sorcha thought crazily to herself. She gave a brief, abrupt shake of the head. ‘No. I had a crush…it was all quite innocent…’
He seemed satisfied with that, and Sorcha prayed he’d move away from such dangerous waters.
‘Is that why you did the psychology degree? So you could work at the centre?’ He shook his own head. ‘I only realised when you told me about it that you wouldn’t have had time to come home for any real length of time…again, I’m sorry Sorcha…’
CHAPTER TEN (#u96210df4-c053-5fd1-be0c-16231f16d7ef)
SORCHA struggled to stay calm, but she felt like she wanted to get up and run—hide, go away. With every word he was saying he was getting closer, digging deeper, and soon he’d reach the very centre of everything, the place were her desire threatened to bubble out of control.
She pulled her hand back and racked her brain for some way to take the intense spotlight off her.
‘And what about you? What are your secrets, Romain?’ Her voice felt very brittle, like her control. ‘How come you’re not married?’
Where had that come from?
Romain sat back. At least she’d had the desired effect. His eyes narrowed on hers.
‘I was engaged once, actually…’
‘You were?’ Sorcha’s treacherous heart fell.
He nodded briefly, curtly. ‘Yes. A long time ago. I was eighteen.’ His mouth twisted cynically. ‘She was my first true love. But one day I walked into her bedroom and caught her in bed with my older half-brother.’
The words were said without a hint of emotion, but Sorcha could intuit the pain. God only knew, she’d become so adept at hiding her own innermost emotions that she could see it a mile away in someone else. But she knew he wouldn’t welcome sympathy.
One big shoulder shrugged with apparent insouciance. ‘She’d found out that he stood to inherit the title of Duc. While I too have inherited a title, it’s that of mere Comte. He was older, richer, more experienced—and he also stood to inherit the family château.’
He felt familiar satisfaction rush through him when he thought of how he’d bought back that château just a couple of years before. His brother had come to him, begging for aid. And yet, even though it had been a moment he’d waited for a long time, the satisfaction, while still there, hadn’t tasted as sweet as he’d thought it would. He’d somewhere along the way lost that all-consuming desire to get back at the brother who had made his life a complete misery from when he was a small child.
‘I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to bring up something so—’
Before she could say painful, and put a word to his feelings, Romain laughed harshly. ‘It was a long time ago. She was dead to me a long time ago, and since then—’ he made a very Gallic facial expression ‘—I haven’t had the inclination to repeat the experience.’
His face and demeanour said it all to Sorcha. He’d tarred every woman since then with the same brush. His treatment of her said it all too. His obvious ruthlessness in his desire to get her into bed, despite his initial misgivings, which were conveniently dropping away. Which she was allowing him, helping him to shed. God, did she want him so badly that she was contemplating letting someone so jaded take her in the most intimate way?
She couldn’t read his expression. A tense silence surrounded them and then, as if a switch had been flicked on, he smiled. Jekyll and Hyde. Sorcha shivered.
‘I think we’ve had enough questions and answers—yes?’
She nodded mutely.
‘Let’s have some dessert…’ And he called over the waiter.
Within minutes, he was fast weaving her headlong into the tapestry of desire again, making her forget all her misgivings.
On the boat on their way back to the hotel, the mood was considerably lighter. He made her laugh uncontrollably with funny stories about various fashion designers and their prima donna behaviour. And then she remembered something he had said earlier. ‘So you’re a count? What does that make you—Monsieur le Comte de Valois?’
He looked at her sharply. He hadn’t mistaken the teasing in her tone, even if her face was serious.
He nodded. ‘I never use it though. It seems a bit outdated these days.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sorcha slid him a mischievous glance. ‘A count with, I assume, at least one château?’ she asked, looking to him for confirmation. He nodded again. ‘Well, that’s quite the package. In that case I should have curtsied when we met…’
Now she was definitely laughing at him. He couldn’t believe it. For a second he felt all the righteous anger and pride of his forebears, and then at the next moment, seeing her mouth twitch helplessly, he had to give in.
‘How refreshing—a woman who isn’t dropping at my feet with the mention of a title and a château.’
Again he had that split second sensation of thinking, she’s playing me…
She looked at him from under long black lashes. There was no make-up on her slightly freckled face, and she was so beautiful that his chest ached. But even as he looked he saw something come into her eyes, and she drew back, inwards.
They made the rest of the trip in silence. He could feel Sorcha becoming more and more tense beside him. On disembarking the boat she said a quick brusque thank you and didn’t meet his eye, then she fled.
Romain watched her go, a small predatory smile playing around his hard mouth.
A little later, after a shower, Sorcha gave up trying to have a siesta—too jittery and on edge after that lunch. She felt overloaded with sensations and desires and feelings that confused her. One in particular being that she had to admit to herself that she liked him. Really liked him. As for what he did to her body…just thinking about that made her heat up.
She decided to take a walk in the nearby streets to try and calm down.
She ducked into an ornate Hindu temple, feeling for a moment as if she were being followed, and cursed her imagination. Inside, all the different deities were painted in a profusion of bright colours. Little children danced around her, asking for ‘school pens’, and gave her incense to light. She took some pictures. Those moments, and as she walked through markets, bought herself some clothes, gave her some sense of equilibrium back.
The streets were heaving with humanity, sacred cows and eye-wateringly strong smells. She dodged the rickshaws that held beautiful and mysterious sari-clad women and thought that she was mad to be even thinking about anything to do with Romain de Valois. She was no match for him. He just didn’t realise it yet.
Returning to the hotel, she was relieved not to have bumped into anyone, but in the corridor on the way back to her room she heard a hissed, ‘Sorcha!’
It was Lucy, in the room next to hers. ‘Are you OK?’
Lucy looked up and down the corridor and gestured for Sorcha to come in.
She groaned inwardly. She really didn’t want to get all girly and chat. But when she got to the door Lucy pulled her inside, shutting the door after her.
‘Lucy, I’m really tired—’
‘I have something you might be interested in.’
The hair stood up on the back of Sorcha’s neck. The younger girl held out a small paper packet full of white powder. Sorcha’s stomach fell. She’d encountered this over the years—people mistakenly believing what they might have heard…
‘Look, Lucy, I’m really not interested in that stuff. And you shouldn’t go waving it around.’
Lucy laughed. ‘Oh, don’t be such a square. Come on—what’s the harm?’
Something hard settled in Sorcha’s chest. She made a split-second decision, and behind it was the urge to protect. She grabbed the paper out of Lucy’s hand, folding it up carefully.
‘Hey—’ The girl’s face was a picture of surprise and panic.
Sorcha quickly stuck it in the back pocket of her shorts and folded her arms.
‘Lucy, how old are you?’
‘Twenty-one.’
She looked a little shame-faced, and Sorcha was relieved to see that it didn’t look as if she’d taken any of the drug yet. She gentled her tone.
‘Look, if anyone else had caught you with this…like Romain…you’d be going home on the next plane. And you’d probably never get work again. Not to mention we’re in India. Do you have any idea what the police here would do if you were caught?’
She saw Lucy pale visibly. Sorcha grimaced inwardly. No doubt Dominic had her under his thumb. And she didn’t want to scare her.
‘I don’t care where you got it, because I know who probably gave it to you—’ The other girl went red and started to bluster. Sorcha just held up a hand. ‘Believe me, I know Dominic from a long time ago, so don’t feel you have to protect him. And, Lucy, if you’ll take some advice from me, the next time someone offers you drugs don’t be a fool and take them. The person you offer to share them with might not be so understanding or get rid of it for you…’
Sorcha left and went back to her own room next door. It felt as if the white powder was burning a hole in her pocket. She dropped her shopping bag and went straight to her bathroom. She was about to flush it down the loo, when a knock came on her door. Panicking slightly, she stuffed it again into her back pocket.
She opened the door and felt immediately dizzy. Romain stood there, larger than life. And then, without so much as a by-your-leave, he sauntered in as if he owned the place. Sorcha gripped the door handle, loath to shut the door. What was he doing here? He had to leave! She could feel herself pale. She could feel the packet, and it suddenly weighed a ton. A cold sweat broke out on her brow. Of all the times!
‘Can…can I help you?’ she asked, and her voice sounded strained to her ears.
He leant back against the door that opened out onto her patio. His eyes narrowed on her face and Sorcha felt herself flush guiltily. What was he doing here?
‘Shut the door,’ he said quietly.
Sorcha’s mind raced even as she did as he asked, not thinking to question it. Could he have seen anything? Overheard anything? He couldn’t have…This had to be unrelated. Because if it wasn’t…Her blood ran cold.
