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She’d become rigid again, holding herself away from him, and he was surprised at the irritation he felt at her subtle withdrawal.
Deliberately he drew her close, smiling down into her face, his lashes drooping so that only she could see the determination in his eyes. She stiffened a second, then relaxed, her slender body pliant in his arms.
She felt strangely right there, he thought, nodding to Guy Bagaton across the dance floor.
Fleur was fighting back a pang of frighteningly bitter jealousy. Just what was his relationship to this Janna person? Past lovers? Almost certainly.
She followed him through a particularly complex manoeuvre, then the music wound up to a triumphant conclusion, and everyone clapped and began to leave the floor.
After that Fleur danced with the other men of their party, sat out the energetic ones with the Princess—who was amusing, interesting company—and shared more dances with Luke, where they playacted for everyone to see. She pretended not to watch when Luke danced with Gabrielle, but she realised that Luke had been right; the girl was definitely possessive about him.
A little later she came across Fleur in the ladies’ room and said graciously, ‘I hope you are enjoying yourself.’
‘Very much,’ Fleur replied with a smile.
Gabrielle looked at her with raised brows. ‘You are not his usual sort of woman.’ She flashed a smile that was close to feline. ‘Do you realise he is using you?’
Unprepared for such an open attack, Fleur turned on the tap and let cold water play over her wrists. ‘My relationship with Luke is nobody’s business but ours.’
Gabrielle stiffened. ‘You are wrong. I am telling you this because I like you, but if you are hoping that this liaison is more than a temporary fling you will be wrong, because eventually he and I are to be married. Did you know that?’
How on earth did she deal with this? Fleur said, ‘Do you really think Luke would flaunt a lover in front of the woman he’s engaged to?’
The younger woman sketched a very Gallic shrug. ‘You are a romantic, so naturally you don’t understand our way of conducting marriages. This has been decided for ever—it is a matter of honour to both families, and of course there is a lot of money tied up in it, too. My dowry will be my grandfather’s business interests—Luke is already in charge of them, but when we marry they will become his. Luke is more French than English in his attitude towards such things.’
Fleur turned off the tap and said neutrally into the silence, ‘It sounds very pragmatic.’
It also sounded very possible. Luke hadn’t mentioned anything about business interests when he’d persuaded her into this charade. And she’d agreed to it without thought—because she trusted him.
No, she thought, her mind working furiously. Why on earth would he have suggested the masquerade if he planned to eventually marry Gabrielle and her inheritance? It would make him a horrible man…
Perhaps he was.
Gabrielle finished applying lipstick and smiled. ‘We are a pragmatic race. But it will be a good marriage, and there will be no divorce. Our children will have a happy home life. Of course he will probably always enjoy chasing little redheads and, yes, I will mind a little, although I will always know that such adventures mean nothing. You have no chance of marrying him. He is a Chapman; his great-grandmother was descended from the old aristocracy of France. He knows what is due his position.’
And it’s not some insignificant New Zealander with no family and no money, her tone implied.
Fleur bristled, but to her great relief the Princess’s arrival put an end to the conversation. Nevertheless, it left Fleur with a nasty taste, especially when she saw Gabrielle flirting skilfully with the film star as they danced. She certainly didn’t look as though her heart was touched by Luke’s supposed betrayal.
Apart from that the evening was an enchantment. Fleur looked around thinking wryly that no cliché had been forgotten; the moon shone with unadulterated glory over the island, rollers crashed onto the reef with muted thunder and the perfumes of the tropics suffused the soft night air.
Supper was served on the beach, a magnificent spread of local and imported foods, champagne flowed, and after supper a group of Fala’isian young people danced for them—starting with a war challenge done with flaming torches, and ending in a wild, erotic hula that sent a buzz of interest through the guests.
Heated applause followed the entertainers as they undulated into the darkness, and then the band struck up again, and Luke held out his hand to Fleur. ‘What do you think of our dancers?’
‘They are gorgeous—and they dance brilliantly.’ She moved into his arms with more confidence now. The lights had dimmed, and around them people were drifting into slow easy steps. ‘The challenge was great, and the hula was superb.’
‘You understand Maori, I gather?’ At her surprised glance he expanded, ‘I think you and Guy were probably the only other off-islanders who realised the show was a parody, a campedup version of what tourists expect to see. I saw you laugh at one place.’
‘I have a working knowledge of Maori, and although there are substantial differences between that and Fala’isian I can sort of pick up the gist of a conversation as I go along. So, yes, I got some of the allusions. Can you speak it?’
‘Of course.’ He sounded surprised. ‘My sisters and I grew up speaking three languages—French with our great-grandmother, the local tongue with everyone else, and English with our parents.’
‘You were fortunate.’
His wide shoulder lifted in a shrug beneath her hand. ‘Children learn languages quickly. According to my mother, the trick is to make sure they stick to one at a time. When my sisters and I were small we used to speak a mixture of all three until my parents made quite strict rules. If you started a conversation in one, you had to keep to it and finish it in that language. It made life simpler.’
‘You have two sisters, don’t you?’
He didn’t exactly pause, but she had the feeling he didn’t want to talk about his sisters. ‘Yes, one older and one younger than me.’
‘Do they live here?’
‘One’s in Paris and the other in New York at the moment.’
Rebuffed, she said lightly, ‘I’d have loved siblings.’
‘We get on well,’ he said.
Fleur envied him that simple, confident assertion.
He steered the subject away from his sisters. ‘I understood you to say that your father has another family in Australia.’
‘I don’t even know where they are,’ she told him. ‘When my parents broke up my father told me that if I didn’t go with him I’d never see him again. I stayed with my mother, so that was it. The only reason I know about his other child is that when the divorce came through he wrote to tell my mother that he and his new partner had already had a son.’
Luke’s mouth hardened. ‘Do you have any other relatives—cousins?’
‘In England,’ she said evenly. ‘We exchange Christmas cards.’
He hugged her, a swift contraction of his arms with no sexual implication at all. Oddly touched by his swift response, she smiled mistily up at him. Luke had everything—money, power, a family he loved, outstanding physical attributes, yet he had enough empathy to understand how very lonely it could be sometimes when you had no one.
Fleur felt a quiver in the air—as though something deep and basic had changed between them. His gaze dropped to her mouth and darkened, then flicked up to hold hers. For several seconds they danced slowly and more slowly, until a raucous male voice broke the spell.
‘Hey, Luke, mate, get off the floor if you don’t want to dance.’ A tall, balding man grinned openly as both Luke’s and Fleur’s heads swung around.
Heat burned Fleur’s cheeks. The man’s partner waved at them, her smile sympathetic and slightly envious, and Luke laughed quietly and pulled Fleur close to him, guiding her away.
After a few seconds he said, ‘Time to go home, I think.’
Fleur nodded. ‘The Princess will be pleased.’ Yes, that was fine—her voice was cool and colourless. ‘She’s looking a bit tired, and she hasn’t got up for the last two dances.’
He gave her another sharp look, but didn’t hold it. ‘She’s probably a bit jet-lagged.’
Sure enough, no one objected to the idea of leaving, though Gabrielle gave the film star a regretful glance or two when she and her grandfather got into the second car, driven by a chauffeur.
Luke drove through the silent night. No one said much as the road wound beneath palm groves by the sea, and then over a spur of the central mountain range and down into the bay where Luke’s house sprawled in its exotic garden.
Fleur gazed blindly into the moonlight, every sense alert and tense with a useless anticipation that wouldn’t be squelched, however hard she tried.
Because Luke wasn’t going to make love to her—not with a house full of guests.
‘Tired?’ His voice broke into the silence.
‘A bit,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been fabulous in the true sense of the word—like something out of a fairytale.’ Only the princes in those fables were a bloodless lot, not like Luke.
‘I’ve enjoyed it, too.’
Casual words, the sort of thing he probably said after any social occasion, yet she hugged them to her heart.
Back at the house the Prince and Princess went to their room. Fleur waited with Luke only until the second car disgorged its passengers, then said her goodnights.
Once in her bedroom, she went across to the dressing table and glanced sideways at her reflection. She looked reckless, she thought warily—all green mysterious eyes and a sultry, beckoning mouth. The cosmetics experts certainly knew their stuff!
And then her eyes fell onto the fabulous pearl pendant Luke had lent her.
Biting her lip, she slipped it over her head, hesitating for a second with it in her hand. The gold and diamonds glinted coldly, but the pearl lay warm in her palm, its lustre as beckoning as the moon.
Another memory, she thought sadly.
She didn’t want the lovely, precious thing in her room overnight; the responsibility was too much. Holding the pendant carefully, she opened her door and saw Luke and the Prince talking down the other end of the corridor.
Although she’d been quiet, the men turned the instant she appeared. She swallowed, because on both dark faces there was the same look—intent, almost predatory, as though two warriors were conferring on tactics.
After a final low-voiced comment to the Prince, Luke strode towards her while Guy Bagaton went into the bedroom he shared with his wife.
Luke kept his eyes on her while they walked towards each other. He wasn’t frowning, but something in that keen, burnished gaze intensified the aura of determination surrounding him, and she shivered in spite of the warmth.
As he came up she held out the pendant. ‘You’d better lock it up.’
He took it from her, his eyes scanning her face. ‘All right?’
‘Yes,’ she said abruptly.
She stepped back and closed the door, wondering bleakly if any other woman had ever shut the door in his face. Probably not, she thought starkly, pulling the lovely silk dress over her head. Like all the other clothes, she’d leave it behind when she left Fala’isi.
She was just coming out of the bathroom when her door opened again, and Luke came in, moving with the noiseless, predatory gait of some big animal. When he saw her, he stopped, and the door swung closed behind him.
‘I did knock,’ he said abruptly. ‘I didn’t realise you were in the shower.’
Shocked into silence, Fleur watched him with enormous eyes. Against Luke’s black and white splendour she felt very undressed in the camisole and matching shorts she wore to bed, and very vulnerable, too, she thought with painful honesty, a pulse beating rapidly in her throat. She looked around for her wrap, but it was in the wardrobe and she wasn’t going to walk across there in her flimsy garments.
Luke said curtly, ‘We need to talk.’
She swallowed. ‘About what?’
‘Something that’s come up.’ His mouth compressed. ‘Where’s your dressing gown?’
‘In the wardrobe. Shut your eyes.’
Shrugging, he obeyed, and she scuttled across the room to the wardrobe and pulled on the crisp cotton dressing gown. Tying the belt around her waist she said, ‘Is this about Gabrielle?’
Luke’s opened eyes were uncomfortably penetrating. ‘Why?’
‘Because if it is I think you should know what she said to me this evening.’
Luke’s frown deepened while she hastily sketched in the substance of the conversation. When she’d finished he said without inflection, ‘I wonder if that’s what her grandfather’s told her.’
‘Is it true?’
Her heart picked up speed while she waited for his answer.
But when it came it wasn’t exactly comforting. ‘I bought everything from him two years ago.’
He went on with harsh distinctness, ‘He didn’t sell his interests to me as a sweetener for a marriage deal. It was a purely business decision, because he has nobody else to leave them to—Gabrielle’s father died young, and Gabrielle herself is more artistic than businesslike. He did suggest marriage in the early stages, but I told him I wasn’t interested.’
Pushing her hair back from her face, Fleur asked, ‘Then why does Gabrielle believe that she’s as good as engaged to you?’ Too late, she realised she sounded like a jealous woman and tried to temper her question with a swift addition. ‘I think she really believes that, Luke. I don’t know her, of course, but either it’s her own fantasy she’s convinced will come true, or it’s something she’s been told.’
‘Not by me.’ Luke’s tone poured scorn on any such suggestion. ‘I’ve just endured a somewhat embarrassing attempt on her part to seduce me.’
Appalled by a violent desire to pull the French girl’s hair out then send her packing, Fleur said woodenly, ‘I see.’
He frowned. ‘I didn’t realise things had gone this far. They’re leaving tomorrow morning, with Lauren and Guy, but I’ll deal with the situation before they go.’
‘How?’
He glanced across at her. ‘First of all, I’ll spend the night in here,’ he said evenly, his tone daring her to object. ‘That will convince her grandfather, if not her, that she has no hope. He’s a man of the old school, and he’ll know that I wouldn’t flaunt a mistress in his face if I were planning to marry his granddaughter.’
Fleur’s stomach dropped in a mixture of headstrong excitement and fear as she scanned his flinty, implacable face. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to; she had no choice. Whatever, she’d find herself sharing a room.
She fought back a bubble of anticipation, bright and fragile and eager, and demanded, ‘And will he be able to convince her she has no hope?’
‘I imagine so. I’ve already made it more than clear to her that I play no part in her future. Before they leave tomorrow I’ll make sure her grandfather understands this, too.’
A shiver ran through Fleur at his tone—cold and utterly ruthless. Yet, in the long run, wouldn’t it be crueller not to do what was necessary to squelch Gabrielle’s forlorn fantasy?
Making a final stand, she said, ‘She told me she wouldn’t care if you still chased redheads.’
‘Did she?’ he returned, his tone frigid. ‘I find that damned insulting. When I marry I want a wife who loves me enough to be jealous.’
Surrendering, Fleur said bitterly, ‘Heaven preserve me from dominating men!’
‘And me from recalcitrant women.’ He allowed a gleam of amusement to appear in his eyes. ‘Take off your wrap and get into bed. Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of the opportunity. I prefer my women willing.’
Oh, she was willing enough, but not—not like this, she thought confusedly. She tried one last time. ‘How will she know that you’ve spent the night here?’
His brow lifted in sardonic amusement. ‘I’m prepared to bet that within twenty minutes there’ll be a tap on the door and she’ll be there, ready to ask charmingly for something feminine she’s neglected to pack. Now, just in case she comes sooner rather than later, get into bed.’
She obeyed, wondering how on earth she’d let herself get into this pickle.
