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She said icily, ‘Is there something I can do for you, Mr Newson?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You can tell me that you’ve seen sense at last over this house and are prepared to sell to me. My team are all ready to go. I only need to say the word.’
‘But I’ve already said the word.’ Helen lifted her chin. ‘And it’s no. I thought I’d made that clear.’
‘But that was when you thought you could get your hands on some money.’ The fleshy face gloated at her. ‘It’s all round the village that you’ve been turned down for that grant you pinned your hopes on. You’ve nowhere else to turn, and you know it. So if you’ve got any sense you’ll reconsider my offer, minus a small discount for the inconvenience you’ve put me to, and be quick about it. I’m planning to open next Easter.’
‘Well, I hope you haven’t spent too much on preliminaries,’ Helen returned, with total insincerity. ‘Because Monteagle is still not for sale.’
‘I’m a tolerant man, Miss Frayne. Anyone will tell you that. But you’re beginning to try my patience. Get it into your head, my dear. You’ve fought well, but you’ve lost. I hold all the cards, and I’m about to collect.’
Except, Helen thought, she held a final ace—if she chose to play it. And what real choice did she have—if Monteagle was to be saved?
She heard the creak of a floorboard behind her. Knew without turning who had entered the room—and what he was waiting to hear. Her fight was over at last, and her choice made for her—whatever the consequences.
She took a deep breath, aware that she was shivering, her stomach churning as she faced Trevor Newson.
She said huskily, ‘I’m afraid not. You see, I’m going to be married—very soon—and my future husband plans to restore the house completely—as our family home.’ She paused. ‘Isn’t that right—darling?’
Marc’s hands descended on her shoulders. His skin smelled cool and damp, but the lips that touched the side of her throat in a lingering kiss were warmer than the blaze of the sun.
He said softly into her ear, ‘It will be one of my many pleasures, mon amour.’
He came to stand beside her, his arm circling her body, his hand on her hip in a gesture of possession as casual as it was disturbing. He was barefoot, bare-chested, a pair of shabby jeans his only covering.
‘When I woke you were gone, cherie.’ He clicked his tongue in a kind of amused reproach. ‘And here you are, entertaining another man.’
‘I don’t think Mr Newson is particularly entertained,’ Helen said coolly. ‘Besides, he’s just leaving.’
The older man’s face was unpleasantly flushed. ‘So this is your saviour?’ He nearly spat the word. ‘He doesn’t look to me as if he’s got two pennies to rub together, but I’m sure you’ve had him checked out.’ He glared at Marc. ‘She’s a fast worker. I’ll give her that. Up to yesterday she was supposed to be engaged to someone else, only he’s dumped her. Now here she is with you.’ Trevor Newson gave Helen a smile that made her skin crawl. ‘So, where did you find this one, love?’
‘She did not,’ Marc said curtly. ‘I found her. And you are offending my fiancée, monsieur. Perhaps you would like to go, before I throw you out.’
‘You and whose army?’ Trevor Newson blustered. He was more heavily built than his opponent, but he was flabby and out of condition when compared with Marc’s toned muscularity. ‘But I’m leaving anyway.’ At the door, he turned. ‘This is going to cost you a fortune, my friend. I just hope you find she’s worth the expense. Not many women are.’
As soon as he had gone Helen eased herself from Marc’s arm and walked over to the window.
She said, ‘Do you usually come downstairs half-dressed?’
‘I had just finished shaving. You have some objection?’ He sounded amused again.
She shrugged. ‘It’s—not very dignified.’ She paused. ‘And it made that awful man think…’
‘That we had slept together?’ Marc supplied cordially, as she hesitated again. ‘But you can hardly deny that you spent most of the night in my arms, ma mie.’
‘No,’ Helen said between gritted teeth. ‘I—can’t.’
‘But you wish so much that it were otherwise, hein?’ He walked over to her. Turned her to face him, a hand under her chin, so he could look down into her eyes. ‘So,’ he said softly, ‘you have agreed, after all, to make the ultimate sacrifice to save this house. For a while I thought your aversion to me might prove too strong.’
She bit her lip and stared down at the floor. ‘So did I.’ Her voice was bitter.
‘I think I owe Monsieur Newson some thanks,’ he said reflectively. ‘If he had not come here this morning, your answer to me might have been different.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It would.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Don’t you have any compunction about what you’re doing—what you’re forcing me to do? And all for a whim.’ She shook her head. ‘If you really want a house, there are so many others you could buy. So many women probably falling over each other to marry you.’
‘But you are unique, cherie,’ he said lightly. ‘You do not profess undying love. You make it clear that you want only my money. I find that—refreshing.’
‘And I,’ she said in a low voice, ‘find it degrading.’
He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Nevertheless, Hélène,’ he said quietly, ‘the bargain is made between us, and it will not be broken.’ He dug a hand into the pocket of his jeans and produced the little velvet box. ‘Now, give me your hand.’
She watched numbly as the ruby slid over her knuckle into its symbolic resting place. So beautiful, she thought, watching the slow fire that burned in its depths, and yet so totally meaningless.
He said, ‘Will you give me a kiss, or do I have to take it from you?’
Swallowing nervously, she raised her mouth to his with reluctant obedience. But instead of the passionate onslaught she’d expected—and feared—Marc was gentle with her, his lips moving on hers with a strange, almost mesmerising sweetness, the tip of his tongue probing her defences softly and sensuously. Coaxing her, she thought, her mind reeling, to a response that she dared not risk—even if she wished…
She stood rigid in the circle of his arms, shakily aware of the heat of his naked skin through her clothes. Willing the kiss to end. Praying that she would escape unscathed.
At last, with a rueful sigh, he lifted his head, watching her through half-closed eyes.
‘You lack warmth, cherie,’ he told her wryly. ‘But that will change once you have learned a little about pleasure.’
She stepped back from him, wrapping defensive arms round her body. ‘Is that really what you think?’ She invested her tone with scorn.
He laughed then, running the back of his hand teasingly down the curve of her stormy face. ‘Yes, petite innocente, I do.’ He paused, glancing at his watch. ‘And now, hélas, I must dress and tear myself away from you back to London.’
‘You’re leaving?’ She was genuinely astonished. ‘Now?’
‘Pourquoi pas?’ He shrugged. ‘After all, I have what I came for—and I have to prepare for an early meeting tomorrow.’ He took the hand that wore his ring and kissed it. ‘But I shall return next week. In the meantime my architect will be here, with his team, to begin restoration work on the house.’
His tone was brisk and businesslike, making her see the dynamism that drove him. See it, and resent it.
Monteagle, she thought, doesn’t belong to you yet, monsieur.
She bristled defiantly. ‘I have my own local people, thank you.’
‘And now you will also have Alain.’ He grinned at her. ‘So, don’t give him a hard time, cherie. He might wound more easily than I do.’ He paused. ‘One more thing,’ he added casually. ‘The number of your bank account, if you please.’
She gasped. ‘Why should I give you that?’
‘So that I can transfer some money for you.’
She said coldly, ‘I have funds of my own, thanks. I don’t need any charity.’
‘And I am not offering it. But there will be incidental expenses once the work starts that you cannot be expected to meet.’ He smiled at her. ‘Also you have your trousseau to buy. I intend to begin the arrangements for our wedding tomorrow. I suggest a civil ceremony before witnesses at the end of next month.’
Helen’s heart was thudding again. ‘But you said there was no hurry,’ she protested. ‘That—that you’d wait…’
‘I think,’ he told her softly, ‘that I have been patient enough already. And last night has kindled my appetite, ma mie.’ His smile widened as he looked down into her outraged, apprehensive eyes. ‘So, be good enough to write down your account number for me, and I will go and leave you in peace.’
Quivering with anger, she obeyed, handing over the slip of paper with open resentment.
Marc walked to the door, then turned slowly, letting his eyes travel down her body.
‘On the other hand,’ he said softly, ‘I still have the memory of how you felt in my arms last night. And I could even now be persuaded to stay.’
He watched her eyes widen in sudden shock, and went on silkily, ‘But it is a matter entirely for you to decide, mon amour. Although I promise you would find the bed in my room more comfortable than that penance of a sofa.’
The words were thick in her throat. ‘I’ll have to take your word for that, monsieur. Goodbye.’
She turned back to the window, hardly daring to breathe until she heard the door close quietly behind him.
Monteagle is safe, she whispered to herself. And that’s all that matters. All that I can allow to matter, anyway.
The cost to herself—well, that was different, and she would have to find some way to endure it.
God, but he was so sure of her, she thought, digging her nails painfully into the palms of her clenched fists. So convinced he could seduce her into passionate surrender. But he would have to think again.
‘You may own Monteagle, monsieur,’ she whispered under her breath, resolution like a stone in her heart. ‘But you’ll never possess me—and that I swear, by everything I hold dear.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LOTTIE looked silently at the ruby lying on the table between them.
She said, ‘That’s costume jewellery, and this whole thing is a wind-up—right?’
Helen shook her head. ‘Wrong.’ Her voice was husky. ‘I really am engaged to Marc Delaroche. He—proposed last night. I accepted this morning.’
Lottie stared at her open-mouthed. She said, half to herself, ‘This can’t be happening. Twenty-four hours ago you considered yourself engaged to Nigel.’ Her voice rose. ‘And now you’re going to be married to someone you’ve known a matter of days?’
‘You made me have dinner with him,’ Helen defended. ‘You practically twisted my arm.’
‘Yes,’ said Lottie. ‘Because I thought it would do you good to go out with someone lethally attractive who clearly fancied you. But that was when I thought you were both sane.’
She sat back in her chair, her worried gaze resting on Helen’s pale face. ‘Are we talking serious rebound from Nigel, here? Or are you telling me that love at first sight actually exists?’
‘Love has nothing to do with it.’ Helen drew a deep breath. ‘The truth is that he’s absolutely crazy about Monteagle and is willing to spend whatever it takes to restore the place to its old glory. Only it can’t be completely his—unless, of course, I’m part of the package.’ She shrugged. ‘And that’s it.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Lottie said helplessly, and relapsed into frowning silence. At last she said, ‘Helen—just sell him the place, and save yourself a lot of heartache.’
‘I’ll never sell Monteagle, and he knows it. I made it clear enough at that damned committee meeting. He also knows I’m desperate.’ Helen shrugged again, aiming for insouciance. ‘I—can’t afford to refuse.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s a business arrangement. What they call a marriage of convenience, I suppose.’
‘Ah,’ Lottie said blandly. ‘Then presumably, as you’re still virtual strangers, the deal does not include sex.’ Her gaze drilled into Helen’s. ‘Or does it?’
Helen looked down at the table. ‘We—we haven’t settled the final details yet.’
‘Now I know you’re kidding,’ said Lottie derisively. ‘I saw him look at you, remember? And, while Simon and I may have been apart for a while, I still recognise old-fashioned lust when I see it. And, as you’re not in love with him, how will you deal with that when payback time arrives? Are you really that sophisticated?’
Helen stared at the burn of the ruby lying between them. She said, half to herself, ‘I—I’ll cope somehow. Because I have to.’ She forced a smile. ‘What would you do in my place?’
‘Sell,’ said Lottie. ‘And run.’ She paused. ‘Or you could try closing your eyes and doing exactly what you are told. That could be interesting.’
‘You mean lie back and think of England?’ Helen’s laugh had a hollow ring. ‘Or Monteagle?’
‘I doubt whether Marc Delaroche will let you think about anything but him,’ Lottie said drily. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.’
After Lottie had gone, Helen lingered in the kitchen, washing the cups and glasses they’d used, and recorking the barely touched bottle of wine.
Daisy can use it to cheer up tomorrow’s chicken casserole, she thought.
The housekeeper had taken Helen’s halting news in her stride. ‘So, Mr Marc, is it?’ she’d said thoughtfully. ‘Well, I wish you happiness, my dear. Things often turn out for the best.’
Mrs Lowell was the only other one on Helen’s need-to-know list, because she’d have to explain why there’d be no more guided tours.
I’ll go round to the Vicarage tomorrow, she told herself.
As she walked through the hall the telephone rang, and in spite of the lateness of the hour she found herself reaching for it.
‘Hélène?’ His voice reached her huskily across the miles, making her start.
She steadied herself, trying to ignore the frantic drum of her heart. ‘Marc? What do you want?’
‘All the things I cannot have, because you are so far from me.’
She could hear the smile in his voice and stiffened, loading her tone with frostiness. ‘I mean why are you calling so late.’
‘To wish you bonne nuit,’ he said. ‘And sweet dreams.’
‘Oh,’ she said, nonplussed. ‘Well—thank you.’
‘And to tell you that, to my sorrow, I will not be with you next week after all. I have to fly to New York.’
‘I see.’ She knew she should feel relieved at the news, if not be dancing in the streets. Instead, suddenly, there was an odd flatness. ‘It was—good of you to let me know.’
There was a pause, then he said softly, ‘You could go with me.’
‘To New York?’ An unbidden quiver of excitement stirred inside her, and was instantly quelled. She said stonily, ‘Of course I can’t. It’s quite impossible.’
‘Why? You have a passport?’
‘Somewhere, yes.’
‘Then I suggest you look for it, ma mie,’ he told her drily. ‘You will certainly need it for our honeymoon.’
‘Honeymoon?’ She was beginning to sound like an echo, she told herself with exasperation. ‘But surely there’s no need for that,’ she protested. ‘It—it’s not as if it is a real marriage…’
‘You will find it real enough when the time comes, cherie.’ His words were light, but she thought she detected a note of warning. ‘And we are certainly having a honeymoon—although it can only be brief because of my work commitments.’
