Desperate Measures (18 page)

want to express in it. As usual, it's—lacking.'

'I think you are too hard on yourself,' Alain said, after a pause.

'Eat your soup, and you'll feel better. Hunger makes one depressed.'

He walked back to the table and picked up the knife. 'So this is

where it went. I've been searching for it.'

She said, 'I'm sorry.' Then, as she focused on him properly, she

said with a heart-thudding stab of excitement, 'Alain, would you stay there for a moment—like that?'

He glanced round, brows raised. '
Pourquo
i?' he began, then

started to laugh as he saw her reach for her sketching block. 'Ah, no, you can't be serious.'

'Never more so.' Her voice was urgent. 'Just stand there—and

don't move, please.'

She knew now why the picture wasn't working. Because Alain

was missing from it. Because she'd tried to exclude him from it

physically—tried to suggest, instead, his personality and vitality

without his actual presence.

As soon as she had seen him standing by the table, that had

dawned on her with the utmost clarity.

But then, she realised, from the moment she'd seen him in

Lowden Square, she had wanted to paint him. It was one of the first

things that had occurred to her. And this might be her one and only

chance to do it.

She covered sheet after sheet of her block with sketches,

gulping down the cooling soup in between at his insistence, making

him adopt new positions, sometimes on his feet, sometimes sitting. He was clearly amused, and certainly puzzled, but he complied anyway.

'I demand to be allowed to buy this masterpiece when it is

finished,' he said, as he sliced with wry obedience into a tomato. 'I refuse to allow my colleagues and employees at De Courcy to see me

publicly in this domestic role.'

'Don't fuss—and turn your head, just a fraction. That's perfect.

Now, hold it.'

He sighed. 'Anything you say, mon amour. You're quite crazy, do

you know that?'

Perhaps I am, Philippa thought unsteadily, but suddenly I'm alive

too, and this is going to work. I know it is.

All the time, even in Paris, Alain had been in her head, coming

between her and the image she was trying to create in paint. She'd

tried to resist him, to banish him from her imagination. But now she

knew that she had to paint him, to make him the focal point of this

painting at least.

And maybe in this way, she could exorcise him forever.

She worked with a kind of desperation, blocking in the new

composition, with Alain seated, his dark face intent on his mundane

task, as she had seen him only the night before.

Time went by, and she didn't notice its passage until he said, at

last, 'Ma chere, quite apart from this cramp, which I'm trying to endure for the sake of art, unless I move soon, we will have no dinner.'

'I wasn't thinking,' she admitted ruefully. 'You should have

regular breaks. I'm sorry.'

'Oh, don't apologise. I'm sure that suffering is good for me.' He

rose to his feet, stretching, and Philippa sank her teeth into her lower lip as she watched the effortless grace of the movement.

She said, faltering a little, 'Would you sit for me again tomorrow

—please?'

He gave her a frankly questioning look, then shrugged. 'If that is

what you wish.'

Oh, it is, she thought. It is. It may be madness, but it's what I

want more than anything else in the world.

She stood, staring at the easel, after he had gone downstairs. It

was too early to say whether the painting would be good or bad, but it would be something for her to keep out of the wreck of their marriage.

Something to remember him by.

Her stomach constricted painfully. Something to torment herself

with through an eternity of loneliness, as well, she thought stonily, and began to clean her brushes.

There was beef in red wine for dinner that night. They conversed

politely, like strangers, over the meal. Afterwards, Philippa cleared the table and washed up.

When she turned back to the table, Alain had poured himself

some more wine, and was frowning over a chessboard he had

unearthed from somewhere.

He said, 'Will you join me?'

'For the wine or the chess?'

He shrugged. 'Either—or both.'

Philippa drew a chair up to the table, accepting the glass of wine

he offered her.

'I didn't know you played chess,' she began, then stopped

abruptly. It seemed that everything she said to him was designed to

draw attention to their total estrangement, and yet that wasn't what

she intended at all.

'I enjoy solving the problems the game poses,' he said, after a

pause. 'Unlike those of ordinary life, they have an order—a pattern.'

'Yes, I suppose so,' she said stiltedly. 'I used to play a great deal with Gavin.'

He slanted a smile at her. 'I hope he taught you well.'

'Well enough,' Philippa returned, a shade tartly. 'I think I can give most people a run for their money. You may not be as good as you

think.'

'Fighting talk!' Alain sounded amused. 'Shall we, then, make the

game more competitive by introducing a small bet?'

Philippa frowned. 'What kind of bet?' she asked suspiciously. She

touched one of the fists he extended to her, and found to her

annoyance that she had chosen black.

'Nothing too extreme,' he said lightly. 'If I lose,' he paused, 'I'll continue to prepare the meals while I remain here.'

She eyed him. 'And if you win?'

'One kiss—freely given.' His hand hovered over the board,

waiting to make the first move. The green eyes glittered a challenge.

'Is it a deal? Or haven't you enough confidence in your game?'

'I have every confidence in myself.' Philippa lifted her chin. 'I

think you're going to be very tired of cooking before you return to

Paris.'

Alain shrugged. 'We'll see.' He moved his king's pawn up to the

fourth row, and Philippa did the same. 'Tell me, do you plan to bring your father here when he is finally discharged from the clinic?'

'Yes, I think so. We were always very happy here.'

'And you think you can recapture those past times?' His

attention was fixed on the board. He moved his queen to the bishop's

position in the third row.

'Why not?' Philippa moved her own queen's pawn to the third

row.

Alain shrugged again. 'Because I do not think it's possible to

turn back the clock,' he said flatly. 'If it was, then I would too.'

'Resuming your life as a bachelor, no doubt,' Philippa said with

something of a snap.

'Exactly.' Alain placed his king's bishop in front of the queen's

bishop in the fourth row.

She had not expected him to agree so readily, and stiffened

indignantly, her hand hovering over her queen's knight.

'Well, you'll soon be free again,' she said coolly. 'Or would you

have preferred never to have been married to me at all?'

'I would have much preferred it,
ma chere
.' His tone was almost casual. 'It was hardly a marriage, after all.'

Philippa sat up very straight. 'Then why did you come chasing

after me?' she demanded, moving the knight into the fourth row.

'Because, however unacceptable it had become, we still had a

bargain,' he said quietly.

'I kept my side of it.'

'You really think so?' He sounded politely amazed.

'It was you—your fault. You spoiled everything by breaking your

word.' That sounded like a childish whinge, she realised with vexation.

'Ah, yes,' he said mockingly. 'I was a brute to you, wasn't I,

cherie
—making you sleep in the same bed with me, forcing you to do those disgusting things. But I was fool enough to think, you see, that maybe we could make our marriage more than some—clause in a

contract. You'd have preferred me to obtain your signature in

triplicate, perhaps, before I touched you.'

Philippa drew a shaky breath. 'I would have preferred you not to

touch me at all.'

'As you made plain each time I ventured to do so,' said Alain,

too courteously.

'I hope you don't expect me to apologise for disappointing you?'

she flared.

He shrugged. 'Perhaps we should concede that we disappointed

each other.'

'That's a concession indeed.' Philippa bit her lip. 'Aren't you

afraid of denting your image as the great lover?' She gave a strident little laugh. 'No, of course not—how stupid of me! You have the

Baronne to bolster your ego in that direction, of course.'

'Ah,' Alain said softly, 'my beautiful Marie-Laure. Shall I tell you

about her, ma cherel Every last detail?'

Her face flamed. 'No,' she said, between her teeth. 'That's quite

unnecessary, thank you.'

'You seem so obsessed by her that I thought you might find it

interesting.' He gave her a level look, then glanced down at the

chessboard, his brows raised. 'After all, you've been totally frank with me about your Fabrice, haven't you?'

'That's quite different, and you know it.'

'Do I?' The green eyes glittered at her.

'Yes.' Philippa pushed her chair back, and rose. 'I don't want to

hear about Marie-Laure or any of your women, Alain. Can't you

understand that?'

'Oh, yes. But there are also some things that you need to

understand about me, Philippa.'

'I know all that I need to know,' she said angrily. 'I was just like

one of those pawns, wasn't I?' She gestured angrily at the board.

'Something you could use in your chess game against your uncle, and

then discard when it was convenient. Only a pawn isn't supposed to

say "check" to the king, is it? Which is just what I did when I left you.

And that's what you can't forgive. That's why you're here, tormenting me like this. Well, the game's over now, and so is our marriage. And

there's nothing you can do about it,' she added recklessly.

'Isn't there?' His smile was silky. 'Well, there is still something left to be won,
mignonne.
And I like to win. So...' he picked up his queen.

He said softly, 'White queen to black knight two,
mon amour
. And—

checkmate.'

Philippa drew a sharp breath, her attention totally diverted back

to the board in front of them. 'But that's not right,' she began. 'You can't have...'

'Fool's mate, cherie. I'm sure you've heard of it.'

Oh, yes, she'd heard of it. Avoiding this commonest of traps for

the inexperienced was one of the first things Gavin had taught her.

And she'd walked straight into it.

'Oh, no!' she wailed. 'Oh, I don't believe it!'

But the board was there in front of her, mute evidence of Alain's

swift and humiliating victory.

'Chess requires concentration,
ma belle.
Do you want your

revenge on me? Shall we play another game—for another bet, of

course.'

'No thanks,' she said curtly. 'One defeat like that is more than

enough.' She glanced at her watch. 'Anyway, I'm rather tired. I think I'll go to my room.'

'In a moment,' Alain said gently. 'After I've collected my

winnings.'

Philippa bit her lip. In retrospect, it had been foolhardy to agree

to any kind of wager, but she'd been so sure she could win, or at least take him to stalemate, that it hadn't seemed really risky. But now...

She swallowed. 'We didn't exactly establish the circumstances,'

she began awkwardly. 'I'd be prepared to—kiss you goodbye when you

leave.'

'I'm overwhelmed,' he said sardonically. 'But I think a debt of

honour should be settled as soon as possible, don't you?'

He pushed his chair back, and got to his feet.

Philippa rose too. She said shakily, 'Alain, wait! I—I didn't think

you meant it.'

'How very unwise of you, ma belle.' He came to her side, and his

hands descended on her shoulders. Her whole body stiffened in

resistance, and this reaction was not lost on him.

He said quietly, 'And to fight me, Philippa, would be even more

unwise. It's only a kiss, after all.'

His face seemed to swim in front of her suddenly, and she

closed her eyes. Only a kiss, she repeated silently. Only a kiss. But, dear God, when was the last time she'd known the painful pleasure of

his mouth on hers? It had been such a long time—such an eternity...

His lips were cool and very gentle. They caressed hers with a

featherlight touch that enticed and promised.

It isn't fair. The words formed and dissolved in her mind. She

would have preferred insistence—even a certain amount of force,

something she could resent. Not this—silken seduction. Fool's mate,

she thought dizzily, and she was the greatest fool of all.

His hands slid from her shoulders down to her waist, drawing

her closer. The kiss deepened, and as her lips parted helplessly under the beguiling pressure, she felt the first sweet, erotic stab of his tongue against hers.

Excitement stirred, catching the breath in her throat. She tried

to say 'No,' but all that emerged was a little strained sigh.

Alain lifted a hand, twisting it into her hair, letting the soft

strands twine round his fingers. He pulled her head back, making her

lie across his arm, supporting her at the waist. He kissed her again, slowly and hotly this time, then let his lips travel down over the long, exposed line of her throat to the opening of her shirt. As his mouth

brushed burningly over her vulnerable skin, a shiver of pure weakness trembled through her body.