The Right Bride? (8 page)

Tante was sitting at the kitchen table, reading her letters, as Allie came into the house. Her calm gaze assimilated the dishevelled hair, the wild rose flush and the faintly swollen mouth, but she made no comment.

‘The coffee is fresh, dear child, if you would like some.’

‘I—I had breakfast at Trehel.’

The older woman nodded drily. ‘So Georges de Brizat told me on the telephone.’ She paused. ‘Your little web of untruth is spreading dangerously wide,
ma mie.
How long before it breaks, I ask myself?’

Allie sat down at the table, staring down at the oilcloth, tracing its pattern with a finger. She said in a low voice, ‘I know I have to tell him, Tante Madelon, and I will—soon. I promise. But…’

‘But you are so happy you cannot bear anything that might spoil your idyll.’ Tante studied her. ‘You do not trust Remy to understand?’

‘I—I’m learning to trust.’

‘Then learn quickly,
ma chère
.’ Tante got briskly to her feet and fetched the coffee from the stove. ‘Before he guesses you are hiding something—and begins to wonder if he can trust
you.
’

I should have listened to her, Allie thought wretchedly, sitting up and easing her back, stiff from sitting so long in one position on the sofa. I should have taken the risk and told Remy everything. But I was too scared of losing him. And in the end, because I was stupid and a coward, I lost him anyway…

The music had ended long ago, and she replaced the CD in its case and switched off the player.

The house was totally silent, the blackness of the night pressing against the windows, making her feel suddenly isolated—alienated.

She thought with a shiver, It’s very late. I should go to bed, instead of tormenting myself with the desperation of the past.

Because Remy won’t be listening to the silence, or staring into the darkness a few miles away at Trehel. He’s not torturing himself with bad memories. He’s put the past where it belongs and set his life back in order, the way it should always have been.

So, he’ll be asleep in that enormous bed, with Solange in his arms, her bright sunflower hair across his pillow and that little victorious smile on her lips.

Solange…

Jerkily, she brought her clenched fist to her mouth. Bit savagely at the knuckle as pain ravaged her.

Solange, she thought, wincing. The girl she’d seen as an irritant, perhaps, but never a danger. Someone she’d underestimated from Day One—that she’d even allowed herself to pity a little. But perhaps her happiness with Remy had made her blind—even arrogant.

She opened the back door and stood leaning against the
frame, drawing in deep lungfuls of cool air as she fought for calm.

Because she had been happy in a way that was totally outside her experience, measuring her life only in the hours they spent together. Beginning with the dinner he’d promised her that evening…

‘Richaud has a son at last,’ he’d told her with amusement, as they’d sat eating lobster in a candlelit restaurant overlooking the sea. ‘Papa says he will be drunk for a week in celebration.’

Allie dealt carefully with a claw. ‘Is it really so important to men—this need for a male heir?’

He shrugged. ‘The inheritance laws are different here, but a son at least carries on the family name, and for Richaud it also means a strong arm to help him on his land.’ He looked at her, brows lifted. ‘You think that is a chauvinist point of view,
ma belle
?’

‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘As long as it doesn’t become an obsession.’

‘Your father would have preferred a son?’ He smiled at her. ‘That I do not believe.’ He paused. ‘For myself, a healthy child born safely to the woman I love is all I would ever want.’
Now,
whispered the voice in her head.
Be honest with him. Tell him about Hugo
—
the nightmare of your marriage. Tell him everything
—
now
—
and ask for his understanding
—
his help…

But as she nerved herself the waiter appeared beside them, pouring more wine, whisking away the discarded pieces of shell, and the moment was lost.

And when they arrived back at Les Sables, Tante was waiting up, hiding her private concerns behind polite welcome, but clearly determined not to leave them alone together.

Remy’s goodnight kiss was frankly rueful. ‘Tomorrow,’ he whispered. ‘I am free in the afternoon. Will you come swimming with me?’

‘Yes.’ Allie’s eyes shone as she detached herself reluctantly from his arms. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘We have a pool at Trehel, but I think
madame
would feel
that is too secluded.’ He paused. ‘So, to assure her of my good intentions, I shall take you to St Calot, where there will be many other people.’

She bit her lip. ‘Remy—she really likes you…’

His tone was wry. ‘Yet she still looks at me,
mon ange,
as if I were a wolf, threatening her only lamb.’ He sighed. ‘However, she is right to care about you. And I have only to persuade her that I care too.’ He kissed her again.
‘A demain.’

Except it’s not you, but me that she doesn’t trust, Allie thought with sudden bleakness as she turned back into the house. And I can’t blame her for that.

The weather continued to be glorious, with each sunlit tomorrow blending seamlessly into the next, and Remy making time to be with her on each of them, in spite of his workload.

But as the days passed Allie found the idea of sharing the truth with him was becoming ever more difficult. She felt totally detached from her previous life, as if Marchington Hall existed on some other planet, and the sole reality was here and now, with the man she loved and wanted so passionately.

‘I am going to Vannes tomorrow, to visit some old friends,’ Tante announced one evening. She added drily, ‘I take it that you will not wish to go with me?’

Allie flushed. ‘I’d rather stay here—if you don’t mind.’

‘
Au contraire, chérie.
I suspect you would not have an enlivening day with Emil and Annette. And I am also sure you will not be lonely.’ She paused. ‘I do not condone, but I understand,
ma chère
,’ she added quietly, ‘and I simply—bow to the inevitable.’

There was a silence, then Allie said huskily, ‘Tante, I—I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. And I can’t go on deceiving him. I know that.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Tomorrow. I’ll try and tell him then.’

‘After, one presumes, you have at last rewarded his admirable restraint?’
Madame’s
tone of voice conveyed a hint of true Gallic cynicism. ‘You are wise, Alys. A well-satisfied man is likely to be more—indulgent.’

Allie’s face burned. ‘You make me sound so calculating.’

‘I think you should be,’ her great-aunt said frankly. ‘It is time,
ma chère,
that you began to consider, very carefully, your future, and what part in it, if any, is destined for your young doctor. Because,’ she added, ‘he will undoubtedly wish to know.’

The weather began to change not long after Tante’s departure the following morning. Clouds were massing in the west, and the wind had freshened sharply. When Allie, suddenly restless in the confines of Les Sables, went out for a walk, she could hear the roar of the waves, thrashing at the cliffs, and found she was struggling to keep her balance against some of the gusts.

By the time Remy arrived it had begun to rain, and Allie was outside struggling to deal with a recalcitrant shutter.

‘Let me do it.’ He pushed the stiff bolt into place.
‘Madame
is not here?’

‘She’s spending the day with some people in Vannes.’ Allie stood back, dusting her hands. She looked up at the sullen sky, with its scudding dark clouds, and sighed. ‘It’s hardly a day for the beach.’

‘But good, perhaps, for sightseeing.’ He kissed her, his mouth warm and lingering on hers, and she felt the pleasure of it lance like wildfire through her body.

She said breathlessly, ‘Under cover, I hope?’

‘Naturellement.’

She collected her bag, and threw a cotton jacket over her black vest top and cream denim skirt.

They had been travelling for several minutes before she realised they were heading towards Trehel.

‘But I don’t understand,’ she began. ‘You said—’

‘That I had somewhere you would want to see.’ He sent her a swift smile. ‘And so I have. I hope you will not be disappointed.’

She gasped. ‘Your house!’ she exclaimed. ‘You mean it’s actually—finished?’

‘All except the work I plan to do myself.’ Remy nodded. He added softly, ‘And you,
ma belle,
will be my first visitor.’

‘Oh.’ She felt her face warm. ‘Well, I’m—honoured.’

‘No.’ His voice was gentle. ‘The honour,
mon amour,
will be all mine, believe me.’

He was telling her that the waiting was over, and her throat tightened at the promise in his words—just as her body began to tingle in excitement, mingled, at the same time, with a kind of trepidation.

Because Remy might be the one to be disappointed, she thought with a pang of unease. After all, what did she know about pleasing a man? Less than nothing, as she’d been told so many times in the past. And, however much she might love Remy, she was still the same person at heart, and even his patience could not last for ever.

Frigid—fumbling
—
useless.
The words were like scars on her psyche.

I don’t have to do this, she told herself, swallowing. I can find some excuse. Tell him it’s the wrong time of the month. Anything.

Maybe that I’ve—simply—changed my mind.

Except, of course, he would only have to touch me, she thought, feeling her entire being shiver in anticipation—and yearning…

And then they were at Trehel, and somehow it was too late to turn back, even if she’d wanted to.

It was raining heavily, so Remy parked the Jeep close to the barn, then took her hand and ran with her, pushing open the big double doors.

The room she found herself in was enormous, with a flagged floor, a large stone fireplace at one end, and a state-of-the-art kitchen at the other. Apart from that, it was still completely unfurnished, but Allie could imagine how it would look, with sofas grouped round the fire, and maybe a huge dining table where friends would eat and talk late into the evening.

But the really breathtaking feature was the long range of arched full-length windows opposite the entrance, with panoramic views over the paddock and the wooded hills beyond it.

Even with rain sweeping across in great swathes, the outlook was spectacular.

She said, with a catch in her voice, ‘It’s—amazing.’ She wandered into the kitchen, running her hand along the marble work surfaces, admiring the gleaming oven and hob with lifted brows. ‘Does it all work?’

‘But of course.’ Remy mimed mock pique. ‘Shall I prove it by making you some coffee?’ He paused. ‘Or would you prefer to see the rest of the house?’

‘The rest—I think.’ She felt suddenly shy, her heart pounding as they walked towards the wooden staircase that led to the upper floor.

Say something, she adjured herself. Try to sound casual. Normal.

‘Do you know yet how you’re going to furnish it?’

Oh, God, she sounded as if she was presenting a makeover programme on television.

‘I have already begun.’ At the top of the stairs, Remy opened a door, and stood back to let her precede him into what was clearly the master bedroom. It was another big room, soaring up into the barn’s original vaulted roof, with windows on two sides capturing every atom of light, and its expanse of wooden floor softened with sheepskin rugs.

But, above all, there was the wide bed, made even more massive by its high, ornately carved headboard. Dominating the entire space as it was clearly intended to do.

And, she realised, freshly made up, too, with crisp white linen and a glamorous satin coverlet the colour of sapphires. Mounded with snowy pillows. Waiting…

She halted, eyes widening, as she began to tremble, and felt his arms go round her, drawing her back against him. Holding her strongly.

He said quietly, ‘Lie with me, Alys. Lie with me here, in my house. In my bed.’

And she turned, lifting her face for his kiss and whispering, ‘Yes,’ against the warm urgency of his mouth.

H
IS
kiss was deep and yearning, as if he was seeking her soul through her lips, and Allie sank against him as a strange weakness invaded her body, her eyes closing and her hands clinging to his shoulders.

He raised his head at last, framing her face in his hands, looking down at her, gravely and searchingly.

‘You are shaking,
mon amour,’
he told her quietly. ‘In truth, am I so terrifying?’

‘No—oh, no.’ The denial tumbled from her. ‘Oh, Remy, I’m such a fool, but I couldn’t bear it if you were—disappointed in me.’

He put a silencing finger on her lips. ‘I love you, Alys. And that is all that matters.’ His voice was very gentle. ‘Pleasing each other with our bodies is a joy we shall learn together.’

He slipped her damp jacket from her shoulders and let it drop, then lifted her into his arms and carried her across the room to the bed, throwing back the sapphire quilt before placing her with great care against the heaped pillows. Then, kicking off his shoes, he came to lie beside her.

She turned on her side to face him, her hand going shyly to brush a strand of thick dark hair back from his forehead, and he captured her fingers, brushing them softly with his mouth.

‘You are the dream of my life, Alys,’ he murmured, then began to kiss her, his lips touching her forehead, her eyes, her cheekbones and her pliant mouth in a series of brief, delicate
caresses that seemed to give but then withdraw. Which tantalised but offered no immediate satisfaction.

Yet that was what she wanted, she realised, startled. What she’d craved ever since that first afternoon at Les Sables, when she’d first felt the touch of his hands on her bare skin.

She longed to be taken—to feel him inside her and know the heated steel of his arousal as he possessed her.

She moved closer, pressing herself against him, her lips finding the opening of his shirt, pushing the crisp cotton aside to caress the base of his throat before moving down to the warm hair-roughened skin of his chest.

Remy groaned softly.
‘Doucement, mon ange,’
he ordered, his voice faintly breathless. ‘I want to make this good for you, and for that I shall need every atom of control I possess.’

She looked up at him, running the tip of her tongue slowly round her lips. ‘Are you—really so sure of that,
monsieur
?’

‘Ask me again,
chérie
—later,’ he told her huskily, and recaptured her mouth with his.

His hand moved to her breast and stroked it gently, moulding its softness and cupping it in his palm, before allowing his fingers to trace her nipple with a delicate precision that made her gasp as he brought it to sharply delineated arousal against the clinging material of her top.

For a moment he looked down at her, surveying the exquisite havoc he had created, the vivid eyes darkening.

‘You are wearing too many clothes,
mon amour
.’ His voice was a whisper.

He slipped down the straps of her top, freeing her arms, then deftly tugged the little garment over her head and tossed it aside, baring her to the waist. For a brief, searing moment she was acutely aware of her body—almost ashamed of how slender it was—how slight the curves he’d just uncovered. And her hands went up to conceal them.

But he guessed her intention and blocked her, his fingers closing firmly round her wrists.

‘Don’t hide, Alys,’ he murmured. ‘Not when I have waited
so long to see you like this. Show me,
ma belle,
how truly lovely you are.’

He bent his head, his mouth slowly adoring each swollen rosy peak in turn, the erotic brush of his tongue creating a new, aching excitement that was echoed deep inside. She sighed, her hips moving restlessly, as the sweet, languorous torment continued, her nipples throbbing with a pleasure that was almost akin to pain.

When he raised his head at last, she lay looking up at him, her eyes dazed, her ragged breath sobbing in her throat.

His hands stroked their way down her body to the waistband of her skirt. He undid the small metal button at the front, then the short zip, easing the fabric gently over her hips until she was completely free of it and it could also be discarded.

Leaving her with just the minimal modesty of a pair of tiny lace briefs.

Remy made a small sound in his throat, then gathered her to him so closely that his clothing grazed her skin, his mouth closing on hers in a new and fierce demand.

She responded almost wildly, her lips parting eagerly to receive the thrust of his tongue, her hands tangling in the thick dark hair to hold him to her.

And then his mouth began to move slowly downwards, caressing her throat, her shoulders, and the little valley between her breasts, while all the time his hands were stroking her with sensuous delight, lingering in the hollow of her hip, drifting across the faint concavity of her belly, seeking out the silken length of her thighs.

Touching, at last, the lace that was her only covering. Pushing it aside so that his fingers could reach the slick core of her. Moving on her gently, but with such exquisite precision that when he paused she moaned aloud, her body rearing against him.

‘Oui, mon amour.’
His voice was raw with hunger. ‘Yes—and yes.’

And then, at last, the lace too was gone, peeled deftly away, and she was naked in his arms, with no barrier left to his skilfully questing hands.

Or—dear God—his mouth…

For a moment, shock held her frozen. Then, ‘No—please—you can’t…’ Her voice was a small, shaken whimper of distress. She tried to push his head away from her slackened thighs, but Remy’s hands were closing round her wrists, anchoring them effortlessly to the bed so that this new invasion of her most intimate self could continue entirely unhampered.

And her desperate attempts to evade his caress were only making matters a thousand times worse.

With devastating purpose, his lips sought the hot moist petals of her womanhood, parting them so that his tongue could search out the tiny hidden bud within and tease it into delicious tumescent arousal.

And at each sensuous stroke she felt her writhing body succumbing to a languorous weakness, her physical consciousness shifting—spiralling helplessly to a plane whose existence she’d never guessed at before.

Until, at last, there came a moment when she no longer wanted to escape what he was doing to her, even if it had ever been possible.

She heard her breathing change, and the spiral of feeling became an irresistible force, carrying her upwards to some unknown peak of desire. A moan of agonised pleasure burst from her throat, and her body arched rapturously in sheer surrender to wave after wave of utterly voluptuous delight.

And as the storm subsided she lay panting, her sated body damp with sweat, aware that there were tears on her face. She tried to wipe them away with trembling hands, and Remy gathered her in his arms, whispering softly to her in his own language, words of reassurance, words of love, telling her how sweet she was, how clever and how beautiful, while she clung to him, her mouth quivering into a smile.

And when he eventually released her it was only so that he could more easily strip off his own clothing. Allie lay watching him through half-closed eyes as he swiftly undressed, her body shivering in renewed and unforeseen hunger when he turned back to her, naked and magnificently aroused.

It seemed impossible that her body could be capable of such desire so soon again, she thought as she opened her arms to him eagerly, taking him into her embrace and running her hands over his shoulders and back, glorying in the strength of bone and muscle—the texture of his skin. And yet she was burning up for him—melting with need.

‘Do I please you,
ma belle
?’ There was a smile in the huskiness of his voice as he lifted himself over her—above her. For answer, she clasped her fingers round his jutting hardness, letting her hand slowly travel its length in an appreciation that was as teasing as it was overt.

‘Sorcière,’
he whispered hoarsely. ‘Witch.’ And he took her with one deep, lingering thrust. She cried out in bewildered joy at the potency—the completeness of their union as he filled her. Knowing that here, at last, was the ultimate in consummation.

For a moment, he paused. ‘There is no problem?’

‘None.’ He was so anxious for her, but it wasn’t necessary. Surely he could tell how much she wanted him? she thought, half-dizzy with this new sensation, her inner muscles clenching round him—holding him.

Remy began to move without haste, his lean hips driving powerfully as he carried her with him into the surging ebb and flow of passion, and she responded avidly, instinctively, matching the rhythmic motion he was creating, her hands digging into his shoulders as her legs lifted to enclose him. To lock round him.

At once she sensed a new urgency in him that he was clearly struggling to restrain, and she knew that he was still trying to be patient, to wait until she was ready to accompany him to their mutual release.

But I, she thought, want it now…

She smiled into his eyes, her lashes sweeping down onto desire-flushed cheeks, letting her hands follow a leisurely path down his back to the flat male buttocks and stroking them with her palms, while one finger traced a delicate, enticing pattern on the sensitive nerve-endings at the base of his spine.

She heard his involuntary gasp, felt the pace of his posses
sion quicken suddenly—fiercely. Recognised with candid female triumph the almost remorseless increase in its intensity that she had coaxed from him.

Was aware of a stirring deep inside her in reply, as warm tendrils of sensation began to spread, to intensify in their turn, splintering what little was left of her control.

Then, a voice she hardly recognised as hers cried out in wild disbelief, as the frenzy of her senses sent her pulsating body into soaring and ecstatic climax.

And Remy followed her, her name wrenched with a groan from his straining throat as he reached the frantic culmination of his own pleasure, and she felt his exhausted weight slump across her, his head heavy on her breasts as he tried to calm the tortured rasp of his breathing.

And she was content to lie like that, holding him tightly, her lips caressing the strands of sweat-dampened hair on his forehead.

Because instinct seemed to be telling her that if ever there was a moment for confession, this was it. When he was in her arms, his sated, emptied body still joined to hers like this, surely he would forgive her anything—wouldn’t he?

‘Remy.’ His name was a breath from her lips. She put her cheek on his hair. ‘Darling—there’s something I have to say. Something I should have told you long ago—when we first met. Only I never knew—never guessed—we would love each other. That you would mean everything in the world to me.’

She swallowed. ‘Sweetheart—
mon amour…
I—I’m married. I have a husband in England. But I don’t love him, and I never did. So I’m going back to finish it, get a divorce.’

She ended on a little rush of words, and waited tautly for his response. Only there was none.

She was prepared for shock—certainly for anger and recriminations—but not—silence.

Or was he simply too stunned to speak?

She said questioningly, ‘Remy—darling…?’

He mumbled something drowsy in reply, burying his face
more closely against her, his body totally relaxed, his breathing deep and steady.

My God, she thought with an inward groan, he’s asleep. Which means he hasn’t heard a single word I’ve said, even though it took every atom of courage I possess to say it.

She was tempted to wake him there and then—to repeat her stumbling confession. But he looked altogether too peaceful, all tension gone from the dark face. He was even smiling a little as he slept.

Well, Allie thought, sighing. I suppose it will keep a little longer at that. But I must tell him soon—very soon. And, on that resolve, she closed her own eyes and allowed herself to drift slowly away.

She awoke with a start, and lay for a moment totally disorientated, her heart thudding. Hugo, she thought. Oh, God, I was dreaming about Hugo.

Then she heard the rain still lashing the window and realised where she was, and why, and relief and joy flooded through her.

She turned her head slowly and looked at Remy, still fast asleep beside her. At some point he must have moved a little, lifted himself away from her, although his arm was still thrown possessively across her waist.

Did he know? she wondered with passionate tenderness. Did he have the least idea how she was feeling? Did he understand her starved body’s reaction to the miracle of physical delight he’d created for her?

For the first time in years she felt totally relaxed and at peace. Also happier than she had ever believed possible.

And when he woke she would tell him so, along with, she decided, a suitable reviver.

She slid carefully from under the protection of his arm and swung her feet to the floor. From the tangle of clothing beside the bed she retrieved Remy’s shirt and slipped it on, fastening a few discreet buttons on the way. She could detect the faint fragrance of the cologne he used, and she put the sleeve to her nose, sniffing luxuriously.

She pulled the coverlet over him, then padded quietly out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen, where she stood looking around her, getting her bearings.

He’d offered her coffee some lifetime ago, she told herself, so the makings had to be available.

She looked first in the refrigerator, finding milk, and mineral water too, and she uncapped one of the small bottles, drinking thirstily as she leant back against the work surface.

This would be an amazing kitchen to work in, she thought, imagining herself here with Remy, preparing a meal together.

She sighed, smiling. Well—perhaps—one of these days. But coffee would do to be going on with.

Inspection of the pale wood cupboards eventually yielded a pack of ground beans and a
cafetière,
so she filled the elegant stainless steel kettle and set it to boil, humming quietly to herself as she did so. She’d just located a set of earthenware beakers when she heard a sound behind her and turned quickly.