Tower of Shadows (12 page)

of Maman. But it was never any use. I suppose I thought —if I

found my real father he'd be —different somehow. He'd want me. .

.'

Her voice cracked suddenly. With a soft groan, Rohan pulled her

into his arms, holding her close against his body, the strong fingers

stroking her hair with surprising gentleness.

'Quiet now,' he murmured. 'It's all right. Everything will be all

right.'

Sabine's face was pressed against his chest. Gradually she found

herself breathing the clean, laundered smell of his linen shirt, and

the warmer, subtler scent of his skin, with a growing and

bewildered delight. Her senses acknowledged the strength of the

arms which held her, the power of his thigh muscles against her

softer, more yielding flesh. The rhythm of his heart-beat seemed to

echo her own, in some strange and miraculous conjunction,

creating one shared, tumultuous pulse which filled the universe.

Her head said,
This is danger.
Her heart replied,
This is what I was

born for.

She felt her whole inner being convulse in a helpless, shattering

pang of sheer physical longing, and she lifted dazed and dazzled

eyes to look up at him. The caressing hand stilled, as he stared

down into her face, reading the message of its new and raw

vulnerability, and he made a harsh sound in his throat.

'In the name of God, Sabine, what are you trying to do to me?' he

muttered, then bent his head and kissed her quivering mouth with a

deliberate and sensuous completeness.

One arm went round his neck, her fingers tangling in the silky hair

at his nape. Her other hand was splayed against his shoulder, under

his shirt, her fingertips discovering the glory of bone and muscle

under the heated skin. She was coming alive in his arms, the

frozen centre of pain and rejection deep within her melting under

the urgency of his kiss. Somewhere close at hand a bird sang in a

paean of thrilling and triumphant sweetness, and she heard its song

echoed in her own heart.

His lips parted hers, and his tongue invaded her mouth, bathing it

with liquid fire. At the same time, his hand slid the length of her

spine with tingling and devastating slowness, to fasten on the

curve of her hip, urging her body to an even more intimate

pressure against his.

They might almost have been naked. She found herself wishing

they were so in reality. Their light summer clothing was suddenly

an intolerable barrier. As if he read her thought, Rohan's hand went

to the front of her dress, tugging at the buttons which fastened it.

Uncaring, she felt one and then another tear from the fabric under

his impatient fingers. Her eyes closed, and her head fell back, as

she waited in a kind of sensual anguish. . .

From some different world, she heard the bird's song cease

abruptly in mid-trill, and the startled flutter of its wings as it took

flight, followed by the soft rustle of a breeze through the bushes.

Except there was no breeze. The afternoon was still. Even the

crickets had fallen silent.

And in that silence a whisper, hardly more than a breath: 'Isabelle's

daughter.'

SABINE pulled away from him, her head turning sharply, as she

tried to drag her reeling senses together.

'What is it?' Rohan reached for her again, but she took a step

backwards, staring round her., straining her ears.

'I heard something—someone —I don't know.'

He listened too, then shook his head. 'There's nothing.'

'Not now,' she said hoarsely. 'But the crickets stopped and the bird

flew away, quite suddenly. There was—there must have been —

someone in those bushes over there.'

Rohan's brows lifted. 'There's no need to play games.' His voice

was cool. 'If you've had second thoughts about letting me touch

you, then just say so.'

'It isn't that.' She felt wretched, her body and emotions in turmoil.

'I did hear something. At least, I thought I did.'

Rohan gave her a long look, then strode over to the clump of

bushes she indicated. 'There's no sign of anything now.' He came

back unsmilingly to her side. 'Your imagination must have been

playing tricks.' His mouth twisted sardonically. 'Or was it just your

way of halting a situation that was getting out of control?'

Her face warmed. 'No. And please don't flatter yourself.'

'I don't,' he said. 'I wanted you, and I think you wanted me, until

you realised we were getting near the point of no return, and you

chickened out.' He shook his head. 'What the hell did you think —

that I was going to take you here on the ground —or up against

some tree? Give me credit for a little more finesse than that.'

Finesse, Sabine thought bewilderedly. What did finesse have to do

with that wild upsurge of feeling which had almost overwhelmed

her? It was too calculated a word to describe what had happened

between them. It implied a deliberate technique —a sexual

expertise designed to beguile and seduce. . .

She stopped right there, as the truth dawned on her. Because

Rohan hadn't been overwhelmed at all—had he? He'd known

exactly what he was doing all along.

'I think you wanted
me'. Hardly the reaction of a man caught in the

grip of a blinding and irresistible desire.

Yet it was, she thought, horrified. I was crazy for him. He made

me forget everything — even that he belongs to someone else —

that he's going to be married in just a few weeks. If I hadn't heard

that whisper, I'd have let him do what he wanted — anything he

wanted—right here and now.

Her stomach lurched as she realised how near she'd come to

disaster. However much she'd fallen in love with Rohan, to him

she was no more than a passing fancy, to be enjoyed then

discarded. Like her mother before her, she could have ended up

back in England, alone and pregnant.

Well, she would fall out of love with
him. It
couldn't be love,

anyway, it had all happened too fast. It was just infatuation, and

could be controlled. I will not live at the mercy of my hormones,

she told herself savagely. It occurred to her that it could have been

Antoinette herself watching them, but she dismissed that almost at

once. Even after one brief meeting she knew that Rohan's future

wife wasn't the type to creep tamely away to avoid discovery. She

would have erupted from concealment, all guns blazing, and made

the ultimate scene.

Perhaps there hadn't been anyone there, after all. Maybe what she'd

really heard was the voice of her own conscience.

'How pale you've become,' Rohan said more gently, and his hand

touched her cheek. 'You've had a shock, haven't you? You really

believe someone was spying on us.'

'The real thing that shocks me is my own stupidity,' Sabine said

curtly, brushing away the caressing hand. 'I can't believe I actually

stood here and let you — maul me.'

He was very still suddenly. 'Is that how it was? It didn't seem to

me you were quite so passive.'

'You're the expert, of course,' she threw back at him. 'The one with

finesse. I'm sure you don't get many refusals.'

'Perhaps I don't ask that often, either.' He answered her anger with

his own.

'Am I supposed to feel flattered now?'

'Feel what the hell you like. But next time you're with a man warn

him in advance that you like to change your mind, and play the

tease, or there could be trouble.'

'I do not,' she said tautly, 'make a habit of behaving like this. You

— you took advantage of me at a moment of weakness.'

His brows lifted. 'Truly? Well, if you plan any more such

moments, have them when I'm not around.' He paused. 'I'm glad to

see you've regained your colour.'

'Along with my sense of decency,' Sabine returned brusquely. 'And

now I'm going back to the house — alone.'

He laughed. 'Running away?' he mocked. 'Isabelle's daughter.'

The gibe assailed her like a blow to the pit of the stomach. She

knew with total certainty that her imagination hadn't been playing

tricks, and that it was the second time in only a few minutes that

she'd heard those precise words.

She said in a suffocated voice, 'Don't —don't say that.'

His eyes narrowed. 'What is it? What's the matter?' He took a step

towards her, and Sabine recoiled.

'Just leave me alone.'

'As you wish,' he said icily. He pointed through the trees. 'If you

follow this path, you'll come out by the farm.' He turned away,

then halted, looking back at her over his shoulder. 'And if you

intend to come this way regularly wear more sensible shoes,' he

added curtly. 'We have snakes in the Perigord.'

'Including human ones,' she bawled childishly at his retreating

back, fighting down an instinctive gasp of revulsion.

She watched him disappear from view, then stood for a moment,

forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly. Instinct was telling

her to collapse against the nearest tree and cry like a baby, but

instinct could go and chase itself. It had betrayed her badly once

today already.

When her legs had stopped shaking sufficiently, she started off

down the path again. Every bush seemed to be having its own

deliberate rustle as she passed, she realised wryly, wondering

whether unseen whispers were marginally better or worse than

snakes, or other wildlife.

She felt bitterly ashamed of the way she'd fallen into Rohan's arms.

Feeling as she did, and knowing he was committed elsewhere, she

should have kept her distance. All she could summon in her

defence was that she'd hurt no one but herself. And that was no

excuse, and little comfort, she thought.

And tomorrow she was supposed to be visiting the Monpazier

bastide
with him. She couldn't imagine the trip would still take

place. No doubt the morning would bring a polite message of

regret, and that would be that. Although she still had Saturday

evening's dinner to face, she reminded herself. Unless she cut her

losses and went back to England. That was an option gaining in

appeal with every breath she took. After all, she now knew beyond

reasonable doubt who her father had been, and she'd warmed to the

little she'd been told about him. Surely it would be better to content

herself with that than stay on, laying herself open to inevitable

heartbreak.

When eventually the path forked abruptly, she paused to get her

bearings. She guessed her own route lay straight ahead and

downhill, but a glance to her left offered a glimpse of stonework

through the trees. That, she supposed, must be the legendary

tower. It might be out of bounds, but the temptation to take a

slightly closer look was a temptation she could not resist.

The ferns and undergrowth met almost waist-high across the path,

and she had to push her way through them to reach her goal. The

tower itself stood, three-storeyed and square, in the middle of a

clearing. The roof had collapsed long ago, leaving some of its

timbers exposed to the elements, but
apart
from that it seemed

reasonably stable. Access was gained by an iron-studded wooden

door, which was shut, but not padlocked or chained up, as far as

Sabine could see. Perhaps the
Baron's
word was considered

sufficient deterrent to would-be explorers.

She walked across the clearing. No bars on the windows now, but

a rose in full bloom had been allowed to grow unchecked up one

of the walls — perhaps a descendant of the rose the erring de

Rochefort wife of centuries ago had used to signal to her lover.

Sabine still found it astonishing that the family weren't making

more use of the legend to promote their wine. She could see how

easily it could be done. Tidy up the clearing, she thought, repair

the masonry, if it needs it, and conduct the wine-tastings here, in

the open air if possible, or in the tower itself. Even have some

mock-medieval manuscripts printed telling the story — at least the

version with the happy ending — and give every woman in the

party a rose on departure.

Oh, there were all kinds if things that could be done to make the

visit memorable. Surely Gaston de Rochefort with his love of