Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King

CHAPTER FOUR

THE drive back to the cottage took just a few minutes in one of the estate’s four-wheel drive vehicles, but it was a few moments more before Kate could bring herself to check out the damage.

‘Come on,’ Guy urged impatiently, slamming his door. Flinging her door open, he stood there waiting. Only then did Kate’s mind click into gear. He’d been up half the night on her behalf and he was sure to have other things to do. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, making light of her shock at seeing the smoke-blackened exterior. ‘I was just steeling myself.’

As soon as he was sure she was following, Guy strode briskly up the path. ‘I wouldn’t have brought you up here if the cottage was burned beyond redemption,’ he called over his shoulder. Reaching the front door, he pushed it open. The first thing that hit Kate was the smell, a dank, rancid stench that caught in the back of her throat as she adjusted her eyes to the gloom.

‘Look, it’s not too bad,’ Guy said as he forced the door across a heap of something damp that squelched as they walked over it. ‘And we’ve had the “all clear” from the fire service and… What?’ he said when she made a small wounded sound.

Maybe it didn’t look too bad to him, but as far as Kate was concerned it was the end of an era and there wasn’t even time to mourn. And with the deadline she had to meet the devastation inside the cottage was nothing short of a total disaster.

The flimsier objects as well as the soft furnishings had been utterly consumed, and the heavy cupboard doors as well as the beautiful oak table and rustic-style benches appeared scorched beyond redemption; the wood charred to dust in some places. But it was far more than the loss of a deadline Kate saw as she looked around. It was the loss of a very important part of her life. Shattered ornaments lay scattered about the floor, and there was no sign at all of the photograph albums she had been studying amongst the stinking wet debris. Of the two old carver chairs, one slumped miserably on three legs instead of four and the ceiling had fallen down in the far corner of the room, exposing the rafters above, though they seemed unharmed, Kate saw thankfully. But the white walls had been transformed into an ugly mishmash of yellows and browns shaded with banners of soot. A groan escaped her as she forced herself to turn full circle.

‘Arrêtes!’ Guy insisted, taking her upper arms in a strong grip as if to shake some sense into her. ‘There’s nothing here that my men can’t repair. It’s all superficial.’

As his touch ripped through her, she burst out, ‘Superficial!’ Kate shook her head incredulously. ‘I can’t believe you just said that, Guy de Villeneuve. You’re such a man!’

‘I certainly hope so—’

As their eyes met, the furious look she flashed at him ricocheted back on her senses. ‘Only a man could look at a home reduced to a cinder and insist that the damage is superficial,’ she said, shifting the heat into her accusation.

‘But it is,’ Guy insisted. ‘The structure’s sound.’

‘But everything’s lost!’

‘Ah,’ he murmured, releasing her to slip his hand into his pocket. ‘Not quite everything.’

‘My locket!’ Kate gasped.

‘The men brought it to me this morning,’ he revealed, holding it so that the chain was wrapped around his wrist and the locket swung free in front of her face.

But Kate’s mind was still over-loaded with emotion and for a few seconds she couldn’t think straight.

‘Aren’t you going to say thank you?’ Guy said as he took hold of her arms.

‘You kept it from me,’ Kate said irrationally, trying to pull away.

Guy’s voice was low and intense as he stared into her eyes to deliver the correction. ‘I chose my moment to give it to you. Didn’t you think I would know how distressed you would be when you saw this—?’ He gave a brief glance around. ‘I wanted the recovery of the locket to put this calamity in perspective…make it seem what it is—superficial.’

‘OK,’ Kate mumbled, facing away as she struggled to untangle the jangling impressions in her head.

‘That’s not good enough,’ Guy insisted, cupping her chin in his hand and bringing her round to face him again. ‘And I’m still waiting,’ he said, directing his words at eyes tightly shut.

‘For?’ Risking a glance at his face, Kate instantly wished she hadn’t.

‘For you to say thank you,’ Guy murmured in a voice that made her breathing seem noisy by comparison.

Their frozen tableau of clean, neatly pressed normality should have formed an oasis amidst all the devastation, but Kate felt as if she was standing at the gateway of another world…a world she wasn’t sure she should enter. It hadn’t always been easy standing on the outside looking in, but it was safe.

Silence wound around them like a shield, protecting her against the reality that would have to be faced some time, but not yet, whilst ribbons of sunlight slipped through the damaged shutters to light up their faces. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, dipping her head with relief that it had been safely said.

But as Guy released the chain into her hand he slipped a hand either side of her face. ‘Better now?’ he murmured. And this time there was no escape from his eyes. As Kate looked into them she knew that if this was another of his games it was one she hadn’t played before. Her heart stopped as she saw his intention reflected in his fast darkening stare and in the curve of his sensuous mouth. But then he let her go and stood back as if to show that she was free to move, free to pretend the moment had never happened.

Then of its own accord her body inclined towards him and his mouth brushed hers with the lightest touch—a reassurance maybe, support in a difficult moment, a gesture of friendship. She didn’t mean to sigh her encouragement, to move closer until his tongue teased the seam of her mouth, parting her lips, tasting, touching and exploring in the lightest most leisurely dance of retreat and advance. Her breathing raced as she felt her lips swell in response to the languorous teasing and the nip of his teeth. But he made no move to address the ache between her thighs and only went on tormenting her with the same unflinching control so that each time she tried to close the short distance between them he moved away, always denying her the firmer touch she craved.

‘Stop… Stop it now, Guy!’ She managed to force out at last as she stumbled away from him. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing but whatever it is I’m not ready for it.’

‘Really?’ he murmured sardonically.

‘You know what I mean,’ she said, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, as if that was all it took to hide her arousal. But from the look on his face the moment had passed—she might even have imagined it to judge from the steely determination on his face. But what was his game? Was this a test? If so, it seemed his intention was to prove to her that in spite of all her denials she was as attracted to him as ever. And the way he had closed himself off now from her was simply to make the point that she should not think, even for one moment, that he felt the same.

‘This might look bad,’ he said coolly, turning his attention to the ruined kitchen. ‘But upstairs there’s hardly any damage at all. And even this is all cosmetic.’

Kate’s mind was still churning as she fixed her gaze on Guy’s broad, uncompromising back. He was so focused, so composed. How could that be when his kiss had left her reeling and confused? And did he really expect her to be able to enter into a rational discussion about the state of the kitchen?

‘Look at this, for example,’ he continued, apparently unaware of her state of mind as he pointed to a row of cupboards. ‘These doors can easily be replaced and they’re so solid—’ He rapped one with his fist and opened it. ‘Everything inside is completely unharmed. ‘See,’ he said, whipping out a couple of terracotta bowls. ‘Not even a crack in one of these. You could easily serve up a meal for half the village.’

‘All of them, I hope,’ Kate murmured, determined to show she could be as untroubled as he was by The Kiss.

‘Ah, yes,’ Guy said as he replaced the bowls. ‘Your house-warming party in three weeks’ time.’ Planting his hands on his lean hips, he looked at her. ‘I guess that’s my target for getting everything here back to normal for you.’

He was clearly pleased to see what he must have imagined was her return to clear thinking, Kate thought, imposing a smile on her strained features. Lucky for her he couldn’t sense the mayhem in her mind. Suddenly it was all too much for her—the loss of Aunt Alice, the deception, the devastation at the cottage, not to mention Guy’s reminder of the impossible deadline she had set herself. She had to get out of the cottage—into the fresh air.

‘You can cook?’ Guy demanded, oblivious to the storm clouds brewing as he followed her out. ‘If not, don’t worry about it. I’ll arrange something with Madame Duplessis. No one need ever know.’

That suggestion doused the aftershock of his kiss more effectively than any bucket of cold water. As a child, her life had been ordered for her, but things were very different now. She was in charge of her own life. ‘I can manage, thank you,’ Kate broke in, turning her face to the sun as she gulped in air. Perhaps it did sound ungrateful, but she had to put him straight.

‘I’m sure you can,’ he said. ‘But if you need any help, don’t be afraid to ask.’

She couldn’t let him go on. ‘When I knew my career as a dancer was over…’

He broke in, taking hold of her arm for emphasis. ‘I noticed your limp. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

‘I retrained as a Cordon Bleu cook,’ Kate went on steadily in an attempt to avoid discussing something that could only strengthen his impression of her as being the same headstrong character he had known years before.

‘I’m impressed,’ Guy said with a small shrug. ‘But I’m more concerned about the tragic loss of your dancing career. That must have been terrible for you.’

‘Not as terrible as what happened to your father…and Aunt Alice,’ Kate pointed out. ‘Compared to that, it hardly seems worth mentioning.’

‘Of course it’s worth mentioning,’ Guy insisted calmly. ‘You must have been at the peak of your career when it happened. I used to read about you all the time in the arts columns…and then nothing.’

Kate’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘That’s right. But I was too tall.’

‘Nonsense,’ Guy argued. ‘All the critics said you were a dream.’

‘Yes,’ Kate said, forcing out a short laugh. ‘But it was always my mother’s dream, not mine. And in a strange sort of way the accident freed me.’

‘Freed you?’ he said in a puzzled voice.

‘Yes. To be myself,’ Kate explained. ‘To do what I wanted to do.’

‘To start up in business?’

He clearly found the idea bewildering, but for Kate breaking into the world of commerce had fulfilled her dreams however crazy that might seem to Guy. ‘That’s right,’ she confirmed. ‘At first I thought of becoming a chef, but that wasn’t quite right for me. Then one day when I was trawling the Internet to find a holiday I hit on the idea of opening a travel agency with a difference. A one-stop shop which you could access via the Internet, put a package together yourself, but also with the option to ask for advice from staff who really knew what they were talking about. At first I was the only staff member,’ she said with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘But if there was one thing my career as a dancer had given me it was the chance to see the world. So Freedom Holidays took off like a rocket—beyond all my wildest expectations. At last I’d found something I wanted to do—something I enjoyed.’

‘Past tense,’ Guy observed shrewdly.

‘Not at all,’ Kate returned quickly. ‘I still love what I do. But now it’s time to expand.’

‘And expansion doesn’t always mean getting bigger,’ he reasoned out loud. ‘Sometimes it means taking a broader view.’

‘Exactly,’ she agreed, enthusing at his quicksilver grasp of the situation.

‘So, what is your plan?’ he said, surprising her with the accuracy and speed of his lunge into the soft, exposed heart of her deception.

‘I thought you wanted to hear about what happened to me, not my business,’ Kate parried. She never talked about the accident, but right now it seemed the safer…no, the only option. She saw his gaze soften fractionally.

‘Continues, Kate.’

‘It was stupid really…’ Now it had come to it, she knew it sounded nothing less than lunatic. ‘I accepted a dare…’ She stopped. His face had adopted an all too familiar look. ‘It was my twentieth birthday. I know.’ She said it for him. ‘You’re thinking I should have grown out of my daredevil phase long before then.’

Guy managed to confine himself to a wry shrug as he waited for her to go on.

‘There was a gantry over the flies,’ she explained, referring to the iron structure that spanned the space high over the backstage area in the theatre where she had been working.

‘And the dare was?’ he pressed when she hesitated.

‘To walk across it à pointe.’ She could only wait a few moments when his imagination took flight and he groaned. There really was no way to explain what she had been doing all that way off the ground, tiptoeing across a six-inch beam in a pair of ballet shoes. ‘My fall was broken by the ropes and—’

Guy’s face tightened with concern as he held up his hands to stop her. ‘It sounds like the most horrendous accident. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed.’

‘I know,’ she said softly.

‘Well, now you’ve returned here to Villeneuve, I hope you can assure me that your days of risk-taking are well and truly over.’

How was she supposed to answer that? Kate thought, as her mind drifted back to his kiss. How did that rank on a risk scale from one to ten? However cool Guy might be choosing to play it now, safe men didn’t kiss like that—and cautious girls didn’t let them. ‘It’s not always obvious at the time that you are taking a risk,’ she argued sensibly.

‘It is to me,’ he said vehemently. ‘And now that’s out of the way,’ he said, as if her compliance was a given, ‘I want to take another look at the damage so I know just who to send round to put it right.’

* * *

Guy had been as good as his word, Kate thought as she stood outside the cottage watching the decorator putting the final touches to the wooden shutters. Guy’s business interests might have taken him abroad, but the work had continued just as he had promised it would. And his absence had allowed Kate to concentrate on her own plans, rather than waste time on dreaming up fanciful possibilities between them—even if that didn’t stop her from gazing down the lane umpteen times a day—just as she was doing now, she realised, pulling herself together.

She walked briskly back up the path to attach the last tie to the vigorous rambling rose she had managed to rescue. Now it was securely fastened around the newly painted front door it was already showing brand new clusters of hectic pink blooms after its violent upheaval. She had placed two large terracotta pots on either side of the door, each containing a miniature palm whose delicate fronds whispered a sibilant tune as the light summer breeze played through them. And the path had been repaired and then edged with every fragrant species of plant she could lay her hands on.

Standing back, Kate gave a sigh of satisfaction. On the outside, at least, she was satisfied that La Petite Maison looked as welcoming as it possibly could. But now it was time to clean her fingernails and move indoors, where the real work still had to be done. She felt a rush of excitement as she remembered that there was just a little over a week to go before her first guests arrived. And it was only a week to the famous house-warming party.

Guy had sent a brief handwritten note apologising for the fact that he was unable to give any indication as to whether he would make it back in time. But there was no risk if he did attend, Kate consoled herself. As far as Guy de Villeneuve was concerned, the many improvements to the cottage had been made for her benefit alone. And the party for the village was just what it seemed to be—a chance for her to get to know everyone a little better. And it was a fact that she would need to integrate herself fully in village life if everyone was to reap the full benefit from her new business venture.

Pushing open the front door, Kate kicked off her flip-flops and relished the fresh clean smell. It was hard to imagine that this was the same place Guy had brought her to after the fire. And now that she was able to look at things calmly and objectively, she could see that the damage had given her the chance to make some real improvements. Once she had taken him into her confidence the builder had come up with some of his own ideas. Knocking down the wall between the kitchen and the morning room, for instance, had given her at least three times the space. And when he had installed the island unit with a cooking hob where she intended to hold some of her demonstrations, he had suggested the addition of a part-mirrored wall behind the other work-surfaces, allowing food preparation to be seen clearly.

The mirrors had the added advantage of reflecting the light, so that what had once been a cosy but decidedly shady area had been transformed into a spacious, airy room with plenty of natural light. To this Kate had added a number of comfortable chairs in mellow wood made snug with plump cushions in her chosen colours of egg-yolk yellow, white and blue. Lined white voile curtains billowed out from the open windows and on the freshly scrubbed floor she had placed a huge new rug in neutral shades to soften the appearance of the original stonework. It only remained to unpack all the equipment she had ordered and the kitchen was ready.

‘I’ve got the old range going for you.’

Turning to thank the builder who had made it a matter of pride to see that she would be as comfortable as possible as quickly as possible, Kate returned his smile of achievement. Husband of the affable lady owner of the local fruiterie, Giles Dumas was a walking advertisement for good diet and the outdoor life. His healthy complexion frosted with silver stubble housed a clear topaz gaze that seemed to see beyond his latest achievement and on to the next task. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Kate told him.