“Hello, Rachel.”

His voice was deep, smooth—not so heavily accented now, but still with the same mesmerizing quality. “How are you?”

He hadn’t expected this—that she should look virtually the same. Here she was, six years older, and she was still as fresh and young and beautiful as ever…

Rachel forced her gaze away from Jean-Luc’s face, stared at his strong, tanned fingers for a moment in a daze. “I’m…fine,” she murmured automatically. “Just fine….”

He wondered if he would be able to keep this up—to act as if the sight of her had little or no effect on him. He was a man who supposedly thrived on challenge, but this was a bigger challenge than any he had ever attempted—except maybe the one of trying to forget her…

Laura Martin lives in a small Gloucestershire village in England with her husband, two children and a lively sheepdog. Laura has a great love of interior design and, together with her husband, has recently completed the renovation of their Victorian cottage. Her hobbies include gardening, the theater, music and reading, and she finds great pleasure and inspiration from walking daily in the beautiful countryside around her home.

His Perfect Partner
Laura Martin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

JEAN-LUC MANOIRE frowned. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was doing the right thing. Indecision and compulsion were unhappy bedfellows, and neither was a state of mind that he was at all comfortable with.

Too late now. They were here. He leant forward and touched his chauffeur on the shoulder, indicating that he wanted the car to slow.

Jean-Luc stared up at the tall iron gates. They told the story as well as any inanimate object ever could—rusty, they hung awkwardly from the crumbling stone wall that surrounded the estate. He inhaled a deep breath, more conscious than ever of the conflicting emotions which were churning around deep inside. ‘D’accord, Emile. Continuez!’

The car glided forward, the tyres crunching on gravel. The trees that lined the drive were just coming into bud. Lime, he remembered, looking up at the tall, statuesque framework of branches, at least one hundred years old.

The house looked empty and neglected. He hoped the enquiries he had made proved to be reliable. Time was money, and driving this far out of London on such a tightly scheduled trip, only to find her not at home, would be aggravating to say the least.

His mobile phone rang and he retrieved it from the briefcase at his side and took the call he had been expecting. He spoke into it, his comments brief and to the point as he listened to his personal assistant many miles away in Paris, confirming the fact that the final transaction on an important business deal had been completed without a hitch.

Business. That was all he had to focus on—just business. The rest…the other, more complex reasons for his involvement here had to be put to one side, or else how would he cope? He still doubted his ability to act with absolute composure. He had been dwelling on this meeting for days—ever since the situation here had first come to his attention.

A death notice in the English papers, that was all it had taken. Thoughts of her, banished for so long, had haunted him day and night. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, business had lost its attraction.

Except for this deal…She would agree to it. The generosity of his offer made financial sense. Her advisers would practically force her to accept.

And if they didn’t?

She would have changed—he had prepared himself for that, counted on it. Because if she were the same how would he ever be able to get through…?

Arrêtez! How Rachel looked after all these years, her reaction on seeing him again—none of that could be dwelt on. He needed to be in control. He was over her—this was just an exercise to confirm as much. Devastation was a strong word, and it had applied to him, but that had been six years ago.

Jean-Luc cursed silently as a vision of Rachel, lying beneath him, golden hair splayed out, eyes wide with trust and love, jolted into his mind—that days later she could have disregarded what they had had together and walked away from him, from his love…

Just business. He must remember that.

‘Here you are! I wondered where you’d got to.’

Rachel turned sharply at the sound of the elderly woman’s voice. She watched as Naomi approached, forcing a smile. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I spotted you from one of the upstairs windows.’ Naomi folded her arms across her ample chest and sighed. ‘Your Aunt Clara was a hoarder and no mistake—there’s still a ton of junk to clear out up there.’

‘Yes, I should be doing something.’ Rachel rose to her feet. ‘Sorry, Naomi, I didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. I just needed a breath of fresh air.’

‘Now don’t be silly, my girl, I’m not complaining. You needed the break. It’s been a week since your dear aunt’s funeral and you haven’t let up for a minute.’ The old woman placed a sympathetic arm around Rachel’s shoulders and squeezed gently. ‘I’ve come to find you because you have a visitor.’

‘Not another creditor?’ Rachel asked wearily. ‘I thought we’d had our fill of those.’

‘And so did I, but these things are best faced. He gave me this card.’ She held out a gilt-edged business card to Rachel. ‘From some corporation or some such,’ she added. ‘I’d tell you what it says, but I’m blind without my reading glasses. Important, though—if the look of him and his car are anything to go by. Wealthy,’ she added, with an approving nod.

Rachel shrugged as she read the name. ‘JSJ Corporation. Means nothing to me, but, then…’ she sighed ‘…neither did the hundred and one other names that were thrust under my nose by the accountant.’ She stood up, stretching her arms high above her head. ‘OK, let’s go back. I may as well see what this man wants and get it over with. Tomorrow is crunch day, anyway. I have to face the bank manager to discover exactly how deep the estate is in trouble, and decide—or rather be told—what has to be done.’

‘These are difficult times, my dear. If only I’d understood what was going on maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ Rachel’s voice was kind. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. Aunt Clara was…’ Rachel smiled. ‘Well, she was what she was—a strong-willed woman. She wouldn’t have been advised by anyone. When she decided on a course of action she stuck to her guns, no matter what anyone else said or did. There’s nothing any of us could have done, even if we had realised what was going on. You know that as well as I do.’

‘Yes…’ Naomi’s already creased forehead became even more lined. ‘That is so true.’ The old woman was silent for a moment, then she added in more upbeat tones, ‘Shaun phoned again—did I tell you?’

‘Yes.’ Rachel heaved a breath. ‘Yes, you did. Naomi…it is over between us. I know you’re fond of him, but—’

‘But the two of you are perfect for each other! I believe it, and I know Shaun does, too.’

‘No.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘Naomi, I don’t want to disappoint you because I know Shaun’s your nephew—’

‘Great-nephew,’ Naomi corrected. ‘His mother is my sister’s daughter.’

‘He’s a relation,’ Rachel continued. ‘I like him, I like him a lot, but…it just wasn’t working out between us.’

‘You need someone.’ Naomi’s voice was firm. ‘Like Shaun.’

Rachel didn’t bother to argue any further. In many respects Naomi was like her Aunt Clara had been—stubborn, sure of her own point of view. Indeed, the two woman had virtually grown up together, albeit one as the mistress and the other as the maid.

They walked in silence towards the back of the house, both women, so varied in age and appearance, deep in their own thoughts.

‘I’ve shown him into the drawing room,’ Naomi announced, as they reached the kitchen door. ‘Do you want to spruce yourself up a bit before you go in?’

Rachel paused, glancing at her reflection in the pantry window. Her long blonde hair was shiny and clean, if a little ruffled. She lifted her hands and resecured the ribbon , which was hanging loosely down her back. ‘I don’t look that bad, do I?’ she asked.

‘Your clothes aren’t very smart,’ Naomi informed her with her customary bluntness. ‘It’s as well to give a good impression.’

Rachel looked down at her clean, if rather tatty denims and comfortable violet jumper. ‘Oh, well, it can’t be helped,’ she replied. ‘I don’t suppose my appearance will make much of a difference to things. Besides, it’s not worth changing. I want to get back and continue going through Aunt Clara’s things afterwards.’ Rachel threw Naomi a self-deprecating smile.

‘I’m still foolishly hoping that I’ll discover some hidden treasure that will get us out of this financial nightmare—a forgotten Constable, or a rare first edition, something of that sort.’

‘From what I’ve seen you’ve got as much chance of that as of me winning the lottery!’ Naomi announced with a snort.

‘But you never buy a ticket for the lottery,’ Rachel replied, her thoughts elsewhere, most particularly with the ordeal of having to face another creditor.

Naomi’s face curved into a grim smile. ‘Exactly!’ she retorted.

Rachel paused, before entering the drawing room. She felt so tired. Nothing could have prepared her for the shock of the last few days. Her aunt’s sudden death had been bad enough, but to discover that her finances were in the mess they were had only served to drag Rachel’s emotions down further.

Still, she was determined to get through this one way or another—to see the whole sorry episode through to the end. She felt it was her keen duty to do all she could to protect the Grange as far as was humanly possible. It had been in her family for generations, and although she took it for granted, hating the miles of draughty corridors and high-ceilinged rooms, she didn’t want to see it lost to the bank.

Sonia, one of the women from the village who had been working at the Grange for as long as Rachel could remember, smiled sympathetically at her as she descended the stairway, carrying yet another sackful of rubbish from her Aunt Clara’s chambers. ‘Looking better up there,’ she commented. ‘You’ll soon have this all sorted out, don’t you worry.’

Rachel returned her smile, preparing to open the drawing-room door, and wished she shared the woman’s confidence.

‘Sorry to have kept you,’ she began briskly, as she walked into the drawing room. ‘Only, as you can imagine, it’s a bit hectic around here at the moment.’

The man, who was standing at the far end of the room before the fireplace, turned as she spoke, and the first stab of recognition felt like a knife, twisting deep in her stomach.

Rachel stared, her blue eyes wide with shocked surprise. She clutched her chest involuntarily as a kind of protection for her heart, which had jolted painfully at the first sight of him and was now pounding away like a steam engine out of control. She shook her head, a slow, disbelieving movement that felt as strange and as awkward as the situation that now presented itself.

It was…No. No! She forgot to breathe. Yes, yes! It was him. Her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her; grief and stress and a too-vivid imagination hadn’t made her lose her sense. He was here, in this bright, sunny drawing room with its faded chintz and eclectic assortment of flowers and books and china ornaments, looking even more out of place than he had done all those years ago.

Rachel stared at the dark, silky hair, tamed and cut now into a short, almost severe style, at the strong jaw and finely moulded mouth, and felt a wave of dizziness overcome her. Jean-Luc! She reached out trembling hands and gripped the back of a nearby chair for support.

‘Hello, Rachel.’ His voice was deep, smooth—not so heavily accented now, but still with the same mesmeric quality. ‘How are you?’

He hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room towards her, holding out his hand in formal greeting—as if, she thought, to greet her thus was the most natural thing in the world.

He hadn’t expected this—that she should look virtually the same. He had learned of her rise up the career ladder, and had convinced himself that she would look altogether more sophisticated, more a woman of the world, more, in fact, like many of the women he now dated. But she didn’t. Here she was, six years older, and she was still as fresh and young and as beautiful as ever…

Rachel forced her gaze away from Jean-Luc’s face, stared at his strong, tanned fingers for a moment in a daze and then found herself shaking his hand. ‘I’m…fine,’ she murmured automatically. ‘Just fine…’

‘I’ve come at a difficult time.’

‘Yes.’ She couldn’t think straight, hardly knew what to think. He looked older, more sensationally attractive, if that were possible, but different. Sharper, groomed, more…polished and refined, not like the Jean-Luc Manoire she had known and loved. Not at all.

‘I was sorry to hear about the death of your aunt.’

‘Were you?’ Now that the horrendous initial shock was over, Rachel could begin to think a little more clearly. ‘I don’t see why,’ she added stiltedly. ‘You always disliked her.’

‘And that translates to wanting to see her dead, does it?’ His voice was mild, but there was the hint of steel at the edge of each perfectly spoken syllable.

Rachel released a taut breath. It had been a foolish remark, born out of shock and sheer nervousness. He wasn’t the sort of man you could treat casually—she should have remembered that.

She glanced down at the faded carpet, desperately trying to compose herself, and said, ‘No, of course it doesn’t.’

‘You sound weary. You look—’

‘I know how I look!’ Rachel’s voice was tinged with anger. She pursed her lips, determined to save him the trouble of lying. ‘I look a mess!’ She cleared her throat, conscious of her trembling voice. She usually looked immaculate—her position as manager of a small prestigious hotel in the Cotswolds demanded it. Typical, she thought, that he should see me this way—so ragged and ill at ease.

‘Let’s forget the formalities, shall we?’ she continued. ‘I think I’d just prefer it if you told me what it is you’re doing here!’

Her words set the tone. She watched his expression. Not a flicker of expression marked Jean-Luc’s angular face—just the slightest tightening of the jaw, maybe a hardening of the ebony eyes. He knew how she felt, how she wanted things to be, how things had to be.

‘Very little has changed here,’ Jean-Luc commented, glancing around the room that looked as if it had been locked in a time warp for the past fifty years. His dark eyes came to rest on Rachel’s pale face. ‘Except maybe you.’

‘I’m older!’ she responded flatly. But not wiser, she thought despondently, aware of the agony of her thudding heart. Definitely not that.

‘And poorer, I understand.’ Jean-Luc’s glance was cool, controlled. Almost cruel in its ability to calmly survey her face.

He wondered if he would be able to keep this up—to act as if the sight of her had little or no effect on him. He was a man who supposedly thrived on challenge, but this was a bigger challenge than any he had ever attempted—except maybe the one of trying to forget her, of course.

Rachel met the uncaring gaze with a cold expression, marvelling in some far-off corner of her mind at her capacity to even begin to cope with this conversation. ‘Yes, quite poor.’ Her voice was like ice.

‘A shock, I should think,’ Jean-Luc continued. ‘Your aunt always gave such a good impression of being a wealthy woman.’

‘She was a wealthy woman,’ Rachel responded swiftly. ‘She just made some wrong choices, invested badly…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Am I to presume, then, that you’ve come all the way here to offer your condolences?’ she asked, after a slight but telling pause. ‘You’re a little late. The funeral was early last week and, as you can undoubtedly see,’ she added, glancing at the muddled room, ‘I am still in the middle of sorting through and clearing everything out. So, if you’ll excuse me—’

‘You misunderstand, Rachel,’ Jean-Luc replied crisply, forestalling her retreat towards the door. ‘This isn’t a social call.’

‘No?’

‘Naomi gave you my card, I presume?’

Rachel had almost forgotten about it. She thrust a hand into the pocket of her jeans and retrieved it. ‘She did.’ She hesitated a moment then walked on slightly unsteady legs over to a side table, where a selection of bottles and glasses stood on a tray. She poured herself a measure of mineral water and took a healthy gulp—her mouth was so dry she could hardly talk any more.

‘Not that it meant anything to me—JSJ Corporation?’ She glanced at the card in her hand, raising arched eyebrows—trying to play it cool. ‘Another faceless conglomerate—is that who you work for?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’ Jean-Luc strolled over to stand beside her. ‘May I?’ he asked, and began pouring a small measure of whisky into a tumbler before Rachel could say a thing. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. JSJ has its fingers in several very large pies.’ He reeled off a handful of well-known projects that had received recent media attention in countries worldwide, and Rachel finally had to admit defeat and acknowledge with a slight nod that she had heard of at least some of them.

‘OK! OK! I get the picture. JSJ is a legitimate firm.’ She moved away—because to stand so close to Jean-Luc after all these years was torture of the worst kind—and walked over to the window to look out through the leaded panes at the car parked on the weedy, gravelled drive.

It was large and swish and very expensive. It matched this new image of Jean-Luc, the one that Rachel was having such difficulty coming to terms with—immaculate, powerful, an uncompromising presence that made heads turn and would not, or could not, be ignored.

He had clearly done very well for himself. Rachel had imagined her success in the hotel trade as being pretty impressive, considering she had started on one of the bottom rungs of the ladder as a lowly part-time receptionist and had worked her way up with determination and not a small amount of natural flair, but it was clear that her achievements were nowhere near on the same scale as this.

A chauffeur-driven car meant status, and that equalled success far beyond anything she had ever, or would ever, manage to achieve.

She spun around and said, ‘Forgive me for being dense, but I still don’t see what a company like the JSJ Corporation would find of interest here—a run-down country estate like this. Is your boss totally mad?’

‘I’m beginning to think so.’ She turned then to look at Jean-Luc. There had been something in his voice…‘The initials of the company—they obviously don’t mean a great deal to you,’ he added briskly.

‘No.’ Rachel lifted her shoulders in an uncaring shrug, turned back toward the window and closed her eyes tightly against shared memories which were bombarding her senses. ‘Why on earth should they?’

Jean-Luc, Saul, Jerome—an excessive number of names, I always thought, but, then, my mother and father did only manage to have one child.’

‘JSJ…?’ It took a moment for Rachel to realise the significance of what he was saying. ‘Your company?’ she added in disbelieving tones. No matter how hard she tried, Rachel couldn’t hide the astonishment in her voice. She looked at this new, sharp, hard Jean-Luc—so different from the man she had worshipped, loved—and tried to reconcile the differences between now and six years ago. ‘You mean you actually own…?’

Her voice trailed away in shocked disbelief as she stood and stared and tried to come to terms with the fact that Jean-Luc, the student, had transformed himself into a business magnate of quite incredible proportions.

‘Six years is a long time,’ he drawled smoothly. ‘What did you expect? That time should have stood still? That I would still be tending other people’s gardens?’

‘No, of course not!’ Rachel’s voice was hard. ‘But it’s not that long ago either…’ She made up her mind, and walked towards the door on legs that felt like jelly. ‘Would you please leave?’ She wondered if he could see the glistening of tears in her eyes from this distance, and decided that he probably couldn’t. ‘I don’t think we have a great deal to say to one another!’

‘So polite, Miss Shaw.’ Jean-Luc’s voice was deliberately heavy with mockery. ‘I see those beautiful English manners that I remember so well haven’t entirely deserted you.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you!’ Rachel’s restraint was slowly beginning to give way. ‘I don’t see what possible reason you have for coming here.’

‘This estate is deeply in debt. You are in very real danger of losing everything. That is correct, isn’t it?’ His crisp tones cut through the atmosphere which lay heavy between them.

‘How clever you are!’ Rachel retorted harshly. ‘So my financial position is common knowledge, then?’

‘No, it is not. I have just made it my business to find out what is happening here, that’s all.’

‘Oh, really! And why is that?’ Rachel asked frostily. ‘Am I supposed to feel flattered you’ve taken such an interest?’

‘Flattered?’ He made her suffer by pretending to be dense, and threw Rachel a look of puzzlement that made her want to curl up and die right in front of him, making him almost hate himself. ‘I do not think flattery enters the equation. Oh, I see,’ he added cruelly, ‘you maybe imagined that I had kept some sort of a tab on the place because of old associations?’ There was a cutting smile, the flash of even, white teeth. ‘Sentimentality.’ He arched a dark brow. ‘Never my forte.’

Rachel placed a hand to her brow. She was having trouble coping with all of this. It was bad enough that she should be losing her home, but even worse to have Jean-Luc by her side, pointing out the awful fact. ‘So…what do you want?’ she asked unsteadily, eyeing him with obvious dislike.

‘I can help.’

Rachel looked into the enigmatic dark eyes. ‘Help me? Are you crazy?’ She inhaled, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. ‘Do you honestly believe that I would want any help of yours?’

‘Whether you want it or not—that is immaterial,’ he replied coolly. ‘You need it. You have found debts every which way you turn because of your aunt’s inability to take financial advice, and tomorrow the bank will foreclose. Isn’t that correct?’

‘I…I have some money of my own,’ Rachel informed him unsteadily. ‘I’m not wildly rich, but I have some resources to call upon.’

‘Enough to retrieve this place from the impatient hands of the bank?’ Jean-Luc shook his head. ‘Stop fooling yourself! You might have scrimped and saved every penny for the past few years, but it would be chicken feed compared to what would be needed to get yourself out of debt and pay for the upkeep of such a large estate.’ He crossed the room towards her, standing close.

‘Are you prepared to lose this place just because you’re too stubborn to listen to what I have to say?’ His tone was harsh and full of derision. ‘I can’t believe you’d be that foolish.’

‘Believe what you like!’ Rachel replied shakily. ‘After all, I was foolish enough all those years ago to allow a smooth-talking Frenchman to get me into his bed!’

Silence. The room seemed still suddenly—even the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to suspend its ticking.

‘As I recall, we first made love on the grass,’ Jean-Luc replied quietly.

‘How dare you?’ Rachel continued shakily. ‘How dare you march in here, telling me that I must listen to you? Just who do you think you are?’

‘I know what I was.’

Rachel gasped as Jean-Luc snaked out a hand to prevent her from flouncing off towards the door. He pulled her close and suddenly it was like six years ago as he looked down into her trembling face, except that this time there was an element of punishment and force in his expression, along with the compelling tension and the supreme sexual vitality which was so much a part of him. ‘This place means something to you. Don’t be a fool and allow old prejudices to cloud your judgement just because we were once—’

‘Let me go!’ Rachel struggled free. She didn’t need to be reminded what they had once been to each other. Every nerve end in her body tingled with recollection—with a dreadful and intolerable yearning that had sparked into life the moment she had set eyes on him. ‘You think you can return after all these years and presume to tell me about the way I feel!’ she retorted angrily. ‘You, of all people!’

‘I don’t presume—I know,’ Jean-Luc informed her with disconcerting arrogance. So this was how it was going to be, he told himself—acrimonious, bitter. And to think that he had once been fool enough to imagine she’d loved him as much as he’d loved her.

‘Now.’ He kept his voice hard. ‘I have come here with a genuine business proposition. Are you prepared to stop acting like a petulant little girl and listen, or do you want to lose everything?’ Dark brows were raised questioningly. ‘Think carefully, Rachel, which is it to be?’

CHAPTER TWO

RACHEL wanted to run away. She wanted to scream and cry with anger and frustration—yell at Jean-Luc who was nothing but a cold-hearted, unfeeling swine. He had devastated her life. How dared he come back and open up all the old wounds? How dared he speak to her this way? How dared he?

But she didn’t move. Instinct told her that he would surely get the better of any scene she chose to make, just as before, just as always. And, besides, to display the way she felt would be to indicate that everything mattered—that he mattered—and that was the last thing she wanted.

‘OK.’ Rachel inhaled a steadying breath. ‘Say what you’ve got to say.’

‘Not here.’ He dismissed her offer without the slightest hesitation, pulling back his cuff to glance at the watch on his wrist. ‘Not now. I’m already late for another appointment. It will have to be later.’

‘How much later?’ Rachel struggled to keep the fury out of her voice. ‘I haven’t got that much time. I have an appointment with the trustees of Aunt Clara’s estate and the bank manager first thing in the morning.’

‘We’ll talk this evening—over dinner.’ Jean-Luc surveyed her with a cool expression. ‘Then I will arrange for my accountant and solicitor to meet with your financial advisers so that things can move as swiftly as possible. My car will pick you up at eight.’

‘What if I don’t want to have dinner with you?’

Dark eyes scanned Rachel’s flushed face. ‘It’s part of the deal—besides, that is the only time that I have free.’

‘My, my! What a busy person you are!’ Sarcasm hardened Rachel’s voice, and she turned away towards the window.

‘Eight o’clock.’ Jean-Luc’s voice was brisk and businesslike. There was a slight pause. Rachel had to summon all her will-power not to turn and look at him at the sound of the drawing-room door being opened. ‘Au revoir.’

Rachel watched through the window as he walked to his car, her eyes drawn by every inch of his smartly suited figure. A chauffeur opened a rear door and Jean-Luc climbed inside. There must have been a briefcase on the rear seat for she saw him lift a black leather object onto his lap, open it and draw out a sheaf of papers. He was working.

Was it really as easy as that for him? No time for reflection? Rachel wondered. No need to dwell on the fact that he had seen her again after all this time? Evidently not.

He was shaking. Jean-Luc stared at his trembling hand and gripped the business report he was holding a little tighter. What had he expected? What, exactly? That she would be pleased to see him? That she might care that he had put aside the pain of the past in order to help her when she needed it most?

He looked up and saw that Emile was watching him in the rear-view mirror. What would he be making of this? His employer, usually so cool and calculating, so in control.

Jean-Luc inhaled a calming breath and released it with a vow that he would not allow memories of the past to interfere with the here and now. Foolishly, he hadn’t expected to feel this way, so…disturbed by her. He pictured again the hate in her eyes. Her dismay at seeing him again had been clear.

The car swung away from the Grange and he caught sight of her at the window, watching him. Blonde and beautiful. How many hours had he spent, convincing himself that he was over her, before he’d decided on this course of action? Jean-Luc’s mouth firmed into a formidable line. Too many.

Rachel didn’t move for a long while, even when the vehicle was just a dark speck in the distance and the only evidence that he had been with her was the faint scent of his cologne and the thudding of her heart.

She could scarcely believe that he had been here, that she would have to endure the torture of seeing him again. Rachel held her head in her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break.

Naomi found her some ten minutes later. The old woman bustled into the room, a frown of concern creasing an already lined face. ‘My dear, whatever is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Everything!’ Rachel’s voice broke with emotion. ‘Everything,’ she repeated, picturing the scenes she had had to endure with Jean-Luc.

‘There! There! You have a good cry. I don’t think I’ve seen you shed a tear since your poor Aunt Clara’s funeral. It’s not good for you to keep all that emotion locked away inside. I know you miss her.’ Naomi paused to administer comfort in the form of a plump arm around Rachel’s shoulders. ‘Where’s your visitor?’

‘He’s left.’

‘Wasn’t here long.’ She handed Rachel a wad of clean tissues. ‘These tears aren’t anything to do with him, are they?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘You should have called me. I would have given him a piece of my mind, and him looking so nice and respectable, too. Hounding you for money, was he?’

‘Not exactly.’ Rachel wiped her eyes, struggling for composure. ‘He’s got a…a business proposition he wants to put to me,’ she croaked. ‘I’m meeting him again this evening…He’s picking me up at eight.’

‘You’re going out with him?’ Naomi sounded horrified . ‘But you can’t do that—you don’t know him from Adam!’

Rachel glanced at Naomi and saw from her expression that she really didn’t have a clue as to the identity of the suave and sophisticated gentleman she had shown into the drawing room. If only she knew! Rachel didn’t want to tell her, not at this moment, anyway, not while she herself was feeling so shell-shocked. ‘He comes from a reputable company,’ she murmured. ‘It will be…all right.’

‘Well, I hope so. A business proposition, you say?’ Naomi’s voice brightened. ‘Might there be chance of saving the Grange, then?’ she added hopefully.

‘I’m not sure.’ Rachel struggled to bring her tears under control, but a sob caught in her throat. ‘But if there’s a chance, I suppose I must try…’

She couldn’t decide what to wear—not that it mattered one iota, of course. It was a toss-up between making every effort and making no effort at all. In the end Rachel decided that pride had to show its more attractive face, and she chose a simple, yet elegant long-sleeved dress in fine black wool from her wardrobe.

His car was on time. Rachel, pacing nervously in the hallway, almost jumped out of her skin when the doorbell clanged. She was nervous—more than that, petrified. Jean-Luc’s unexpected appearance earlier that afternoon had had a debilitating effect. She hadn’t been able to do a thing in the intervening hours since his visit. She’d just sat and thought and remembered how it had been during those last glorious few days…

‘Wake up, sleepyhead!’

Rachel stirred faintly as the sensuous voice penetrated her dreams. She moved in the bed, hugging the crisp, white linen sheets close around her slender body, and smiled dreamily.

‘Do you always look this gorgeous in the morning?’ Jean-Luc’s deep voice, heavy with the seductive French accent was soft and enticing against her lips. ‘Baby, come on,’ he whispered, ‘open those beautiful blue eyes.’

She raised dark lashes and looked up in sleepy astonishment at the rugged, handsome face, lifting a hand in something approaching wonderment to touch the angled cheekbone. ‘Jean-Luc?’ Rachel smiled lovingly, hardly able to believe he was here with her. ‘What are you doing?’

He didn’t allow her to finish the sentence, not that she cared. His lips moved with possessive intent over her mouth, and Rachel found herself responding, despite the early hour and the fact that she was still half-asleep, despite the awful possibility that he could be found here in her bedroom by one of the servants or, worse still, her Aunt Clara at any moment.

She entwined her hands around his strong, suntanned neck and accepted his kiss, revelling in the strength and the warmth of his body—wondering once again how she had ever survived without it, ever survived without him.

Jean-Luc was so brave, so bold, so totally alien, like a wonderful being from another planet, entering her cocooned world, changing her perspective on life.

‘Hurry, ma chérie! It’s a beautiful day and I don’t want us to waste a second of it!’ He kissed her mouth lovingly once again, then disentangled her arms and pulled back the bedclothes, a smile curving his mouth at the sight of Rachel’s extremely functional cotton pyjamas.

‘Well, it’s cold in the country!’ She glanced down at her attire, wishing she looked more seductive for him, and pulled a comical face to hide her embarrassment. ‘My bedroom doesn’t have central heating.’

‘Don’t worry, you look beautiful.’ Jean-Luc ran a fingertip along the line of pearl buttons, tormenting her with the lightness of his touch. His dark eyes sparkled. ‘Fresh and sweet as the daisy.’

Rachel pouted. ‘Not even a little sophisticated and alluring?’

He pulled her to him and kissed her mouth. ‘Sophisticated—no. Alluring—definitely. ‘You are the sweetest of temptations.’ He looked at her as she had never seen him look at her before—naked desire in his eyes, the hunger of wanting her, pure rugged masculinity in every taut line, every fleeting expression. ‘Mon Dieu!’ The words were a groan beneath his breath. ‘How to resist you?’

‘Don’t try.’ Rachel’s eyes were wide and bold. She had never felt this way about any man before, knew with a deeply felt certainty that she never would again. ‘You know how I feel about you.’

‘For me it is the same.’ He tugged her into the circle of his arms to kiss her again with a passion that took all her breath away. ‘Always,’ he asserted huskily, drawing back a little to look deep into her eyes. ‘For ever.’

‘You mean that?’ Rachel’s voice was barely a whisper.

‘Of course.’ He kissed her again. Rachel loved the wonderful fact that she seemed to be irresistible to him. It was quiet in the bedroom for several minutes. Rachel knew she would never forget this moment. Jean-Luc’s gaze, his tender hands, told her all she needed to know. He loved her, just as she loved him.

Never mind what Aunt Clara thought, it wasn’t her fault. She was just…old, out of touch, unaware of the depth of feeling between them. Once she understood the seriousness of their relationship, Rachel told herself, everything would be better. She would be happy for her niece, happy that she had found love.

‘You’re frowning.’ Jean-Luc’s dark brows drew together in comical imitation of hers, his smile gently teasing. ‘Have I woken you too early? Would you prefer to be a lazybones and sleep in?’ He lifted her into his arms suddenly and laid her back down on the bed. ‘Would you like to stay here?’ he murmured huskily, kissing her neck. ‘Shall we both stay here?’

‘You know we can’t.’ Rachel linked her arms around Jean-Luc’s neck. ‘If Aunt Clara or Naomi finds you here…’ She glanced towards the closed door of her bedroom, conscious of the sounds of the house below. ‘How on earth did you get up here, anyway?’ she asked, smiling. ‘And don’t tell me you knocked on the front door, informed Hayes that you wished to see me and simply marched straight upstairs to my bedroom because I won’t believe you!’

‘Do I look that mad?’ Jean-Luc replied, with a curl of a smile. ‘No, I did the correct thing and took the tradesman’s entrance.’

‘But surely Naomi was busy in the kitchen?’

‘She was. But I have a very good line in distraction.’ Jean-Luc’s eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘I knocked at the kitchen door, hid around the side of the house, Naomi came out, followed my trail and…’ He gestured with his hands. ‘Voilà! I simply slipped inside.’

‘Trail?’ Rachel’s expression was a mixture of perplexity and excitement. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The milkman had been. There were eggs, a lot of them. I simply placed them in a line which led away from the house. Naomi followed like un canard…a duck, waddling after a trail of bread!’

‘You are incorrigible!’ Rachel smiled happily, kissing his mouth. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Incorrigible?’ Jean-Luc’s sensuous eyes gleamed. ‘What is that?’

‘Naughty!’ Rachel kissed his finely moulded mouth. ‘Very naughty indeed!’

‘I like naughty.’ Jean-Luc cradled Rachel’s blonde head with both hands and returned her kiss. ‘It feels good. Now, come!’ He rolled away from her suddenly, and Rachel knew that he was having to exert the utmost will-power as he rose from the bed. ‘Get dressed. It’s a beautiful morning—the sun is shining, the birds are singing. I want us to share every second of it together.’

Rachel did as he requested. It never entered her head to refuse—why should it? This was what she wanted—this excitement, this sense of freedom and fun. This passion.

Jean-Luc lifted the sash window while Rachel slipped on jeans and a jumper. She watched him as he stood with his back to her, breathing in the fresh spring air. She loved to look at him. Her blue eyes lingered on the broad shoulders, on the dark brown, slightly wavy hair that brushed the collar of his blue linen shirt, on the clean, but undeniably worn denims that hugged slim hips.

He was everything she’d ever wanted. It really was as simple as that. Everything. The fluttering sensations of desire and excitement had been old friends ever since that day almost two months ago when he had first come to work in the gardens for her aunt.

‘Ready?’ He turned, holding out a hand, leading her towards the window. ‘We are taking an alternative route.’ His lips curved at Rachel’s expression. ‘Don’t look so shocked. It will be perfectly safe. See? We step out onto the flat roof, then a careful negotiation of the drainpipes and a small leap down to freedom.’

Rachel smiled. ‘Maybe you should have rung the front doorbell,’ she said, stretching up on tiptoe and kissing him tenderly. ‘I think it would have been a lot simpler.’

‘Ah, but not so much fun. And, besides,’ he continued, with more than a hint of bitterness, ‘I would have had to wait until much later in the day, and then I would have had to endure the disapproving looks of your aunt—it really isn’t the done thing for the gardener’s boy to court the mistress’s niece, is it?’

‘Don’t, Jean-Luc, please, not now!’ Rachel placed a fingertip to the suddenly angry mouth, hating the old argument coming between them once again. ‘Aunt Clara’s just being protective. I’m just eighteen. I’m the only family she’s got. She only wants to look after me—’

‘To stifle you.’ Angry brown eyes held Rachel’s gaze. ‘She imagines I would hurt you?’ The incredulity in Jean-Luc’s tone was hard to miss. He shook his head in disgust. ‘I swear, this house, it is still living in the Victorian times. Your aunt would look very convincing in a black gown with a white lace cap on her head!’ His mouth curved, but beneath the humour the anger was still evident.

‘She doesn’t trust me because I’m a foreigner…or a gardener…’ He lifted his hands in a typically Gallic gesture. ‘What does she think I’m going to do—whisk you off and sell you to the white slave trade?’

‘Jean-Luc!’ Rachel shook her head. ‘Please! Don’t be cross.’ Rachel glanced anxiously towards her bedroom door again.

‘Although, I think,’ he added, pulling her close against his rugged body, his smouldering eyes lingering over Rachel’s feminine curves, ‘it might not be such a bad idea. I think you would fetch a very good price.’

Rachel giggled. ‘Jean-Luc, you are not only incorrigible, you are irreverent, too!’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed his mouth. ‘Do you think that’s why I like you so very much?’

‘Like?’ He pulled her closer still so that she felt the full power of his body against hers, and tipped her face back so that her long golden hair fell free behind her like a waterfall of pure gossamer. ‘What is “like”?’ he growled in mock anger….

Rachel negotiated the climb down over the rooftops, laughing because she had never felt so carefree, so incredibly happy. In a few short weeks Jean-Luc had become everything to her—the sun, the moon, the stars. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked her, walk on a bed of hot coals if it meant spending the rest of her life with him.

In comparison to all of that, a short trip over the rooftops was nothing.

They ran like the wind, hand in hand, around the side of the huge manor house, across the crunching gravel drive and out through the wooden door in the walled kitchen garden into the fields beyond…

Rachel hardly noticed the outside world. Her only thoughts were for Jean-Luc. Uncaring of her aunt’s disapproval, every spare moment was spent with him. Early morning rendezvous became the norm. Beautiful hours spent walking and talking, passionate encounters in orchard or barn—anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as they could be together.

Rachel had never imagined that such happiness as she felt could exist. During the beauty of those few precious weeks together the whole world was transformed into a glorious place. She loved Jean-Luc with all her innocent heart and told him so a thousand times, never imagining that his declarations of love in their most passionate of moments meant as much as his promise that he would stay with her for ever.

In the days that followed Jean-Luc’s departure Rachel tried hard to keep faith, to hope that he would be missing her as much as she was missing him and that he would come back simply because he loved her.

The doubts crept in, of course. Once so sure of what they had together, Rachel began to look at aspects of their time together and understood that what had been for her the most important relationship of her life had been for Jean-Luc simply a passionate holiday romance.

The shock of discovering he was gone, after returning from a weekend visit to a friend, had been profound, to say the least. On that Friday afternoon she had kissed him goodbye without a care in the world, confident that he would be at the Grange, working still and waiting for her on Monday morning. So sure of what they had together—too sure.

At first she refused to believe he’d gone. His letter had clinched it, of course, propped up on her cluttered dressing-table when she had returned…Rachel inhaled a ragged breath. Even now, she could scarcely bring herself to think of it. The letter had been so kind—too kind almost, stilted and strange. The agonies of having to tell her that he didn’t want to see her again, she supposed. Whatever, it had given out little hope.

In some ways it was the kindness, the altered, distant tone of Jean-Luc’s missive, that had hurt Rachel the most. She hadn’t wanted to read about how much their romance had meant to him, how intensely he valued the time they had shared together, that he would remember it always, think of her often. Platitudes, that’s all they had been—empty platitudes.

She wanted him to be there with her—for always.

She thought hard about trying to contact him and was dismayed when she realised that, apart from the region, she knew little about where he came from and who he really was. She had been so wrapped up in each moment, in the precious time they had shared together. When she thought back, Rachel realised that he had been peculiarly reticent about discussing his family, his life in France. Sure, he had talked about the beauty and his love of his country, but very little of it had been detailed or precise. Only when Jean-Luc had gone did she understand why.

It was difficult, coping with her heartbreak alone—impossible, in fact. Aunt Clara was surprisingly sympathetic when a sobbing Rachel confessed why she was in such an appalling state.

‘My dear, I don’t want to say I told you so, but you know I really wasn’t happy about the amount of time you were spending with each other. Did you really believe,’ she added gently, ‘that there could be a future with a man like that?’

‘A man like that?’ Rachel pulled away from her embrace, still keen to defend Jean-Luc, despite everything. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Silly, silly girl! He’s young—only a couple of years older than yourself—virile, full of his own ambitions. You didn’t honestly think that there was a future for the two of you?’

‘Yes!’ Rachel’s expression revealed her anguish. ‘Yes!’ she repeated, the word strangled by a sob. ‘I did.’

Her aunt suggested getting away, and offered to pay for a long-wanted trip to America to visit distant relations. Rachel, although reluctant in the first few days following Jean-Luc’s departure, soon saw the advantages of such a decision. She wouldn’t be reminded at every turn of what she had lost. Every flower, every blade of grass—Jean-Luc, the gardener, her lover, had tended them all.

She didn’t want to dwell on those weeks and months that had followed. Even now, six years later, she could still remember the twisting pain that had accompanied her every waking moment. And there had been dreams—such dreams! Taunting her with their familiarity so that it had felt as if he were still with her, still loving her…

Rachel smoothed the finely knitted dress over her hips. She glanced in the hall mirror and wondered if she had overdone the lipstick. Was it too red? Too bright? Too much an indication that she was trying to impress? Rachel opened her clutch bag and pulled out a tissue, wiping the colour from her lips. That was better. She looked paler now, more fragile, more like her usual self.

Rachel pulled open the door with trembling fingers. Jean-Luc had come himself to fetch her, and had not merely sent his chauffeur, as she’d expected. He stood some distance away with his back to her, surveying the sweeping gravelled front which had looked so pristine in his time here as a gardener but which was now weedy and in need of a massive amount of care and attention.

‘The place looks rather sorry for itself now, doesn’t it?’ He turned and cast dark eyes over Rachel’s figure. It took all of his considerable self-possession not to reveal his pleasure at the sight of her. She looked stunning, as different from his earlier meeting with her as night was from day. Here was a glimpse of the sophisticated, astute career woman he had heard about.

‘You’re ready?’ His smile was brief, almost curt, a dark brow raised questioningly. ‘We should get going. A table has been booked for eight-thirty.’

‘Where are we going?’ Rachel’s voice was faint in comparison to his. She cleared her throat and added in stronger tones, ‘Is it far?’

‘Twenty kilometres or so, I believe.’ Jean-Luc’s response was polite but cool. ‘This area does not have a particularly good choice of restaurants.’

She followed him to his car—a different one from this afternoon, she realised, larger and even more impressive, if that were possible. The chauffeur removed himself from behind the steering-wheel and opened the rear door for Rachel with a brief smile.

Jean-Luc got in beside her. Rachel shifted her position so that she sat as far away as possible from him, and made a pretence of looking out of the window.

‘The windows need repainting, do they not?’ Rachel glanced across at Jean-Luc, sensing the mockery in his tone. ‘You must be sorry to see the place so run-down,’ he added.

‘It still has charm,’ Rachel replied stiffly. ‘It’s still my home.’

‘But for how much longer?’ He leant forward, indicating to the chauffeur that they should be on their way.

‘Isn’t all this…’ Rachel glanced around the plush interior, her gaze taking in the driver ahead ‘…a little…extreme?’

‘In what respect?’ Jean-Luc’s gaze was steady upon Rachel’s face.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She shook her blonde head and glanced out of the window again. ‘I just never imagined I’d see you riding around in a chauffeur-driven limousine, that’s all,’ she murmured.

‘You never imagined that you would see me again,’ Jean-Luc replied. ‘I can understand why this has come as something of a shock to you.’

‘Oh, you can, can you?’ Rachel surveyed his handsome face with narrowed blue eyes. ‘How clever you are!’

‘Rachel—’

‘Don’t! I’m not interested!’ She swallowed, struggling against a throat that was tight with unshed tears. ‘I’m only here because of the Grange. Nothing else! That’s all I’m interested in. Not how you became a success, or what you’ve been doing in the intervening years. Only the Grange.’ She hardened her expression, turning briefly to look into the face she had once loved so much. ‘Do you understand?’

He didn’t reply immediately, simply looked deep into her eyes, making her suffer with the intensity of his gaze—so provocative, so full of power and authority. ‘Oh, I understand,’ he murmured. ‘More than you would imagine.’

There was little Rachel wanted to say on their way to the restaurant. The silence wasn’t particularly comfortable or companionable, but Rachel was damned if she’d struggle to fill the emptiness which sat so uneasily between them.

As she might have expected, the restaurant—situated in the main street of a picturesque country town, small and elegantly decorated—was of a high standard. The car drew up outside and they were greeted in the manner to which Jean-Luc had so clearly become accustomed.

‘We’d like to order immediately.’ Jean-Luc told the waiter as he showed them to their table. He turned to Rachel. ‘You still like scallops, I take it?’ She nodded. ‘Wild mushrooms?’

‘Yes.’

He ordered for both of them in ten seconds flat, casting a cursory glance at the menu, choosing wine with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before.

‘I am capable of ordering for myself!’

‘You do not like the food I have chosen?’ He raised his arm to summon the waiter.

‘No, it’s fine!’ Rachel wished she had kept her mouth shut. She took a sip of mineral water and glanced around at her surroundings, anywhere except at Jean-Luc’s handsome face.

‘You have been here before?’

‘No.’

‘It has a good atmosphere, don’t you think? But the decor is a little…’

‘Insipid?’ Rachel murmured, automatically noting what she would do to improve things.

‘Yes.’ Jean-Luc nodded in agreement. ‘Exactly that. But we didn’t come here to discuss this restaurant’s decoration, did we? You will have given a great deal of thought to the future of the Grange over the past couple of weeks.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You will lose it, you realise that?’

‘It seems a distinct possibility.’ Rachel worked hard at sounding as businesslike and as cool as possible. If Jean-Luc could do it, why couldn’t she? She continued to speak swiftly, refusing her brain time to conjure up a whole host of very good reasons. ‘Although I haven’t entirely given up hope that the bank will give me some more time,’ she continued.

‘You should.’ Dark eyes gazed penetratingly at her. ‘Give up hope,’ he added bluntly, when Rachel raised a brow in query. ‘The Grange is a lost cause—’

‘If that’s so, why are you here now, talking to me?’ Rachel cut in swiftly. ‘Why are you bothering?’

‘If you will allow me to finish…’ Jean-Luc paused, and took a sip of mineral water, increasing Rachel’s nervous anticipation with the length of his delay. Whether he did so for effect, to produce the biggest reaction, or simply because he was working out a way to frame his next sentence, Rachel wasn’t sure. ‘I believe,’ he asserted, ‘that the Grange would make an ideal high-class hotel, health resort and conference centre.’

She knew, even as half her brain railed against the idea, that Jean-Luc’s idea was viable. Her hotel and business acumen couldn’t be disregarded just because the Grange happened to be her home. She tried, though, she tried very hard to dispute it. ‘You are joking, surely?’ she replied.

‘Not at all.’ Ebony eyes held hers. ‘I never joke about business.’

‘You really think that’s the miracle plan that’s going to save the day?’ Rachel shook her blonde head, staring stubbornly down at the table so that Jean-Luc shouldn’t read her thoughts. Her mind was already assessing the possibilities, swiftly redesigning the interior to accommodate guest bedrooms and restaurants and leaping ahead to conference suites and leisure facilities.

‘I don’t remember mentioning miracles,’ Jean-Luc responded crisply, ‘just a business proposition that would be beneficial to both of us.’

‘You honestly think I could consider such a proposal?’ Rachel’s voice was tinged with half-hearted disbelief. ‘That I would want to enter into some sort of partnership with you?’

‘You know, Rachel…’ Jean-Luc lifted his glass and took a mouthful of wine ‘…that my proposition is the only thing capable of getting you out of this mess. I know you do—I can see it in your eyes.’

‘Can you, indeed?’ Rachel said through gritted teeth. ‘How clever of you!’

He raised a dark brow, his gaze steady and unflinching. ‘You’re not interested?’

‘There’s got to be another way!’ Rachel asserted. ‘How can you sit there and tell me that the best thing would be to turn the Grange into a huge hotel? It’s my home!’

‘Not for very much longer!’ Jean-Luc’s voice was clipped. ‘You know as well as I do that the Grange, in its present condition with all of its natural assets, is an ideal site—’

‘It isn’t a “site”, as you so callously call it,’ Rachel cut in. She gulped a breath. ‘I’ve lived there ever since my parents were killed—’

‘And now dear Aunt Clara is dead and the Grange is your responsibility! You were orphaned at a young age—that is tragic. Car accidents are tragic, death is tragic.’ He lifted his broad shoulders in, it seemed to Rachel, an uncaring shrug. ‘So is bankruptcy.’

Rachel pushed her plate aside. The mushrooms were good, but suddenly she had no stomach for them. She loved her work. The excitement and challenge of managing a hotel from day to day, when just about anything could happen and often did, gave her more satisfaction than she could say, but this shocking idea, that somehow she and Jean-Luc should have a shared interest—and in the Grange of all places—was difficult to contemplate. She shook her head again. ‘I cannot imagine a worse scenario!’

‘Except, perhaps, the one where you sack Naomi and the rest of the staff, pack up, move out and hand over the keys of the Grange to the bank?’ Jean-Luc picked up his wine glass. ‘You find that particular course of action more acceptable, do you?’ There was a tense silence. ‘Are you so naïve?’ Jean-Luc continued remorselessly. ‘What do you imagine the bank will do once they take possession?’

Rachel glanced down at her lap, avoiding his penetrating gaze. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

‘Well, it’s time you did! They’ll sell to the highest bidder. They won’t be concerned whether it’s split up into apartments or turned into the biggest conference centre in Europe!’

‘I haven’t lost it yet!’ Rachel persisted stubbornly. ‘There’s still time.’

‘There’s no time. Your aunt used up all the time and left you with nothing but debts,’ Jean-Luc informed her brutally. ‘You will be left with nothing.’

‘So, why do you care?’

Why, indeed? But he did—more than he cared to admit.

He looked at her, cold and hard and formidable. ‘I don’t. I have been looking for suitable properties in this area for some time. In fact, I was about to close a deal when I heard of your aunt’s death and subsequent problems.’

‘Oh! So…so your predatory instincts took over! How extremely fortuitous that the Grange got into difficulties when it did!’ Rachel replied unsteadily. ‘I’m sure your shareholders are going to be very impressed at such easy pickings!’

‘I have no shareholders,’ Jean-Luc informed her with a cold expression. ‘I own the company lock, stock and barrel.’

‘Oh, well, even better!’ Rachel continued scathingly. ‘Think of all those profits just for yourself—you’ll be a millionaire in no time!’

‘I already am one!’ The terse statement came as he pushed back his chair and rose from the table, throwing his napkin onto the plate in front of him in disgust. ‘I’m not prepared to put up with this. It’s clear from your behaviour that you’re not capable of taking my proposition seriously. That is your mistake and you will have to live with the consequences.’

Rachel stared up at him in horror. ‘You’re leaving?’ she asked. ‘Just like that?’

‘I see no reason to stay. You’re clearly not interested in anything I have to say.’

Angry, tense, annoyed with himself at not being able to stay cool, he walked away, threading his broad frame through the tables of the restaurant.

Rachel sat for a moment, watching him go, stunned by his sudden departure. She didn’t know what to do. She could barely think straight. Jean-Luc’s words haunted her. Did she really want to lose the Grange? Did it honestly mean so little to her? She rose from the table, glancing at the other diners who, she realised belatedly, had been enjoying the cabaret, and followed Jean-Luc outside.

Rachel stood hesitatingly in the entrance to the restaurant, glad of the cooling night air on her heated skin.

What was she to do? How was she supposed to cope with this nightmare situation? He didn’t care, that much was clear. He had said it, and she believed him. His only thought was to strike a deal, to make money.

Jean-Luc’s first emotion was relief because there was always a risk in pushing too hard, and she might so easily have decided to go with her true instincts and reject everything, without giving a damn for the consequences.

‘You’d like a lift home?’

Rachel spun around at the sound of his voice. She looked up, and felt the immediate lurch of awareness deep down in the pit of her stomach at the sight of him. ‘I’d like to talk about the Grange,’ she murmured.

He pushed a little harder. ‘I think we’ve said all there is to say.’

‘No.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘No, we haven’t.’ She paused. ‘Maybe…maybe I was a little hasty just now…’

‘Maybe?’ His dark eyes pierced her.

‘Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?’ Rachel murmured. ‘I don’t particularly want to go back into the restaurant.’

‘My car?’

‘You have a chauffeur,’ Rachel reminded him.

‘Emile can go get himself something to eat.’ Jean-Luc placed a guiding hand at the small of her back. ‘This way. Would you like something to drink?’ He pulled open a cabinet, once the chauffeur had been temporarily relieved of his duty and they were both installed in the back of the Rolls Royce. ‘Vodka? Martini?’

‘Just mineral water for me, please.’

Jean-Luc’s smile held precious little humour. ‘So that you can keep a clear head?’

‘It makes sense, in the circumstances,’ Rachel responded smoothly.

As far as business propositions were concerned, it was well thought-out and covered all the angles. The gist of Jean-Luc’s proposal was that his company would pay off all the outstanding debts, agree to invest a substantial amount of money in the Grange and take the bulk of any profits in return.

‘So, where do I fit in?’ Rachel enquired eventually. It had been difficult to concentrate on much of the detail because as Jean-Luc had talked she had found her attention wandering away from the business of the house and estate towards more…immediate matters. He looked so…incredible. More mature, more compelling…more everything.

Usually so good at concentrating on business matters, Rachel’s eyes had wandered as he spoke, drifting away from his mouth across the broad chest, down the length of his long, muscular legs, clad in dark trousers, then back to his face once again. It wasn’t fair that he could still do this her, she thought, that it still mattered after all these years….

Rachel cursed silently, and dragged herself back to the important discussion in hand. ‘I agree it all sounds perfectly feasible,’ she continued in businesslike tones. ‘The market’s there—this area could do with a top-notch hotel and the layout of the Grange is, to a large extent, custom-made as far as the main features are concerned, but—’

‘You don’t seem to have paid a great deal of attention,’ he replied coolly, his dark eyes meeting hers. ‘I thought I’d made your involvement perfectly clear.’

‘Evidently not clear enough!’ Rachel retorted, annoyed by his superior tone and embarrassed by her previous inability to concentrate.

‘I want you to run the hotel,’ he informed her. ‘That will be one of the conditions that I will insist upon.’

‘What?’ Rachel stared at him, her blue eyes wide with shock. ‘Me?’

‘I don’t see anyone else in the near vicinity.’ Jean-Luc’s tone was dry. ‘You are the obvious choice. You have been in the hotel business for the last few years, have you not?’

Rachel frowned. ‘You know about that?’

‘I know all the relevant details which might have some bearing on this investment.’ His gaze was direct. ‘You imagined that you would be able to lounge around in glamorous idleness while I wasted unnecessary money employing someone to—’

‘I do not lounge around! I have never lounged around!’ Rachel stormed. ‘I work.’

‘You are currently managing a small hotel in the Cotswolds, I believe? It will be easy enough for you to work through your notice while the Grange is being refurbished. I do not know why you are looking at me like that,’ he commented smoothly. ‘It seems an eminently suitable arrangement. The Grange will still be your home, after all, and as you already have suitable experience in the hotel profession this will give you something worthwhile to direct your energies to.

‘You will have help of course,’ he added. ‘I already have in mind an employee who will suit the position of assistant manager. He is efficient, reliable, English…’ a flicker of a smile ‘…but I try not to hold that against him.’

‘You’re pleased that this has happened, aren’t you?’ Rachel declared shakily. ‘You’re not really interested in turning this into a profitable business. You just want to…to humiliate me!’

‘I’m saving your family home and offering you a job into the bargain—I don’t see where humiliation comes into it!’ he replied crisply. ‘Now, I suggest you drop the pathetic accusations and stop wasting time! I will have my solicitor draw up an agreement, which you will find fair—not to mention generous. Tomorrow afternoon you can sign and then everything will be able to proceed without delay.’

‘I don’t actually recall hearing myself agreeing to any of this!’ Rachel snapped.

‘But you will.’ Jean-Luc’s gaze was compelling as he turned to look at her. ‘Won’t you?’

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