The French Count's Mistress Read online

  Instantly alert, she sprang out of bed and raced to grab her robe. Returning to the door, she felt down the length of it with the flat of her hand. It was still cool and formed a sturdy barrier between her and whatever lay beyond. She stiffened, listening intently as she tried to gauge the extent of the fire. Her face tensed with concern. She could hear the crackling of the flames quite clearly. But she had been so careful…

  Obviously not careful enough, she thought, remembering the candles she had lit on the kitchen table. Recreating the scene in her mind, she pictured the photograph albums next to the candles. She had meant to move them before going to bed. But she had stayed up too long worrying about Guy, her mixed-up feelings, the state of the cottage and whether she could possibly get it ready in time for her first guests. A sharp sound of distress escaped from her throat as she realised that would never happen now. And if by some miracle it did? Guy would never forgive her either way. She had lied to him. And she had planned to coax Guy’s elderly mother out of isolation too, bring her to the cottage… Was this like drowning, she wondered, having your whole life flash before your eyes?

  Kate forced her attention back to the door. One thing was for sure; she had wasted enough time. Opening the door a crack, she stared into the smoke-filled gloom. The stairs were still clear and probably safe. Glancing behind her into the bedroom, she took the chance to go back and snatch up a couple of things.

  On the glass-covered surface of the bow-fronted dressing table sat a silver frame containing a photograph of Aunt Alice, and to either side of Aunt Alice like two disapproving sentinels stood Kate’s mother and father. Clutching the frame in one hand, she snatched up a silver locket. The locket contained a photograph of herself as a young child staring defiantly into the camera. Kate felt a sudden pang to see that at nine years old there had already been something pinched and anxious behind her bravado. Snub-nosed and freckled and with a halo of red-gold curls in such disarray it proved that the photograph could only have been taken in France. And on the facing side, in perfect counterbalance to the reckless young hoyden she had once been, Aunt Alice appeared, apple-cheeked and twinkling. The locket had no real value except that it expressed everything about her young life and the influence Aunt Alice had wielded upon it…and that made it one of her most treasured possessions. She never went anywhere without it, for in spite of the angst behind the tomboy façade, those two photographs represented everything that had been good and happy and carefree about her childhood once her parents had agreed that she could be released into Aunt Alice’s care each summer.

  The smoke was growing dangerously thick and Kate knew she would have to find some clean air or fall where she stood.

  This time when she opened the door the heat scorched her face, forcing her to draw back in alarm. Snatching another glance, she saw the fire licking up the sides of the wooden staircase, creating a surreal vista of shadows and flame and smoke and ash. Gathering her courage around her like an invisible blanket, she burst out of the door and with gravity as her only guide she launched herself down the stairs. Her eyes were stinging so badly they filled with tears, blinding her as the thick black smoke curled its deadly tentacles around her chest.

  Stumbling across the kitchen she found the back door, but fear made her clumsy as she struggled to pull back the locks. Gasping, coughing and sobbing all at once, only sheer bloody-mindedness kept her going. As the locks yielded she fell into the night and half-crawling scrambled along the path until she could no longer feel the heat of the fire. But as her mind slowly cleared she realised that somehow during her flight the precious locket had fallen from her hand. Her cry of despair sounded eerie in the darkness. But when she turned her agonised gaze on the cottage she saw that smoke was already billowing from the roof and glowing cinders were issuing in burnished clouds through the kitchen window like some unseasonable firework display.

  Laughing hysterically, Kate got to her knees and made a desperate calculation. There was no sign as yet of any flames on the upper floor of the cottage. Perhaps she could retrace her steps? Dazed with shock, she got up slowly. She had seen films where people wet a cloth and tied it around their mouth and nose to keep out the worst of the deadly fumes.

  All she could think about was the locket. And then she remembered the chain biting into her hand as she leaped down the stairs. Slipping off her robe, she soaked it under the outside tap. Then, shivering with fear and cold, she forced her arms back inside the sodden towelling. Stepping quickly out of her flimsy pyjama bottoms, she wet them too and, tying them around her face, she staggered back to the front door cursing the fact that while her resolve was as strong as ever, the old injury to her leg was holding her back. Darting her head in and out fast, she took in the scene. The fire had taken a strong hold, but the flames would light her way and she might be all right if she was quick enough. There was a slim chance she could save the locket before it melted into a pool of molten metal…and a slim chance was enough.

  She was just gearing herself up to dive in when the sound of noisy engines crested the ugly sounds of the fire. People were shouting and then she became aware that alarm bells were ringing in the village. Relief burst from her throat in a guttural cry she would not have recognised as her own. She was so thankful not to be alone—so grateful someone had noticed and had thought to rouse help. But she was past the point where reason governed her actions. And if she was going to find the locket she had to go now—

  ‘No! Kate, no! What are you doing?’

  An iron band snapped round her waist, holding her back. Then she was yanked away from the threshold of the cottage—carried off, away from the stream of people who were racing up the path—some carrying a wide bore hose between them, others bringing water in an endless stream of buckets and all of them shouting, urging each other on as they rushed to help.

  ‘Let me go! Let me go!’ Kate shrieked so forcefully that her throat was almost raw by the time Guy lowered her to the ground.

  ‘Mon Dieu! Kate!’ he said as he stared into her wild, desperate eyes. ‘What were you thinking of? You could have been killed!’

  ‘I don’t care! It doesn’t matter! Don’t you understand?’ she cried huskily as she tried to fight him off, tried to get back to the cottage. ‘I have to go back. Let me go!’

  ‘No!’ Guy rasped as he held her tight to his chest.

  ‘I’m warning you—’ But her voice was wobbling and her legs were giving way.

  ‘No,’ he said again a little more gently, but holding her even more securely. ‘You’re not going back in there, Kate. It’s too late.’

  ‘No! It can’t be!’ Her cry was almost primeval in intensity. But her ferocity only seemed to make Guy all the more determined to hold on to her.

  ‘Regardes, Kate!’ he insisted, gripping her chin and forcing her round to face him. ‘They’re getting the fire under control. The cottage will be saved. Look!’ he said again. And when she tried in a last desperate flurry of blows to fight him off, he bound her so tight in his arms she couldn’t move at all. ‘You can’t turn away,’ he said, ‘and you will listen to me. I will personally oversee all the repairs. I’ll have the damn cottage rebuilt brick by brick if necessary. I’ll even build it myself—’

  ‘No…no, you don’t understand,’ she broke in, repeatedly shaking her head. ‘It won’t be the same.’

  ‘What do you mean, it won’t be the same?’

  ‘Aunt Alice’s things—’ Kate broke off then, sobbing against him, melting into him, accepting, needing his arms around her and the comfort of his soft, body-warmed sweater against her face.

  ‘Things?’ Guy queried softly, nestling his face against the top of her head while he smoothed her hair with long calming strokes.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Kate insisted.

  ‘I’m not sure I do,’ he said, holding her back so that he could look into her face. ‘But if you’re trying to tell me that all these tears are being wasted on a few ornaments and decorations—’ He shook his hea
d as he stared down at her. Then, very gently, he rested the palm of his right hand against the left side of her chest. ‘Aunt Alice is in here, Kate, not in the cottage,’ he said softly.

  For a few moments she stared back at him. His conviction gave her strength, broke through the madness of the last hour. Very slowly she relaxed in his arms. ‘You’re right,’ she whispered, fighting to come to terms with it. ‘But it’s not fair,’ she added brokenly, half to herself. ‘I can’t keep hold of the past, however hard I try.’

  The soft knit of his cashmere sweater felt warm against her face as she nestled against it and Guy’s voice was like a caress as he drew her into him. ‘The future will be even better,’ he said roughly. ‘You’ll see.’ But then they were distracted by a small group of men, their faces smoke-blackened as they emerged from the cottage.

  ‘Everything is under control, Monsieur le Comte,’ said one. ‘But we will have a better idea if the structure is safe in the morning, when we can make a thorough examination in good light.’

  ‘Merci…merci beaucoup,’ Guy exclaimed softly, still with his arm around Kate, supporting her. ‘You have all responded magnificently. I can’t thank you enough.’

  Kate knew words were inadequate for what they had done. ‘You saved the cottage and my life. I will always be in your debt,’ she managed huskily.

  ‘It is nothing, mademoiselle,’ the leader informed her. It is our job, after all.’

  ‘It was the middle of the night,’ Kate pointed out hoarsely. ‘Yet you came…all of you.’ She turned to include the many villagers who had turned out to help their local firemen.

  ‘Monsieur le Comte alerted us,’ one man explained. ‘We all rely on each other here in Villeneuve. It’s a good system, don’t you think, mademoiselle?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ she said, flashing a look at Guy, who showed no sign of wanting to accept any of the credit for saving her life. ‘And now that the fire is out, can I just go back inside and—?’

  ‘Certainly not, mademoiselle,’ the chief fireman insisted. ‘We cannot be sure yet that the cottage is safe. You really must wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘But if I only take a quick look around outside, surely that will be OK?’ As Guy groaned with impatience she saw how the thick black smudges only managed to enhance his incredible bone structure. Only Guy, she thought ruefully, could look like some warrior prince with what looked like camouflage paint striped across his face.

  ‘You’re not going back,’ he said bluntly.

  Kate bristled. She wasn’t used to following orders. ‘But if the fire engine turned so that its lights—’

  ‘I know you’ve had a frightening experience and I know you’re upset,’ Guy told her, ‘but you’re not thinking straight. These men left their beds to come here.’

  A rush of heat spread across her cheeks as Kate realised he was right. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘It can wait.’ It couldn’t, but she knew it would have to.

  With their job completed, the villagers and the firemen began to peel away, singly and in groups, until just Kate and Guy were left together on the grassy bank in front of the cottage. The only light came from the slivers of moonshine that managed to penetrate the thick canopy of trees.

  ‘I’m taking you home with me,’ he said, starting to lead her away.

  ‘Oh, no, I—’ She tried to pull back and then stopped. What was she going to do? She had nothing with her and was only wearing the top of her pyjamas under a filthy, wet robe. She could hardly bed down in the forest dressed like that.

  ‘Until we know the cottage is safe you cannot even start to repair…redecorate, let alone move back in. It may be quite some time before it is fit for habitation,’ Guy said as he gave her an encouraging nudge towards the path.

  Kate grimaced. The shock had put everything out of her head. But this was hardly the time to tell Guy that the cottage had to be ready in under three weeks’ time because that was when her first guests arrived.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, urging her to keep in step with him. ‘You’re shivering. And it’s not that cold. If you’re in shock the sooner I can put you to bed the better.’

  ‘At the château?’

  ‘Of course at the château, where else?’ he said speeding up.

  ‘I’m being a terrible nuisance,’ Kate said, forced to jog to keep up with him.

  ‘No more than I remember,’ he murmured dryly as he steered her through the trees and back on to the path that led to his home.

  Being treated like a dainty porcelain doll that might break if it was handled too roughly was something new for Kate. But that was exactly how Madame Duplessis, Guy’s formidable housekeeper, insisted she had to be looked after. It was she who had opened the magnificent double doors for them just before dawn that morning, already dressed in her customary uniform of crisply tailored shirt-waister dress, a garment Kate remembered she possessed in any number of sober colours. Clucking with alarm when she had seen the state Kate was in, Madame Duplessis had whisked her away from Guy, insisting she took a warm bath before installing her in one of the sumptuous guest bedrooms. Here Kate had been force-fed with a cup of hot milk, having first been clothed in a floor-length fleecy robe in a soft shade of coral and a long-sleeved cotton nightdress buttoned up to the neck.

  If she hadn’t been suffering such emotional turmoil she might actually have enjoyed the pampering. Instead, she found herself sitting up in a bed made for Daddy Bear, plucking at the sheets and fretting. At least she had extracted a promise from Guy that, whatever happened, he would take her back to the cottage later that morning… The thought of that alone was enough to send her pulse-rate soaring. But first they had to give Madame Duplessis the slip. As far as that redoubtable lady was concerned, Kate would need to convalesce at Château Villeneuve for the next few months after the terrible shock she had sustained.

  Just being close to Guy was therapeutic enough, but there were other consolations too, Kate mused as she gazed out through one of the tall sash windows by her bed. From her eyrie high in one of the pink-roofed fairytale towers, she had the most magnificent view over the formal gardens at the front of the château, laid out centuries earlier, in homage to Versailles.

  The sound of fountains playing in the background was just audible above the steady hum of gardening implements. The team of gardeners had been hard at work since dawn, ensuring that everything was maintained in the pristine condition demanded by the intricate design. But it hadn’t always been like this, Kate remembered. When she was small, the gardens had been overgrown and disorganised like every other part of the estate. Guy’s father might have been known as the most charming aristocrat in France, but he had also been the most impractical. She could see that Guy had inherited not only the best of his father’s qualities, but some other genes that had driven him to restore his ramshackle birthplace as soon as he was able to. He had already explained how he was using ancient plans and drawings whenever possible in order to ensure authenticity and that it was a project that would take him many years to complete.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and her heart shot into overdrive as she watched it swing open. But it was only a young maid in a sky-blue and white gingham dress who had come to collect the breakfast tray. As the girl prepared to shut the door behind her with the tray balanced on one hip, she paused.

  ‘Monsieur le Comte sends his compliments, mademoiselle. He hopes you slept well and will see you in the gazebo at noon, if that is convenient to you.’

  Kate felt her face flush pink at the prospect. ‘It is convenient,’ she confirmed, willing her voice to remain steady. ‘And thank you for the breakfast,’ she called as the girl backed out.

  ‘Ce n’est rien, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Oh, there is one thing more,’ Kate said, remembering that she had arrived in a filthy bathrobe and the top of her pyjamas. ‘I don’t suppose there are any clothes I could borrow? Just until I return home.’

  The maid’s smile grew wider. ‘
But mademoiselle, Monsieur le Comte has arranged everything for you. You will find all you need in the dressing room adjoining your bathroom.’

  ‘Of course,’ Kate said hesitantly.

  ‘I hope you like the clothes, mademoiselle. A courier arrived with an exquisite selection from the latest collections only minutes ago,’ the maid revealed shyly. ‘Monsieur le Comte surprised us—’ She stopped abruptly, perhaps thinking she had overstepped the mark.

  ‘Go on,’ Kate prompted with a smile. ‘You can’t stop now.’

  ‘Well, we thought them very pretty, mademoiselle…and you know men and shopping.’ She lifted her shoulders in an elegant little shrug.

  ‘Yes,’ Kate agreed, raising her eyebrows in amusement. ‘I know just what you mean.’

  The fact that everyone was gossiping about her hardly mattered, Kate thought. She would be gone soon enough, and Guy would no doubt have some far more sophisticated companion in her place. But for now she was going to revel in her time at the château. Of course she had been to ‘the big house’ before, as Aunt Alice had quaintly referred to the colossal and utterly magnificent edifice that was Château Villeneuve. But Kate had never expected to sleep beneath its roof…or one of its many roofs, she mused, smiling as she tried to count exactly how many upside-down rose-tinted ice cream cones there were…

  For her part, she had always thought of the château as Sleeping Beauty’s palace, and as a little girl had fantasised about her leading role in the drama of life there. What a shame there were no fairy tales for grown ups, she mused with a wry smile. But, even if there had been, everyone knew there was no possibility of fairy tales ever coming true. If that was the case the fire would never have happened, she would be wearing Aunt Alice’s locket around her neck and Guy would know her true intentions for La Petite Maison…

  Was there a way round the problem? It had been bad enough getting his permission to live in the cottage. If he imagined for one moment that she intended turning it into a guest house… After everything he had done for her she hated herself for deceiving him. And the longer that deception was allowed to continue, the harder it would be to tell him the truth.