The French Count's Mistress Page 9

  ‘Of course you can have some,’ Kate said, relenting. If they sent him packing he’d only be back—and he might have come about something important—like saying he would overlook the covenants. Before she knew it he had dropped into a chair, groaning with contentment as he bit into the softly yielding lemon sponge.

  ‘Delicious,’ he murmured, closing his eyes to savour it. ‘I must have more.’

  ‘No, you mustn’t,’ Megan said decisively, swooping on the door and holding it open for him. ‘I’ll not have you shirking your duties now you’re shouldering the responsibility of this estate.’

  Guy took Megan’s mock-scolding a lot better than she took his teasing, Kate noticed. But as he reached the door he paused. Sweeping up Megan’s hand in his own, he brought it to his lips and murmured, ‘I’ll only do as you say if you agree to have dinner with me at the château this evening, Ms O’Reilly, and be sure to bring along your delightful hostess, Mademoiselle Foster. Then,’ he added, throwing a penetrating glance at Kate, ‘we can discuss the possibility of art lessons—privately, or in a group, it makes no difference to me. Though we would have to find you some accommodation where you could teach,’ he pointed out while his eyes affected a beguiling innocence. ‘The covenants on this cottage are quite specific, you know, Megan. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to encourage Kate to fall foul of them. Well, am I right, Ms O’Reilly?’

  As he made a final mocking bow, Megan made a noise roughly similar to Concorde taking off. ‘That boy doesn’t change,’ she complained as Kate went to shut the door on him.

  ‘That boy is nearly forty years old, over six foot tall and has amassed a fortune in the region of a billion Euros,’ Kate pointed out quietly as she watched Guy stride off down the path. ‘He’s no fool…’

  ‘I’ll expect you both at eight,’ he called back, almost as if he knew she would still be there watching him.

  ‘He’s still a boy to me,’ Megan grumbled, knowing she had been well and truly outmanoeuvred. ‘I just hope he knows how to cook.’

  ‘I think he keeps a chef at the château now,’ Kate murmured distractedly as her eyes trailed Guy’s back until he had disappeared out of sight.

  ‘Well, you’re taking it all very calmly, I must say,’ Megan observed when Kate finally let the latch drop.

  Leaning back against the door, Kate exhaled with relief.

  ‘Well, say something,’ Megan pressed. ‘Aren’t you worried at all?’

  ‘Of course I’m worried. And not just about the covenants.’

  ‘Explain.’

  It wouldn’t make Megan feel any better to know that the covenants were by far the least of Kate’s worries. ‘What can I do, Megan?’ she said finally. ‘We’ll just have to carry on with our plans as if everything was OK.’

  ‘And Guy?’ Megan pressed.

  ‘I’ll tell Guy—when the moment’s right.’

  ‘And when will that be?’ Megan demanded, drumming her fingertips on the table.

  ‘Before our first guests arrive,’ Kate said, more in an effort to convince herself than in an attempt to placate Megan.

  ‘Just don’t leave it until the last minute.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Kate said confidently. ‘Now, would you like a bath? Thanks to Giles mending the range I’ve got plenty of hot water, even if I’m still waiting for the electricity to be switched on.’

  ‘No electricity!’ Megan exclaimed. ‘Lord save us! What are you thinking, child? You can’t run a guest house without electricity…’

  ‘I’ve managed perfectly well up until now,’ Kate replied. ‘And if necessary I shall run the cottage for profit in exactly the same way. Because you see, Megan, no one—not even Guy, Count de Villeneuve himself—is going to stop me making La Petite Maison one of the most successful retreats in the world.’

  ‘Then I wish you luck, Kate,’ Megan said, suddenly serious. ‘Because if I know Guy, you’re going to need it.’

  He sent a car for them. Not just any old car, or the four-wheel-drive Guy used to get about the estate, but a sleek aubergine-coloured limousine complete with uniformed driver.

  ‘Are you impressed? Because I am!’ Megan enthused, though Kate noticed her eyes were on the driver rather than the car.

  Kate hummed her agreement as she gazed out of the window. How she had ever agreed to this she had no idea. And she was wearing The Dress. She gave a wry smile. Once she would probably have turned up in blue jeans with holes in them just to be awkward, but now… Well, it was rather nice to wear a couture dress for once. In fact, now she had the money to do so, she would probably wear a lot more of them. Guy had given her an appetite—

  ‘All right, pet? No regrets about this dinner engagement?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Kate admitted wryly.

  Guy was waiting for them outside the grand double entrance door to the château. His pale jacket only accentuated the rich bronze tones of his skin and Kate thought his muscular legs seemed longer than ever as he loped down the steps to greet them.

  ‘Welcome,’ he exclaimed, holding open the door for her before the chauffeur could get to it. ‘Welcome to Château Villeneuve, Kate. It’s good to have you here for a social visit rather than a period of recuperation.’

  ‘A very short recuperation,’ she reminded him as his warm hand closed around hers.

  ‘But an enjoyable one, I hope.’

  ‘Of course. I have always loved the château,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice even while he kept hold of her hand.

  ‘Well, you will be seeing it at its best tonight. I have arranged for all the lights to be turned on when it is quite dark and that runs into tens of thousands of bulbs. It should be quite a sight,’ he promised. ‘And for you, Ms O’Reilly—’ he turned and, having slipped Kate’s hand through his arm he offered his other to Megan ‘—I have invited another good friend of mine, Professor Gilman from the Tokyo Gallery in Paris, to discuss developments in modern art with you.’

  ‘Professor Gilman!’

  Kate could see that Megan was really impressed. ‘That’s good of you, Guy,’ she said, giving his arm a squeeze.

  ‘Good? It’s bloody marvellous!’ Megan exclaimed. ‘Have you any idea who Professor Gilman is, Kate?’

  ‘None. But I’m sure you’ll enlighten me,’ Kate teased her old friend distractedly while her mind was still fixed on corded muscles beneath an impeccably tailored suit. ‘Will your mother be joining us, Guy?’ she said, determined to keep her rational mind in the ascendant.

  ‘It’s too soon to tell,’ he replied.

  A trace of melancholy darkened the brilliance of his eyes as he turned to look at her. ‘I had hoped that when she heard you were here she would come down from her room. But, well, we shall see. I shall not press her.’

  ‘If I can do anything…anything at all.’

  ‘I’ll let you know,’ he said, smiling at Megan when she expressed the same sentiments.

  Following effortless introductions by Guy, Megan was soon deep in conversation with Professor Gilman, who turned out to be a shrewd-looking middle-aged woman in a designer suit rather than the hoary old man of Kate’s imagination. ‘You did well there,’ she told Guy as they stood watching the two women stroll up the sweeping marble staircase to admire his works of art.

  ‘I gave the ancestors leave of absence,’ he explained. ‘All the older paintings are being stored in the attic rooms and I’ve replaced them with a rather interesting collection of modern works—some of them by students I think might have a future…’

  ‘I meant you’ve done well introducing Megan to Professor Gilman,’ Kate said, unlinking her arm when Guy made no move to do so. ‘They seem to have a lot in common.’

  ‘I like to bring people together,’ he said simply. Then, turning to Kate, he surveyed her slowly and appreciatively, his silver-grey eyes darkening as they lingered on her face. ‘Thank you for wearing that dress.’

  ‘It’s no hardship,’ she admitted with more bravura than she felt. There was a chan
ce she could melt into a puddle of desire right there in front of him when she saw what he meant to do.

  Lightly, almost lazily, he ran the tip of one finger down from just beneath her cleavage to a point where the skirt flirted out around her hips. “‘See where she comes, apparelled like the spring—’”

  ‘Guy, I—’

  ‘Bellini?’

  ‘I thought it was Shakespeare—’

  ‘Drink, silly.’

  ‘Oh, yes please.’ Had her wits taken flight? Kate wondered as he reclaimed her arm. Arousal threw rosy shadows across her cheeks, but she knew it was far safer to imagine it was the suggestion of champagne cocktails that put the heat into her face. As a child she had always envied the guests at the château the fragrant peach juice and champagne mix, which she remembered them sipping out of tall crystal flutes.

  ‘Do you remember?’ Guy guessed, as he drew her across the hall.

  ‘When you made one specially for me?’

  ‘I put a drop of champagne on the top—’

  ‘It tickled my nose. Yes, I remember,’ she said.

  ‘I might allow you to have a slightly stronger mix tonight.’

  ‘You’ll allow?’ she challenged softly.

  ‘Doesn’t the idea of being mastered appeal to you…if only for an evening?’ he suggested provocatively as they walked out on to the terrace.

  ‘Equality appeals to me far more.’

  ‘In some things, perhaps.’

  ‘In everything,’ Kate insisted, with a little more force than she had intended, but she had to do something to marshal her wayward senses. To her surprise Guy seemed to like her answer.

  ‘Still the same feisty Kate.’

  ‘And does that please you?’

  ‘Mais oui,’ he said, throwing her a long steady look. ‘It pleases me very much.’

  It was hard to think straight when she was being bombarded with sensation. In spite of his reserve since The Kiss, what Guy seemed to be saying was that he wanted her. Could it be true? Everything about the setting conspired against it. There were at least three servants standing discreetly in the shadows of the terrace—and then there was Megan—and the Professor.

  Kate’s head shot up abruptly as Guy pressed the foaming glass into her hand. Was she going crazy? Had she lost all semblance of sanity? This wasn’t a game. This was Count Guy de Villeneuve and she was Kate Foster, a successful businesswoman certainly, but one who moved in a different world from the enigmatic man by her side. Her fantasies seemed to suggest that she should simply take him by the hand and lead him upstairs to one of the twenty or so bedroom suites… She gulped the whole glass down barely tasting it. A one-night stand—was that really what she wanted? A man like Guy would think nothing of a woman who threw herself at him. Kate knew from the scandal sheets that there were more of those than he knew what to do with already. They had all met the same fate, she reminded herself, willing ice into her veins and stone into her heart.

  ‘Why so serious, Kate?’ Guy asked as he refilled her glass.

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ he argued as his lips tugged down in a rueful smile. ‘Perhaps this second glass will help…if you sip it.’

  Kate’s senses flared at the reproof. She loved it when he scolded her. It was no use pretending. Independence was fine in the real world, but this was a moment out of time where fantasies ruled. She wanted nothing more than to be taken by him into the deepest heart of his fairy-tale château; a place that was dark and still. Perhaps to the dungeons where he could tie her up with silken ropes and keep her for himself for ever…

  ‘Dinner is served, sir.’

  ‘Kate?’

  Kate woke as if from a trance, a dangerous trance, she realised, as she felt her nipples rubbing painfully on the cleverly concealed bones as they fought the tight confines of the bodice. And as she took Guy’s arm again and began to walk she realised that the deliciously sensitised place between her legs had assumed such a high state of arousal no amount of self-control could hope to purge it now. She was wet. Very, very wet. She could only be thankful that the delicate skirt of the dress was composed of several layers and all of them shaded—a damp stain wouldn’t show—though it was almost impossible to hide the state she was in when her rapid breathing had to struggle to keep pace with her heart.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Guy murmured with his mouth very close to her ear.

  ‘I’m fine—perhaps a little cold,’ she added as a quiver ran through her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Walking with Guy was like taking a shower of sensation, Kate thought, basking in the torturing needles as they raced each other through her body. And then, just when she had believed it impossible to feel anything more acutely, as they were about to leave the terrace and enter the château again, he held the door open for her—but, instead of standing back while she walked through, he remained with his hand leaning against it so that she was forced to pass under his arm. The sense of domination was overwhelming. With that one gesture he made her feel tiny and vulnerable and cherished, whilst he towered over her like some lusty knight from an ancient engraving; commanding and powerful, seductive and vigorous…

  ‘Dinner will be served on the Grand Terrace,’ he said as he took her through another door. ‘From here you can see all the lights.’

  Collecting herself, Kate turned around. What she saw was completely mesmerising. ‘I’ve never seen anything so lovely,’ she murmured. From every window in every turret of the château lights twinkled and blazed against the deep blue velvet of the cloudless night sky.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Like it? It’s absolutely stunning—’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But nothing—except…’

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted as they walked towards the intimate table set for four under a silken canopy in the centre of the huge formal terrace.

  ‘So many more people could have enjoyed it. It’s such a shame your father couldn’t have…’ She could have bitten off her tongue when she saw the flash of pain in Guy’s eyes.

  ‘There was never any money to do this,’ he said quietly as he held out her chair.

  ‘And this is one thing on which I will not compromise,’ he reminded her. ‘The Villeneuve estate cannot play host to hordes of people and remain a smooth-running machine…’

  ‘A smooth-running machine,’ Kate echoed softly.

  ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘For a business?’ She shrugged. ‘Yes, of course, I like to think that my business is a smooth-running machine. But Château Villeneuve is so beautiful, Guy. The architecture, the grounds, the interior are all exquisite.’

  ‘All the more reason, surely, to keep it exclusive, to retain its mystique, preserve its perfection.’

  ‘You make it sound like a museum.’

  ‘And so it is, in many ways.’

  ‘Oh?’ Kate said softly. ‘I thought it was your home.’

  Megan and Professor Gilman joined them then, remarking on the splendour of the lighting display as they walked up the broad expanse of stone steps that led up to the terrace.

  ‘Everything all right, Kate?’ Megan asked discreetly as she took her place at the table.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me,’ Megan whispered.

  ‘All right, then,’ Kate said, flashing a glance at Guy, who was conferring with his sommelier on the serving of the wine, and Professor Gilman, who was studying an interesting modern silver peppershaker. ‘I can tell you now that he’s absolutely adamant about enforcing the no-holiday-home rule on the estate. The only way I could get away with it is to offer free holidays—make out that everyone was my personal guest…’

  ‘Now there’s a thought.’

  ‘And where would your wages come from?’

  ‘Point taken.’

  ‘But look at all this, Megan,’ Kate said, swivelling round in her seat. ‘There’s nothing like it in the whole of Europe—but at the same
time there’s no life here. It’s fabulously beautiful, but sterile and bleak.’

  ‘It needs an injection of Kate, if you ask me,’ Megan supplied, planting her chin on her hand as she surveyed the spectacle of lights.

  ‘The only thing missing here are the crowds,’ Professor Gilman said when Guy had finished his discussion.’

  ‘Exactement,’ Guy said, shooting a look at Kate as if to make sure she had heard the professor’s remark.

  ‘But a few more people couldn’t hurt,’ Professor Gilman added, unaware of the undercurrents around the table. ‘Forgive my bluntness, Count, but I can’t help thinking that you must get awfully lonely here.’

  ‘Lonely? No,’ he said. ‘I confess there used to be a lot more people here when there were holiday homes on the estate. But I’m afraid there just isn’t room for that sort of thing now.’

  ‘I can understand your reticence,’ the Professor continued. ‘I have seen some dreadfully insensitive commercialisations of similar heritage sites. But surely several discreet properties could only enhance the area—give it the appearance of a real working estate. I imagine that most of your staff live in the village these days?’

  ‘That’s true,’ Guy admitted. ‘But I’m sure with the right incentives I could lure them back here.’

  ‘Surely not, when they have everything they need on their doorstep,’ the Professor argued. ‘Whereas one or two holiday homes of the type I’ve described might add a little spice to this glorious but rather secluded environment. After all, people are prepared to make a little more effort in the short term…’

  ‘Ah, that’s where Mademoiselle Foster comes in,’ Guy said dryly.

  ‘Oh, really?’ the Professor said, turning to Kate. ‘I had no idea that you lived here.’

  ‘I have the only remaining holiday home on the estate.’

  ‘Is that right?’ the Professor said, her curiosity aroused.

  ‘I believe Kate has some innovative ideas for the place,’ Guy said innocently.

  ‘Ideas?’ Professor Gilman said, turning to Kate. ‘For a business?’

  If Professor Gilman had been anyone else Kate might have suspected Guy had put her up to it. She looked across the table to see if Megan could come up with another of her brilliant diversionary conversational tactics. But she was out of luck this time.