The restaurant turned out to be as charming as he'd predicted, with low beams and dried flowers, pristine tablecloths and attentive service. The food was undeniably delicious, and his company, she admitted reluctantly, was delightful.
Raoul went out of his way to put her at ease and to make her feel good in his company. He didn't quite understand why he was bothering to go to all this effort, though being pleasant to women came naturally to him. Still, something in Natasha compelled him.
'Raoul, I want to ask you a question.' She laid her forearms on the table and clasped her hands.
'Go right ahead, ma ch,' he invited, taking a sip of the excellent claret he'd ordered.
'It's about your ancestor, Regis d'Argentan. What exactly happened to him and Natasha? Why is everyone so secretive about them?'
The raised glass poised in mid-air. 'Why are you so curious about the past?' he asked, swirling the wine.
'Because it fascinates me. I want to know all about the history of the place. After all, I've decided to make it my home. I know that Natasha de Saugure and Regis were in some way connected.' She hesitated, then decided to tell him. 'You know, a funny thing happened the other night.' She glanced at him, swallowed, wondered if she should divulge her experience.
'Go on,' he urged, looking at her eyes narrowed. 'What happened?' He laid his glass down, giving her his full attention.
'Well, you'll probably think I'm mad, but I could have sworn that I saw her, standing in the doorway of the salon.'
'Saw who?' His brows met in a thick ridge above his patrician nose.
'Natasha de Saugure. I—well, this all sounds so silly, but—' She raised her hands and looked embarrassed.
'There is nothing silly about seeing a ghost,' he remarked, as though it were an everyday occurrence.
'You mean, you think it actually could be her?'
'Why not? It is not uncommon for strange things to be seen in ancient demeures. Whether they are real or not can be debated. But there are those who claim to have seen them.'
'Have you seen ghosts at your castle?' she enquired, brows shooting up.
'I wouldn't go so far as to put it in the plural.' He laughed. 'But there have apparently been sightings at certain times. Not that I give much credibility to such stories,' he added, eyeing her again, as though he were about to say more but then thought better of it.
'Raoul, do tell me—please.' She reached her hand across the table and placed it on his forearm. Raoul looked down, felt his arm tingle at the touch of her fingers, and restrained a sudden urge to take the hand in his and hold it.
'It all happened a long time ago,' he said reluctantly as she removed her fingers. 'Regis was a young man at the start of the French Revolution. He fought for the aristos and got himself involved in complicated doings.'
'Oh? Such as?'
'He was not wise in his choice of friends,' Raoul answered shortly. 'Now, shall we choose dessert? The strawberries should be excellent at this time of year.'
'Raoul, please don't fob me off. I want to know.'
'I'm sure Monsieur le Curé can give you a better and more balanced account of the past than I.'
'But why? It's just a story of something that happened over two centuries ago. Surely it's not that important?'
'Apparently important enough for it to still haunt the present. You told me you believe you saw Natasha. How do you know it was her?'
'Because she looked the same as the girl in the portrait on the stairs. I'm certain.'
'You know why Natasha was called Natasha?' he asked, changing the subject subtly.
'No, actually, I don't. I didn't even know it was a family name until I came here. My father never mentioned it. I just thought my parents liked the name.'
'Natasha's mother came from a noble Russian family. That is why she named her daughter thus.'
'And Regis fell in love with her?' She looked him straight in the eye.
'Yes,' he said slowly. 'Regis fell in love with her.'
'But?'
'How do you know there was a "but"?' he queried.
'Because of the way you said it. Because in the family book of the Argentans she appears as nothing more than a hand-scribbled note in the margin. Not as his wife.'
'Natasha played fast and loose with him,' he retorted sharply. 'She played with his feelings and his safety. It was a difficult and dangerous time. He took extraordinary risks for her sake and she—well, she did something unforgivable.'
'I see. So the family never got over their hurt pride.'
'That is ridiculous,' he scoffed, snapping the menu shut. 'Hurt pride, indeed. We are talking of honour, mademoiselle. Natasha had no honour. She pledged her word to Regis and then flew into the arms of a revolutionary.'
'I see.'
'No, you don't. Few people today understand those times. She prostituted herself with a traitor.'
'Was there a reason for her action? Didn't she love Regis?'
'So she claimed,' he said witheringly. 'But she was all too happy to spread her legs for the local revolutionary leader. It caused a rift between the Argentans and the Saugures for several generations. But thankfully that is all in the past, and the two families maintain friendly relations once again.'
'I see.' Seeing the anger in his eyes, and the taut expression, Natasha realized she'd do better to change the subject. At least now that she knew a part of the story she could get the Curé to tell her more. 'I think strawberries would be an excellent choice,' she said, smiling winningly, glad to see his features relax.
'With cream?'
'Why not? Though I've eaten so much these past few days I must be putting on pounds.'
'You certainly don't look any heavier to me,' he responded, his eyes giving her a quick, all-encompassing scrutiny that left her swallowing and wondering how, in the Hick of an instant, he could make her feel as though he'd undressed her. When his eyes rested a moment longer on her breasts she felt her nipples stiffen and ache longingly against her thin cotton bra. How could she be so brazen? How could this man leave her so vulnerable, so needy?
As though he could read her every thought, Raoul smiled and reached his hand across the table. 'Natasha, let me tell you something.'
'What's that?' she asked warily.
'To want is not a sin. It is a natural, healthy reaction. And don't pretend you don't know what I mean, because you do. Very well. Last night proved that to me.'
'Last night was—was an aberration,' she muttered, trying to resist the delicious sensation of his finger caressing the inside of her bare forearm in what was turning into a dangerously erotic motion.
'Last night was the proof that you want to make love with me,' he murmured huskily. 'In fact, I have already made love to you. Only not fully. The rest is still to come.'
'I—'
'Shush…' he ordered, slipping a finger over her lips. 'No more words. Just allow things to take their course. But, please, don't resist what we both know must occur between us.'
To her relief the waiter appeared with the strawberries' and Raoul immediately returned to his former self. It was so hard to know what to do, she reflected, savouring the delectable fruit on her tongue, unaware of how sexy she looked as she bit into the fruit's red texture. Part of her admitted he was right. That sooner or later the fire must be consumed for it to burn out. Another part told her to take care, to beware, not to give in to him so easily, even though he knew perfectly well what her feelings were.
CHAPTER TEN
BY THE time they'd finished dinner and returned to the Ferrari it was dark. A near full moon lit the inky sky, illuminating the pretty Norman village with its hanging flower baskets, neat cobbled streets and crooked Tudor-style houses. She sighed. If anyone had told her a few weeks ago that she was going to be driving through a Norman village in a Ferrari, next to one of the handsomest men she'd ever met whose sexual advances she was finding it hard to resist, she would have laughed outright. Yet now the thought of spending a whole night in Raoul's ar
ms enticed more than it frightened.
'There is somewhere I would like to show you before I take you home,' he said, taking a turning on the country road bordered by shadowy hedgerows.
'What's that?' she clasped her hands nervously.
'A place I think you may find intriguing.' He kept his eyes on the road and said no more until they'd turned off down a country lane, at the end of which stood a small yet well-kept cottage.
'What is this?' she asked, her heart missing a beat.
'It is the cottage where Natasha and Regis used to meet in secret in the days of the Terror and after,' he replied quietly. 'It was here they made love for the first time.'
Her head flew round and she looked at him, not knowing what to say. It was obvious that he'd brought her here for a reason. But why, when he seemed so angry about these ancestors, would he want to bring her to the very spot where they'd come together?
'I brought you here because I thought it might be nice for you to see the cottage,' he said, his tone non-committal as he got out of the vehicle.
Two minutes later they were walking towards the front door. Raoul produced a large, ancient, heavy-looking key and inserted it in the lock. Soon the door creaked open.
'How come you have the key to this place?' she asked, stepping inside.
'Because I own it. It is part of the Argentan estate.' He switched on the light and Natasha looked about her, amazed at how little must have changed since the days when the two lovers had met here in secret.
'It must have looked just like this when they were here,' she whispered, allowing her fingers to trail over the ancient velvet settee.
'Yes, I believe very little has changed. My grandmother had the furniture re-upholstered, and some of the pieces restored. Also she had bathrooms and electricity installed. But come,' he said, reaching for her hand and leading her towards the stairs.
And suddenly she knew why they were here.
This was it, Natasha realized, overwhelmed by the significance of being in this place. Was it a trick? A way of getting her to submit to his desire for her? Or was there more to his sudden decision to bring her here?
As they climbed the ancient crooked stairs Natasha's pulse leapt and her skin tingled with anticipation. When they reached the door of the bedroom and he opened it she hesitated.
'This is where they made love,' he said quietly, drawing her inside, 'and this is where I shall make love to you,' he murmured, moving inside and lighting two candelabra perched on the stone mantel over the fireplace.
Natasha looked about her at the four-poster bed, draped in ancient tapestries, noting that it had been made up with fresh linen, as though awaiting them. There were flowers on the windowsill. The room glowed softly under the flickering flames of the candles and all she could do was imagine the two young people of long ago, entwined on that same bed.
But before her imagination could reach any further back in time Raoul was fixing her in the present. He moved across the room and placed his hands on her shoulders. Their eyes locked as though mesmerized, caught in the magic of the moment. When he began slowly unzipping her dress and unhooking her bra she made no protest, merely waited for his lips to touch hers, to feel what was fast becoming a familiar delicious exchange of sensations. Before the kiss was over, his tongue teasing expertly, her clothes were lying strewn about her on the floor and she stood naked before him.
Drawing his head away, Raoul took a step back and studied her. 'Beautiful,' he said, his voice husky, 'Just as I knew you would be. Come.'
Unable to do more than surrender to his command, Natasha took his hand and allowed him to lay her on the bed.
He was extraordinarily tender, not the fierce lover she'd imagined, and as she lay among the lavender-scented sheets all she could do was close her eyes and feel, bask in the delight of his ever more intimate caresses, feeling his lips lightly graze the tips of her nipples, his fingers slipping gently between her thighs, languorously discovering each tiny secret spot of pleasure until she could bear it no more. Arching towards him, Natasha let out a small cry as at last he brought her to satisfaction.
Raoul gazed down at her, eyes gleaming. She was wondrous, deliciously wondrous. But he had only just begun.
In several quick movements he had divested himself of his clothes and was lying next to her, naked. She had no experience of men, he realized as his hands resumed their wanderings, and to his surprise he discovered that he liked it that way. Part of her was hesitant and stiff, and he sensed there must be a story behind it. All at once he felt angry with whoever the man was in her past, who'd made love to her incompetently. But he would remedy that, he vowed, reaching over and placing himself above her.
'I am going to make love to you, ch,' he murmured, opening her thighs with his knee. 'Just lie back and enjoy it.'
Natasha could do no more than let out a long sigh and obey. When she felt him thrust firmly inside her a little gasp escaped her. Then her muscles relaxed and she let him enter deep inside, each thrust bringing him closer to her core. Then, without realizing it, she picked up his rhythm. Her hips arched and moved with him as their bodies intertwined. Finally, when neither could bear it any longer, they came together, hurtling over the edge, exploding with pleasure before tumbling among the sheets and lying saturated in each other's arms.
He had expected a pleasurable experience, but nothing like this, Raoul reflected once he was able to think straight. He had not made love to a woman like this in years, had not met with such reciprocated passion—ever.
The shock of the truth of this last statement hit him like an inside curve ball. Mon Dieu, this could become dangerous. Already was. He had never allowed anyone to reach into the confines of his heart. Not since Janine. Not since he'd suffered rejection. Once was quite enough, and he'd vowed at the early age of nineteen never to subject himself again to such raw humiliation.
But as he looked down at Natasha's sleeping form, her lovely golden mane strewn carelessly over the pillow, glistening in the moonlight, he felt something he hadn't thought he still possessed: a feeling of deep tenderness.
Quickly he rose from the bed and, slipping on an ancient silk dressing gown that hung behind the door, he moved towards the window, where he perched on the ledge. What had incited him to bring Natasha to this place? It had been a foolish decision, he realized in retrospect. For, although this night had been very near perfect, the spot held other connotations. Deep implications for both their families. And, since he had no intention of pursuing an affair with her, it was dangerous. Now he'd bedded her he must consider himself satisfied and be off to Paris first thing. There was no use hanging around and letting her believe he was prepared to get involved, for he wasn't. As he'd remarked several times, women had a disagreeable tendency to mistake a good night's sex for love. And he'd be willing to bet that Natasha was no exception.
He sighed. Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn't it all be simple? He would love to have another few nights like this, with no strings attached. But he had the nasty feeling that wasn't going to be possible.
Just then Natasha opened her eyes sleepily and stretched. So it had finally happened. She had let Raoul make love to her. All at once she came to, and realized she was alone in the bed. Fully awake now, she let her eyes wander across the room and she saw him, silhouetted in the moonlight. She experienced a wave of tenderness. How wonderful it had been, how simple and unimaginably perfect.
Natasha's eyes rested on Raoul and her pulse beat faster. He had made love to her, here in the very bed where their ancestors had joined, in this nest of forbidden passion. But common sense prevailed and she quickly told herself not to set too much store by this. She'd had a feeling Raoul might use whatever lures he thought necessary to break down her resistance.
And he had.
She had fallen for the bait, if bait it had been. Perhaps she was being cynical. Perhaps for now she would let herself believe that he too had sensed the shadow of the past hovering over them, and that som
ething inexplicable had compelled him to bring her here rather than just lust.
Slipping from the bed, Natasha tiptoed across the ancient wooden floor. 'Awake?' she whispered.
Raoul turned, startled by her unexpected approach.
'I'm enjoying the night,' he said, slipping an arm about her and drawing her close. 'Look at that moon. It shines so clear and so bright.'
'I wonder if they ever had a night like this,' she murmured.
'You mean Regis and Natasha?' he queried, stiffening.
'No. I meant the local cats, Raoul. You know perfectly well 1 meant our ancestors. And I don't know why you're so loath to talk about them. After all, you're the one who brought me here,' she added, cross with him for pretending to misunderstand.
'I know. And I have been regretting it for the past half-hour. It was a silly notion.'
A stab of hot pain pierced her soul.
So she'd been right. It had been nothing but a clever ploy, a manner in which to pierce her shield and reach her at her most vulnerable. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she moved from the curve of his arm.
'I think we'd better get back. I have a lot to do tomorrow,' she muttered in as firm a voice as she could muster. It was hard to swallow, hard to think, hard to hold back the tears burning her eyes. But she was determined that Raoul wouldn't see how deeply the experience had affected her. Let him think that, like him, she had merely taken pleasure in an enjoyable bout of sex and now she was ready to move on.
'Very well,' he answered, lifting his brows. A strange feeling of emptiness gripped him as he watched her move towards the bathroom—a modern addition his grandmother had insisted on. He hadn't expected her to react quite like this. Perhaps he'd been too brusque. But he didn't want to get into a whole diatribe about Regis and the former Natasha. Particularly now that he'd decided to cool things down a tad.
At the French Baron's Bidding Page 8
