He hadn't asked her if she remembered anything when they'd been having tea downstairs. As perceptive as he was, he hadn't needed to verbalize a question whose answer was obvious to him.
She didn't know how she was going to be able to face all of them again over dinner, but she had very little choice. In the meantime, she would rest.
After removing all but her underwear, Sherye slipped into bed, deliberately seeking oblivion from a cold and bewildering world.
Chapter 6
Sherye woke to shadowed light. For a moment she felt disoriented, unable to place where she was or why she was there. The wide, comfortable bed was nothing like the hospital bed she'd grown used to during the past few weeks. She lay still, allowing her gaze to wander around the large, high-ceilinged room with its opulent furnishings.
Was this how Sleeping Beauty must have felt, waking up after a hundred years? Nothing looked familiar to her, and for an agonizing moment she thought her memory had deserted her.
Then she remembered the events of her homecoming. She was at Raoul's chateau. She'd come upstairs to rest... now she remembered.
She propped herself up on her elbows to get a better glimpse of the clock. The hands pointed to a few minutes past seven. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late meeting everyone downstairs before dinner.
The rest had done her good. She felt restored, with no sign of the headache that plagued her whenever she grew tired or was under pressure to force a particular memory. At least she had time to shower and change before returning downstairs to meet her family once again.
She sat up in bed before she realized that she didn't know whether or not her room came with a bath. She hadn't taken time to explore when she'd come up earlier. There were two doors in the wall opposite. Perhaps one of them led into a private bath.
She slipped out of bed and silently crossed the floor to one of the doors. When she opened it she discovered not a bathroom as she had hoped but another bedroom. Despite the drawn drapes she could make out a figure asleep in the bed. How strange. Who else would be sleeping at this time of day?
The figure on the bed stirred and she froze, several realizations hitting her at once.
She'd been mistaken about the time of day. It was no longer evening, but morning... and the figure in bed was Raoul, sound asleep.
His movement had disarranged his covers and her startled gaze took in the fact that he slept nude. Only a small corner of the sheet covered most of his groin area, revealing a part of his bare hip and the long muscled length of his hair-covered leg.
Drawn to him as though by some magnetic force, Sherye moved on silent feet to the side of the bed. He looked much younger in his sleep without the lines that bracketed his mouth and marked his forehead. His dark hair fell across his forehead in a boyish way and her fingers tingled with the strong desire to brush it away.
She resisted the impulse. Instead she took the opportunity to study the body of the man she knew intimately, if only she could remember.
His body was tanned as though he spent considerable time in the sun without his shirt. Only the small lighter stripe across his hip gave her a clue to his natural color, which was still darker than her own. His skin tanned beautifully, all golden and sleek. She wished that—
His arm unexpectedly snaked toward her and he caught her by her shoulder, pulling her down onto the bed beside him. Caught off guard, she tumbled onto the bed in a graceless heap, embarrassed to have been caught looking at him. She had started to apologize when she noticed that his heavy-lidded eyes were scarcely open. He was still more asleep than awake.
"Mmm," he muttered in a wordless sound of satisfaction just before he wrapped bis arms around her and tugged her against his bare body. Without a pause he rolled until she was beneath him on the bed, his thigh snugly tucked between hers.
"I've missed you," he murmured into the side of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin.
Sherye's heart pounded against her chest as she faced the situation that her curiosity had created. Raoul cupped her breast in his hand, lazily drawing his thumb across the lace-covered tip. His body pressed against hers, leaving her in no doubt of his early-morning arousal.
Her body seemed to come alive, vigorously reacting to the sudden onslaught of sensation. Somehow in all the movement her arms were securely wrapped around him and her fingers—as though unconnected to any thought—lightly examined the smooth expanse of back muscle, causing a ripple of sensation to run over him.
She tried to think clearly but her brain had gone dead and her sensory organs had taken over. She felt as though tiny electrical charges were going off all over her body, sending urgent signals.
Muttering something beneath his breath he shifted until his lips found hers, then he seemed to take complete possession of her in a searing, mind-numbing kiss that promised her some passionate consequences if she didn't do something to stop him.
The problem was that she had no desire to stop him. Not now. How could she have thought him cold or aloof when the bedclothes must be singed and smoking by now by her heated response to him?
He nudged her mouth open and slipped his tongue inside, lazily exploring before he began a pulsing rhythm not only with his kiss but with his thigh that pressed firmly against the apex of her thighs, until she automatically pushed against him in a rhythm of her own. She felt like a victim of spontaneous combustion. All she wanted was to draw him closer and closer to the flaming center of her need.
Suddenly he stiffened and jerked his head up, staring down at her in shock. His eyes had darkened with passion, but now they were open fully and he was seeing her as though for the first time.
Like a man suddenly confronted with a deadly snake, he jerked away from her and rolled, coming up on the far side of the bed, his back to her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" he growled between clenched teeth.
"I—uh—" The change was too abrupt for her to get her mind to function properly.
"You must think you still have some control over me to try this one, Sherye! It won't matter how many times you seduce me, nothing's changed between us. Nothing."
Horrified that he thought she'd come into his room to deliberately— She moaned, his words sufficient to douse all the flames that had been started moments before. "No. I didn't mean— You see, I—"
Grabbing the sheet and twisting it around him, he turned and faced her once more, his gaze running up and down her body with a look of contemptuous lust. "Well, I see the trip must have been a success. You've regained your memory and hope to do everything in your power to erase mine.'' His gaze lingered on her breasts and she immediately crossed her arms in an attempt to shelter her body from his cold stare.
She shook her head, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and down around her face. "I'm sorry. It was inexcusable of me, I know, but I—I woke up and I didn't know where to find the bathroom, so I opened the door and I saw—" She dropped her head, wishing she could disappear without a trace. Never had she felt so humiliated.
He didn't speak. Nor did he move. She couldn't look at him, nor did she have the necessary nerve to get up and walk out of the room wearing no more than her lacy underwear, which revealed more than it concealed.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded tired. "There's no reason for you to apologize. I was dreaming and I thought you were part of that dream, that's all."
She glanced up and saw that he was once again wearing his impassive expression, revealing nothing. She kept her gaze on his eyes, not wanting to visually explore the body that had been giving her so much pleasure only a short white before.
"But you're right. I had no excuse coming in like that, invading your privacy."
He stood, looking dignified and regal despite the fact that only a sheet protected him. He nodded toward a door and said, "We share a bath—through there."
There was nothing she could do except gather her courage and her dignity and walk across the room to the door he had indicated. Just
as she opened the door he said, "Have you discovered anything—or anyone—that looks familiar to you?"
She could feel her face flame at the memory of how close they had been to making love despite the fact that she didn't remember him at all: Unable to speak, she managed to shake her head before closing the door behind her.
This room must have been added at a much later date, or perhaps it was a dressing room that had been converted, because the bathroom fixtures were quite up-to-date and very luxurious. In addition to a whirlpool tub that could seat two quite comfortably, there was a large, glass-walled shower and a long marble counter with double sinks.
She might have moved out of Raoul's bed but she continued to share the intimacy of a bathroom with him.
Their encounter had shaken her, revealing a sensuous nature she hadn't realized she had. She rubbed her fingertips across her lips, feeling the slight puffiness caused by his passion. She traced her mouth with the tip of her tongue, tasting him, and shivered at the remembered sensation of him lying on top of her, his leg thrust between hers as though claiming what he knew was his.
She shook her head in an effort to shake off her memories and her embarrassment at her abandoned response before she turned on the water in the shower, adjusted the temperature and pressure, then stepped inside. Her skin was unusually sensitive while she soaped her body in a fruitless effort to forget how he had felt pressed so intimately against her. Was this how she'd reacted when she'd first met him, all weak and trembly, wondering what his lovemaking would belike?
He hadn't said, but she guessed that they had made love soon after they had met. Had their lovemaking convinced her to forget about her career in order to be with this man? If so, what could have happened to make everything go so wrong between them?
After she finished her shower, Sherye dried herself with a thick, overlarge towel before she returned to her room. By the simple process of elimination, the only door she hadn't tried must be her closet. When she opened the door she discovered a walk-in dressing room with two long rows of clothing for all occasions. The back wall was filled with shelves upon shelves of shoes of all colors and styles.
She was shocked by the amount of obviously expensive clothing and accessories. No one could possibly need so much. From the looks of things she wouldn't need to buy anything more until after the turn of the century.
Sherye searched through the clothing, looking for something simple to wear. By the time she'd looked through both sides of the long closet she faced the fact that there was no such thing.
Each piece of clothing she touched was specifically designed to call attention to the wearer. The shift she had worn yesterday was the most unobtrusive item in her wardrobe. She frowned. She certainly couldn't continue to wear the shift every day.
With a sense of the inevitable, she grabbed one of the outfits and put it on, more interested in getting something to eat rather than how she looked. Now that she was awake, her stomach was letting her know that she had missed dinner the night before.
She sat in front of the vanity to do something with her hair. She'd finally grown accustomed to the color over the past few weeks and no longer received that sharp jolt of unease whenever she happened to look into a mirror. She brushed her hair until it lay smooth, then in a practiced twist of her wrist coiled it into a neat knot at the nape of her neck. Unfortunately her hair didn't want to stay neatly coiled. Wisps of hair sprang around her face, determined to rebel.
After a light coating of lipstick she felt ready to face a new day.
Nothing like sleeping around the clock to make you feel like a new person, she thought, following the hallway to the stairway. Or a passionate kiss from your handsome husband first thing in the morning to get all your juices flowing!
When she reached the bottom of the stairs she looked around, wondering where she would find the kitchen in a place like this. She had a sudden picture of twenty-five or thirty men all dressed in white with tall, floppy hate racing around preparing food in a giant kitchen. Hadn't she seen that in a movie once?
Her biggest problem was believing that any of this was real—the chateau, Raoul, the children, the inflexible matriarch. Somewhere deep inside her lurked the inescapable belief that at any moment she was going to suddenly wake up to find herself back home in Dallas, having fallen asleep on the couch from watching a late-night movie and overslept ... running the risk of being late for school. There would be-Late for school?
Once again she saw the same picture of a classroom filled with teenage girls. She clung to the picture, trying to understand. She focused on a blackboard that was actually green, and saw handwriting—hers—conjugating French verbs.
She taught French?
She smiled to herself. That made sense in a surrealistic kind of way. If she taught the language, then she would be able to speak it fluently, and understand it, as well. No wonder she had been impressed with the Parisian French spoken by the nursing sisters.
Feeling as though she was finally making some kind of progress in her search for her own identity, even if it made absolutely no sense in her present environment, Sherye went in search of some coffee.
The first door she opened looked as if it was used as a study. She made a sound of frustration and was closing the door when a voice spoke behind her.
"Good morning, madame. You are up quite early this morning."
With relief Sherye faced the housekeeper and smiled. "I'm afraid I slept through dinner last night. So I was hoping to find some coffee this morning."
"But of course. Breakfast is already set up in the dining room."
"Unfortunately I'm having a little trouble finding the dining room, which sounds strange, I'm sure."
"Not at all, madame. Monsieur DuBois has already explained to us about your head injury."
Sherye wondered what, exactly, he'd said. From her tone, the housekeeper sounded as though she thought the head injury had caused her to misplace a large portion of her brain, as well. Come to think of it, she wasn't far off. Her memory bank certainly had gotten jiggled around, if not completely erased.
She followed the older woman through a doorway that led into another hallway. Maybe she should make a map of the place so she could find her way around.
The dining room was in keeping with the rest of the house in that the furniture looked as though it belonged in a museum and the room was tastefully and richly furnished.
She also discovered that she wasn't the first one in the household to be searching for coffee. Danielle stood with her back to the room, facing the sideboard. She was filling her cup with a hot, aromatic liquid whose scent lured Sherye onward.
Danielle wore a tan shirtwaist dress, another unfortunate color choice that did nothing for her skin tones. Sherye waited until Danielle had set the coffee carafe down before speaking.
"Good morning."
Danielle whirled in surprise and faced Sherye with widened eyes.
Sherye glanced over her shoulder, convinced an ax murderer must be hovering immediately behind her to get such a shocked reaction. "Is something wrong?"
Danielle flushed a brilliant scarlet. "Uh—no. That is— I've never seen you up this early before," she stammered.
Sherye smiled at the other woman and nodded toward the tempting array of food on the sideboard. "I managed to sleep through dinner last night and woke up hungry as a bear this morning." She walked over to the buffet that displayed croissants and brioches, fruit juice and coffee. "Ahh! This looks wonderful." She filled a plate, poured a cup of coffee, inhaling the aroma with undiluted pleasure, and sat down across from the other woman.
"Raoul said that you were sleeping so soundly he didn't want to disturb you," Danielle said defensively, as though hearing an implied criticism in Sherye's comment.
"He was probably right. I don't remember rousing at all during the night."
Danielle kept her eyes on her plate and ate without saying anything more.
Sherye did the same. Since she wasn't much o
f an early-morning person anyway, she found the silence soothing. Danielle, on the other hand, appeared uncomfortable, giving Sherye brief glances before looking away to avoid making direct eye contact. Since she couldn't think of anything to say that would make the woman more comfortable, Sherye mentally planned her day as though she were alone.
She was on her third cup of coffee when Danielle finally met her gaze, her expression puzzled. Sherye smiled at her in hopes of putting her more at ease. The smile must have encouraged Danielle because she finally spoke, her voice soft and hesitant.
"I've never seen you with your hair pulled back like that. It makes you look very different."
Sherye touched the coiled mass of hair at her nape before she remembered how she was wearing it. Now that Danielle had called her attention to the style, Sherye realized that she had tried to wear it this way in the hospital but hadn't been able to keep it pinned back. In the following weeks it had grown enough to stay in place except for the short pieces around her face.
She had put it up unconsciously this morning out of some forgotten habit while her conscious mind had been focused on reliving the embarrassingly intimate scene with Raoul.
"I found this to be a comfortable style," she admitted. "Although you're right. Hairstyles can make a big difference in how a person looks."
It was only when the other woman's face flushed once again that Sherye realized Danielle thought she was making pointed remarks about her own choice of hairstyle. She almost groaned out loud. She hadn't meant anything by the comment, but how could she explain without making matters worse?
Sherye chose to let the moment go and continued to enjoy her coffee. She was admittedly surprised when Danielle spoke up after another lengthy silence between them.
"Raoul told us over dinner last night that you've been spending hours every day in therapy trying to regain your memory." Her voice was so soft that Sherye had to strain to hear her.
Mystery Wife Page 7
