by Sara Wood
‘I can understand how you felt,’ she said, knowing what it was like to be the subject of gossip.
Guy’s eyes hardened, showing a glimpse of frighteningly steely anger. ‘Maman and I left. We couldn’t bear it. No teenager wants to find his father-’
‘Please don’t say any more!’ she cried in anguish, her fingers agitatedly twisting the fabric of her long skirt. The images conjured up by Guy’s hard-hitting words had stricken her heart. She couldn’t believe that her mother had been so reckless, so thoughtless. Tessa’s emotions seemed to be in tatters.
‘I was told my mother was wonderful! No one could hold a candle to her... She was beautiful-’
‘Yes.’
‘Irresistible-’
‘Yes!’
‘Not cruel, though!’ she cried, begging him to agree. The ferocity of his expression and the terrible, lacerating contempt made her cringe. Little pearly tears squeezed from the corners of each eye. ‘Oh, G-G-Guy!’ In desperation she tried to rid herself of the awful lump in her throat and the misery which was threatening to swamp her.
Suddenly her arms had been caught in a strong grip. Guy was pulling her towards him, against his chest, tipping up her chin, his expression angry, his body shaking with it, as though the fury and bitterness he’d unleashed needed an outlet. ‘Damn you! Damn you and your mother!’ he growled harshly. Tessa cringed in his arms, afraid of the emotion which consumed him so utterly that it seemed he hardly knew what he was doing. Bereft of speech, she opened her mouth in a helpless, silent protest. And found it crushed by Guy’s savage kiss. There was no time to think. Not that there was anything remotely like thought working in her brain. His mouth demanded her attention, bruising her lips, coaxing them into soft and lush pliability. His hands crushed her to him, sliding up her back so that her cushiony breasts met the hard, resisting surface of his chest. Little shudders of excitement flickered over her flesh, melting her resistance as their mouths blended into a perfect whole-warm, whispering, intoxicatingly sensual. Half in defence, half to steady herself, she raised her hands till her palms rested where they seemed to belong, on the broad shelf of his shoulders. Her breasts lifted as she did so, in a slow and exquisite movement as each swollen nipple dragged teasingly against his thin shirt. And he made a growling noise in his throat which electrified her.
Without any thought going through her head, she set free the sharp pang which had lanced through her body by sighing helplessly into his marauding mouth ...
Her sigh galvanised Guy into a different action. Coming to his senses at last, he thrust her back, the force of the movement making her head snap back and her shining hair fly in all directions while he muttered short, sharp curses under his breath in fluent French.
He’d wanted her with a passion which unnerved him. For the first time in his life he’d acted on pure instinct. He’d wanted her-as his father had wanted Estelle-with a passion so unbearable that he’d had to do something to ease it. And that enslavement to animal need had enraged him. God, how he despised himself for losing control! She had been so damn vulnerable, so beautiful in her distress that he’d wanted to protect her from all harm. When Tessa had cried he had known he should walk away.
Recognising that he couldn’t do so had made him even angrier. He’d longed to comfort her, to gather her in his arms and murmur soothing words to take away the pain of her mother’s betrayal. But that would have led to another, more dangerous situation. It was vital that he stayed detached. His duty was to recover his property, not to complicate his life by getting involved with Estelle’s daughter. He had a mission, and Tessa wasn’t the kind of woman you played around with. She would expect commitment-and that was something not in his power to give. He’d needed to stop Tessa crying before his heart had softened. A few sharp words would have sufficed. Why the hell had he chosen to ease his hunger and kiss her into silence? What malevolent fate had driven him to take out his anger and frustration on her?
Somehow he must convince her that the kiss had meant nothing. Even if he still wanted to kiss her, again and again, till she was breathless. Far from satisfying his hunger, he had only succeeded in fuelling it.
‘Guy!’ she said shakily, still reeling from the violent turmoil rampaging through her entire body. He’d kissed her. And she’d loved it. Wanted more. A lot more. Come to think of it, she’d intensified the contact. The damp black lashes fringing her huge violet eyes fluttered as her pupils contracted with shock. ‘What did you do that for?’ she asked, concealing her panic. He drew in a long, tense breath, and it was several seconds before he let it out in a slow exhalation, almost as though he was counting to ten whilst doing so. ‘How else was I to stop you crying?’ he asked, with breathtaking callousness. ‘Oh! You-you brute!’ she gasped indignantly. His mouth pinched in a fraction. ‘Then he checked whatever he’d intended to say, turned abruptly and walked away to the side gate, hurling icily over his shoulder, ‘It worked, didn’t it?’
‘A few nice words and a handkerchief would have been kinder,’ she mumbled, going brick-red with shame. He studied her for a moment, his expression noncommittal. ‘And wiser,’ he agreed. ‘If I had stopped to think what your reaction might be, I’d never have touched you. I hope you are aware that I have no interest in you as a woman. None at all!’ he said, as though she needed the point ramming home when it was already turning and twisting in her body, opening barely closed wounds.
Tessa felt deeply humiliated. He meant that it had never occurred to him that she’d respond with such breathtaking enthusiasm. ‘I never imagined that you had,’ she replied sharply, her self-esteem on its way to rock-bottom again. The hard slash of his lips twisted and he swore softly under his breath, turning away as though he could bear the sight of her stricken face no longer.
Numbly she watched him fling the gate shut and stride down the little backstreet. And all she could think was that it was like the scene with David all over again. She felt the same squeeze in the pit of her stomach, the same sense of horror.
It had only been a kiss. No great drama, perhaps, to any other woman. But it was to her. She’d vowed never to give her favours freely ever again. That resolution seemed to have flown out of the window with painful ease.
And judging by her abandoned reaction, Guy must think she was desperate for love, comfort, anything re motely affectionate. The scorn he obviously felt for her hit at the root of her security again.
Only when he had disappeared did she sink limply to the ground, her skirts floating about her on the grass. ‘I’m a fool!’ she groaned hopelessly. How could she live with herself after this?
‘Perhaps they make contact lenses for brains,’ she muttered gloomily, trying to buck herself up. ‘God knows, I need something to help me judge men’s motives better.’ Tentatively she touched her soft mouth, exploring its lush, rather overripe curves. Her lips still felt bruised to the touch. The remembered pressure of his magnificent body against hers tortured her mind, stabbing her loins with a spasm of need. She’d loved the power and energy that had surged through every inch of him. Had wanted to share it. It was a terrifying thought that she could be so weak-willed. Why hadn’t she objected at once? Why had she left it to him to be the one who walked away? She knew the answer. He wanted to unsettle her. He had a devious ability to destroy her defences. He kept throwing her off balance by working on her emotions, destroying her defences with worrying facts and shock revelations and then offering the pretence of sympathy. It was a brutal but highly successful method. And she despised him utterly for it.
‘I won’t let him get me down!’ she ground out, jumping up decisively.
She was determined to ease the sickening anger churning in her stomach. The situation seemed bad, but she’d got through similar difficulties before by taking one step at a time. As a start, she began to search for the house documents. They were hidden beneath a pile of papers in a drawer, with a note attached in her mother’s writing which said, ‘Cottages for Tess’. Naturally the deeds were
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written in French, which meant she couldn’t understand a word. A French dictionary went on her list of shopping. Checking the map, she saw that Lalinde or Le Bugue looked the most likely towns for that, and also for the other things she’d need. ‘Holidaymakers next,’ she said briskly, attempting to fill the silent, empty building with friendly sound. ‘An assessment of the cottages and then a trip to the shops.’ Tessa finished ticking off the priorities on her fingers. It might even be fun having a friendly chat with the visitors if they were English. Perhaps she’d suggest they meet for a drink in the evening. A little company wouldn’t go amiss. Her tense muscles relaxed a little at the thought. But she recognised what a difficult task she had ahead-and the attitude of Guy and the villagers wouldn’t make it any easier. She remembered his anger, the dark glitter in his scathing eyes. His determination to acquire her cottages was stronger than any sense of fair play. He’d do anything necessary, she felt sure. And she shivered with a predictive fear.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two days later, Tessa was sitting glumly beneath the covered market in the middle of the village square. The holiday lets had proved to be a nightmare. The furious guests had pounced on her and taken her on an eyeopening tour of each cottage, complaining unceasingly. Unfortunately they had every reason to do so.
She gazed longingly at the bar. It was eleven o’clock and it was open, the drift of a rich coffee aroma tantalising her senses. But yesterday she’d been told to go away in no uncertain terms, and it hadn’t needed any knowledge of the language to understand what the scowls and brusquely waved arms had meant.
Suddenly she heard the clang of the chateau gates. Her body stiffened and she shrank deeper into the shadows. Guy wandered across the square. She watched as he accepted with good humour an invitation to join the handful of villagers sitting beneath the striped parasols outside the bar. Laughter drifted across to her and there was much chinking of glasses. It made a sorry contrast to her reception. ‘I want a word with you!’
Dismayed, she turned, recognising the voice of the man staying in The Bakehouse, the cottage next to The Old Bakery. ‘Yes, Mr Donovan?’ she said politely, fearing trouble. ‘My wife and I have talked things over and have decided we want our money back.’
Tessa looked stunned. This was worse than she’d expected! ‘I-I don’t have it! I’ve explained that my mother owned the properties until recently. She will have your money-’
‘That’s your problem, not mine,’ he said crossly, raising his voice a decibel or two. Tessa cringed. The whole village must be able to hear! ‘I’m not paying hardearned cash to spend my holiday in a damp, poorly maintained, dirty cottage which was furnished in the Dark Ages!’
‘Nineteen fifty-something, I think,’ she ventured meekly. ‘Exactly! So give us our money back or I’ll get someone in authority here to impound something you own. That bike, for instance. I won’t be cheated! Would you like to sleep on a lumpy mattress in a bed that’s rusting? Or have to clean the bathroom and kitchen from top to bottom on the day of your arrival because of the filth?’
‘No, Mr Donovan,’ she said miserably. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘And why isn’t the bar open in the evenings?’ he went on, getting into his stride. ‘And the advert said there was a leisure complex on the river, but that isn’t open at the moment. There’s nothing to do here but read!’
It sounded like bliss to Tessa. ‘I can’t be held responsible for the opening hours of local attractions,’ she said, as politely as humanly possible. ‘I suppose there just isn’t the custom.’
‘Damn place is all but deserted!’
‘It’s very peaceful,’ she pointed out placatingly. A figure appeared just at the periphery of her vision and she knew with a sinking feeling in her stomach who it must be. She squirmed on the seat in embarrassment-both at the present situation and at the memory of the last time they’d been together. Too together! Clamped together like limpets, worth every inch of his muscular body impressing itself indelibly on her mind. Pleasurable sensations spurted through her sensory system and made
her hands shake. Her legs too. They’d been perfectly under control until he’d turned up.
‘Having problems?’ enquired Guy, mockery in every smoothly drawled syllable.
What would he say, she wondered tetchily, if she replied, Yes, runaway hormones? But she didn’t. ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she lied, and wished he’d go away and mind his own business. ‘Who might you be, butting in on a private conversation?’ bristled Mr Donovan righteously, and he and Tessa frowned at
Guy in joint challenge.
Sublimely unperturbed, Guy produced one of his pat, charming smiles.
‘Guy de Turaine. I am the seigneur of Turaine-I think you call this the lord of the manor?’
Tessa’s eyes grew cynical. He was doing the helpless foreigner bit in order to disarm Mr Donovan-who was clearly falling for Guy’s ruse. ‘Don’t worry about choosing your words carefully. Guy will understand everything you say. He’s lived in America for years,’ she said sourly, earning herself a little sardonic glance from Guy.
Graciously he extended a hand to the man beside her. ‘How do you do? I gather you’re not satisfied with your holiday cottage?’ he murmured, now all concern and furrowed brow. ‘I most certainly am not!’ declared the man, clearly pleased and puffed up at having such an important person on his side. ‘Me and my wife were chatting to a local woman who came by, and she was horrified when we showed her around. She said the place was a disgrace-’
‘A ... local woman?’ Guy asked, suddenly alert. ‘Not Madame Legrand, from across the lane? Dark, short hair, sixtyish and plump, was she?’
Tessa gave Guy a suspicious look. He was trying to extract information out of Mr Donovan, and, judging by the man’s impatient shake of his head, his aim was about to be fulfilled.
‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘Long blonde hair. Very slim and stylish. Young. Wearing baggy trouser things. Raw silk palazzo pants, my wife said. Do you know who I mean?’
‘I have a fair idea;’ murmured Guy laconically. ‘Helpful young woman. She said we would be within our rights if we insisted on our money back. If you have any influence at all,’ said Mr Donovan pompously, while Tessa wished Miss Palazzo Pants all the ill luck in the world, ‘you’ll tell Miss Davis that she’s letting the place down.’
‘You’re letting the place down,’ Guy told her helpfully, his eyes as cold as black ice.
Tessa ground her teeth together. But at least he wasn’t harping on about her desperately enthusiastic reaction to his kiss. Small mercies. It meant she could fight him on equal terms again. ‘Mr Donovan,’ she said quietly, pretending to ignore Guy, even though he loomed over her like a dark spectre, ‘I am just as unhappy about the condition of the cottage as you are. I’ll do everything I can to get your money back to you.’
‘I want the full amount-!’ he began.
‘And you’ll get it,’ she promised hurriedly. ‘Please trust me. I can let you have something now, to start with, she said, unzipping her canvas shoulder bag, ‘and if you give me your home address and the total amount you paid for the week I’ll settle up with you when I can get the cash. I feel so embarrassed that you’ve had problems on your holiday. It must have been an awful disappointment when you arrived.’
‘Oh. Yes. It was.’ Mr Donovan seemed disconcerted by Tessa’s frank admission, but took the proffered money from her. ‘That’s not much! About twenty pounds in English money!’ he protested.
‘It’s all I can manage at the moment,’ she said quietly. ‘Hmm. I’ll see what my wife says. I expect the other couple next door in Oven Cottage will want a refund too. We all had a chat about our rights in the garden-’
‘You,’ interrupted Guy smoothly, ‘your wife, the other couple and this ... er... local woman?’
‘That’s right,’ answered Mr Donovan. ‘I must say, she was most supportive-and a mine of information. She said there were probably rats living inside that closedup
oven-’
‘What?’ Tessa cried, flushing with anger. ‘I’m sure that can’t be true.’
‘How would you know?’ Mr Donovan glared. ‘She said it was highly likely. And that the mayor would close the cottages down on a local health order if something wasn’t done.’
‘Did she?’ grated Tessa, determined to find this interfering blonde and ask her to keep her nose out in future! ‘Yes. And I told her that next door’s cooker doesn’t work. And the drains-’
‘I know,’ she said hastily, wondering how on earth she was going to cope. Guy had been right. There was a tremendous amount to be done. ‘I’ve spoken to the couple next door to you and I’m intending to deal with that.’
‘Yes. You will. By making arrangements to repay us for our inconvenience and spoiled holiday. Or there’ll be trouble. We know our rights.’ On that firm note, Mr Donovan gave a curt nod of his head to Tessa, graciously took his leave of the courteous Guy then stomped off, very much on his dignity. ‘I’m surprised you gave in without a fight,’ Guy said curiously. Tessa shot him a look of surprise. ‘What am I supposed to do? Lie? The cottages aren’t fit for letting! I could hardly deny that.’
‘Most people in your position might try.’
‘I’m not most people,’ she snapped.
‘No. I’m beginning to realise that. Well, you’re in deep trouble,’ he mused. ‘Visitors arriving every Saturday of the season, demanding refunds the day after... And compensation for their disappointment ... That could cost you an arm and a leg!’ he declared with such false and simulated concern that she let her contempt show in the hot blaze of her eyes. He merely smiled mockingly. ‘You’ve seen your mother’s bookings schedule, I presume?’
‘N-no. I haven’t found it yet.’
She tried to stop her calculations of how much she might have to pay out during the season. It would be more than she possessed, whatever it might be. Her heart began to race with a sickening irregularity.
