A Forbidden Night With The Housekeeper (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Heidi Rice

  The irony of the situation was so apparent it was almost funny. That he should impregnate his own father’s widow with an unwanted child—and thereby repeat the old man’s crimes.

  Except he wasn’t laughing. Nothing about this predicament was amusing.

  ‘Are you using contraception, Cara?’ he asked, surprised at his ambivalence when her head jerked up, and he deemed the answer from the abject misery on her face.

  She shook her head.

  ‘When did you last have a period?’

  Embarrassment scorched her cheeks, which would almost have been charming if the possible consequences of their foolishness weren’t so dire. ‘A few days ago.’

  He nodded. ‘Then at least we are not in the middle of your cycle.’

  There was still a chance their recklessness would have a far higher price than either of them was willing to pay, however. And there was only one solution that he could see which would ensure that didn’t happen.

  He would take Cara Evans as his mistress. That way, they could arrange for her to take the necessary precautions now to prevent an unwanted pregnancy and he could offer her a place to live while he demolished La Maison—at Château Durand.

  Strangely, the thought of supporting Cara and inviting her to live in his home didn’t make him as uncomfortable as he would have expected. He had never invited a woman before her to share any of his homes. And he’d never taken a mistress. Up until now, he had always kept his dating habits casual.

  He had a business to run. He didn’t have time for romance. And he saw no benefit in long-term commitments of any kind. But Cara, for a number of reasons, was different.

  Not only did he need to ensure there was no pregnancy, and find her an alternative home, to finally break the last of her ties to his father—but she was the first virgin he had ever slept with, and they shared an insane chemistry which he could see no good reason not to indulge, once all the other issues between them had been resolved. It made sense therefore to have her live at Château Durand and—once this insane chemistry had run its course—he would give her the pay-off he had already offered her.

  She had been reluctant to take his money earlier, because she wanted to stay at La Maison, but surely she could see her marriage to his father would never hold up in a court of law now he knew what a sham it had been?

  ‘If there’s a...’ She sighed. ‘If there’s a consequence, I can take care of it,’ she said, her voice unsteady.

  She didn’t look him in the eye, and he found his usual cynicism returning. However innocent she might appear, he was not about to trust any woman to ‘take care’ of the consequences, as she had so coyly put it.

  He was a wealthy man and, although she had been unaware of his father’s true motives for suggesting marriage, the fact remained she had already married one man she didn’t love. What if she were setting her sights on trapping him into marriage too?

  Weirdly, the prospect didn’t appal him quite as much as it should. But he suspected his magnanimity would disappear once the afterglow still washing through his system had subsided.

  ‘If there are consequences, it is as much my responsibility as yours,’ he said, broaching no argument. ‘I think the best solution is for you to live at Château Durand. I can arrange for a doctor to attend you as soon as possible to ensure no pregnancy occurs.’

  Her head rose, her blue eyes so luminous anticipation surged in his chest.

  The truth was, she would make him an excellent mistress. Not only was she exquisite, and surprisingly forthright, but he couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman this much. Just thinking of all the things he could teach her, all the pleasure they could share while he did, was making the blood pound straight back into his groin.

  But then she said the most ridiculous thing.

  ‘You’re offering me a job? As a housekeeper?’ she said, sounding wary but hopeful. ‘That’s... That’s amazing and it could solve our problems,’ she continued, her voice eager with hope now as he struggled to get his head around her misconception. What had he said to give her the impression he was planning to employ her? ‘I’d be happy to give up my right to the de la Mare estate, if you’d just reconsider your plans to demolish La Maison? I know you need the land, but there must be a way to save...’

  ‘I am not offering you a job, and my plans for La Maison will not change.’ He interrupted the frantic flow of excited words, allowing his impatience to show. ‘I have no need of a housekeeper,’ he added, gentling his voice as he watched the hope in her eyes die—and suddenly felt as if he had kicked a kitten. ‘And you do not need a job as you will have a generous allowance.’

  ‘But... But what exactly would you be paying me for if I’m not working for you?’ she asked, sounding confused.

  He frowned. This was ridiculous, she could not be this naïve? Surely.

  ‘Cara,’ he said with a sigh, dialling down his impatience—her cluelessness was quite captivating in its own way. And another thing that made her unique. ‘I would not be paying you for anything, I would simply be supporting you while you are my mistress.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘YOUR...MISTRESS?’ THE WORD came out on a horrified gasp as Cara struggled to contain her shock, not just at Maxim Durand’s bold offer but the pragmatic way in which he delivered it. As if it were perfectly rational to offer to pay a—how had he put it?—‘generous allowance’ to a woman he was sleeping with.

  Perhaps it was perfectly rational in the world in which Maxim Durand lived.

  What did she know of that world? A world of lavish parties and show-stopping events, of elegant balls and expensive soirées, held on enormous super yachts on the Côte d’Azur or grand hotels on London’s Strand or picture-perfect white-sand beaches in the Bahamas. All she’d ever done was read about Maxim Durand’s extravagant world in magazines. Perhaps the women he dated—the glamorous supermodels and actresses, the sophisticated hostesses and smart, stunning career women she’d seen on his arm at those events in those same magazines—didn’t think there was anything amiss with expecting Durand to foot the bill. And maybe there wasn’t, for them. Because they had money and status and agency too. They would never be dependent on his largesse because they belonged in his rarefied world and knew how it worked. And if they’d ever been powerless, they certainly weren’t powerless any more.

  But for someone like her, who had fought for every scrap of dignity and respect, and against people’s low opinions for most of her life, how could she not be compromised by such an arrangement? Not just compromised but owned. Because without a job, with no way of paying her own way, she would be not just completely dependent on him but little more than his property.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, his puzzled frown only making her feel more compromised, more undermined. ‘Ma maîtresse... Is mistress not the correct word for this in English?’ he added.

  ‘I... Yes, but I can’t... I don’t want to be your mistress,’ she said, feeling desperately exposed, and even more ashamed than she had when she’d been lying naked under him, with the orgasms he’d given her still echoing in her sex.

  ‘Why not?’ He seemed genuinely confused.

  Couldn’t he see how belittling, even insulting such a suggestion was? Especially given the names he had called her earlier.

  Downstairs, he had accused her of being a whore and a slut. She’d dismissed those insults, once she’d figured out his connection to Pierre and why he was so determined to own the de la Mare vines. Those cruel words had been said in the heat of the moment, while he was processing the reality that his father had rejected him again, even from beyond the grave. And if there was anything Cara understood it was how that kind of rejection made you feel—insignificant, angry, vulnerable, hurt—because she’d felt every one of those emotions herself as a child, when she’d waited for her father to visit her, or to at least call, until she’d finally figured out what his si
lence meant... That the promises he’d made to her on the steps of the Westminster children’s centre had all been convenient lies to get her to go with ‘the nice lady’ without a fuss.

  But the names Maxim had called her haunted her now. Was that what he really thought of her?

  ‘We have a rare chemistry, Cara. We would be foolish not to enjoy it while it lasts.’

  Taking her hand, he tugged her off the toilet seat. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pressed his lips to her neck. She shuddered with a need she couldn’t disguise, but found the strength this time to place her hands on his bare chest and push him back.

  ‘Maxim, please don’t,’ she said.

  He let her go but then he smiled, the twist of his lips as cynical as it was amused. ‘Why not? When I can smell how much you still want me?’

  She tightened the belt on her robe, aware of her nakedness beneath it, and his nakedness beneath the towel—and the ease with which he could turn her own body against her.

  But she didn’t just feel hurt and insulted now, and compromised, she felt foolish. He was laughing at her naïveté. She got that. She had been naïve—to fall into bed with him without a thought to the consequences, and to give him her virginity without realising how much power that would give him. She had also been foolishly optimistic a moment ago, probably because she had been scared and desperate after what she’d done. Foolish to think the solution to a situation which had been decades in the making could ever be solved by him offering her a job.

  ‘I think you should leave,’ she managed, straightening her spine and welcoming the spike of anger because it helped steady her nerves.

  His smile died. ‘What foolishness is this, Cara?’

  It hurt to hear him say her name with such gruff intimacy, the desire still thick in his voice. Because a part of her wanted to sink into that intimacy, to take anything he wanted to offer her. But she knew from grim experience there was always a catch to taking that easy road. And if this evening had taught her one thing it was that instant gratification was not the answer.

  He lifted his palm to her cheek but she jerked her head out of his reach. ‘Please, Maxim,’ she said. ‘I need to think.’

  ‘What is there to think about?’ he said. ‘You are mine now, you need medical attention and a new home. This is the best solution.’

  A spark of anger burned under her breastbone.

  ‘The best solution for you, you mean.’ The flush rose into her cheeks but she’d be damned if she’d be embarrassed about it. She wasn’t the only one who had given in to their desires. ‘I don’t want to be your...your kept woman.’

  ‘What is this ridiculous term?’ he said. ‘Kept woman? What does that even mean?’

  ‘It means you’d own me.’

  ‘I would support you—not own you,’ he said through gritted teeth, clearly holding onto his temper with an effort. ‘You would live at Château Durand, but you would be free to leave whenever you wished.’

  ‘But this is my home, Maxim, and I don’t want to leave it,’ she said, trying to make him understand. If he couldn’t see that him supporting her was the same as him owning her, maybe he would understand this. ‘And I don’t want to let you destroy it, just because you can. I realise your situation with Pierre was complicated, but he left La Maison to me. You can have the vines, there must be a way to get past Pierre’s will there. But I owe it to him not to let you destroy his home.’

  She’d said the wrong thing, she knew it as soon as she mentioned Pierre’s name. Maxim’s expression became stormy, but what disturbed her more was the steely determination in his eyes.

  ‘You owe that bastard nothing. He used you to get to me, if you cannot see this you are even more naïve than the evidence suggests. And I will not change my mind about La Maison. I told him I would destroy this place as soon as he was cold in his grave and I will.’

  ‘You...you told him?’ Shock came first. ‘When did you tell him?’ she asked, her voice thick with horror as a sickening understanding of what was really going on here took root. Maxim’s determination to destroy La Maison had nothing to do with his business and everything to do with his need for revenge against a dead man.

  ‘Years ago,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘How many years ago?’ she asked, the horrifying truth becoming a knot of anguish in her stomach. Had Maxim seduced her deliberately? Had the heat that had flared between them even been real? Or had sleeping with her, in Pierre’s house, only hours after his funeral been just another way for Maxim to get revenge against the man who had rejected and exploited him? Had she been used, not just by Pierre but also by his son? ‘Was it ten years ago? Five? Two?’

  ‘Why does this matter?’ he snapped, the cold steel in his voice a far cry from the furious heat in his eyes. ‘You gave your virginity to me. Any loyalty you had to him means nothing now.’

  ‘This isn’t about my loyalty to Pierre,’ she said, feeling broken inside. Why had she trusted him? A man she barely knew. A man who didn’t care about her, had never even pretended to care about her. She’d believed they had some connection, through shared pain, but had that just been a convenient excuse to feed the hunger, and take what her body desired without having to pay the price of her foolishness? ‘It’s about your need for revenge,’ she finished.

  ‘This whole conversation is madness,’ he said. ‘Pierre is dead. You need a new place to live because La Maison will soon be gone—which means you must grow up and stop talking nonsense.’

  Before she could even process the possessive, dictatorial response, he stalked out of the bathroom and flung off the towel.

  He dressed as she stood shaking in the doorway.

  Leaving his shirt unbuttoned, he returned to her and captured her cheek in his hand. He pressed a kiss to her lips, delved deep with his tongue and her traitorous mouth opened instinctively, her treacherous body melting against his, even as her palms flattened against his abdominal muscles, trying to find the strength to resist him.

  When he finally released her from the erotic spell they were both panting, her rigid nipples poking against the silk of her robe, begging for his attention.

  ‘Your body knows you belong to me, even if you do not.’ He rubbed his thumb across one nipple, making the brutal sensations dart down to her core. ‘When you are ready to face reality I will be waiting,’ he added softly, belying the anger she could feel reverberating through his body.

  She stood transfixed as she listened to his footsteps disappear down the hallway.

  The front door slammed below and she crossed to the window, her limbs still shaky, to see him climb into his SUV. He didn’t look up, the headlights illuminating the ancient vines as he backed the car out of the yard in a squeal of rubber.

  His clipped parting words echoed in her head as the roar of the SUV’s engine disappeared into the night.

  Your body knows you belong to me.

  Not a threat but a promise. And one she couldn’t deny.

  She had thrown herself into the wolf’s den but, unlike Little Red, she wasn’t sure she was smart enough or strong enough to get out again before Maxim Durand devoured her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Madame de la Mare, there has been a significant development in the settling of your husband’s estate. May I come to La Maison this morning to discuss the situation?

  CARA WOKE TO find the message from Marcel on her phone. She typed out a reply, telling him she would be ready to see him in half an hour, shocked to realise it was past ten o’clock in the morning.

  She dragged her aching body out of bed. She’d had a fitful night’s sleep, every one of her dreams—so hot and febrile—haunted by her overwhelming encounter with Maxim Durand.

  Opening the shutters of the bedroom she’d moved into after Maxim had stormed out, she allowed her tired eyes to adjust to the morning sunlight and then breathed in a fortifying lun
gful of the September air. It didn’t help.

  She squeezed her thighs together to ease the pulse of tenderness.

  After a long hot shower, in a vain attempt to clear her groggy thoughts and understand the shameful echo of desire that still lingered, she dressed in her usual outfit of shorts and a T-shirt. Returning to her own bedroom, she stripped the sheets from the bed, careful to avoid looking at the spots of blood left by the innocence she’d lost—not lost, thrown away. She carried the sheets downstairs to the laundry room and stuffed them into the ancient washer.

  She turned it on and listened to the old motor whirr into action.

  If only she could wash away her stupidity—and the memories of her forbidden night with Maxim—as easily.

  Was it her imagination or could she still smell Maxim’s scent—sandalwood and salt—lingering on her freshly washed skin?

  She needed coffee, and lots of it, before she faced Pierre’s lawyer. The last thing she wanted was for Marcel to figure out what she’d done last night.

  She was still struggling to pull herself together, sipping her second cup of coffee, when she heard Marcel’s car in the driveway. He’d arrived five minutes early.

  A thread of unease worked its way into her stomach as she considered his text again. She’d assumed this was some kind of formality. But why was he eager to see her so early?

  The argument with Maxim tormented her as she walked down the hallway to answer Marcel’s knock.

  Had Maxim taken legal action to dispute Pierre’s will already? She supposed she should have anticipated this, but after last night... She’d had some vague hope he would wait, to find a compromise with her.

  While the thought of seeing him again wasn’t doing anything to alleviate the knots in her belly, it felt better than the wave of foreboding that hit her as she opened the door and saw Marcel’s expression.