You know damn well what kind of effect you are having on me and like an idiot I am falling for it. He is making fun of me. I can see it dancing in his bloody eyes. Bastard. I don’t like being manipulated.
‘I have read your book and recent articles, Sabrina. I am especially interested in your research concerning gender issues in popular culture in Europe in the Eighteenth century. You are a hopeless feminist, aren’t you?’
It was her turn to smile.
‘Does that threaten you, Monsieur Valoire?’
‘Please call me Raoul. Why would I feel threatened? I admire it. Well, to a certain extent,’ he grinned. ‘As long as it suits me. I just wonder whether or not you have considered how a man would have felt about the way he was forced to live in the Eighteenth century in France?’
‘I can assure you Monsieur…Raoul that I make adequate recompense to the issues of masculinity, that is why I intend to write a biography of your famous ancestor…’ she told him firmly, feeling her temper rise at his questioning of her professional work ethic as a Gender Historian.
But when she heard him laugh and realised with embarrassment that he was merely teasing, she halted her passionate speech and bent to eat her food feeling foolish. An awkward silence ensued, and Sabrina began to feel more uncomfortable. Ribbons of light from the candles danced across Raoul’s handsome face giving him a dark and mysterious air when he finally broke the oppressive silence.
‘I’m sorry, Sabrina. I was only playing with you,’ he smiled warmly. ‘I enjoyed reading your academic work. It raises some interesting questions.’
She nodded, accepting the apology but felt reluctant engaging in any further conversation, suddenly feeling very tired and on edge. The more she looked around the room, the more convinced she was that she had been in it before. She couldn’t explain it. Maybe she’d visited the place as a child when its previous owner allowed the public to visit. But the explanation didn’t seem adequate. Even the tapestries and the scenes they depicted were more than familiar.
‘Are you ill, Sabrina? You look a little pale,’ he asked.
‘No, no I’m fine. I just have this weird déjà vu feeling that I’ve been here before. It’s silly really,’ she joked. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. ‘Maybe in my last lifetime,’ she smiled, amused at her thoughts.
He said nothing, taking another sip of wine. For a moment his eyes avoided her. She found it odd that he would not make some remark or even a joke.
‘I look forward to reading your work on my rogue ancestor, but for now I want to hear all about you,’ he insisted, putting down his glass, quickly changing the subject.
Raoul’s eyes never left her face as she took a hurried sip of her own wine.
‘There isn’t much to tell I’m afraid,’ she said nervously.
Sabrina didn’t really talk about her memory loss to anyone. Only a couple of close friends knew about it. It wasn’t something she was very comfortable talking about. There was always a worry that the wrong person would find out and somehow use it against her. It was an odd fear to have, but it was there. She always wondered if it was a way to hide from the man who beat her and put her in the hospital.
‘Maybe we should talk about something more interesting.’
She smiled sweetly, expertly covering the pain that slashed at her insides with a knife. But he was to remain annoyingly inquisitive.
‘No. I’m intrigued. Tell me about yourself.’
She didn’t miss the command in his tone. There was no escape. Raoul Valoire was the first man she’d come across who didn’t take no for an answer. Many people had sensed she was secretive. They had tried to find out about her past, but she had eventually been able to suppress their curiosity and change the subject. Raoul was clearly different. He was not about to let her gracefully bow out of the conversation.
There was nothing to tell. Nothing she could remember beyond seven years ago when she’d woken up in the hospital badly beaten, raped and without her memory. She didn’t want to talk about it. Sometimes when people continued to press for her life story and family details she would make up stories. They were better termed fantasies. She didn’t want to do that tonight. Besides, she had a feeling Raoul would see straight through them. Sabrina’s voice stalled in her throat and another awkward silence fell upon the dining room. She looked away, desperately searching her mind for a way of excusing her behaviour.
‘Well, I don’t see you wearing a wedding ring, so I take it that you aren’t married?’ he quizzed. His voice was soft but Sabrina could hear some malice lingering in his tone.
What is your problem? I’ve had enough of your games. Maybe I really should leave.
She jumped when he suddenly picked up her hand that rested on the table and began to gently examine her fingers. He stroked each one sensually, circling the pad of his thumb in the middle of her palm. His touch was tender, gentle and warm, her hand so small and slender against his large one. The action made her feel safe, soothed. It felt curiously natural for him to caress her this way as if he had done many times before. Her mind seemed reluctant to even question it. She watched entranced as he continued his rhythmic stroking of her hand, wondering why Raoul appeared to have so much power over her self-control.
It was a normal thing to ask, to see if there was any competition. He wasn’t hiding his interest. But there was a curious firmness in his tone that appeared to challenge her answer, dared her to say no.
‘No, I’m not married,’ she told him truthfully.
She felt herself begin to tremble when his eyes stared directly into her own. To her amazement they were full of hurt. Her heart began to thud at an alarming rate when his eyes slowly began to narrow with dark primitive anger.
‘I think you are lying,’ the words were spoken coldly, a streak of menace lining every one. ‘Where is your wedding ring, Sabrina?’
Confused and terrified, Sabrina attempted to pull her hand away. Raoul’s response was to hold it tighter, making her cry out with the strength of his grip. Once more he demanded angrily, ‘Where is your wedding ring? Did you throw it away? Why did you forget? Answer me, Sabrina or so help me. . .’
Almost as if on eerie cue, the wind that had been building outside swirled around the Chateau with a deathly cry from an open window, extinguishing the burning flames of the candles. The lamps at intervals on the walls also went out as if a fuse had been blown. Sabrina felt suffocated as the wall of darkness imprisoned her sight and pressed down upon her. She was terrified of the dark and had never known the reason. The last seven years had been spent living in the dark not knowing what had happened. It was all too much to bear. She struggled violently in Raoul’s hold.
‘Hush, Sabrina. I know you have been frightened of the dark since you were a child. It will only last for a few moments. The lights are always going out. It happens in old buildings,’ he told her gently, lowering his voice to a smooth velvet tone to calm her fear.
She heard him stand and felt him pull her struggling form into his arms. His fingers stroked soothingly through her hair, but she was not to be placated.
‘What is going on? You’ve been acting strange with me since I arrived. Why are you asking me about a wedding ring? Let me go. I want to go home,’ Sabrina insisted.
‘You’re not going anywhere, Sabrina,’ he told her firmly transferring his hold to her wrists in an effort to stop her moving. ‘You belong here. This is your home, and I am never letting you leave again.’
‘What are you saying? Who are you? How do you know so much about me?’ she stopped struggling, more from shock than anything else.
‘You really don’t remember do you?’ he sounded disbelieving, dismayed, barely able to contain his frustrated anger. ‘You are my wife.’
Chapter Two
Sabrina instantly halted her struggle to escape Raoul’s hold, shocked to her core by his words.
‘Sabrina, it’s true. I’ve played this charade far enough.’ There was an impatient br
ewing storm in his tone. ‘I know the doctors told me to be careful with you, but you are my wife. I have been without you for too long.’
The butler brought in a lit candelabrum, momentarily ceasing their conversation. He sat it on the middle of the table without speaking and quickly left. Raoul’s face came back into view. It was filled with love. Sabrina began to struggle again, desperate to free herself from his grasp.
‘What the hell are you talking about? Let go of me. I’ve never been married. You heard about my lost memory didn’t you? Maybe you thought it would be fun to make me think I was your wife. Perhaps you can replace those memories I lost with ones of your own for your own amusement,’ she shouted. ‘Maybe someone bet you to do it for a laugh?’
There was a shake to her voice she fought hard to control.
You sound crazy. Why would he even bother to do that? What the hell is happening here?
She felt exposed, vulnerable. She’d lost seven years of her life, lost her family, lost her identity. When she’d woken up in that hospital in London, nobody knew who she was. No one came to claim her. She had to make up a new name for herself and find the will to carry on. Afraid and alone, she managed to set up a new life for herself, going to University to study history, afterwards a PhD. Then she became a lecturer and wrote a book, gaining a reputation in the academic field. She’d given up trying to find her family. They didn’t appear to want to know her.
‘Sabrina, don’t say those things. I love you, you are my wife,’ Raoul insisted holding her in a tight grip against him.
‘You’re lying. My family have made no effort to find me. Why would my husband want to claim me as his own now, after all these years? He would be remarried by now . . . This is a cruel, sick joke . . .’
Sabrina’s eyes filled with angry tears.
‘Enough. I won’t listen to this. I will prove it to you,’ Raoul snapped, reaching down to scoop the candelabrum off the table.
He tightened his hold on her wrist with a grip that would have been better suited to a vice, making her squeal. He led her out of the room. Sabrina made every effort to drag her heels, pulling at his hand to force him to let go. Raoul only tightened his hold further and dragged her along.
Sabrina’s eyes could see nothing but what the candles allowed her to see. They travelled through the dark rooms, the wooden floors creaking and groaning with centuries of use under their feet, highly audible in the ghostly silence that settled on the house. Finally, they reached a room that she presumed was Raoul’s study by the elaborate desk and leather chair he dragged her behind. He came to a stop in front of a large framed canvas and raised the candelabrum, directing her to look at it.
Sabrina gasped out loud. There was no mistaking her own image. She was seated in a chair in a black velvet ball gown cut away seductively across the breast. Raoul stood tall, proud and possessive at the side of the chair. Her hair was longer, and her eyes twinkled with a happiness. Sabrina couldn’t remember looking that happy or even feeling that way in the last seven years. It was breath-taking and a shock to the system. She tried to take a step back and found herself half falling to the floor, half fainting with shock. Raoul caught her waist skilfully and pulled her up close to him. It was then that the lights came back on.
‘Now do you believe me, Sabrina?’ Raoul demanded, a note of triumph and vindication in his voice.
She glanced around the room. The place was littered with photographs of herself and Raoul very much in love. The room began to spin with a carousel of broken memories, a hundred swirling images that were there in a second and gone in a heartbeat. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Her body began to sway alarmingly as she looked up at the canvas again. Raoul slipped his arm under her legs and swept her up into his arms to deposit her onto a chair. He quickly moved away and poured her a glass of cognac from the drinks cabinet.
‘I know you don’t like cognac, Sabrina, but you will drink it. You need it for the shock you have just experienced. Now drink.’
He was right. She didn’t like it. She wasn’t keen on alcohol apart from wine. Sabrina obediently took the glass, too dazed and confused to pass comment on his correct knowledge. But her trembling hands made her clumsy, and he took control holding the glass to her lips, instructing her to sip slowly. She coughed as the fiery liquid hit the back of her throat and tried to push the glass away, but he was firm, giving her no choice but to continue drinking. He watched her anxiously when frustrated tears gathered in her eyes once more.
‘You have been using your middle name, Sabrina. Your first name is Melissa,’ he gave a small laugh. ‘You hate it, so you use Sabrina. Michaels is your maiden name. You’ve been using them without even knowing.’
He knelt at her feet, gently cupping her face with his hands.
‘There is no Christophe Valoire is there?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.
Raoul shook his head and smiled.
‘No there isn’t. It was just a ruse to get you here. You disappeared from the Chateau on the night of a ball I held for your birthday party, seven years ago. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get you to believe me until I brought you home. I saw the way you looked at the Chateau. You remembered it. I knew you would. You love this place.’ He smiled at her again. There was relief in his eyes. ‘This is going to be difficult for you, Sabrina. I am a stranger to you at the moment, but in time I hope I can help you remember our life together.’
‘I don’t know what’s happening. I just want to leave,’ she heard herself say before she could even think. ‘I’m confused. I can’t trust all of this . . . I . . .’
He sighed.
‘You’re afraid. I understand that. It’s a lot to take in, but I can’t let you leave. You are my wife, you belong here, and I am never going to part with you again, whatever the outcome.’
His thumb caressed the light satin of her cheek as if to soften the impact of his revelation. She rubbed her eyes.
‘Am I a prisoner here?’
Did he intend to hold her here against her will?
‘I would hardly call you a prisoner, in your own home, Sabrina,’ he told her with affront. But there was something in his tone that made her believe that if she pushed him with her threats to leave, he would keep her a prisoner.
‘What happens if I leave?’ she challenged.
He smiled.
‘You won’t. You have too many reasons to stay.’
Sabrina’s heart began to pound. He wasn’t giving her a solid answer.
‘How far will you go to stop me leaving?’ she asked nervously, seeing no point in hiding her blatant concern any longer.
Raoul’s seductive black eyes narrowed a fraction, as a frown burrowed in his forehead. Sabrina found herself holding her breath as he captured her face in his hands once more. There was no mistaking his resolve or his authority when he spoke in a low soft velvet voice.
‘You have amnesia, Sabrina. That makes you unwell. A doctor might say that you were unable to make decisions for yourself, and I as your husband should make them for you. A court of law would most likely see it the same way. . .’
‘You wouldn’t dare . . .’ she was outraged.
She watched him study her trembling lips with longing, then look up at her with dark possessive eyes. She heard herself take a quick breath overpowered by their intensity. There was no doubt in her mind that he would never let her leave. Somewhere deep inside a treacherous part of her loved him for it.
‘I will go as far as I have to. You are my wife. It’s time I reminded you of your wedding vows.’
Chapter Three
Sabrina glared at Raoul and moved to stand up from her chair in a temper. She pushed her way past him, ignoring his demand for her to remain seated in case she fell to the floor again. She shook her head and looked up at the painting.
‘I don’t believe this . . . it’s unreal. I don’t remember getting married. I don’t remember anything about our life together,’ she told him angrily.
Raou
l frowned and straightened from his kneeling position, making Sabrina feel small and defenceless against his tall height. Afraid of what he might do, she took two steps back, but Raoul headed for the top drawer of his desk. Sabrina glanced back at the door wondering whether she should make a sudden break for freedom. She needed space, time to think. Her mind made up, she straightened and headed for the door deciding to leave and collect her thoughts. There was nothing he could do to keep her here. A doctor couldn’t just write her off as insane and have her committed. There were laws. She needed to think, to escape. Her whole world felt as though it was a whirl.
Nothing appeared safe or trustworthy. Leaving would give her some control back until she could decide what to do. Surely, Raoul would understand that. Frantically, she headed for the door and reached out for the handle with a shaking hand when she stopped dead, hearing the cracking whip of Raoul’s reprimand across the air.
Sleeping Love Page 2
