by Diana Palmer
“Can’t we play the slot machines instead?” she asked, glancing wistfully toward them.
“Peasant,” he accused.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “We don’t all have thousands to lose,” she said haughtily. “Anyway, I have a pocketful of change...”
He sighed. “What shall I do with you, Jolana, mon ange?” he asked ruefully.
“I could make several suggestions,” she said with a wicked glance.
“Not here,” he whispered. “Think how shocked the other patrons would be!”
“The roulette wheel would probably hurt my back, anyway,” she laughed, and ran before he could carry out the threat in his eyes.
She won five francs playing the slot machines and thought she’d done something grand. Until Phillipe went back to the roulette wheel and came away with twenty thousand francs.
“You’re good!” she exclaimed.
“But, of course,” he exclaimed. “Did I not say so?”
Her dark eyes studied him, appreciating the vivid blondness of his thick, straight hair, the perfection of his facial features, the wickedness of his sparkling eyes. He was a handsome man, and he had a unique devil-may-care charm that would easily draw women. Her attraction to him was obvious in her shining eyes.
“Why, chérie!” he exclaimed on a grin. “Is that loving look an invitation?”
Was it indeed? Nick was definitely in the past. He was probably married by now. She couldn’t very well live the rest of her life mourning him. She was young and alive and Phillipe was interested in her. More than interested, if the masculine appreciation in his eyes was any indication.
She ran a restless hand through her short blond hair. “Maybe,” she replied drily, peeking through her long lashes at him.
He cocked an eyebrow. “In that case, I shall double my efforts. So, watch out.” He handed her some more coins. “By the way, did you know that the local citizenry are exempt from taxation of personal income but are forbidden the gaming rooms here?”
“Really?” she responded, smiling up at him. “Did you know that the Grimaldis, who founded Monaco in the thirteenth century, were deposed during the French Revolution and that Monaco was annexed to France? It was given its independence again under French protection in 1861.” She laughed. “I read up on it when I discovered we were coming here,” she confessed at his surprise. “I even know that it’s only four hundred and sixty-eight acres big and has twenty-five thousand people. Not to mention,” she sighed, “some of the most fascinating places in Europe, all of which I’d like to visit.”
“Name them,” he invited.
“The museums of oceanography and anthropology and naturally the art galleries and auctions. And the Casino gardens—they’re here, aren’t they?” she added.
“Oui.” He smiled. “I will bring you here in the daylight to see them. Also, the opera and theater are housed in this complex. Do you by any chance like opera, chérie?”
“I adore it!” she laughed. “Do you?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “It is the only nonsporting event that I can tolerate.”
“The ballet?”
He shrugged. “It is not my favorite, but if you like, we can certainly attend.”
“I’d love that,” she confessed, “if you wouldn’t suffer.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “I could never suffer in your company, petite. You are so lovely.”
She smiled shyly and lowered her eyes. “Flatterer.”
“But I mean it,” he said softly. “You have brought such beauty into my life. This is not the place, perhaps, but you cannot know how much it has meant to me, having your company.”
She looked up into his eyes and smiled. “Yes, I do. Because I know how much it’s meant to me, having yours. I was very unhappy when I came here. You’ve given life new meaning.”
He searched her eyes. “The hurt. It is healing?”
She nodded. “Very quickly.”
He smiled. “We will have to pay a little more attention to the balm that heals it best,” he said under his breath. “As we did that night in our garden,” he added, holding her gaze.
She felt a pleasant surge of warmth at the memory. He was an experienced lover, and she enjoyed his kisses. He’d been rather reticent in recent days, but perhaps he’d been giving her time to adjust. “That particular balm,” she said softly, “would never be unwelcome.”
His fingers contracted on hers, and his eyes darkened. “I will remember.”
She reached up and touched his cheek. “Please do. You must make your guest feel welcome.”
“You may depend on my close attention to your comfort,” he said drily. “Come.”
As they wandered farther into the majestic confines of the casino, Jolana smiled secretly to herself. It looked as if the next few weeks might be more bearable than she’d expected.
And they were. First, Phillipe flooded her with flowers, especially red roses, until she was drowning in their delicate beauty. He took her out to a different elegant restaurant every evening. During the qualifying event for the motorcar rallye, which wound around the mountainous roads in a terrifying pattern, he made sure that she and Maureen went to watch.
The Monte Carlo Rally was an international event that drew competitors from all over Europe, and when Jolana found out just how grueling the course was, and how hazardous, she felt apprehensive.
“Oh, là, it is not so bad,” Maureen laughed. “Chérie, you should have been with us in Africa, where the track was fraught with mud and swamps and unbelievable terrain! The drivers are very competent, and very good. Otherwise, they would not compete. And Phillipe has been racing for years.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said. Perhaps she’d lived a sheltered life, but it seemed an unnecessary risk to her.
“Phillipe will be fine,” Maureen said suddenly, as if she sensed her friend’s concern.
Jolana smiled. “Does it show?”
“That you are concerned for him? Oui.” She smiled. “It pleases me very much. Phillipe has been different since you came to us. I like the change in him, the maturity. I like best of all the way he looks at you. I think perhaps his wild days are over at last.”
“Now, don’t start speculating!” Jolana laughed, tossing back her hair as she always had despite its short length.
“Oh, not me.” Maureen grinned. She turned her attention back to the men who looked like spacemen in their helmets and uniforms in the confines of the odd-looking automobiles. It was noteworthy that complimentary trials were permitted to the top sixty competitors—and that Phillipe was among them. He had to be good.
But Jolana was worried, nevertheless. All her dreams of a new beginning seemed threatened as she let her eyes wander along what was visible of the rugged, rocky coastline. She knew she could never give Phillipe her heart. Despite his devastating treatment of her, Nick was still the only man she truly loved. But Phillipe had become very special to her; he made her happy and made her feel loved and desired. That was all she could hope for and all she really wanted, but now Jolana wondered if she should have allowed herself to care at all for Phillipe. Racing was dangerous. That was being driven home every second. Accidents could happen. What if something happened to Phillipe? It would hurt terribly if something went wrong now, and she was only just realizing it. The night before the race began, she was very subdued. Maureen kept glancing at her over the elegant dinner table, and Phillipe reached out a hand to caress her nervous fingers where they rested on the table.
“Nervous for me, petite?” he asked, striking to the heart of the matter. He smiled gently at her shrug. “I am an experienced driver. I know better than to take unnecessary risks. All will be well, you will see. Come. We will go dancing.”
“Phillipe, I really don’t feel up to dancing tonight,” she confessed. She felt tired to death, a nag
ging malaise that hadn’t let up since she left America. She couldn’t think why, when she was usually so healthy. Perhaps it was, as she’d thought in the beginning, nothing more than the change of climate.
“Then we will drive around,” he said, “and look at the city at night. It is so lovely. Like you, chérie.”
“That should put you in a good frame of mind for the race.” Maureen grinned at him, with a wink at Jolana.
“Oui, and it will be necessary. I need badly to win this race.”
Maureen’s smile vanished momentarily and she glanced at him apprehensively. But the next minute, the smile was back and they were discussing the cool weather and looking ahead to the parties and balls in Paris in late spring and the Grand Prix in Paris in June, when there would be fêtes almost every night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MAUREEN WAVED THEM off later, and Phillipe laughed as they pulled away from the house in the Ferrari.
“She cannot wait for us to leave,” he told Jolana. “Pierre, who is my replacement driver, is exceptionally handsome and also single. She has invited him for cocktails tonight.”
“Aha,” Jolana laughed. She leaned her head back against the seat, enjoying the cool air as it came in his open window. The view was magnificent. Palm trees were silhouetted against the Mediterranean in the glare of the tall streetlights, and some of the yachts were brilliantly lit in the harbor. It looked like a fairyland, and so different from New York.
“You should see the yachts in Nice,” he said as they drove along the shore road. “They are much bigger than these.”
“Is that where you keep yours?” she asked.
He looked glum for a minute. “Oui. For the present.” He sighed. “It is not the size of the one we had before. Like Maureen, I find myself missing the old days when our mother was still alive, before so much of the family fortune was lost. A Ferrari, while a marvelous automobile, is not a Rolls-Royce.”
Jolana felt a twinge of guilt. “Phillipe, if things are hard for you right now, please let me help. At least I could pay for my keep... “
“Jolana!” he exclaimed, astonished. He pulled off the road into a small, deserted parking lot and cut off the engine. When he turned to her, his eyes were dark with concern. “Petite, you misunderstand me. Just because I cannot own a Rolls-Royce does not mean that I must limit my companionship to paying guests.” He laughed. “I meant only that we are no longer of the class of the superrich, as are these Arabs whom one sees everywhere in the South of France these days. We are more than comfortable. Not that winning purses in the various competitions does not help,” he confessed.
“And also what you win at the gaming tables?” she asked slyly.
He shrugged. “All the same, you do not have to pay for your keep.”
She smiled at him. “I would, though. You can’t know how wonderful it is, to be here with you and Maureen. I think I might not be alive now, but for the two of you.”
She hadn’t meant to say that. And, sure enough, he pounced on it. He threw a careless long arm over the back of the seat and stared at her, all the humor gone from his face. “That is the second time you have said so. Are you holding something back from me, petite?”
She stared at her hands in the lap of her beige jersey dress. “I accidentally took an overdose of tranquilizers,” she said after a minute. She felt safe with Phillipe, as if she could tell him anything. “I was so distressed over losing the man I love that I didn’t even realize what I was doing. Mixing alcohol with tranquilizers. I was lucky that a friend found me in time.”
He caught his breath. “Mon ange, no man is worth your sweet life.” He took her hand and drew it to his chest. “I am glad you came here.”
“Oh, so am I!” she said heartily. She looked up at him. “Phillipe, I wish I could give you something in return for all you’ve given me.”
There was no smile this time. “How about a kiss, then, chérie?”
“So little,” she whispered, leaning toward him.
His eyes searched hers. “So much,” he corrected softly.
He smelled of spicy cologne and soap and she liked the smoothness of the tanned cheek her fingers touched.
“Where?” she asked, feeling daring.
His eyebrows arched. “Where?” he echoed in a low, sensuous tone.
“Where would you like to be kissed?”
He chuckled softly. “Temptress,” he chided. “I could embarrass you quite brutally.”
“I dare you,” she teased, flirting with him.
He smiled slowly. His fingers went to the open-necked white silk shirt he was wearing under his navy blue blazer. He unbuttoned the shirt slowly, watching her all the while, until all the buttons were loose. He drew it out of his slacks and exposed the whole of his tanned, muscular chest.
“Here,” he murmured.
It was true what they said about Frenchmen being sexy, she mused as she bent. Her lips drew slowly over the smooth, clean flesh, and under her mouth she could feel the sudden thunder of his pulse.
“Doucement,” he whispered. His hands caught the back of her head and guided her mouth to one hard male nipple. “Here, Jolana,” he breathed huskily. “Do to me what I did to you that night in the garden in Paris.”
She remembered. Not only what he’d done, but how it had felt. She was learning that it was possible to desire more than one man and that love took many forms. Phillipe couldn’t give her the wild, passionate excitement that Nick had. But he could give her friendship and gaiety and understanding. In return, she could give him her heart, because he couldn’t break it. It gave her a wild sense of power, to know that she could arouse him and make him want her, only her, that he had a whole heart to give.
She opened her mouth, letting her tongue tease the rigid nipple, while her hands discovered the strong, hard muscles of his chest and stomach. He had the body of an athlete, and her hands enjoyed the feel of it.
He drew one of her hands down to his flat stomach, guiding her fingers against his body so that his heartbeat increased wildly, so that his breathing became harsh.
“Will you not take pity on me and accept my proposal of marriage, chérie?” he whispered at her lips. “I need you so much it hurts.”
“You can have me,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t refuse you.”
“But I have already said how it would be, have I not?” he asked, brushing his mouth tenderly over hers. “I want you for my wife, not my mistress. I want everything to be just so between us. So, I will be tormented until you agree to wear my ring.”
“Phillipe, I can’t love you...” she whispered.
“Non,” he whispered. His mouth parted her lips, caressing them tenderly. “Love is a word for less cynical people. I cannot give you love, either, chérie. I have lived too long without it. But I can give you friendship and respect, a life of gaiety and marvelous sex. I can introduce you to a way of life, and a set of people, that you would never know in your own country. I can even give you a title.”
She smiled. “I’d rather have you than the title.”
“You honor me.”
“I think it’s the other way around.” Her fingers were still against his stomach and as she searched his eyes, she weakened. She had nothing to go back to in New York except loneliness and the horrible prospect of someday running into Nick with Margery. Seeing them together would kill her. But Phillipe was safe. And without the burden of loving, perhaps their marriage would be even better than what she could have had with Nick. Of course it could, her mind insisted.
Her restless fingers began their exploration once more. “Pity me, Jolana,” he laughed huskily. “I cannot think when you do that!”
“Can’t you?” she asked. Her eyes danced as she looked up at him. She was going to marry Comte Phillipe de Vinchy-Cardin. She was going to become his wife and have his children and live with him all her
life. It might not be love that they would share, but then, the pain Nick had given her had far outweighed the small pleasure. She told herself that and someday she might come to believe it.
“All right, monsieur le comte,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you.”
“You will?” he burst out. “Mon Dieu, she said yes!” He stuck his head out the open window. “She said yes!” he yelled at passing cars, at the top of his lungs.
“Stop that,” Jolana laughed merrily and pulled him back inside. “You’ll get us arrested, you crazy man!”
“I feel crazy, chérie, that is the truth,” he said with pure and evident pleasure in his handsome tanned face. It twinkled in his brown eyes like beacons as he studied her slender body.
“I’ll try to be a good wife to you, Phillipe,” she said with feeling. “I promise, I will.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” he said softly. He held out his arms. “Come and kiss me, now that we are engaged.”
She fell into his arms, enjoying the warm crush of his mouth. He was never going to be Nick, and probably what she could feel with him would be no match for the wild emotion that Nick was able to draw out of her. But the French were notorious for arranged marriages, and the divorce rate was comparatively low, so perhaps what she and Phillipe would share over the years would make up for the lack of true love. At least, she’d have someone to take care of her and care about her, someone who wouldn’t be eternally comparing her with another woman. Despite her efforts to forget, it still stung that Nick had used her as a substitute for Margery. She wondered if the bitter anguish would ever recede completely, instead of just being submerged until something brought it back with blinding shame. At any rate, the door to the past was closed for good. Now there was only the future.
The next day, the grueling motorcar rallye began, and Jolana felt herself getting tense all over as Phillipe waved them goodbye and took his place in the driver’s seat of the car.
Maureen had kissed Pierre, his replacement driver, with evident enthusiasm, and waved him off with tears in her eyes.
“I hate racing,” Maureen pouted once the drivers were under way. “I hate it!”
