by Lucy Gordon
As the dance ended there was a mini riot, with Henri indicating that he wanted to partner her again, and at least three other men prepared to challenge for the privilege. But they all backed off when they saw Marcel, with murder in his eyes, stretching out his hand to her.
‘My dance, I think,’ he said.
His voice was soft but dangerous, and tonight danger had an edge that she relished.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said with a challenging glance at her other suitors. ‘I think you have to wait your turn.’
It was a crazy thing to say but she couldn’t have stopped herself for anything in the world. Suddenly she felt herself yanked fiercely against him, his arm so tight about her that she was breathless.
‘I wait for no man,’ he said. Then, in a voice even softer and more menacing than before, he added, ‘And no woman.’
‘Then I guess I have no choice,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
The music had slowed, enabling him to draw her onto the floor in a waltz, his body moving against hers. She tried not to feel the rising excitement. That was to be her weapon against him, not his against her. But the shocking truth was that he was equally armed and her defences were weak. Now her only hope of standing up to him was not to let him suspect her weakness.
She reckoned a suit of armour would have been useful: something made of steel to protect her from the awareness of his body so dangerously close to hers. Lacking it, she could only assume the nearest thing to a visor, a beaming, rigid smile that should have alarmed him.
‘I don’t think you should hold me so tightly,’ she said.
‘Don’t try to fool me,’ he murmured in soft rage. ‘This is exactly what you meant to happen.’
‘You do me an injustice. I was going to wear something more conventional but you arrived before I could change.’
‘Oh, please, try to think of something better.’
‘Why must you always judge me so harshly?’
‘If you don’t know the answer to that—mon dieu, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘When is the truth fair? I know how your deceiving little mind works—’
‘How can you be so sure you know about me—a woman you met only a few days ago?’
His face was livid and she thought for a moment he would do something violent. But he only dropped his head so that his mouth was close to her ear. ‘Ne me tourmente pas ou je vais vous faire désolé. Prenez garde pendant qu’il est encore temps….’
She drew in her breath. He’d warned her against tormenting him, telling her to take heed while there was still time.
‘Don’t torment me,’ he groaned again. ‘I warn you—I warn you—’
‘Why?’ she challenged. ‘Whatever will happen?’
‘Wait and see.’
‘Suppose I can’t wait. Suppose I’m impatient. What will you do then?’
‘Wait and see,’ he repeated with slow, deliberate emphasis.
She smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’
His hand had been drifting lower until it almost rested on the satin curve of her behind. Suddenly he snatched it back, as though in fear, though whether of her or himself perhaps, neither of them could have said.
‘Witch!’ he breathed.
She chuckled. ‘Anything you say. After all, you’re my employer. Your word is law. I exist only to obey.’
Now his eyes were those of a man driven beyond endurance, and she really thought he would explode. But it lasted only a moment, then his steely control was in place again.
‘I’m glad you realise that,’ he said. ‘There are things I won’t tolerate.’
‘You must tell me what they are,’ she challenged.
His gaze was fierce and desperate. What would he say? she wondered. Was this her moment?
But the music was drawing to a close. The moment was over.
‘Later,’ he growled.
‘Later,’ she agreed.
‘But soon.’
‘Yes. Soon.’ Her eyes met his. ‘Because we’ve waited long enough.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
POLITELY they walked each other off the floor, slowing suddenly as they came within sight of the table.
‘Oh, no!’ Marcel groaned.
Cassie didn’t need to ask about the newcomer. A woman in her thirties, tense, angular and furious, sat next to Henri, hectoring him as only a wife would have done.
‘You found another floozie fast enough. I’ve been watching you dance with her.’ Her eyes fell on the blonde bombshell approaching the table on Marcel’s arm, and an expression of contempt overtook her face. ‘And here she is.’ She rose and confronted Cassie.
‘Got another one, have you? Finished with my Henri, think this one’ll have more money? That’s how your kind operate, isn’t it? Find out what they’re worth and move from one to the other.’ She glared at Marcel. ‘Don’t fool yourself. When she meets a man with more cash you’ll be history. Don’t suppose you know what it’s like to be dumped, do you? Well, you’ll find out with her.’
The air was singing about Cassie’s head. How would Marcel respond to these words that seemed to home in on his own experience with such deadly accuracy?
His reply amazed her.
‘Good evening, Madame Lenoir. I am so glad you could join your husband.’
‘Join him? I’m going to get rid of him for good. I saw him dancing with her, and what an exhibition that was! Now she can have him.’
‘You are mistaken, madame,’ Marcel said coolly. ‘Mrs Henshaw danced with your husband only out of courtesy. She is with me tonight, and I would prefer it if you did not insult her.’
‘Oh, would you? Well, I’d prefer it if—’
She got no further. Scenting danger, Henri started to draw her away, apologizing frantically. When they had gone there were sighs of relief. Monsieur Lenoir indicated for Cassie to sit beside him but she’d had as much as she could stand.
‘Forgive me,’ she said, ‘but I’m rather tired. I just want to go to bed. I’ll be at work first thing tomorrow morning. Goodnight.’
She was backing away hastily as she spoke, giving Marcel no chance to object. Not that he wanted to, she thought. He must be glad to be rid of her.
In her room she stripped off, showered and dressed for the night. Her pyjamas were ‘Mrs Henshaw’, plain linen, loose trousers, high buttons.
Stick to Mrs Henshaw in future, she thought. You could argue that Cassie hadn’t been a success.
Or you could argue that she’d been so much of a success that it had put the cat among the pigeons.
She paced the floor, too agitated to sleep. Everything that had happened this evening had been unexpected. She’d coped with surprise after surprise, and the biggest surprise of all had been Marcel’s defence of her.
But it hadn’t been personal, she thought with a sigh. Only what conventional courtesy demanded. If only…
There came a sharp knock on her door.
‘Who is it?’ she called.
‘Me.’ It was Marcel. He tried the door, rattling it. ‘Open the door.’
She did so. Instantly his hand appeared, preventing her closing it if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t want to. This moment had been too long in coming, and now she was ready for it with all guns blazing.
He pushed in so fast that she had to back away. His eyes darted around the room.
‘I’m alone,’ she said ironically. ‘Henri left tamely with his wife. He didn’t come flying back to me, whatever you think.’
‘You’ll pardon me if I don’t take your word for that.’
‘No, I won’t pardon you,’ she said. ‘I’m not a liar. There’s nobody here but us.’
He ignored her. He was opening doors, looking into the bathroom, the wardrobe. Her temper rose sharply.
‘Look at me,’ she said, indicating her dull attire. ‘Do you think any woman entertains a lover dressed in clothes like this?’
‘That dep
ends how long she means to wear them. When she knows he’ll rip them off her as soon as possible—’
‘Is that what Henri wanted?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘He didn’t say.’
‘He didn’t need to. It’s what he wanted and every man in the room wanted. That’s the truth and we both know it.’
‘Now, look—’
He turned on her in swift fury. ‘Don’t take me for a fool!’
‘But you are a fool,’ she raged. ‘The biggest fool in creation. Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’
‘Locking the door so that we’re not disturbed. Since the conversation is getting down to basics, I have things to say to you.’
‘I think we both have things to say.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, and they’ve waited too long, Mrs Henshaw.’
For a moment she didn’t speak. Then she said quietly, ‘Are you sure that’s what you want to call me?’
‘I don’t want to call you anything. I’d rather not have to endure the sight of you. I thought you were safely out of my life, just a bitter, evil memory that I could kick aside. But now—’ He checked himself and looked her up and down, breathing hard with the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
‘It is you, isn’t it?’ he said at last.
It was the question he’d promised himself not to ask, because that would be a sign of yielding. But now he knew there had never been a choice.
‘It is you,’ he repeated.
‘You’ve known that all along.’
‘I thought so—sometimes I wasn’t sure—it didn’t seem possible that you could be—’ He broke off, breathing harshly. ‘I’ve tried not to believe it,’ he said at last.
‘So you didn’t want it to be true?’
‘Of course I didn’t,’ he said with soft violence. ‘Why should I want to meet you again? I can still hardly comprehend—what evil design made you come after me?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she cried angrily. ‘I didn’t seek you out. I went to see Marcel Falcon. Until I saw you I had no idea it was the man I’d known as Marcel Degrande. If I had known I’d never have gone to that meeting. When I recognised you I ran away as fast as I could.’
‘But you turned back.’
‘I didn’t mean to. At first I ran into the garden, but to finally escape I had to come back through the hotel and I met you coming out. Don’t you understand? I didn’t want to see you again. There was just too much—’
Suddenly the words choked her, and she turned away with a helpless gesture.
‘Yes,’ he growled. ‘Too much. We could never have met peacefully.’ He took hold of her and twisted her around. ‘Don’t turn your back on me. You flaunted your charms tonight, and I endured it, but no more! Did it please you to taunt and jeer at me?’
‘I wasn’t—’ She tried to free herself but he gripped her more tightly.
‘Don’t lie. You knew exactly what you were doing to me, wearing those—those—you know what I mean. What kind of twisted pleasure did it give you? Or don’t I need to ask? You played your games, the way you’ve always done—’
‘I never played games with you,’ she said desperately.
‘Oh, but you did. You just weren’t so frank about it in those days. Sweet, loving little Cassie, wide-eyed and innocent, honestly in love. And I believed it. Until I discovered that you were heartless, incapable of honest love. That was a useful lesson. Once learned, never forgotten. That’s the Cassie I knew. So tell me, who is Mrs Henshaw?’
‘She’s who I am now,’ she cried. ‘At least I thought so. I thought Cassie had died a long time ago.’
‘But tonight she rose again, didn’t she? Because some creatures never die. You showed me that nothing had changed, and stood back laughing at the result. I hope I didn’t disappoint you.’
‘Can that be true?’ she challenged him. ‘That nothing has changed?’
She heard his swift intake of breath, saw the wild look in his eyes and knew that she’d hit a nerve. He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. So she answered for him.
‘Of course it isn’t true, Marcel. It can’t be true.’
‘You said yourself that Cassie hadn’t really died,’ he reminded her coldly.
‘But she’s not the same Cassie. She’s seen things she never thought to see, things she didn’t want to see, but can’t forget. She’s trapped in her own memories. What about you?’
His terrible expression was her answer. It was the look of a man struggling to get free, knowing he was doomed to fail.
‘I can cope with memories,’ he said. ‘But from some things there’s no escape.’
‘If you’re accusing me of pursuing you, I’ve already explained—’
‘I’m not. Not the way you mean.’
She had pursued him in dreams and fantasies, visions and nightmares. He’d tried to drive her off, crying out that he hated and despised her—that if they met again he would take revenge. But her ghost laughed at his rage, jeered that she was stronger than he, and haunted him so relentlessly that when she’d actually risen before his eyes it was as though he’d summoned her by the force of his will.
He knew he shouldn’t tell her this. It would give her too much power, and her power was already alarming. But he couldn’t stop himself saying, ‘You were always there. A million times I tried to make you go, but you wouldn’t. Now you’re really here, and I’m no longer a callow boy to let you trick me and run.’
‘Why must you think the worst of me?’ she cried.
‘Haven’t I reason? Didn’t you desert me when I was almost at death’s door?’
‘No, I didn’t desert you,’ she cried. ‘I did it for you—’
‘Surely you can think of something better than that,’ he sneered.
‘It’s true. I had no choice.’
‘You’re lying and it’s not even a clever lie. Anyone could see through it.’
‘Listen to me—’ she screamed.
‘No, you listen to me. I hate you, Cassie, or Mrs Henshaw, whoever you are today. I shall hate you as long as I live. There’s only one thing about you that I don’t hate, and it’s this.’
He pulled her hard against him and looked down into her face. She felt his hands move away from her shoulders to take her head, holding it in the right position so that she couldn’t resist. She knew what he was about to do, but nothing could prepare her for the feel of his lips on hers after so long.
‘Marcel,’ she gasped.
‘You’ve been trying to drive me insane all evening, and now you’ve done it. Are you pleased? Is this what you wanted?’
It was exactly what she wanted and only now did she admit the truth to herself. All her anger and defiance had been heading for this moment, trying to drive him to take her into his arms. Her body, her senses and, if she were honest, her heart, had been set on this, and if he’d resisted her it would have been an insult for which she would never have forgiven him. A sigh broke from her, and her warm breath against his mouth inflamed him more. He deepened the kiss with his tongue, seeking her response, sensing it, driven wild by it.
Her arms seemed to move of their own accord, gliding up around his neck, holding, drawing his head fiercely against hers, sending him a message with her lips and tongue.
But suddenly he drew back as though forcing himself with a great effort.
‘Tell me to stop,’ he growled. ‘Tell me. Let me hear you say it.’
‘How can I?’ she said huskily. ‘You never took orders from me.’
‘You never needed to give me orders. I did what you wanted without you having to say it.’
‘You were always so sure you knew what I wanted,’ she murmured, looking up with teasing eyes that were as provocative as she meant them to be.
‘You never complained.’
‘Perhaps I was afraid of you.’
‘You?’ he echoed in a voice that was almost savage. ‘Afraid of me?’
‘Perhaps I’m afraid of you now. I’m in your power, aren’t I?’
‘Then tell me to stop,’ he repeated with grim emphasis.
For answer she gave him a smile that tested his self control to the limit. She felt the tremor go through him, and smiled again.
‘Tell me to stop!’ he said desperately.
‘Do you think you should stop?’ she whispered.
‘Damn you! Damn you!’
His hands were moving feverishly, finding the buttons of her pyjamas, wrenching them open, tossing the puritanical jacket aside. He touched her breasts with his fingers, then his lips, groaning softly so that his warm breath whispered over her skin, sending a frisson of delight through her.
She was aware of him moving towards the bedroom, taking her with him, but then all sensations merged until she felt the bed beneath her. He raised his head to gaze down at her and she instinctively began to work on his buttons, ripping them open even faster than he had ripped hers.
It was dark in this room and all they could see of each other was their eyes, fierce and gleaming with mutual desire. And then the moment came. After so many years they were one again, moving in a perfect physical harmony that defied their antagonism. The old memories were still alive, how to please each other, inflame each other, challenge, defy, infuriate each other. And then how to lie quietly in each other’s arms, feeling the roar die away, leaving only fulfilment behind.
She could barely make out his features, but she sensed his confusion. For once in his life, Marcel was lost for words. She gave him a reassuring smile.
‘Would you really have stopped if I’d asked you?’ she murmured.
A long silence.
‘Let’s just say…I’m glad you didn’t ask me,’ he said at last, slowly.
She waited for him to say more. Whatever the past, they had suddenly discovered a new road that could lead back to each other. Surely now he would have words of tenderness for her?
Full of hope, she reached out, brushing her fingertips against his face.
But he drew back sharply, stared at her for a moment, then rose from the bed like a man fleeing the devil.
‘No,’ he said softly, then violently, ‘no!’
‘Marcel—’
