The Frenchman's Captive Wife

by Chantelle Shaw

  He had trusted Robyn’s word above Emily’s, he acknowledged bitterly. True, he had begun to have serious doubts about Robyn’s motives and now he had definitive proof that she had lied to him, but he was at a loss to know how he could repair the hurt he had caused.

  He glanced back to find Emily struggling to keep up with him and his emotions crumbled at the sight of her flushed but determined face.

  ‘Why have you brought me to the top of the tower?’ she demanded as she joined Luc on the small landing and glanced out of the window at the incredible view of the Loire Valley spread below her. ‘I hope you’re not planning to push me off,’ she quipped with a nervous laugh.

  ‘Why do you think I would want do that, chérie?’ The curiously husky tone in his voice brought her head up and she stared at him, noting for the first time the lines of strain around his eyes and the deep grooves that had appeared around his mouth. He would never be anything other than utterly gorgeous but he looked so tired and on edge that she longed to go to him. Instead, she shoved her hands behind her back, out of temptation’s way.

  ‘We haven’t been getting on very well lately,’ she offered quietly. ‘I have a feeling that you’re still angry with me.’

  ‘I’m angry, oui,’ he admitted harshly, ‘but not with you, ma petite. My anger is directed solely at myself.’

  Without giving her time to reply, he opened the door and ushered her into a large, circular room with windows all the way round so that light streamed in.

  ‘What a spectacular view,’ Emily murmured as she moved forward to admire the stunning scenery of the valley. ‘What is this place, Luc?’

  ‘It’s your workroom—unless you would prefer rooms in another part of the château,’ he added as silence stretched between them. ‘I thought you would like it here. The view is, as you say, spectacular, and the light is good for you to work. Say something,’ he demanded, his control slipping. He raked a hand nervously through his hair as he caught sight of her tears. ‘Why are you crying? I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘I am pleased. I’m…stunned,’ she admitted thickly, scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. The betraying gesture made him want to drag her into his arms and plead for her forgiveness. It was too late for that, he conceded grimly as he swung round and shoved his hands in his pockets. There were things he had to do first, events he had to set in motion before he could even begin to beg for atonement, and kissing her senseless would not help his cause.

  ‘I think you’ll find everything you need here,’ he told her, keeping his eyes firmly on the view rather than her face. ‘Your sketches are there, along with the fabric samples you brought from Spain. The table should be big enough to use as a cutting table and, as you can see, your sewing-machine is on the bench under the window. I’ve arranged for two girls from the village to come and see you. They’ve both studied textiles and design and could possibly become your assistants, although the final decision lies with you, of course.’

  Emily glanced around the room, her eyes filling once more. It was the unexpectedness of Luc’s change of heart that had knocked her sideways and she didn’t know what to think, what to say.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she murmured at last. ‘You were so against the idea of me trying to start up my own business.’

  ‘I realise now how selfish I was being,’ he said slowly, as he swung round to her. ‘This is important to you and, despite what you think, I want you to be happy at the château. I understand that Nadine Trouvier has invited you to visit her babywear shop in Paris and I’m prepared to allow you to go.’

  Did that mean he finally trusted her? Emily wondered dazedly. Or did he assume she would leave Jean-Claude at the château and simply did not care whether or not she came back? ‘It’s all so much to take in,’ she said shakily, sinking onto a stool before her legs gave way. ‘You’ve gone to so much trouble, yet my idea may not even work. I might just be kidding myself that I’m any good and there’s a chance that no one will want my designs.’

  ‘Nadine would not have suggested marketing them in her shops unless she believed they would sell. Beneath her smile lurks a shrewd businesswoman.’ He paused and then murmured, ‘I think you should go to Paris with Jean-Claude. It will do you both good to spend a couple of days in the city.’

  ‘But I thought you didn’t trust me?’ she faltered, her eyes wide with confusion as she stared at him. ‘Aren’t you worried I’ll disappear with him?’

  ‘Non,’ he replied steadily, closing his mind to the fear that she would do exactly that. He hadn’t offered her much incentive to want to stay with him but perhaps the workshop would go some way towards mending the wounds he had inflicted on their relationship. ‘I don’t believe you would deliberately try to hurt me and you would never do anything that would be detrimental to our son.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly changed your tune.’ The hint of bitterness in her tone faded as hope flooded her. ‘Care to explain your sudden change of heart?’

  ‘I hope to do so soon, ma petite,’ he assured her, and the smoky quality in his voice caused her pulse rate to accelerate alarmingly. Luc trusted her enough to offer her her freedom and she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Did that mean he finally believed her story about taking Jean-Claude to the penthouse? Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter any more and she gave him a tremulous smile, her heart in her eyes.

  ‘Maybe we could all go to Paris?’ she suggested lightly. ‘I have wonderful memories of the last time we were there.’

  She walked over to him and ran her hand lightly over his chest. It was obvious that he had created the workroom for her as an olive branch and she was eager to accept it. He was prepared to view their marriage as a partnership and she was desperate to show that both he and Jean-Claude would always come first in her priorities, but even so her hand was visibly shaking as she laid it against his shirt.

  ‘I’m sorry, chérie, but I have an urgent meeting in Orléans,’ he murmured, and she quickly dropped her hand, her face flaming. ‘Philippe will drive you to Paris.’

  ‘Philippe? But I thought—’ She broke off as the realisation hit that he did not trust her quite as much as she’d first believed. ‘I can drive myself. I’m perfectly capable.’

  ‘You’re not used to driving in France, and you know how busy the roads are around Paris. You’ll be safer with Philippe.’

  ‘It’s not my safety that bothers you, is it?’ she demanded. ‘Your only concern is for Jean-Claude.’

  ‘It’s natural for me to worry about him. Having just found him, I would give anything, including my life, to ensure his well-being,’ he said, his voice unexpectedly fierce. She stared at him. ‘Do you blame me for that?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Emily swallowed back the sudden tears that clogged her throat. Jean-Claude’s safety was paramount to her, too, but Luc could not have sent out a clearer message that he was only interested in his son. Nothing had changed and although she certainly didn’t resent the fact that Jean-Claude came first in his list of priorities, it hurt unbelievably to know that she came last. It was continuing the theme of her childhood, she thought miserably. She had always been made to feel she was a spare part. Was it so wrong to long to be loved totally and unequivocally for herself? She hung her head, desperate to hide her misery, but he cupped her chin and tilted her face to his.

  ‘What is it, ma petite?’ Don’t you like the workroom?’

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ she answered truthfully, ‘but it doesn’t change anything.’ She could not live her life loving him so much that it was like a sickness inside her, while he treated her like a favourite cousin. It wasn’t his fault that he did not love her, she accepted sadly, but for the sake of her own self-preservation, she couldn’t stay with him.

  ‘It’s not going to work,’ she told him bluntly, and his eyes narrowed.

  ‘The workshop, you mean?’

  ‘I mean us, you and me. I can’t stay with you, knowing that you don�
��t trust me.’

  ‘It’s not a question of trust,’ he said heavily, and she sighed her frustration.

  ‘It’s a question of emotions, or rather your lack of them.’

  ‘I love Jean-Claude,’ he shouted furiously. ‘How can you doubt it?’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said, her anger draining as swiftly as it had come. She felt like she was hitting her head against a brick wall and she was too bruised to care any more.

  ‘I won’t allow you to throw away what we have. I give you my word that our marriage has my full commitment.’

  ‘As long as I stay at the château and only take Jean-Claude out escorted by a glorified jailer, while we remain as distant as ever, only coming together for occasional sex,’ she muttered. ‘It doesn’t sound like much of a life, Luc.’

  ‘The only life you’ll have,’ he ground out. ‘I won’t let you go, Emily.’ He followed her across the room as she sought to put some space between them, closing in so that her spine came up against the long table that ran the length of the room. ‘If sex is the only way I can bind you to me then so be it. I never asked if you’re on the Pill and in the heat of the moment I didn’t use any contraception when we made love. You could be pregnant,’ he told her huskily. ‘Have you thought of that?’

  She had thought of nothing else for the past few days but now was not the time to admit her suspicions. Luc was too close, too overpowering and she gasped as he suddenly lifted her onto the table, his hands clamping like a vice around her hips.

  ‘You don’t want more children,’ she said nervously, her tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips. His eyes narrowed as they homed in on her mouth. ‘You didn’t want the first one.’

  ‘I always wanted him, and if I hadn’t wanted more I would have taken more care to ensure you didn’t conceive,’ he told her coolly. ‘I would like nothing better than to see you swollen with our child.’

  His hand moved to her flat stomach and she could not repress the quiver of awareness that ran through her. This close she could detect the exotic musk of his aftershave mingled with another, more subtle male scent that was essentially his. His hand had moved from her stomach to the swell of her breast and as he cupped the soft mound she felt her nipples harden until they were straining against her thin T-shirt, begging for his touch. He captured her mouth in a fierce assault, hot and passionate, demanding her response, and she gave a moan of despair as her lips parted, allowing his tongue to delve between them in a fierce exploration that left her trembling.

  ‘Please, Luc,’ she begged. She couldn’t allow him to dominate her like this. One touch was all it took to set her on fire and she twisted restlessly as he pushed her legs apart and stood between them. His hand slid beneath her skirt and she held her breath as he dipped beneath and discovered the shaming evidence that she was desperate for him. His low growl of triumph was too much to bear and the tears poured down Emily’s cheeks while her lips still clung to his as she kissed him with all the pent-up emotions inside her.

  ‘Please, don’t do this,’ she whispered brokenly, and he stiffened, his eyes glazed and heavy-lidded as he stared at her.

  ‘Because you don’t want me?’ he challenged furiously. ‘Because you want your freedom? You are my wife, chérie. For all our sakes I suggest you accept that fact.’ He jerked away from her and strode towards the door while she tried to bring her body under control. It was all she could do not to call him back but she swallowed the words.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she cried instead, and shrank from the anger in his gaze.

  ‘To hell! That’s where you’d like to send me, isn’t it?’ came the terse reply before he disappeared. And as she heard his feet on the stairs she buried her face in her hands and wept.

  CHAPTER NINE

  EMILY SPENT THE REST OF THE DAY nursing Jean-Claude, who was cutting a tooth and determined that everyone should know about it. Luc had disappeared and her mood see-sawed from misery to anger and finally to a faint tenuous hope that there was still a chance for their marriage. She had overreacted earlier, she berated herself. She had behaved like the silly, immature child Luc had once called her, but hopefully he would listen to her apology.

  That hope swiftly died when she entered the dining room for dinner and noted that only one place had been set at the long, mahogany table.

  ‘Will Monsieur Vaillon be joining me?’ she asked Philippe.

  ‘I regret not, Madame. He has gone to Orléans and does not expect to return until tomorrow.’

  ‘I see.’ He had left already and her dismay was clearly evident in the huskiness of her voice. ‘In that case I think I’ll have my dinner on a tray in the television room,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll just go and change. I’m rather over-dressed,’ she added with a vain attempt at humour.

  The butler’s usually impassive expression lightened into something akin to a smile of sympathy, which only made her feel worse, and she fled upstairs, wondering for the hundredth time why she had decided to wear the blue silk evening dress Luc had chosen for her. She had wanted to please him, she acknowledged as she hung it back in the wardrobe and pulled on her jeans. She’d wanted to thank him for listening to her ideas about the babywear company she hoped to establish and which initially he had been so much against. He had vowed that he wanted to give their marriage another chance and creating the workshop for her was proof of his commitment, but once again they had been driven apart by misunderstanding and her wretched insecurity.

  Philippe wheeled the serving trolley into the television room. Sylvie had prepared her favourite bouillabaisse, he announced, but as she lifted the lid of the dish nausea gripped her and she fled from the room. This was no ordinary stomach upset, she thought grimly some ten minutes later when she had staggered from the bathroom to lie limply on the bed. The sickness had passed, probably because she had nothing left in her stomach, but she felt weak and tearful and her breasts ached.

  There was only one way to put her mind at rest, she decided, jumping up from the bed and returning to the bathroom to retrieve the pregnancy test kit from where she had hidden it at the back of the cupboard. She had to know if she was carrying another child. Five minutes had never passed so slowly but even so, she was unprepared for the shocking truth.

  A baby! Luc’s second child! She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and managed both as her emotions swung from joy to despair. What would he say? Would he be pleased or angry? Would he accuse her of falling pregnant on purpose, as he had when she she’d conceived Jean-Claude, and would he withdraw from her as he had done the first time?

  She had to know. She could not wait patiently until he returned from Orléans to tell him her news and gauge his reaction. It was still early in the evening and ignoring the small voice of caution she ran down to his study. It was ridiculous for her heart to beat so fast, she thought irritably, to feel that she was intruding in his inner sanctum. She flicked on the light. Her attention was immediately caught by the array of photographs on his desk and tears burned her eyes as she studied them. They were not of Jean-Claude, as she had assumed, but of her. One showed her in the stables at Heston Grange, her hair all over the place and a shy smile on her face as she posed awkwardly for the camera. The others were from the magical weekend they had shared in Paris at the start of their marriage, and she was stunned by the emotion evident in her eyes. She brimmed with love, glowed with it, and she was shaken to see how badly she had failed to hide her feelings for him. Had he kept the pictures to gloat over her weakness? she wondered. Or was there another reason why he surrounded himself with her image?

  As she replaced the framed photos on his desk she noted a name scrawled across his notepad. La Fayette had to be the name of a hotel, she surmised, praying that the receptionist would be able to speak English as she dialled the number.

  ‘Oui. Monsieur Vaillon is booked into the Plaza suite,’ the receptionist confirmed, ‘but he is in a meeting and left strict instructions that he does not wish to be disturbed.’

&nbs
p; ‘I’m his wife,’ Emily swiftly explained. ‘He’ll talk to me.’

  ‘Monsieur was very precise,’ the receptionist murmured doubtfully, and Emily’s temper frayed along with her nerves.

  ‘It’s an emergency. I insist you put me through.’

  There followed several minutes of silence that played havoc with her stomach before there was a click and Luc’s terse voice sounded down the line.

  ‘Emily, what’s wrong? The receptionist said it was an emergency. Is it Jean-Claude? Is he ill?’ There was no disguising the fear in his voice and she hastened to reassure him.

  ‘Jean-Claude’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you…’ She came to a halt as his impatient sigh growled in her ear.

  ‘I’m busy, chérie. Can’t it wait?’

  ‘Yes, it can wait,’ she whispered slowly, her excitement draining away as reality kicked her in the teeth once again. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.’

  ‘I’ll be home tomorrow,’ he said more gently, as if sensing her distress. ‘We’ll talk then, I promise.’

  ‘Fine.’ She cut the call and sat staring at the photos of herself. What a stupid, deluded fool she had been, she thought bitterly. All she had ever hoped for had been a little of his love, but it seemed it was too much to ask.

  The stairs were as steep as a mountain and Emily’s legs felt like lead. Sabine’s perfect features seemed to mock her as she passed by the portrait of Luc’s first wife, but when she reached the bedroom the sight of the vast bed and the bolster that divided it was the last straw and she curled up into a ball and sobbed. She was trapped in a loveless marriage, bound by the ties of her son and the new fragile life within her, and right now she felt miserable, afraid and desperately alone.