Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King. Susan StephensЧитать онлайн книгу.
Feminine? Tell me,’ he demanded, still in the same low and very disturbing voice.
‘They are all very beautiful and extremely feminine,’ Kate admitted, ‘but that’s not what concerns me.’
Twin furrows appeared between his sweeping sable brows. ‘So, what does concern you?’ he pressed.
‘I only needed one outfit at most,’ Kate explained. ‘But you must have ordered half a summer collection.’
‘All of it,’ he said casually. ‘And the fashion house was good enough to track down shoes, bags and lingerie for me too—and at such short notice. Of course, I haven’t had a chance to examine every item. So, you must choose, Kate. Keep whatever you want and I’ll send the rest back. Keep everything, or nothing. It’s up to you, Kate.’
Kate was far too stunned to come up with a reasoned argument. ‘But I can’t possibly—’
‘OK, so now I’ve got an even better idea,’ Guy said decisively.
Kate’s sigh of relief was audible as she laid down her knife and fork.
‘You always did like dressing up. I remember you coming to your aunt’s in that hideous school uniform and then pouf! The next day you would reappear in some exotic concoction she had dreamed up for you. One day you were stiff and anxious and the next…’
As he paused to view her thoughtfully, as if searching for a way to describe how she had looked back then, Kate found her own concerns centring on her current appearance. Making a discreet check, she discovered just how diaphanous the top of her new dress really was.
‘And the next?’ she pressed, hoping to deflect Guy’s interest, which she saw she had drawn to the generous amount of cleavage currently overflowing the cunningly designed bodice.
‘And the next day you would be anyone you wanted to be,’ he said, relaxing back with an open-armed shrug. ‘Bandanna and jeans meant I had to beware of the pirate queen. Those pretty muslin skirts much like the one you wore yesterday…’ He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe you would be a romantic peasant girl for the day, or maybe even a fairy princess.’
‘Yuk!’ Kate grimaced and then looked down at the dress she was wearing. ‘And this?’
Guy shrugged as he threw back his head to give a short, very masculine laugh. ‘The Countess de Villeneuve, perhaps? For the day at least,’ he qualified provocatively. His stare was like a challenge to which she responded exactly as he anticipated.
‘I’m warning you, Guy. Don’t tease me.’ Kate waited for a moment until she was sure she was ready to return to the attack. ‘Why don’t we get back to this idea of yours?’
‘Leave the clothes here,’ Guy suggested casually. ‘That way, any time you feel like some role play—’ His brows rose infinitesimally, but enough, and there was laughter in his eyes and something darker and far more disturbing. Some of the underwear was—Kate didn’t even dare think about it, at least not while she was sitting so close to him.
‘Are you ready to go to the cottage now?’ he said when they had finished lunch.
Kate agreed that she was. She had realised instantly that she wasn’t up to sexual jousts with Guy, even if they were only verbal. Her arena was business, and if she’d had any sense that was where she would have kept their relationship. ‘Yes, I’m ready,’ she confirmed. ‘And if the cottage has been pronounced safe—if the bedrooms are in any way habitable—I should like to stay on there. I know there will be a lot of clearing up to do before the builders and decorators can start their work and I’d like to help.’ She watched his jaw tighten but, like her, Guy was intent on keeping his thoughts to himself. The most he permitted himself now was a brief nod of agreement.
‘If that’s what you want,’ he agreed, ‘Madame Duplessis will send hampers of food and drink and I’m sure we have some oil lamps and an old oil heater somewhere that will do for now.’
‘There’s really no need to bother. I’ll be fine,’ Kate said, knowing what she really needed was a clean break with the château. Her body told her that anything other than the most limited contact with Guy, Count of Villeneuve was going to lead to complications she would never be ready to handle.
‘Nonsense!’ he said, springing up before she could think of any more excuses. ‘I’m going to take you back there now and find out exactly what you need.’
THE drive back to the cottage took just a few minutes in one of the estate’s four-wheel drive vehicles, but it was a few moments more before Kate could bring herself to check out the damage.
‘Come on,’ Guy urged impatiently, slamming his door. Flinging her door open, he stood there waiting. Only then did Kate’s mind click into gear. He’d been up half the night on her behalf and he was sure to have other things to do. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, making light of her shock at seeing the smoke-blackened exterior. ‘I was just steeling myself.’
As soon as he was sure she was following, Guy strode briskly up the path. ‘I wouldn’t have brought you up here if the cottage was burned beyond redemption,’ he called over his shoulder. Reaching the front door, he pushed it open. The first thing that hit Kate was the smell, a dank, rancid stench that caught in the back of her throat as she adjusted her eyes to the gloom.
‘Look, it’s not too bad,’ Guy said as he forced the door across a heap of something damp that squelched as they walked over it. ‘And we’ve had the “all clear” from the fire service and… What?’ he said when she made a small wounded sound.
Maybe it didn’t look too bad to him, but as far as Kate was concerned it was the end of an era and there wasn’t even time to mourn. And with the deadline she had to meet the devastation inside the cottage was nothing short of a total disaster.
The flimsier objects as well as the soft furnishings had been utterly consumed, and the heavy cupboard doors as well as the beautiful oak table and rustic-style benches appeared scorched beyond redemption; the wood charred to dust in some places. But it was far more than the loss of a deadline Kate saw as she looked around. It was the loss of a very important part of her life. Shattered ornaments lay scattered about the floor, and there was no sign at all of the photograph albums she had been studying amongst the stinking wet debris. Of the two old carver chairs, one slumped miserably on three legs instead of four and the ceiling had fallen down in the far corner of the room, exposing the rafters above, though they seemed unharmed, Kate saw thankfully. But the white walls had been transformed into an ugly mishmash of yellows and browns shaded with banners of soot. A groan escaped her as she forced herself to turn full circle.
‘Arrêtes!’ Guy insisted, taking her upper arms in a strong grip as if to shake some sense into her. ‘There’s nothing here that my men can’t repair. It’s all superficial.’
As his touch ripped through her, she burst out, ‘Superficial!’ Kate shook her head incredulously. ‘I can’t believe you just said that, Guy de Villeneuve. You’re such a man!’
‘I certainly hope so—’
As their eyes met, the furious look she flashed at him ricocheted back on her senses. ‘Only a man could look at a home reduced to a cinder and insist that the damage is superficial,’ she said, shifting the heat into her accusation.
‘But it is,’ Guy insisted. ‘The structure’s sound.’
‘But everything’s lost!’
‘Ah,’ he murmured, releasing her to slip his hand into his pocket. ‘Not quite everything.’
‘My locket!’ Kate gasped.
‘The men brought it to me this morning,’ he revealed, holding it so that the chain was wrapped around his wrist and the locket swung free in front of her face.
But