Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King. Susan StephensЧитать онлайн книгу.
first aid kit?’ he demanded impatiently.
‘I’ve been far too busy trying to undo all the damage here to be concerned about—’
‘Your safety?’
‘Guy, I—’
‘What?’ he said fiercely, keeping a firm hold of her when she struggled to pull away. ‘What would you like to say to me, Kate?’
His voice was demanding and full of an intensity she hadn’t heard before. Her hand hurt like hell. And the fact that it was he who sounded furious when it was she who had every right to be angry, filled her with a heat so profound that for that moment she lost all hold on reason.
‘Don’t you dare shout at me!’ she raged, thumping his chest with her free hand. But, instead of shouting back, he only laughed as he grabbed her flailing arm and held her close. So close she was rammed against his chest where the steady rhythm of his heart throbbed in her ears and the comfortingly fresh scent of clean brushed cotton and warm hard man worked some sort of magic on her agitated mind.
‘Better?’ he murmured, stroking her head.
Confused, distressed, but spent, she moved her head slightly in agreement. ‘It hurts,’ she admitted. And if he thought she meant her hand then that was for the best. But when Guy held her in his arms the same longings that had made her teenage years such misery rose up again to taunt her with the unbridgeable gap between them.
It wasn’t just the twelve years or so that separated them by age, but the wealth of experience possessed by a man like the Count. And the years of separation only seemed to have given that impression strength, as if it had been resting dormant like some forgotten seed. They were as far apart as ever…perhaps more so, because now they were adults with their own lives to lead and sooner rather than later, Guy, Comte de Villenueve was going to discover that she had misled him badly.
He released her after a couple of minutes, but only to arm’s length. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing in the cottage we can treat your hand with?’
Kate missed a beat as she considered how to stop him going inside without being downright rude. She wasn’t ready for visitors yet, especially not Guy. Until every single detail inside the cottage had been returned to the way that she wanted it…remembered it, no one was going to get past that door.
‘No. I cleared everything out. Past the sell-by date.’ She held her arms open in a gesture of helpless regret. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll go to the pharmacie in the village.’
He still looked unconvinced. ‘I’ll take you.’
‘No. Don’t be silly, I—’ But he wouldn’t let go of her wrist, and they were already halfway across the yard before she realised what was happening. Lifting her up, he swung her on to his horse’s back, and moments later, he was seated behind her with his free arm banded around her waist.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy,’ he promised, nudging the horse into a gentle walk.
The fact that she hadn’t ridden since childhood was nothing to fear in comparison to the touch of Guy’s warm arm about her. And it was no good trying to keep a safe distance from him when he only yanked her back again.
‘Relax,’ he murmured so close to her ear that she shivered involuntarily. ‘You’re making him nervous.’
The horse’s sensibilities were the last thing on Kate’s mind, but the relaxed clip-clop was certainly going some way to soothing her shattered nerves. Soon she was swaying easily in time to the rhythm of the stallion’s hooves and the earlier rigidity gave way to what she managed to convince herself was a far more natural posture—resting close up to Guy.
‘Where are we going?’ As she turned to ask the question her cheek encountered the rugged planes of his beard-roughened face. It felt good. Scratchy, but good. And the heat that collected instantly in her cheeks moved quickly on to more erogenous zones so that she savoured the effect of Guy’s muscle-corded forearm against her sensitive nipples and even relished the movement of the horse as he held her firmly in place on the saddle.
‘Does it hurt?’
His murmured question trespassed on these sensual indulgences so that she felt vulnerable and guilty, as if she was a child again and he had caught her out doing something naughty. ‘It’s not too bad now,’ she said huskily. ‘Why?’
‘I heard you sigh. I just wondered—’
He let the sentence hang as he waited for her explanation. ‘Where are we going, Guy?’ she said, forcing some focus back into her voice.
‘Château…pharmacie,’ he said casually. ‘Your choice.’
‘Pharmacie,’ Kate said quickly.
‘As you wish,’ he agreed evenly, turning the horse on to a right-hand fork in the road.
‘At least there Monsieur Dupont, the pharmacien can take a look at it,’ Kate pointed out, trying to excuse her reluctance to place herself on Guy’s territory—under his control. She shook her head in an effort to banish all wayward thoughts concerning Guy once and for all.
He made a sound of agreement low down in his chest and tightened his arm a fraction. ‘Are you ready to go faster?’
Any faster than this and she would not be held responsible for the consequences, Kate thought.
Taking her silence for assent, Guy shortened the reins and took the wilful stallion in a firmer grip between his thighs. With barely an aid, as far as Kate could detect, he brought the horse from a brisk walk to a steady canter, holding her all the while, easily, but firmly, so that she never felt in danger once—from falling off, at least.
The Count de Villeneuve’s status in the village was never clearer than when he put in a personal appearance, Kate realised as people turned to wave and call out greetings. But rather than the type of sycophantic attention she might have expected a member of the aristocracy to attract, he was accorded the most genuine warmth and respect. On top of this she soon realised that he possessed an encyclopaedic knowledge of village life. There didn’t appear to be one family with which he was not acquainted, one difficulty of which he was not aware, or one successful enterprise in which he did not have at least a passing interest.
‘How do you know so much about so many people?’ Kate asked after one particularly dynamic encounter that had involved arranging a match between a neighbouring village and the Villeneuve pétanque team.
His faintly bemused eyes clashed with hers. ‘I make it my business to know,’ he explained. ‘This isn’t a hobby for me, Kate. This village…these people are my life.’
How she envied them.
Like most of the shops in the village, the same family had run the pharmacie for generations. Monsieur Dupont, le pharmacien, a short wiry man with a mischievous smile hidden behind his pebble glasses, was all bristling moustache and plastered down hair. When he saw his latest customers he made a little jump in order to attract their attention over the phalanx of waiting customers who took up several rows in front of the mahogany framed glass-topped counter where he was holding court. Silence fell like a blanket as everyone turned to stare.
‘Monsieur le Comte,’ the pharmacist exclaimed. ‘Quel honneur! What can I do for you?’
‘See to everyone else first,’ Guy insisted. ‘I think the emergency has passed.’ He looked at Kate for confirmation.
‘I’m fine, honestly,’ she insisted in a self-conscious whisper. ‘I could probably pick up some antiseptic and a bandage at the supermarché.
‘Supermarché!’ Monsieur Dupont exclaimed, throwing up his hands in horror. ‘The very idea! Clear the way, everyone!’ he insisted, conducting his crowd of customers with the finesse of a maestro. ‘Let the young lady come forward.’
‘No, really, there’s no