‘That’s settled, then. Shall I show Mr Fauré to the door?’
‘It’s a bit late to play the perfect host, Benedict,’ his mother said lightly. ‘Mr Fauré, let me do the honours and possibly persuade you to come and visit again when things are less…’ she eyed her son thoughtfully ‘…volatile?’
‘Come on, Charlie,’ Natalie said, chivvying the dogs with a piercing whistle. ‘We’ll go and see the horses.’ She leant close to her brother. ‘This will cost you big,’ she said softly.
‘I know.’ Benedict’s eyes didn’t leave Rachel’s face for an instant.
‘And I expect a blow-by-blow—’
Benedict did look at her then with indulgent tolerance. ‘Get a life, Nat,’ he advised, not unkindly.
‘Some chance of that; you want to try being sixteen,’ she tossed back, taking Charlie by the hand and leading her out into the garden.
‘Weren’t you going to show us those photos of the big bash for your brother’s engagement, Sabrina?’ Tom shot a slightly apologetic look towards his wife as he pulled her to her feet. ‘Ruth was amazed when I told her who was there.’
This was enough to draw Sabrina’s resentful eyes from the silent tableau of the two remaining figures in the room. ‘Did I tell you that…?’ She began ticking off all the minor members of royalty and media personalities who had been there on her carmine-tipped fingers. ‘And she’s much fatter than she looks on TV.’ Rachel never did discover who this was: the doors in the Arden mansion were very solid.
‘Alone at last.’
‘I didn’t say goodbye to Christophe. He’ll think…’
Benedict’s expression grew harsh, his jaw clenched in anger and his eyes were obsidian-hard. ‘He’s history,’ he said with a dismissive shrug. ‘And if he’s got an ounce of intuition he knows it, and if he hasn’t…’ His sensual lips thinned to an unpleasant line.
She could hardly believe this was the same man with a solution to the most complex of legal problems who was displaying an amazing willingness to solve this problem with his fists. Violence was implicit in every line of his athletic, power-packed body.
‘How dare you act like a…a barbarian? And if you touch me I’ll scream…’ she warned, backing away in panic as he moved towards her. If he touched her it would only be a matter of time—very little time—before she was begging—and this time she wouldn’t be pleading for him not to touch her…
‘As a family our mating rituals tend to be noisy; I don’t think anyone will come running.’
‘I’m not interested in your family.’
‘Shame; they seem to like you. Of course it wouldn’t make any difference if they didn’t, but on the whole it makes matters simpler if they like my wife.’
‘Ben.’
‘Yes?’ An odd expression flickered into his eyes as he looked down at her hands curled tightly in the fabric of his shirt. Her head was downbent, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him. The tension in her slender body was palpable.
How did you convince someone of your sincerity? She closed her eyes tightly and willed him to hear the truth in her words. ‘I’m not pregnant.’
‘I know.’
Her eyes snapped open. ‘What did you say?’ Wide-eyed and confused, she finally lifted her eyes to his face.
‘I know you’re not pregnant.’ He deftly untied the ribbon that confined her silky hair at the nape of her neck. ‘That’s better,’ he reflected thickly as he spread it carefully over her shoulders. The delicate friction of his fingers on her scalp fragmented her residual concentration. He gently blew a stray strand that had settled on her cheek.
The warm scent, the teasing reminder of the taste of him made her ache; lips parted, she gasped for air. His fingers framed her face and firmly he pressed his lips to hers. It was all giving, no taking. The tenderness brought the sting of tears to her eyes.
‘I tracked Dad down, and he admitted the truth—well, his version at any rate. I suspect I got a strictly censored version. He skated around the stuff that might reflect him in a less than favourable light.’
‘That doesn’t leave much.’
Was he feeling sorry for her? Was that why he was being so gentle? He realised how much she’d wanted it to be true? God, but she couldn’t bear his pity.
This is what I wanted, she told herself. Mission accomplished. That was it, it was over; she could relax. She could get on with her life. Why wasn’t she feeling better? Benedict was; he was looking positively smug. He was free. She knew she’d never be free from this love—not ever! It was a life sentence.