'Do not make me pay for another man's sins, chérie. To succumb means to give way in the face of overwhelming force or desire, does it not?' His precise mastery of English reminded her that it was not his first language. ‘In our case I think the succumbing was very mutual. And I too was clumsy in my eagerness to make you mine.' If that was clumsiness Elizabeth went faint at the prospect of experiencing his idea of finesse!
'The evening ended precisely as I had always intended it should end. I had waited long enough for you to conquer your shyness. And I was pleased to find out that you are not at all shy in bed. You are earthy and generous. I liked your frank delight in our coupling, the sounds you made when I ripped away your control, the sight of you climaxing so sweetly under me—'
'Jack!’ Elizabeth's cry was a scandalised whisper. In spite of the fact that the servants had withdrawn she blushed at the thought that his bold voice might carry.
'What? I am too unsubtle for you, ma chère?’ He pinned her with his challenging grey stare. 'You hide so much from me, but this you cannot hide, thank God. Passion does not belong only in bed. That is for misers and stagnant professors. If you stay, I will teach you that passion belongs in every room of the house and that it is a full-blooded shout of victory rather than a whisper of shame. Whatever else happens between us, we can have this...'
It sounded utterly wonderful.
She took a deep breath and picked up her passport. He straightened in his chair and she saw that he was not as confident as he sounded.
She put the passport in her bag, trying not to look at the three books cushioned in tissue-paper which resided accusingly there.
‘I'll stay,' she said defiantly, and then temporised, 'But only for a little while.' She couldn’t bring herself to put a definite date to the end of this reckless enchantment but unlike her last love-affair this time she would not be entering it in a mist of rosy optimism.
He seemed gravely satisfied with her less than passionate declaration, treating her as tenderly as if she had just laid her heart at his feet. And perhaps she had, she thought glumly.
They swam and lazed away the afternoon and when evening came Elizabeth changed for dinner in a room that was, surprisingly, some distance away from Jack's.
He had grinned wickedly at her confusion when she had realised that the adjoining door in her room led only into a thankfully modern bathroom.
'We must observe the proprieties, ma chère,' he murmured, stroking her hot cheek with one finger. 'Grandpère is old-fashioned in his expectations of the behaviour of his guests, even if they happen to be family. We dress for dinner and if we aren’t married we must sneak through the hallways at night to our secret liaisons in the approved romantic fashion.'
'Does he know—?'
'That we are lovers?' He rescued her from her embarrassment. ‘I did not tell him so, but for all his years he is a very shrewd old man. Doubtless the music of your name on my tongue gave him a hint of my feelings.'
She wished he would give her such a hint. As it was she could only allow herself to assume that his flattering intensity was the result of his highly developed hunting instinct—the excitement of pursuit followed by the triumphant climax of capture.
When he tapped at her door to take her down to dinner and Elizabeth opened it to find him in dark formal wear rather than the tropical white he usually wore at the casino, she was glad that she had chosen the simple bottle-green dress with a high cowl-necked bodice sweeping in an A-line to the hem of a calf-length skirt. Its clever design almost rendered her figure demure. She had also put her hair up, although she knew he preferred it free. Tonight she didn’t want to be blatantly seductive. Tonight she just wanted to be herself.
He passed the test with flying colours, his approval evident in the sweeping admiration of his glance. 'Quiet and beautiful, you are a woman of class, chérie. Or should I have said "neat, not gaudy"?'
She frowned at him and he clicked his tongue chidingly. ‘It's a quotation from Charles Lamb, your namesake. I thought you were supposed to be an expert in English literature. You have a degree in it, do you not? And you live among books.'
‘If one has it, one doesn’t need to flaunt it,' she said primly. 'Have you been studying hard to impress me with your scholarship?'
‘I like to read widely but studying is not my forte so I'm afraid I must decline the opportunity to flatter you with my devotion. I hope to impress you in other ways.' He accompanied his teasing purr with the polite offer of his elbow as they descended the wide staircase to the dining-room. ‘I’m glad that you chose not to flaunt tonight, chérie. If you had worn your Mata Hari dress I would have had difficulty in treating you like the gently bred young lady you are.'
'Perhaps I don’t want to be treated like a lady,' she flirted.
‘In that case you must wait until after dinner,' he promised her in a satiny growl.
She discovered t
he reason for his unaccustomed restraint when they entered the dining-room. Already seated at the head of the long, narrow, highly polished table was an upright figure, shrunken with age inside his formal clothes.
Elizabeth was speechless as Jack introduced her with a stately flourish to Alain St Clair, whose beringed fingers seemed too heavy for his pale hand as he raised hers to his mouth and saluted her with a practised gallantry to match his grandson's.
The old man's eyes were a darker version of Jack's, slightly rheumy but acutely penetrating for all that, and Elizabeth briefly panicked at the notion that his X-ray vision might perceive his priceless necklace beneath the draping fabric of the cowl. The danger of it being discovered in her room by curious servants had outweighed the slight risk that Jack might seek to undress her before she could excuse herself for a few minutes.
She blushed at her thoughts and Alain St Clair smiled puckishly and murmured something in rapid French to his grandson that made him grin. Elizabeth forgot her small deception about not speaking their language, and bristled with outrage. Why, the sly old fox! Jack had led her to expect a tottering but dignified and elderly autocrat... not this wicked old reprobate.
‘If I am an ingénue at my age, monsieur, it is not because I am ingénieux—ingenious—but because I have always previously associated with gentlemen,' she said crisply as she took the seat to his right that he had indicated and swept them both with a look of chilly disdain. 'And if I am ripe it's not for the plucking but for delivering the lesson in manners that you both richly deserve!'
As soon as the words were out she was appalled at her rudeness but Alain St Clair only laughed, a boisterous sound from such an apparently frail chest that mingled with Jack's smooth, 'Did I not mention, Grandpère, that Eliza-Beth speaks our language fluently? Possibly because she forgot to mention it to me. So chérie, I am pleased that you have understood everything that I have said to you in the throes of my most... ungentlemanly conduct.'
This, too, entertained the old man. As dinner was served Elizabeth noticed a spark of mild antagonism between the two men underlying their obvious affection and wondered whether they had had some prior argument and whether it had been about her. Her discomfort was eased when she realised that Jack appeared as suspicious as she of the sudden rally in his grandfather's health. His conversation was peppered with pointed offers to assist in the cutting up of meat, the picking up of the heavy solid silver condiments and pious cautions about the mixing of wine with prescription drugs until his grandfather snapped testily that he was not going to lie down in his grave just because Jack had decided he wanted his inheritance early. For some reason the reply seemed to satisfy Jack and he returned to his former path of subtly flirting with his eyes at Elizabeth across the hot-house roses which bloomed between them in a chased-silver bowl.