The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience

His brows lifted. ‘Still not Remy?’

‘After lunch,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Perhaps.’

He said softly, ‘I shall live in hope. A bientôt.’ And went.

Left alone, Allie realised she was as breathless as if she’d been running in some marathon. It was a reaction she was not accustomed to, and it scared her.

All I had to do, she thought, swallowing, was tell him, ‘I’m married.’ And he would never have troubled me again. It was that simple. So why didn’t I say it? Why let him go on thinking I’m single? Available?

Oh, stop beating yourself up, she adjured herself impatiently. As long as you brush him off, why worry about the method? And after tomorrow he certainly won’t be coming round again.

She would change her brand of sun oil, too, she decided broodingly. Find an alternative with a different scent—one that wouldn’t remind her of the play of his hands as he massaged it into her warm skin each time she smelt it.

She said aloud, ‘Whatever it takes, I will be left in peace. And to hell with Remy de Brizat.’

‘Are you quite well, chérie?’ Tante studied her anxiously. ‘You seem tense—restless—this morning.’

‘I’m fine,’ Allie assured her, wandering out into the garden to sneak a look at her watch. Twenty-five past twelve, she thought. Excellent. He should be at Chez Lucette by now, and ordering his aperitif. Probably looking at his watch too, gauging my arrival.

I wonder how long he’ll wait before it dawns on him that he’s struck out for once? That I’ve not simply been delayed, but that I shan’t be joining him at all?

And what will he do then? Eat alone at his table for two? Or pretend he has an urgent case to go to before the egg hardens on his face?

Whatever—it serves him right, she told herself defensively, although she was totally unable to rationalise this conviction.

And she was sure there were plenty of ladies in the locality who would be happy to help soothe his bruised ego, she added, ramming her clenched hands into the pockets of her skirt.

‘Alys?’ Tante was calling from the back door, surprise in her voice. ‘Alys, you have a visitor.’

She swung round just in time to see Remy de Brizat walk out into the garden. He was dressed much as he had been the day before, with emphasis on the casual, his sunglasses pushed up on his forehead.

For a moment, Allie could only gape at him. When she spoke, her voice was husky with shock. ‘What are you doing here? I—I don’t understand…’

His smile was sardonic. ‘I decided against the restaurant after all, ma belle. It occurred to me that you would have difficulties in getting there. So I put food and wine in the car so that we can picnic instead.’ He added solicitously, ‘I hope you are not too disappointed?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not the word I’d have chosen.’ She swallowed. ‘How did you know that I wouldn’t meet you?’

He shrugged. ‘One minute you were spitting at me like a little cat. The next you were—honey. It was too much of a volte face to be entirely credible.’

‘And, of course, you wouldn’t just take the hint and stay away?’

‘I considered it.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘Because you intrigue me, Alys. Enough, certainly, to risk another rebuff.’ He added softly, ‘Also, I still wish to hear you call me Remy.’

He held out his hand. ‘It’s only lunch, ma mie. Shall we go?’

Is it? she thought, feeling the rapid thud of her heart. Is that really all it is?

Tell him, counselled the warning voice in her head. Tell him the truth now. Say that you misled him the other day because you were upset and didn’t know what you were saying. That it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to see each other again because you have a husband in England.

Then it will be over, and you won’t have to worry any more. You want peace of mind? Then take it. Because this could be your last chance.

And she found herself looking down at herself—at the thin blouse, the straight white skirt and the strappy sandals. Heard herself saying, ‘I—I’d better change. I’m not really dressed for a picnic.’

‘You look enchanting,’ he said. ‘But—just as you wish.’

Her glance was scornful. ‘Now, we both know that isn’t true.’

Inside the house, Tante looked at her, her forehead puckered in concern. ‘My dear child, are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘Yes,’ Allie said, and paused to kiss her cheek. ‘It’s fine, really,’ she whispered. ‘We’re just going to have lunch—one meal together. And that’s all.’

Then I’ll tell him I’m married, she thought as she ran upstairs. And it will finally be finished.

Madness, Allie thought, returning bleakly to the here and now as tears burned in the back of her eyes and choked her throat. Sweet, compelling, uncontrollable madness. That was what it had been—how it had been.

One man—the man—was all it had taken to breach the firewall around her. Just the touch of his hand had altered all her perceptions of herself, destroying once and for all the myth of her invulnerable reserve.

How could she have known that she’d simply been waiting—waiting for him? Remy…

His name was a scream in her heart.

She drew her knees up to her chin, bent her head, and allowed herself to cry. The house was asleep, so thankfully there was no one to hear her agonised keening or the sobs that threatened to rip her apart.

For two years she’d had to suppress her emotions and rebuild her defences. Never allowing herself to reveal even for a moment the inner pain that was threatening to destroy her.

Now, at last, the dam had burst, and she yielded to the torrent of grief and guilt it had released, rocking backwards and forwards, her arms wrapped round her knees. Until, eventually, she could cry no more.

Then, when the shaking had stopped, she got slowly to her feet, brushing fronds of dried grass from her clothing, and went into the house.

She washed her face thoroughly, removing all traces of the recent storm, then carefully applied drops to her eyes, before returning to her room. Tom had not stirred, and she stretched herself on the bed, waiting with quiet patience for him to wake up, and for the rest of her life to begin.

She must have dozed, because she suddenly became aware, with a start, that he was standing, vigorously rattling the bars of his cot. As she swung herself off the bed and went to him, he gave his swift, entrancing grin, and held out his arms.

She picked him up, rubbing noses with him. ‘And hi there to you too. Want to play outside?’

Tante was there ahead of them this time, sitting placidly under a green and white striped parasol, her hands busy with her favourite embroidery, a jug of home-made lemonade on the wooden table at her elbow.

She looked up, smiling. ‘Did you rest well, chérie?’

‘It was good not to be moving,’ Allie evaded. She put Tom down on the blanket that had already been spread on the grass in anticipation, rolling his coloured ball across the grass for him to chase before sitting down and accepting the glass of lemonade that Tante poured for her.

And now it was high time to face a few issues. And with honesty, this time around, if that was possible.

‘I came across a little drama in Ignac today,’ she remarked, trying to sound casual. ‘A fierce old lady having some family battle in the middle of the road, and refusing to give way.’