Darkest Longings (14 page)

were regarding her intently, and the unmistakable challenge

he had thrown her was enough to restore her equilibrium

and bring the fire back to her veins.

‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, tossing her whip and hat

onto a table, and sinking into a chair, ‘there is.’

‘I have a feeling,’ he said, turning and sitting on the

window-seat to face her, ‘that you’re going to tell me what it

is.’

‘And I have a feeling that you already know.’

His smile was odious in its arrogance, but he said

nothing.

‘Lucien told me yesterday,’ she went on, ‘that if you have

something unpleasant to do, then it is your custom to

dispense with it as quickly as possible.’

‘My brother knows me well.’

‘Then I should appreciate it if you were to ask me to

marry you now, and have it done with.’

If he was surprised at her bluntness, he didn’t show it

‘But surely, asking you to marry me can hardly be described

as dispensing with something disagreeable,’ he said.

The ambiguity of this remark did not escape her. ‘You are

suggesting that instead of dispensing with me, you will be

tying yourself to me?’

He inclined his head and sat back, blocking the window

with his huge shoulders. ‘If that is the way you wish to

interpret it…’

Fortunately, since she was at a loss for what to say next,

the door opened then, and Fabienne brought in the coffee

which she set out on the table beside Claudine. As she

started to pour Francois rose to his feet and waved her away.

‘So,’ he said, as he poured the coffee himself, ‘the lady is

eager for my proposal?’

She almost snatched the cup from him then set it back on

the table and sat forward in her chair. ‘Why do you have to

be so damned difficult about this? We both know why I am

here, you have spoken to my father already, so why don’t you

put us both out of our misery?’

‘Misery? You really are eager, Claudine.’ His picked up

his cup and perched on the edge of the table. After a while

he lifted his head to stare out of the window, giving her the

distinct impression that his mind was elsewhere.

Her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth in an effort to

hold back her anger. ‘Aren’t you in the least bit intrigued as to what my answer will be?’ she said stiffly.

‘I already know what your answer will be,’ he answered.

‘If you were going to refuse me, you would have left

Touraine by now.’

‘Perhaps I wanted to give myself the satisfaction of seeing your face when I turned you down,’ she said in an icy voice.

‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘But I doubt it.’

Her outrage was swallowing her words at such a rate that her mouth was opening and closing in the most mortifying silent fury, and for one horrible moment, just for the need to make a noise, she came very close to thumping her hand on the table.

Her temper seemed to amuse him, and wandering over to the chair facing hers, he settled into it, resting one foot on the other knee and leaning back with a critical air, as if he were assessing a theatrical performance.

‘I have never,’ she declared, ‘in all my life, met anyone as utterly detestable as you. You make me say and do things I never dreamed of doing before this. I had no idea, until now, that I was even capable of feeling such dislike as I feel for you.’

it cheers me to hear it. At twenty-two it’s about time you grew up.’

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

it means that you have all the hallmarks of an overindulged

child. It’s high time your eyes were opened to the reality of the world and the people in it. You will find, I’m afraid, that not everyone is as nice, or as obedient to your

whims, as you would like them to be.’

‘How dare you say that! How dare you even suggest…’

‘I dare,’ he interrupted. ‘Also, I will not be dictated to. If you want a proposal of marriage from me, you will get it when I am ready and not before.’

She leapt to her feet, and gathering up her crop and hat,

she stalked out of the library, through the drawing-room and into the hall.

‘Claudine,’ he said, strolling out behind her, ‘it is raining

outside and you don’t have your car.’

‘I don’t care,’ she snapped, I’d rather walk home than

stay another moment in this house with you.’ And flinging

the door wide, she ran out into the rain.

Any thought she might have had that he would follow her

was firmly dispelled when the door closed behind her. For

the moment she was too angry to care, and with her head

held high she marched off down the drive, furious with

herself for having been so spineless as to run away, but too

proud to turn back. But by the time she approached the

gates she was regretting her hastiness even more; apart from

anything else, it was a very long walk back to Montvisse.

Then she heard the gratifying sound of a car crunching

along the gravel behind her, and with the smug feeling of

having scored a victory, she stuck her nose in the air and

quickened her pace, determined that he should beg before

she deigned to get in. But as the car pulled alongside, she

saw that it wasn’t Francois who was following her, but

Marcel.

Without a word, she climbed into the back of the Bentley.

However, instead of turning out of the drive onto the forest

road, Marcel put the car into reverse and took her back to

the chateau, where Francois was waiting at the bottom of the

steps.

He opened the car door and waited for her to get out, but

she stubbornly refused to move. In the end he reached in,

took her by the wrist and hauled her out.

She stood facing him, her limpid blue eyes flashing with

rage. Neither of them spoke, but the air between them was

charged with antagonism. In the end he raised an eyebrow,

as if suddenly bored with the whole charade - and before

she could stop herself, she had lifted her crop to strike

him. In one swift movement he snatched it from her and

passed it to Marcel.

‘Go inside,’ he said.

‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ she seethed.

He took a step towards her, and grabbing her hand, he

twisted it between them. ‘Either you walk back into that house of your own volition, or I drag you. The choice is yours.’

‘Why?’ she cried, willing herself not to struggle no matter

how painful his grip. ‘Give me one good reason why I

should!’

‘Because there is something I wish to say to you that I think you would prefer I didn’t say here, in front of Marcel and all the other servants who are no doubt watching from the windows.’

Once they were back in the library and he had closed the door behind them, he waited for her to turn and face him.

‘Well?’ she said, trying not to be thrown by the appalling

contempt in his eyes.

He regarded her for some time, then in a chillingly

matter-of-fact tone he said, ‘I don’t want to marry you,

Claudine. I don’t want you as my wife.’

‘Then what the hell am I doing here?’ she spat. ‘You’re the one who made the agreement with my father.’

He walked past her to stand in front of the empty hearth.

‘Do you think I imagined for one minute that you would

seriously entertain the idea of an arranged marriage?’ he

said, turning to face her.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ she shot back. ‘It’s not so unusual.

Hundreds of people marry by arrangement.’

‘But you have no need to. Your father was quite adamant

about that, even to me. So why don’t you go back to England

and marry someone there? From what I hear, there are plenty

of suitable men who would be only too happy to oblige.’

That brought a smile to her lips and she sauntered

towards him, stopping at the table where the coffee was laid

out. ‘And from what I hear,’ she drawled, as she started to

pour, There are plenty of women in Paris simply longing to

hook you. So why me? Why enter into an arrangement with my father?’

‘You already know the answer to that.’

‘Meaning that I was your father’s choice, not yours?’

‘Isn’t that what arranged marriages are all about?’

She nodded slowly. ‘But now you are faced with it, you

haven’t got the guts to go through with it. Is that right?’

‘It’s not a question of guts.’

‘Then what is it a question of?’

When he didn’t answer, she took a sip of the lukewarm

coffee. Her eyes, over the rim of the cup, were holding his.

‘What’s the matter, Francois?’ she said, replacing the cup on

the table. ‘Isn’t she suitable?’

‘Isn’t who suitable?’ he said, with a sigh of exasperation.

‘The woman who is my rival for your affections, of

course.’

He closed his eyes, and turning to lean against the

mantleshelf, he rested his head on the heel of his hand. The

last thing he wanted now was an argument about Elise

Pascale. ‘Who are you talking about, Claudine?’ he said.

‘I believe her name is Hortense,’ she answered.

Not a muscle of his body moved, but she was acutely aware

that the air in the room had suddenly changed. Then, before

she knew what was happening, his hand shot out and he jerked

her towards him. The expression on his face was horrifying.

His pupils were boring into hers with blinding hatred, the

gruesome scar was pulsating with life, and the fire of his breath

scalded her face. ‘Who told you about Hortense?’ he snarled.

‘No one,’ she answered, doing nothing to break free.

‘Then how do you know her name?’

‘I heard it at a dinner party.’

‘What do you know?’ he growled, pulling her even closer.

‘What did they tell you?’

‘Nothing!’ she cried. ‘Nothing at all!’

‘Then why call her a rival?’

‘Well, isn’t she?’

His lips curled with loathing and he pushed her away.

She fell across the chair behind her, hitting her head on the

winged back. ‘You disgust me,’ he spat.

‘Isn’t she?’ she repeated, in a virulent whisper.

He didn’t answer, but she could see that his control was

still very close to breaking.

‘Why don’t you marry her, Francois?’ she goaded. ‘Or

won’t she have you?’

‘Leave it, Claudine,’ he warned, ‘just leave it.’

‘Not until you tell me …’

‘I said leave it!’ he roared.

But she couldn’t. Something inside her was making her

push him, and she could not stop it. ‘Who is she, Francois?

Tell me. You loved her, didn’t you? You loved her, but she

didn’t love you.’

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

‘But there’s more to it than that,’ she went on. ‘There has

to be, or…’ The old duchess’s words swept into her mind

then. ‘Poor Hortense, how we all still miss her.’ ‘Where is

she, Francois? Where is your beloved Hortense? Did she

run away with someone else? Did she… ?’

His fist crashed against the mantlepiece as he yelled,

‘She’s dead!’

Claudine sat motionless, her eyes wide with shock as she

stared up at him. The word was still there, hanging in the air

between them as if it had cast a paralysing spell.

Finally he pushed the hair back from his face and looked

up. Then, as he stared at her, his mouth started to twist in a

sadistic smile. ‘Would you like to know how she died?’ he

sneered. ‘Would you like to know how Hortense de

Bourchain lost her life?’ Claudine started to shake her head,

but he went on. ‘I killed her, that’s how. I killed her. It’s how

I received the scar on my face - you wanted to know that too,

didn’t you? Well, Hortense did it! She scarred my face and I

killed her for it. I murdered her. So, do you want to marry

me now? Do you want to marry a killer?’

Claudine flinched as if he had hit her, then closed her

eyes as his face started to swim before her. She was too

agitated to speak, too horrified to look at him again, and yet

at the same time something deep within her was forcing her

to look beneath the terrible words, compelling her to

understand why he was doing this. Then, almost without

knowing what she was doing, her head snapped up, and

looking at him through a blaze of anger she hissed, ‘Yes, I’ll

marry you!’

It was a long time before he tore his eyes from hers. At last

he did and walked across the room to his father’s desk,

where he stood with his back to her. She watched him,

waiting for him to speak. In the end he turned to face her,

and leaning against the edge of the desk, he said, ‘So you’re

prepared to marry a killer?’

She pulled herself up from the chair and went to stand in

front of him. Then raising her chin so that she was looking

clear into his eyes, she said, ‘No, I’m going to marry a liar.’

His laugh was harsh. ‘A liar, she says. And what makes

you so sure I’m lying?’

‘Because you are,’ she said. ‘You’re doing it to stop me

wanting to marry you.’

He lowered his head, then looking up again, he sneered,

‘Go home, Claudine. Go back to England.’ When she

merely continued to stare at him with those unnervingly

beautiful eyes, he laughed. ‘You’re nothing but a child! A

child in a woman’s body.’

Still she didn’t answer, but watched as his expression

changed to one of savage amusement.