Desperate Measures (8 page)

long after that Alain announced that he and Philippa were also

departing.

'So soon?' his uncle queried. 'We are desolate.'

'And my wife and I are on our honeymoon,' Alain returned

evenly. 'I am sure the company will understand, and forgive us.'

They were in the limousine, travelling back towards the

apartment, before Philippa could begin to relax.

'That,' she said with feeling, 'was a truly ghastly evening.'

'Which you handled with great aplomb. Please accept my

thanks.' Alain paused. 'You understood at once, of course, why my

uncle invited us there tonight?'

'It was fairly obvious.' Philippa drew a breath which ached in her

chest. 'She's very beautiful—Madame de Somerville-Resnais.'

'Yes.' The flat monosyllable told her nothing, and it was too dark

in the car for her to read his expression with any accuracy. He

volunteered no other comment, and after a moment or two Philippa

sighed soundlessly and settled back in her seat, resigning herself to a silent journey.

When they reached the apartment, Alain excused himself with

abstracted politeness and went to speak to the Giscards. Philippa

made straight for her room. The tensions of the evening had given her a slight headache, which the journey home had done little to alleviate.

Alain obviously had a great deal on his mind, she acknowledged,

as she took off the jade green top and skirt, and began to remove her make-up. It must have been traumatic for him to be suddenly

confronted by his mistress and her husband, quite apart from the

possibility of an ugly scene. The sight of her must have revived

all kinds of memories for him too, and made their enforced separation doubly bitter.

As far as she was aware, Alain and the lovely Baronne had not

exchanged as much as a private glance, let alone a word, unless they

communicated in some secret lovers' code. But presumably they both

intended the affair to continue at some time in the future.

But Alain would have to be careful, she thought. The Baron was

clearly a jealous and suspicious man, who would not hesitate, if

provoked, to revenge himself in a very public way. And next time she

might not be there to retrieve the situation.

She gave a mental shrug. From now on that was Alain's problem,

and he would have to deal with it. All she wanted to was lie down and sleep for eternity. Her siesta that afternoon had been little more than a restless doze punctuated by some frankly disturbing dreams. Try as

she might, she had not been able to prevent memories—images from

the previous night filtering into her consciousness. Or maybe she

hadn't really wanted to forget...

Her heart missed a sudden, startled beat and she swallowed,

strangling the traitorous thought at birth. Of course it couldn't be that, she chided herself, as she unfastened her suspenders. She was just

too tired to think rationally, that was all.

She was standing in her ivory silk teddy, with one foot perched

on the dressing stool, as she tried to slide off a gossamer stocking, when there was a brief tap at her door, and Alain walked in.

He halted at once, his brows lifting in surprise, touched by

amusement, as he assimilated her state of undress.

'Mille pardons,' he murmured, his mouth curving with a totally

sensual awareness as he regarded the unknowing provocation of her

pose.

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Philippa hurriedly regained her

balance, snatching up a robe in pale lemon shirred cotton and

fastening it round her.

'Do you have to barge in like that?' she asked resentfully.

He shrugged. 'I did not think you would have begun to undress so

soon. And I wish to talk to you. Do you question my right to do so?'

'No,' she said in a low voice. 'But can't it wait until morning? I'm

rather tired. I found the evening a strain...'

'I can only apologise for my uncle.' His voice was grim. 'He will

go to any lengths, it seems, to embarrass and discredit me. Only this time, thanks to you, his scheme did not work.'

'But it might next time.' Philippa picked up a brush and began to

stroke it over her hair. She did not look at Alain. 'We—we haven't

fooled anyone, you know. They don't believe in our marriage.

Everyone knows that your affair with the Baronne is still going on.'

'How clever of them,' Alain said bitingly. 'Then you and I,

mignonne, will have to find a way to convince them that they are in

error.' The words hung in a loaded silence. Then he said abruptly.

'What did you mean about resuming your art studies?'

'Exactly what I said.' She decided not to tell him that she had

thought of it on the spur of the moment.

Let him think it was a considered decision. 'My father always

wanted me to study with Zak Gordano.'

'And what about my wishes in all this? Have you considered

them at all?'

'Why should it bother you if I start painting again?' Philippa

stared at him, her hand stilling.

'It might be better to—postpone your plans for a while. To

concentrate your energies instead on learning to be my wife,

perhaps?'

Sudden colour flared in Philippa's face. She hurried into words.

'That's hardly going to fill my days. Your apartment is run like

clockwork, and your other houses, I expect. I can't imagine the

Giscards want my interference.'

'That is not precisely what I meant. There are other elements to

our relationship, after all, besides housekeeping.'

Philippa was silent for a moment, then she said quietly, 'I

thought I'd learned all I need to know about—that too.'

'Oh, no, cherie.' Alain's voice was silky. 'You are not that naive.'

He walked to her side and took the brush from her nerveless fingers,

tossing it on to the dressing-table. His hand closed round hers, his

thumb rubbing lightly, cajolingly over the inside of her wrist.

'Lovemaking is also an art, my wife, and your lessons in love are only just beginning.'

Her pulses were going mad suddenly, fluttering, throbbing

unevenly, and she was aware of each and every one of them.

She snatched her hand away. 'I think you're confusing love with

sex, monsieur,' she said huskily. 'And may I also remind you that you promised to leave me in peace tonight?'

There was a smile in his voice. 'You did me a great service,

Philippa, when you persuaded Henri to stay at the party. Am I not even allowed to thank you with a kiss?'

She shook her head. 'We made a bargain,' she said stiltedly. 'I

was just—keeping my side of it, that's all.'

There was the barest pause, then he said, 'Just as you wish. I

hope, however, that you will seriously reconsider your plans to start painting again.'

'No.' She lifted her chin. 'My mind is made up. I need something

—some kind of life for myself. After all, I'm not your prisoner.'

'I cannot imagine a cage that would hold you,' he said with faint

acid. 'You mean, then, to defy my wishes?'

'When they're as unreasonable as that—certainly.' She paused. 'I

don't interfere with your—hobbies. I think you should allow me the

same courtesy.'

There was another taut silence.

'I think,' Alain said slowly, at last, 'that I should have had a vow

of obedience included in our marriage ceremony.'

'Which I would have refused to take,' Philippa retorted crisply.

'Then it's impasse.' He shrugged, sounding amused. 'Very well,

ma femme. Join your art class, if that's what you want, but do not

allow your painting to interfere with your social duties. I shall be entertaining various members of the board of De Courcy International over

the next week or two, and I expect you at my side, my devoted and

docile wife,' he added with irony. 'Do I make myself clear?'

'As crystal,' she nodded. 'I won't let you down.'

'No,' he said. 'You will not. Our marriage must convince

everyone.' His voice was thoughtful, and the green eyes travelled over her from head to foot in a devastatingly sensuous assessment. He

lifted a hand and very gently traced the outline of her cheek, pushing back the soft strands of hair as he did so. He said quietly, 'Are you sure, mignonne—quite sure that you wish to spend the night alone

after all?'

She tried to speak, but her mind suddenly seemed to have

stopped functioning. He was standing too close to her, she thought

dizzily. His voice alone was a seduction, quite apart from the way he was looking at her—the smile in his eyes...

She was aware of a hot, unfamiliar excitement, drying her

mouth, and sending a wild, secret trembling through her body. She

found herself wondering crazily what it would be like to go into his

arms of her own free will—to give without restraint all he might ask of her. And in return to know everything...

As Marie-Laure already knew...

The thought invaded her consciousness like an icy deluge,

shattering the spell which held her enclosed, and sending her reeling back to a kind of sanity, as the exact events of the past twenty-four hours came relentlessly into focus.

It was Marie-Laure he wanted, of course. He'd had the torment

that evening of seeing his mistress, but knowing that she was denied

to him, so now he was turning instead to the girl he had made his

partner in the most cynical marriage bargain of all time. Because she was female, after all, and available, and he could use her for an hour to two to find a temporary sexual oblivion. Because that was the most it could ever be, and she needed to remember it.

And I, Philippa thought shakily, I might have allowed that. I

might have let my curiosity lead me into a complete betrayal of myself and my principles. Because for me it might not have ended there. It

might instead have been a beginning...

Her mind closed, in rejection and fear.

She heard herself saying softly and stonily, 'I wish to be left in

peace, as you promised. I'm not a substitute for your mistress, Alain.'

He was very still suddenly, looking at her, the laughter, the

beguiling tenderness dying from his face.

'I need no such reminder,' he said bleakly, at last. 'You hardly

resemble her, after all.'

She supposed the gibe was deserved, but pain lanced through

her just the same. Last night, he had seemed to find her desirable, but compared with Marie-Laure's sensual, voluptuous beauty, she could

see she had very little to offer, except perhaps a certain novelty value.

'Before I leave you to your precious peace, my dear wife,' his

voice stung, 'I should tell you the main reason I came here tonight was to inform you that I have telephoned the clinic, and your father's

condition is stable. It is too soon to know whether the treatment is

having any effect, but his doctors wish you to know they are

optimistic'

Philippa stared down at the carpet, her eyes blurring. She told

herself it was a relief. 'Thank you.' Her tone was subdued.

'
Pas du tout
,' Alain said too politely. 'It is useful, perhaps, to remember precisely why we are together at this moment. And also

why it would be foolish to expect any more from each other than the

terms of our agreement.'

'Very foolish.' It was an effort to keep her voice steady.

'So now we both know where we stand,
madame
.' His voice sent

a shiver along the length of her spine. 'But understand this. Our

bargain will be kept, and you will take care how you challenge me in

future. I do not need any spoken vow to make you obey me, and I

shall not hesitate to enforce your obedience, in the privacy of this

room as well as in public, if I think it necessary. There is too much at stake.'

Philippa leaned back against the dressing-table, her fingers

gripping the carved edge, her heart slamming against her rib cage.

She said thickly, 'I won't forget.'

Alain sent her a swift, hard smile. 'Good. Then I wish you a

pleasant night.'

She watched him walk away from her across the room. Heard

the door close behind him.

No, she thought, she would not forget. She would never forget.

She had been granted a temporary reprieve, that was all. Because

there was no escape clause in the contract she'd made with Alain de

Courcy. And she would have to live with the consequences. All of

them.

She stared across the room at the bed, and her whole body

began to tremble.

CHAPTER FIVE

ZAK GORDANO stood back, hands on hips, head on one side. For a

long moment he said nothing, and Philippa held her breath. Then he

nodded.

'That's not bad,' he said. 'It's not good either, but it's an

improvement on anything you've produced so far.'

Philippa's grin lit up the world. 'That,' she said, 'is the nicest

thing anyone's ever said to me.'

Zak raised bushy eyebrows. 'And you only married—what is it—a

month ago?'

'Six weeks,' Philippa corrected, her expression suddenly wooden.

'So long?' Zak mocked. 'My God, no wonder the honeymoon's

over and the pretty speeches are finished!'

She had to smile in spite of herself. 'Yes—well, do you really

think my work's getting better?'

'Maybe.' Zak paused, fingering his beard, his dark eyes studying

her closely. 'The thing I keep asking myself is—why do you want to do this? God knows you don't need to paint. You're married to a