Inherited by Her Enemy (6 page)

She touched him too, smoothing her fingers in wonderment across his skin, learning the unfamiliar male shape from the broad muscular shoulders down to the narrow hips and firm, flat buttocks. And he captured her hand and kissed it and brought it to his body, clasping it round his jutting hardness, letting her feel the size and strength of him stir and lift under her first tentative caresses.

At the same time his fingers were still exploring her—slowly—exquisitely. Finding her most sensitive place, and hovering there, teasing the tiny bud into swollen, aching excitement.

She gave a tiny breathless moan, looking up into his face, her eyes widening under her long lashes, as she saw his own gaze deepen in purpose and intensity. As she felt him move over her, his hands sliding under her slender flanks and lifting her to him.

His voice was a harsh whisper. ‘Take me,
ma douce, ma belle.
’

And she obeyed, wordlessly, guiding him to her.

Into her willing warmth...

She had not expected there to be pain, yet there was and she found herself sinking her teeth into her lower lip, in order to stifle her instinctive cry of protest. Aware just the same, that her need—her longing to know and be known—was all that truly mattered.

She gripped his shoulders, rearing up and thrusting herself against him, wrapping her slim legs round his hips, and felt her untried flesh yield in welcome as he filled her totally.

Locked with her, his mouth again joined to hers, Andre began to move, slowly at first then faster, the strong, rhythmic strokes of his body robbing her of what little self-control was left to her, and carrying her to some new level in a long dark spiral of mounting pleasure.

Oh, God, she thought, a sob rising in her throat. What was she letting him do to her—this man—half angel, half devil? As if he had always known how it would be between them? And as if she had ever had a choice?

And then coherent thought fled, and nothing was left but a fierce crescendo of wild, irresistible sensation, which, as she reached its peak, tossed her into one rippling, rapturous convulsion after another, making her cry out helplessly against his mouth.

And heard him answer her hoarsely as his own body juddered to its climax.

Afterwards, as he held her, both of them drained and spent, there was silence and a sense of great peace. She knew that there were things that must be said, but there was time for that, she thought, head cradled on his chest and her eyelids drooping wearily. All the time in the world.

And let that world quietly slip away.

* * *

She awoke slowly to darkness and for a moment lay still, completely disorientated. Her first realisation was that she ached deep inside her. Her second—that a heavy weight lay across her breasts, pinning her to the bed.

She turned her head gently, almost fearfully, and saw Andre Duchard’s dark head on the pillow beside her. Discovered that it was his arm, thrown over her body in a kind of careless possession, that was imprisoning her.

And with that, every searing memory of the past few hours returned, screaming at her, jolting her back to the terrible—the shameful reality of what she had done.

And the absolute necessity of distancing herself from him. In every possible way. Permanently. And immediately...

Moving with the utmost caution, she was able to shift his arm sufficiently to enable her to slide towards the edge of the bed. He muttered something, and she froze, but he was only turning over and didn’t wake.

Ginny didn’t dare relight the lamp, which meant she had to search around on the floor in the dark for the clothing that she’d allowed—oh, God, that she’d
wanted
him to strip from her—and huddle into it as best and as soundlessly as she could.

She checked her purse and keys were still safely in her coat pocket then let herself warily out into the corridor. A glance at her watch revealed to her horror that she’d been with Andre Duchard for over two and a half hours, and quite apart from the ethical implications of her behaviour, she’d missed almost the entire afternoon session at Miss Finn’s.

Although that was the least of her problems, she thought as she tiptoed down the stairs, hoping and praying there was no one at the hotel desk.

Luckily, the receptionist was again in the rear office, this time intent on her computer so Ginny was able to make her escape unobserved.

As her sister had done earlier...

The thought stopped her in her tracks. She paused in the archway, leaning against the stonework, fighting the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. Because what she’d done wasn’t simply immoral—it was sheer insanity.

From the first, Andre Duchard had scarcely bothered to conceal that he despised them all. Now he had even more reason for his contempt. Because however badly Cilla had behaved, there’d been no need to emulate her.

She swallowed, making herself move. Start putting one foot in front of the other for the journey home.

She’d gone to his room supposedly seething in righteous fury on her sister’s behalf only to emerge with even greater ignominy. Because he’d seen through the indignation and angry protests and recognised, as she had not, that under all the fire and fury, what she really wanted was to get laid.

Some sexual clock she’d never suspected must have been ticking.

And he’d obliged her.

She couldn’t think of it in any other way, which was probably wise.

Two sisters in his bed in the same afternoon. Encounters that had not appeared to test his stamina at all, she thought, feeling as if shame was flaying the skin from her body.

A situation, in fact, that he might have found cynically amusing, as well as confirming his low opinion of her family, this time deservedly. Because she could condone Cilla’s behaviour even less than her own.

I’ve only harmed myself—betrayed my self-respect, she thought, feeling sick. Something I can neither explain nor excuse, but shall just have to live with, somehow.

But Cilla’s been unfaithful to Jonathan—the man she loves and plans to marry. So how can she ever forgive herself?

While Andre Duchard had the unmitigated, hypocritical gall to castigate me for that—goodnight peck, she told herself, biting at her already tender mouth.

When she got back to the house, she was thankful to find it deserted and went straight to her room.

She stripped and went into the shower, using a massage sponge soaked in gel to scrub every inch of her body, trying to remove any lingering evidence of his hands and mouth.

If only it was as easy to clear the memory of his touch from her brain, she thought as she shampooed her hair, letting the hot water cascade over her until every vestige of foam had gone. To forget how it felt to have him sheathed inside her. To erase the recollection of the pleasure, which still had the power to make her tremble.

She dried herself, rubbed scented lotion into her skin, put on her robe and then, at last, looked at herself in the mirror, wondering how to disguise the total giveaway of the haunted eyes and swollen mouth.

In a few short hours, she thought dispassionately, she had become a stranger to herself, not just physically but emotionally.

The girl whose life she’d been living for twenty-two years had never believed that the world was well lost for lust. Nor ever would.

Because lust was all it had been. Anger transmuted in the heat of the moment into another far more dangerous passion.

That other girl had hoped some day to fall in love, and to discover the joys of sex in a relationship that mattered, not to give herself unthinkingly on the well-used mattress of a hotel room on a winter afternoon to a man who was, to all intents and purposes, her enemy, whatever his surface attraction.

Because that was nothing less than degrading. And what could she say in her own defence? Plead momentary insanity?

She should have talked to her sister quietly and privately, to warn rather than sit in judgement. Darling Cilla, please—please think what you’re doing, because he’s not worth it, was what she’d have said. Trying to take care of her as always. Wouldn’t she?

Except, I hardly know any more, she thought. And I certainly don’t know the creature I became a few hours ago. She was just—a temporary aberration. Something I can’t afford.

She sighed, thinking wistfully how wonderful it would be if everyone could put the clock back—just once. Be allowed to correct a truly hideous mistake before any real damage was done.

She collected up her discarded clothes and took them downstairs. She had just filled the washing machine and set it going, when the rear door opened and Mrs Pel, in a warm coat and woollen hat, bustled in on a blast of cold air.

‘Why, Miss Ginny,’ she exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you. Did the café close early?’

‘No, I—I didn’t feel too well, so I came home.’ Ginny hoped her flush would be attributed to the warmth of the kitchen rather than telling a downright lie, which was something else she might have to get used to, she acknowledged miserably.

Mrs Pel tutted. ‘Lot of nasty viruses about,’ she said darkly. ‘Now, why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll bring you some hot lemon.’

‘I think I’ve spent quite enough time in bed,’ said Ginny, her flush deepening as she reverted to perfect truth. ‘It would do me more good to take Barney out.’

Mrs Pel looked at her in dismay. ‘He’s not here, Miss Ginny. A man came for him first thing this morning. Said it was all arranged.’

‘Arranged?’ Ginny’s heart skipped a beat. ‘But I knew nothing about it. What’s his name?’

‘I didn’t hear it. Miss Cilla spoke to him. But he seemed pleasant enough—and got Barney into this cage in the back of his Land Rover.’

‘A cage?’ Ginny was beginning unhappily, fearing the worst, when the front door bell jangled, making Mrs Pel tut again.

‘Now who can that be?’

‘I’ve no idea.’
Another lie. Because she knew who it was as surely as if he was standing in front of her.
She went on quickly, ‘But Mother and Cilla are out, and I’d really rather not see anyone. So, could you say none of us are here?’ She paused. ‘Whoever it is.’

‘Of course I can.’ Mrs Pel regarded her with concern as the bell rang again. ‘You do look peaky and no mistake. You run along, and I’ll wait till you’re safely out of the way.’

Ginny didn’t go straight to her room. Instead she lingered on the galleried landing, shielded from the hall below by an antique cupboard.

She heard Mrs Pel open the door, and say with real pleasure, ‘Well, Mr Andre, this is a surprise. But I’m afraid the family are out.’

‘Mademoiselle Virginie also?’ The query was sharp.

‘All of them,’ said Mrs Pel stoutly.

There was a silence, then he said quietly, ‘
Oui, je comprends.
’ He paused again. ‘
À demain,
I have to return to France, Marguerite. Perhaps you would convey my regrets to Madame Charlton for my failure to take my leave of her.’ He added drily, ‘Although I am sure she will not find it a hardship.’

‘Well, I shall miss you, Monsieur Andre. I’m glad to know your mother found the happiness she deserved.’ It was Mrs Pel’s turn to pause. ‘Is there any message you’d like me to pass on—to anyone?’

‘Thank you, but no. At the moment, all I can say is—
au revoir.
’

He seemed suddenly to be speaking more loudly but maybe that was Ginny’s imagination.

‘But please believe,’ he went on, ‘that I shall be back. And soon.’

From her hiding place, Ginny heard the front door close and Mrs Pel’s footsteps returning to the kitchen.

As she straightened, she realised she was trembling again. Knowing that he hadn’t been fooled for a moment. That everything he’d said had been aimed straight at her.

‘But when you do return, Monsieur Duchard,’ she whispered under her breath, ‘you’ll find me long gone. And that’s a promise.’

CHAPTER SIX

A
LTHOUGH
MOVING
ON
was her avowed intention, Ginny hadn’t expected Fate to take her quite so literally.

She’d spent a miserable night, almost afraid to go to sleep in case her dreams brought an even more vivid reminder of the afternoon’s unbelievable stupidity.

She was fretting, too, over what had happened to Barney. Her mother had categorically denied having any hand in his disappearance while Cilla said merely that the man who’d collected him was ‘ordinary’ with a name she couldn’t remember.

She was tired and depressed when she arrived at work. Twenty minutes later, she was jobless.

‘Iris is quite insistent,’ Miss Finn said wearily. ‘She says you’ve proved yourself unreliable by walking out in the middle of a busy day without permission and failing to return.

‘I said I was sure there was some explanation, but I’m afraid she doesn’t want to know.’

‘I’ve just given her the excuse she wanted.’ Ginny bent her head. ‘And I can’t explain either.’

Miss Finn sighed and handed her an envelope. ‘You’ve got two weeks’ wages in lieu of notice and I’ve written you a reference.’ She paused. ‘Although this might be a good time to consider a change of direction.’

‘Yes,’ Ginny agreed soberly. ‘I—I’d already decided that.’

But in my own time, she thought ruefully, as she departed.

Lost in thought, she was waiting to cross the street when a hand fell on her arm and, to her horror, she found Andre looking grimly down at her.

‘
Ou vas tu?
’ he demanded. ‘I was coming to the café to find you.’

She wrenched free. ‘Well, you’d have been unlucky because I’ve just been fired. And I don’t want to be found, so you go your way and I’ll go mine.’

His mouth hardened. ‘Now you are being ridiculous. There are things that must be said and running away will solve nothing. Now will you walk with me, or must I carry you?’

‘Lay one hand on me,’ Ginny said hoarsely, ‘and I’ll scream blue murder.’

‘Over a lovers’ quarrel? Because that is what I shall say—and be believed.’

‘What makes you think so?’

He said softly, ‘You have a small crimson mark below your left breast received, I think, at birth. Do you wish the world to know that I kissed it yesterday?
Non?
Alors,
come with me now.’

He took her hand firmly in his and led her up the street to the Rose and Crown.

She hung back. Her voice shook a little. ‘I—I’m not going back there.’

‘
Qu’as tu?
’ He stared at her, then gave a short laugh. ‘
Mon Dieu,
you think I have time for such things? We are going to talk.’

He took her into the hotel’s deserted dining room and, when a surprised waitress appeared, ordered coffee.

Once they’d been served and were alone again, he said abruptly, ‘Why did you not tell me you were a virgin? It was something I needed to know. And do not deny it,’ he added swiftly. ‘You bled a little.’

Ginny’s colour mounted. ‘I didn’t realise. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.’

Slowly, Andre stirred the light brown liquid in his cup. ‘I used no protection,
ma mie,
so it could matter a great deal.
Tu comprends?
’

Ginny stared at him, wondering why he seemed to have receded to some far distance. She said huskily, ‘I understand—but I don’t believe it.’

The dark brows lifted. ‘You do not believe how babies are made?’

‘No,’ she said hotly. ‘I mean it’s not that easy to get pregnant. People try for years—take fertility drugs. Do IVF. It can’t possibly have happened just like that on—on my first time.’

His mouth twisted. ‘But for many millions,
ma belle,
it does happen every day—just like that. And you may be one of them. For which I blame myself
entièrement.
I should have known how innocent you truly were and taken adequate precautions.’

She looked down at the table. She said in a voice she didn’t recognise, ‘And my sister?’

‘You concern yourself unduly.’ He shrugged. ‘She knows very well how to protect herself. One would not think she was the younger.’

She gasped. ‘Is—is that all you have to say?’

‘For the moment, yes.’ He paused. ‘As for you, Virginie, it is time to think only about yourself and the child we may have made.’

She swallowed. ‘Well, if it’s happened, it’s my problem, not yours. And if necessary I’ll deal with it.’

‘And how will that be?’ There was a note in his voice which made her shiver. ‘A few hours in some
clinique
and the baby will be gone, as if it had never existed. You think you can do that?’

She looked down again. ‘If I have to.’

‘And I say you cannot,’ Andre told her harshly. ‘That for you, at least, such a thing could never be forgotten and you would regret it for the rest of your life.’

She made herself meet his gaze. Spoke icily. ‘Not my only regret, believe me.’

He made a slight cynical bow. ‘At least we can agree on that. But we cannot change the past, only deal with the present. And the future.’

‘I can manage that for myself,’ she flashed.

‘
Vraiment?
I doubt that. You have lost your job and may soon be homeless, unless you hope to join your mother at the cottage.’ He watched her colour deepen and nodded. ‘
Eh, bien,
I have another plan. You heard me say I am returning to France? Come with me.’

The breath caught in her throat. When she could speak: ‘That’s ridiculous. You must be quite mad.’

He smiled faintly. ‘Sometimes, I think so too, but not now. You have a passport. You know where to find your birth certificate? Because you will need it.’

‘What for?’

‘For the legal formalities,’ he said. ‘Before we can be married.’

There was a silence, then she said unsteadily, ‘Now I know you’re crazy. Because I would never marry you. Not if...’ And hesitated.

‘If I were the last man on earth?’ he asked drily. ‘
Merci du compliment.’
He paused. ‘Virginie, it is not easy to be a single mother. If my own mother still lived, she would tell you so and that she was thankful to be offered a home and the protection of a man’s name. I offer you the same.’

‘It’s impossible,’ she said stormily. ‘For one thing, we’re practically strangers.’

‘Hardly that.’ He had the gall to sound faintly amused. ‘After yesterday.’

‘That was no wish of mine,’ she flared in return.

There was another silence, then: ‘Forgive me,’ he said, too courteously. ‘I am a little confused. Are you saying that I took you against your will?’

Ginny bit her lip. ‘Well—no. Not exactly.’

‘I am relieved to hear it.’ His tone was harsh.

‘But it changes nothing,’ she went on quickly. ‘Marriage is out of the question, particularly when we don’t know if I am pregnant.’

‘Then until we can be sure, I will make you a different offer,’ he said. ‘A roof over your head and paid employment.’

‘As what?’

‘Not what you are so clearly imagining.’ His retort was brusque. ‘I have never yet paid a woman to share my bed and you,
ma mie,
will not be the first.

‘I have heard from my father how much you contributed to the running of his household,’ he went on. ‘
Alors,
a solution presents itself.’

‘You want me to be your housekeeper? I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.’

He pushed away his untouched coffee and sat back, regarding her thoughtfully. ‘The time for dreaming is past, Virginie, and you must face reality. What is your own plan for the future?’

‘To find a permanent and worthwhile job,’ she said defiantly. ‘I might even go back to London.’

‘To
ta marraine?
Your godmother?’

She shook her head. ‘She and my mother quarrelled, so we’ve lost touch.’

‘But you have other friends there?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not that it’s anything to do with you.’

‘It is very much my concern. A city like London is no place for a girl without work, family or connections.’ He was silent for a moment, drumming his fingers restlessly on the table. He said abruptly, ‘I will make you another offer. Come with me to Burgundy until you know whether or not you are
enceinte.
If you are not, I will give you the money to return to England and support you while you train for whatever profession you desire.’

She said slowly, ‘You would do that. But why?’

‘Because I believe it is what my father would have wished. What he himself would have done had he lived.’

‘You make it very hard for me to refuse.’

‘Then why do so?’

‘Because there’s another side to the coin. If I am pregnant, I still won’t want to stay. To be married. To you.’

‘And you think I will force you?’ He shrugged. ‘Marriage in France, Virginie, is hedged about with respectability and performed in front of the Mayor. The ceremony would not take place if it was thought you were unwilling.’

He paused, then added levelly, ‘
D’ailleurs,
by that time you may come to see that, for the child’s sake, becoming my wife is your only rational course.’

My first, perhaps only, proposal of marriage, thought Ginny, pain twisting inside her, and it’s happening in a dismal room smelling of Full English Breakfasts, and with nothing but rationality and business deals on offer.

She said quietly, ‘I can’t promise that. And I’d like some time on my own—to think.’

‘To think or to run away?’

‘To decide.’ She pushed back her chair and rose. ‘Perhaps, Monsieur Duchard, it’s time we began to trust each other, if you want your plans to succeed.’

He got to his feet too. ‘And I would feel more optimistic,
mademoiselle,
if you were to call me Andre.’ He added gently, ‘Under the circumstances, such continued formality between us is nonsense.’

Her swift flush was painful. ‘I suppose so.’

He added briskly, ‘
En tout cas,
I require your answer now if we are to catch the afternoon flight to Dijon.’

She took a deep breath, her stomach churning as a voice in her head told her that his proposition was ludicrous—impossible. Something she should not contemplate. For all sorts of reasons.

The feel of his skin against hers. Oh God, the taste of him...

And heard herself say shakily, ‘Then—yes, I agree.’ She paused. ‘On one condition. That you treat me as an employee. Give me my own space.’

He nodded, his face cool and unsmiling. ‘
Soit.
Let it be as you wish.’ He added, ‘I will come for you at noon. Pack your warmest clothing only—and not the hideous dress,
hein?
’

Her gasp of indignation followed him to the door—and this time she had no desire to laugh.

On her way home, she called at the bank and drew out what little money she possessed, leaving just enough to keep the account open. This, plus her wages, gave her at least a semblance of independence.

She’d hoped to have the house to herself, but she could hear Rosina and Cilla laughing and talking in the drawing room, so taking a deep breath she walked in—on chaos.

The floor was littered with empty carrier bags and tissue paper, and their contents, mostly beach and cocktail wear was strewn across one of the sofas.

‘Virginia.’ Rosina sounded faintly defensive. ‘Why are you home at this hour?’

‘I’ve been fired.’ She gestured around her. ‘What’s this?’

‘Some holiday things. After all this stress, I decided I needed a break, and Cilla and I have managed to get a last-minute deal in the Seychelles, so we popped into Lanchester to do some shopping.’

Ginny turned to her sister. ‘Is Jonathan going to be happy about this?’

Cilla shrugged. ‘If not, it serves him right. He’s been so difficult lately.’

‘And if you’re no longer at that dreary little café, you can look after things here,’ Rosina chimed in brightly.

‘Except I shan’t be here either,’ Ginny said quietly. ‘Andre Duchard has offered me a temporary job in France while I consider my future.’

There was an ominous silence. When Rosina spoke, her voice was steel. ‘If this is a joke, it’s not amusing.’

‘I’m perfectly serious. We’ll be leaving in about forty minutes and I’ve come home to pack.’

‘You—and that man? I can’t believe even you would stoop so low.’ Rosina flung out a dramatic arm. ‘Oh, I shall never forgive you for this—you little Judas.’

‘But at least I shan’t be a drain on your resources, Mother.’ Ginny lifted her chin, trying not to see Cilla’s expression of frozen resentment and disbelief. ‘You can’t have it all ways.’

She paused. ‘And maybe some of our problems stem from other causes,’ she added, and walked out, closing the door on another furious tirade.

Packing did not take long, her clothes and other personal possessions barely filling the suitcase she hadn’t used since boarding school.

Not much to show for nearly twenty-two years, she thought wryly, as she added the framed photograph of Andrew with Barney that she’d taken from the desk in the study. Something, she told herself, that only she would value.

As she carried her case downstairs, Mrs Pel suddenly appeared, her face troubled. ‘So you’re really leaving, Miss Ginny? And your mother beside herself, saying things about you and Mr Andre that don’t bear repeating. Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing, my dear?’

Ginny tried to smile. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. After all, Mrs Pel, you were the one who told me to spread my wings and fly.’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Pel said soberly. ‘But only for the right reasons.’

Ginny put down her case and hugged her. ‘I’ll make them right,’ she said, more cheerfully than she felt. ‘And I won’t be gone for ever. I’ll write to you at Market Lane.’ She hesitated. ‘And if there’s any news of Barney, can you let me know?’

‘Of course.’ Mrs Pel sighed. ‘But I’ll be glad to be gone, and that’s the truth. This house will never be the same again.’

What will? Ginny asked herself tautly as the hall clock began to strike twelve, and she heard the sound of a car approaching up the drive.

Head held high, she walked out, closing the door behind her.

* * *