The Seduction Trap (15 page)

Solemnly she worked away at the pointing, proud of her skill and her composure, even if she felt the ladder shaking with her treacherously trembling limbs.

‘How’s your capricorne beetle?’ yelled Guy.

‘Fine. How’s yours?’ she called back, intently slicking a fresh dollop of mortar into a deep crack.

‘Munching away at my beams from inside out, without any sign they’re there-you know how sneaky they are.’ Were they? Perhaps she had them after all! ‘The place is crawling with sneaky creatures,’ she said, unable to fiddle around any more. She’d almost run out of mortar. Darn it! ‘Yes. Speaking of them, have you heard from your mother?’ he called insolently.

Tessa tightened her mouth and let loose the last remaining dollop of mortar from her trowel. In Guy’s direction. ‘Oh, whoops!’ she cried, seeing it land on his highly polished shoe. No. Someone else’s! ‘I’m sorry!’ she called, blushing. And hurried down the ladder. ‘Let me get it off-’ The man rattled away in French.

‘He says,’ drawled Guy, ‘not to bother.’ The man had already taken a rag from his pocket and wiped the shoe clear. ‘This-now you’ve descended from your lofty perchis the telephone engineer. The village is having new lines put in. You’ll be without a phone for a day or so. No problem, I hope?’

‘N-no,’ she said, reluctantly postponing her decision to ring her father, no matter what her mother had said. Guy apparently told the man to go ahead, because he dumped his set of tools and strode off to the van at the end of the lane. ‘You’re pretty skilled,’ Guy observed, watching while she measured out more sand and cement. ‘Where did you learn that? From your father?’

‘No.’ She sloshed water on the board and hefted the shovel, ready to mix everything together. ‘At the stately home I helped to restore in Cornwall.’ She bent to the physically demanding task. ‘It was-gutted by fire and we had to-start almost from scratch.’

She paused to wipe the back of her hand across her sweating brow, wishing she hadn’t worn such short shorts. Guy was unfairly good at making her aware of her own body! And everything-hips, breasts, bottom—

seemed to be rolling around while she cut and patted at the mortar. ‘I started off as a tea-girl,’ she said, taking a breather, ‘and graduated to concrete, gravel paths, puddling ponds and repointing. Then I acquired a load of other talents,’ she added airily, ‘ending up with my special skill: carpentry.’

‘So many talents in one woman. I could use you,’ he purred. She nearly snapped that he was doing his darnedest to, but stopped just in time. ‘I’d be glad to-’

‘Offer your services?’ Primly her lips pinched in. ‘To join your restoration team,’ she said haughtily. And suddenly realised that she meant that. Surprised, she turned to him. ‘I’d like to do the work,’ she said seriously. ‘I love seeing the transformation. Would you employ me?’

‘If I like what you do,’ he said meaningfully, ‘then I see no reason why not.’

She understood that look of his. Sell the cottages to him and she could have a job-one that might last years. A little ripple ran through her body at the thought of being here, near Guy, for that length of time. It reached the core of her body and created such a pleasurable feeling that her alarmed eyes flew up to his, in case he’d seen the betraying flush of shame that warmed through her.

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, loading up the hawk. Herr face fell. It wouldn’t happen. She wasn’t going to sell to him-and he’d be furious. So she’d have to manage on her own. She slopped the mortar about on the board to hide her disappointment. ‘Can’t stop. This’ll set,’ she said shortly, starting up the ladder. ‘You’ve got yourself well organised. Are these things hired, or did you buy them?’ he called.

‘I bought them. I had them delivered this morning. Why?’

‘Just interested. You’re clearly determined to go ahead, aren’t you? Come to see me this evening, Tessa,’ he said persuasively. ‘I really want to show you the architect’s sketches for the village. Promise?’

She really wanted to see them too. Looking down at Guy’s upturned face, she felt a wrench at the pleasure on his face. ‘I will. See you this evening, then,’ she said, feeling as if her lungs had been constricted.

‘Look forward to it.’ His eyes crinkled in a lovely smile.

Later that day she finished the pointing. Feeling hot and dusty and deeply satisfied with her achievement, she hauled the ladder, the tools and the sacks into the woodshed at the bottom of the garden before cleaning herself up for the meeting with Guy.

Pink from her bath, she munched on a jam sandwich for sustenance, studied the limited range of outfits on the bed and wondered which to wear. Something prim, of course. Except... Giselle would be there. Vanity, self-respect and pride flung themselves together and did their darnedest to coax her to make the best of herself.

Though it wouldn’t matter what she wore; he’d only have eyes for Giselle. The forest-green skirt, then. She wriggled the skirt up and fastened the wide-banded waist with a little difficulty, recognising that she’d put on a couple of pounds over the last few days. But it still sat smoothly over her curvy hips, flowing to the ground in soft folds. The effect was rather flattering, and she decided she preferred herself with a little more flesh on her bones.

‘No law says I can’t look as good as possible!’ she declared, and slipped on the matching top-a sleeveless halter-neck which scooped down low to the middle of her spine. Dark green eyes, she decided. And stared at her reflection in momentary surprise. The light here was incredibly kind! If only she could take it with her! Grinning, she found a headband and drew her newly washed hair back from her face, discovering that somehow it made her cheekbones stand out more than usual. Things were looking up.

A touch of the dreaded mascara, since she wasn’t expecting to cry, and a coral lipstick brought her features into strong focus. She might not be drop-dead gorgeous but she’d done miracles with unpromising material. She’d feel confident faced with the undoubtedly lovely Giselle, and that was the main thing. Stuffing the deeds to the cottages in her capacious canvas shoulder-bag, she carefully locked the door and walked to the square, very conscious that she was being watched by a group of villagers chatting by the old market hall. So she gave them a wave. Whereupon they turned their backs. It was a challenge. She’d win them round. And, quite determined to show Guy that she wouldn’t be intimidated by him-or the hostile villagers-she strode decisively to the imposing chateau entrance, lifted the rather rusty latch and pushed at an excruciatingly squeaky gate, as nervous as a young girl on her first date.

Her eyes rounded as she stepped into ... She grinned. Sleeping Beauty country! Weeds grew up through the tarmac of the drive, though a track had been recently made through them by the wheels of a car. Overhead, an avenue of overgrown limes formed a dark tunnel, and on all sides the garden romped and flowered untamed, as though it had been let go for fifty years. The fairy-tale chateau showed similar signs of neglect. As Tessa walked slowly towards it, her soft forest-green skirt brushing a pathway strewn with poppy petals, she saw that one of the pepper-pot towers had lost its conical roof, which now lay in ruins. Dark green shutters hung by rusting hinges or were scattered where they had fallen fifty feet to the ground and shattered.

Deeply saddened by the decay of what must have been a beautiful house, she stopped short at the incongruous sight of a large obviously second-hand caravan parked to the side of the courtyard. Her eyes only briefly took in the stunning view across the river to miles of verdant countryside before she saw something even more extraordinary.

‘Guy?’ she called with a little laugh of surprise, realising who was sitting on the caravan steps.

‘Welcome to my home.’ A casual wave of his arm indicated the caravan.

‘Good grief!’

‘Please come in.’

In amazement, she followed his tall figure as he ducked to

avoid hitting his head on the low doorway. ‘I was expecting to meet Giselle,’ she said cautiously, noticing no traces of female occupation.

He gave a faint smile. ‘She wouldn’t be seen dead in something as primitive as this. She’s comfortably ensconced in a hotel nearby.’ His head tipped to one side contemplatively as he raked a calculating glance up and down her neat figure. ‘Do you think we need a chaperon?’

‘I certainly don’t,’ she said crisply, annoyed that her pulses were thudding heavily. ‘Do you need one?’ She took the bull by both horns, hoping to joke away her enthusiasm for his kisses. ‘Are you afraid I’ll pounce?’

Grinning lazily, he indicated for her to sit on the narrow banquette at the back of the caravan and took up a position opposite her, leaning forward on the table between them, his eyes immediately capturing hers.

‘I’m afraid you’ll turn me down,’ he admitted.

‘You’ll just have to be very persuasive, won’t you?’ she advised sweetly, and fended off the effect of his limpid eyes by asking, ‘Why aren’t you in a hotel too?’

‘I’ve been away from the chateau for too many years. I have no intention of leaving it now,’ he said gravely. ‘But ... to live here! Is the house so awful inside?’ Something dark flickered in his eyes. ‘Appalling.’ She thought of the expense ahead of him. He’d told her he’d won a grant from the European Community for restoring the village, but it was unlikely he’d get any help with the chateau. And she remembered that his exwife had taken him to the cleaners. Impulsively she said, ‘What a worry. You must be awfully stretched, financially.’

‘Would it make a difference if I were poor, Tessa?’ Quick-witted, she turned that to her advantage. ‘Yes. Of course. You wouldn’t buy my cottage. Oh!’ A little coyly, she let her fingers fly to her mouth, as if it dismayed her that it was too late to take back what she’d said.

‘So you were playing hard to get,’ he said softly. ‘You do want to sell to me!’

‘I keep changing my mind,’ she replied, feigning reluctance. ‘But I have to admit that I hadn’t meant to let you know my interest quite so quickly! I thought I’d try to drive the price up.’ She sighed. ‘But I’m no good at this wheeling and dealing.’ Her eyes were pools of green innocence. She smiled a silly-me smile. ‘I don’t think I’d ever be a success bargaining in a souk for a camel. I’d come home with a herd of them, all lame and humpless!’

‘No. They’d abduct you,’ he murmured.

‘The camels?’ she asked, deliberately misunderstanding and trying not to giggle.

Guy’s mouth twitched. ‘Every red-blooded male in the souk,’ he corrected her, his sultry eyes and gravel tones doing outrageous things to her body.

She could feel the tips of her breasts hardening, pushing lustfully at the soft cotton. And he could see them, his gaze riveted by the wayward peaks and his mouth taking on that hungry, carnal arch which made her stomach contract.

Tessa tried to breathe as normally as possible and searched furiously for her wits. It was hard when he loomed inches away, projecting smouldering desire. Or was he? She’d been caught by that one before. Maybe he was trying to divert her! That brought her down to earth! ‘In the absence of red-blooded males panting to abduct me,’ she said sardonically, noting with fascination the way Guy’s mouth shaped into a wry smile, ‘I have to face reality, as you said. You want the cottage; I want to sell. Name your price.’

‘You have the transfer of sale?’ He took the papers from her and checked them over. ‘Fine. They’re definitely yours. Drink?’ he suggested.

‘Thank you. Shouldn’t you hand those back?’ She could see how reluctant he was, as if it went against the grain to return the deeds. And she wished she didn’t feel for him as he silently watched her pushing them back into her bag. Guy stood up, went to the door and gestured for her to follow. A little impatiently, she did so, and found that he was leading her towards the house.

‘My father left rather a good wine cellar,’ he explained, answering her querying look. ‘We might as well begin to empty it.’

Stepping into the cool stone-flagged hall, she scanned the room with interest. ‘How lovely it must have been,’ she said quietly. ‘Thirteenth-century. Sixteenth and seventeenth additions. Chestnut beams. They have to be massive to support the weight of the stone shingles, you see,’ he said, warming to his subject. ‘There’s a weight of one tonne per square metre.

Except where there are holes in the roof, of course,’ he added ruefully.

It must upset you to see it in such a state. Your family home, reduced to this! I can’t imagine how you felt when you first saw it.’ And her face saddened to think of Guy’s distress when he had discovered his ruined inheritance. ‘Sick.’

‘Yes. I’m sure.’

Her fingers ran lightly over a dusty table. Beneath the layer of dust was the most beautiful dark wood, but one end of the table had been splashed by rain. She craned her neck and identified a small patch of sky high, high above, where the plaster had collapsed from the weight of water and opened the hall to the elements.

‘So much damage,’ she said in consternation. There were bits of birds’ nests on the floor, twigs and other debris. Tall candlesticks had fallen over, vases lay in pieces, and it sounded as though a squawking magpie had taken up residence in the panelling. Her eyes lifted to his and for once his expression wasn’t masked. The hurt on his face sent a knife through her. ‘Guy, this must be breaking your heart! How long will it take to repair? Can you do it?’ she asked passionately. ‘I can. But I promised myself that I’d restore the village first,’ he said quietly. ‘I couldn’t spend time and money on the chateau knowing what I do about the conditions in some of those village houses.’