‘But an enjoyable one, I hope.’
‘Of course. I have always loved the château,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice even while he kept hold of her hand.
‘Well, you will be seeing it at its best tonight. I have arranged for all the lights to be turned on when it is quite dark and that runs into tens of thousands of bulbs. It should be quite a sight,’ he promised. ‘And for you, Ms O’Reilly—’ he turned and, having slipped Kate’s hand through his arm he offered his other to Megan ‘—I have invited another good friend of mine, Professor Gilman from the Tokyo Gallery in Paris, to discuss developments in modern art with you.’
‘Professor Gilman!’
Kate could see that Megan was really impressed. ‘That’s good of you, Guy,’ she said, giving his arm a squeeze.
‘Good? It’s bloody marvellous!’ Megan exclaimed. ‘Have you any idea who Professor Gilman is, Kate?’
‘None. But I’m sure you’ll enlighten me,’ Kate teased her old friend distractedly while her mind was still fixed on corded muscles beneath an impeccably tailored suit. ‘Will your mother be joining us, Guy?’ she said, determined to keep her rational mind in the ascendant.
‘It’s too soon to tell,’ he replied.
A trace of melancholy darkened the brilliance of his eyes as he turned to look at her. ‘I had hoped that when she heard you were here she would come down from her room. But, well, we shall see. I shall not press her.’
‘If I can do anything…anything at all.’
‘I’ll let you know,’ he said, smiling at Megan when she expressed the same sentiments.
Following effortless introductions by Guy, Megan was soon deep in conversation with Professor Gilman, who turned out to be a shrewd-looking middle-aged woman in a designer suit rather than the hoary old man of Kate’s imagination. ‘You did well there,’ she told Guy as they stood watching the two women stroll up the sweeping marble staircase to admire his works of art.
‘I gave the ancestors leave of absence,’ he explained. ‘All the older paintings are being stored in the attic rooms and I’ve replaced them with a rather interesting collection of modern works—some of them by students I think might have a future…’
‘I meant you’ve done well introducing Megan to Professor Gilman,’ Kate said, unlinking her arm when Guy made no move to do so. ‘They seem to have a lot in common.’
‘I like to bring people together,’ he said simply. Then, turning to Kate, he surveyed her slowly and appreciatively, his silver-grey eyes darkening as they lingered on her face. ‘Thank you for wearing that dress.’
‘It’s no hardship,’ she admitted with more bravura than she felt. There was a chance she could melt into a puddle of desire right there in front of him when she saw what he meant to do.
Lightly, almost lazily, he ran the tip of one finger down from just beneath her cleavage to a point where the skirt flirted out around her hips. “‘See where she comes, apparelled like the spring—”’
‘Guy, I—’
‘Bellini?’
‘I thought it was Shakespeare—’
‘Drink, silly.’
‘Oh, yes please.’ Had her wits taken flight? Kate wondered as he reclaimed her arm. Arousal threw rosy shadows across her cheeks, but she knew it was far safer to imagine it was the suggestion of champagne cocktails that put the heat into her face. As a child she had always envied the guests at the château the fragrant peach juice and champagne mix, which she remembered them sipping out of tall crystal flutes.
‘Do you remember?’ Guy guessed, as he drew her across the hall.
‘When you made one specially for me?’
‘I put a drop of champagne on the top—’
‘It tickled my nose. Yes, I remember,’ she said.
‘I might allow you to have a slightly stronger mix tonight.’
‘You’ll allow?’ she challenged softly.
‘Doesn’t the idea of being mastered appeal to you…if only for an evening?’ he suggested provocatively as they walked out on to the terrace.
‘Equality appeals to me far more.’
‘In some things, perhaps.’
‘In everything,’ Kate insisted, with a little more force than she had intended, but she had to do something to marshal her wayward senses. To her surprise Guy seemed to like her answer.
‘Still the same feisty Kate.’
‘And does that please you?’
‘Mais oui,’ he said, throwing her a long steady look. ‘It pleases me very much.’
It was hard to think straight when she was being bombarded with sensation. In spite of his reserve since The Kiss, what Guy seemed to be saying was that he wanted her. Could it be true? Everything about the setting conspired against it. There were at least three servants standing discreetly in the shadows of the terrace—and then there was Megan—and the Professor.
Kate’s head shot up abruptly as Guy pressed the foaming glass into her hand. Was she going crazy? Had she lost all semblance of sanity? This wasn’t a game. This was Count Guy de Villeneuve and she was Kate Foster, a successful businesswoman certainly, but one who moved in a different world from the enigmatic man by her side. Her fantasies seemed to suggest that she should simply take him by the hand and lead him upstairs to one of the twenty or so bedroom suites… She gulped the whole glass down barely tasting it. A one-night stand—was that really what she wanted? A man like Guy would think nothing of a woman who threw herself at him. Kate knew from the scandal sheets that there were more of those than he knew what to do with already. They had all met the same fate, she reminded herself, willing ice into her veins and stone into her heart.
‘Why so serious, Kate?’ Guy asked as he refilled her glass.
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ he argued as his lips tugged down in a rueful smile. ‘Perhaps this second glass will help…if you sip it.’
Kate’s senses flared at the reproof. She loved it when he scolded her. It was no use pretending. Independence was fine in the real world, but this was a moment out of time where fantasies ruled. She wanted nothing more than to be taken by him into the deepest heart of his fairy-tale château; a place that was dark and still. Perhaps to the dungeons where he could tie her up with silken ropes and keep her for himself for ever…
‘Dinner is served, sir.’
‘Kate?’
Kate woke as if from a trance, a dangerous trance, she realised, as she felt her nipples rubbing painfully on the cleverly concealed bones as they fought the tight confines of the bodice. And as she took Guy’s arm again and began to walk she realised that the deliciously sensitised place between her legs had assumed such a high state of arousal no amount of self-control could hope to purge it now. She was wet. Very, very wet. She could only be thankful that the delicate skirt of the dress was composed of several layers and all of them shaded—a damp stain wouldn’t show—though it was almost impossible to hide the state she was in when her rapid breathing had to struggle to keep pace with her heart.
‘Are you all right?’ Guy murmured with his mouth very close to her ear.
‘I’m fine—perhaps a little cold,’ she added as a quiver ran through her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Walking with Guy was like taking a shower of sensation, Kate thought, basking in the torturing needles as they raced each other through her body. And then, just when she had believed it impossible to feel anything more acutely, as they were about to leave