The Frenchman's Captive Wife. Chantelle Shaw

but Emily was too shy to respond to his friendly charm and went out of her way to avoid him.

      His husky French accent caused a delicious shiver to run all the way down to her toes, and she blushed and half hid her face against the mane of her darling Arab stallion, Kasim.

      ‘I find horses are generally less complicated,’ she agreed huskily, and his slow smile took her breath away. He remained chatting for several minutes, displaying an impressive knowledge of horsemanship, although she had been too tongue-tied to respond and afterwards had been furious with herself. She must have appeared a halfwit, but surprisingly he came again the next day, and the next, requesting that she ride out with him, and it was during those blissful excursions through the New Forest that she found herself falling in love with him.

      What a fool she’d been, she now thought bitterly, to believe that the charismatic multimillionaire Frenchman would really be interested in a plain little nobody like her. Common sense should have warned her that he must have a hidden agenda, especially when he’d proposed to her so soon after they’d first met. She had ignored her doubts, swept away by his passionate kisses when he’d followed her into the stables and pulled her down into the hay. He’d overwhelmed her senses. She’d loved the way he’d made her feel, loved him and amazingly he’d seemed to want her, too.

      Their wedding, in the magnificent grounds of Heston Grange, had been like a fairy-tale, a dream come true, and the dream had lasted for the whole of that first weekend when he had whisked her off to Paris. She had been a virgin on her wedding night, due only to his iron self-control. The memory of the way he had made love to her for the first time still brought tears to her eyes. He had been so tender, so gentle, treating her reverently as if she were made of the finest porcelain. Her untutored body had been eager to learn and his tenderness had given way to a fierce passion that should have shocked her but had only made her love him more.

      Unfortunately their arrival back in London had signalled the end of the fantasy. Luc was always busy and always with Robyn, and Emily had resented the elegant American’s close relationship with her husband as she’d struggled to fit in to her new life. As her insecurity grew so did the rows, but six months after the wedding Luc suddenly announced he had a break in his busy work schedule and was taking her on a belated honeymoon. It should have been an ideal time to repair the holes in their marriage, but instead the queasiness she had been suffering from for the past few weeks increased and on arrival at their remote island destination, she fainted. A result of dehydration and hormones, the doctor cheerfully informed her before he dropped the bombshell that she was expecting a baby and one glance at Luc’s shocked face warned her that the fairy-tale was over. The moment he discovered she was pregnant their marriage died.

      ‘We’ll be landing in an hour,’ Luc suddenly informed her, his cold, clipped tone interrupting her thoughts, although he barely bothered to lift his eyes from his computer screen as he addressed her. ‘I’m sure you remember the way to the bathroom.’

      ‘I don’t need it, thank you,’ she replied, stung by his indifference. This time he did look up, his brows raised fractionally in disdain.

      ‘You need to tidy yourself up,’ he told her bluntly, unmoved by the stain of colour that flooded her cheeks. ‘You’ll find your luggage in the bedroom. Hopefully you have something to wear in that vast suitcase that is a little less loud.’

      ‘I’m afraid not,’ Emily said sweetly, her chin coming up. ‘The larger suitcase contains Jean-Claude’s clothes, and this is one of my more discreet outfits.’

      ‘Then we need to go shopping as a matter of urgency. You look like a tramp,’ he told her, calmly ignoring her gasp of outrage. ‘Your gaudy clothes might be suitable wear for an artists’ commune but you are not a hippy—you are my wife and I expect you to dress accordingly.’

      ‘You can go to hell. I’d rather run around naked than allow you to buy my clothes,’ Emily snapped furiously, and his mouth curved into an insolent smile that still did strange things to her insides.