shrugged. ‘I know we discussed it,’ he said awkwardly. ‘But there was nothing definite. For one thing, I’d have had a hell of a fight on with my parents.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Helen said unevenly. ‘I always knew they didn’t like me.’
‘It wasn’t that,’ he told her defensively. ‘They felt we were wrong for each other, that’s all. And they didn’t want me tipping everything I earned down that money pit of yours, either.’
He paused. ‘I have ambition, Helen, and I’m not ashamed of it. I want a wife who can help with my career—someone who likes entertaining and can provide the right ambience. Let’s face it, you’d hate that kind of life.’
The wind was cold suddenly—turning her to ice.
She said quietly, ‘And I haven’t any money—to make up for my other deficiencies. Isn’t that part of it?’
He gave her an irritated look. ‘Money matters. Are you pretending it doesn’t?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Particularly when I’ve just been turned down for my grant.’
‘Well, what did you expect? Clearly they don’t want to throw good money after bad,’ he said. ‘That’s not good business practice.’
She winced painfully. ‘Nigel,’ she said urgently, ‘I—I’m trying to save the home I love. I thought you might be able to suggest something—someone who could help. Who might be prepared to invest in the estate…’
‘This is a joke—right?’ His tone was derisive. ‘I suggest you look round for a rich husband—if you can find someone as frigid as you are yourself. And how likely is that?’
The pain was suddenly more than she could bear. She took a step towards him, lifting her hand, driven by a half-crazy need to wipe the sneer from his face.
Nigel retreated, throwing up an arm to ward her off, his smart brogues slipping suddenly in the mud created by the recent bad weather.
Helen saw his face change from alarm to fury as he overbalanced, teetering on the edge of the lake for a moment before he fell backwards into the water with a resounding splash.
He was on his feet instantly, dripping and crimson with rage. ‘Bitch,’ he shouted hoarsely, as Helen turned her back and began to walk, head bent, towards the house. ‘Bitch.’
She was trembling violently, her breathing an agony, every nerve in her body striving to continue putting one foot in front of another so that she could reach sanctuary before she fell on her knees and howled her hurt and misery to the sky.
She was too blinded by his cruelty even to see that someone was standing in front of her until she collided with a hard male body and recoiled with a cry.
‘Tais toi,’ Marc Delaroche said quietly. ‘Be calm.’ His arm round her was like iron, holding her up. ‘I have you safe. Now, walk with me to the house.’
And, too numb to resist, Helen could only obey.
CHAPTER FOUR
HE’D said ‘walk’, but Helen was dazedly aware she was being half-led, half-carried into the house. Warmth surrounded her, and a feeling of safety as its walls closed round her.
She heard Daisy’s shocked exclamation, and his quiet reply.
When she could think clearly again she found she was sitting on the sofa in the library, with a mug of strong, hot tea clasped in her icy hands.
Marc Delaroche was standing by the fireplace, an elbow resting on the mantelshelf, looking contemplatively into the blue flames of the small twig fire that she supposed he’d kindled in the grate.
He was wearing jeans and a matching blue shirt, its top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled back, revealing the shadowing of dark hair on his chest and forearms.
He turned his head slowly and met her accusing gaze.
She said huskily, ‘You knew, didn’t you? I mean about Nigel. Somehow, you knew.’
There was a pause, then reluctantly he nodded. ‘I regret, but, yes.’
‘And is that why you’re here—to gloat?’ She took a gulp of the scalding brew in her beaker.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should I do that?’
‘Who knows,’ she said, ‘why you do anything? Yet here you are—again.’
‘Among other things, I came to warn you. But I was too late.’
‘How can this be?’ Helen said, half to herself. ‘How can you have guessed that Nigel didn’t love me when I was still in the dark about it?’
He shrugged. ‘You were in the dark, ma mie, because you had closed your eyes to what was happening—perhaps deliberately. Also,’ he added, ‘I had an advantage, because you were not sitting in the window of the Martinique that day when your supposed fiancé arrived. He came by taxi, not alone, and his companion was most reluctant to let him go. That was how I came to notice him—because their leavetaking was quite a spectacle. Each time he tried to say au revoir she wound herself round him the more. She behaved with une ardeur etonnante,’ he added with a faint whistle. ‘I almost envied him.’
He paused. ‘And then I watched him join you at your table, and realised who he must be, and it was no longer so amusing.’
‘So you took pity on me,’ Helen said bitterly.
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But for a moment only. Because I could see that you were strong and would survive your disappointment.’
‘Disappointment?’ she echoed in angry incredulity. ‘My God, I’ve just been dumped by the man I’ve loved all my life. The only man I’ll ever love. And you talk about it as if it were a minor inconvenience.’
She paused. ‘Why didn’t you tell me there and then?’
‘Because I already knew that the committee’s decision would go against you,’ he said. ‘I did not wish to overburden you with bad news.’
‘So instead you let me stew in my fool’s paradise,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Shall we agree it was a no-win situation for us both?’ he suggested.
‘I don’t believe this,’ Helen said raggedly. ‘My life’s in ruins, I’m falling apart—and you sound so bloody casual.’
She gave him an inimical look. ‘And, for the record, there is no “both”. There’s myself alone, and no one else.’
‘Are you so sure of that?’
‘What are you saying? That he’ll dump this new lady too, and come back to me?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. And do you know why that is, Monsieur Delaroche? It’s because I lack the necessary social skills. Also, I’m frigid—and she isn’t,’ she added, her voice cracking. Then stopped, horrified at what she’d let
