you are here at last,’ Marc said softly. And his smile touched her in cool possession.
CHAPTER SIX
HER heart was beating like a stone being thrown against a wall. She stared back at him, her eyes widening endlessly in dismay. His jacket and tie had been discarded, tossed over the arm of the sofa, and his shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist, the sleeves rolled back over his forearms.
He could not, she thought numbly, have announced his intentions any more clearly.
Her voice, when she finally found it, was hoarse. ‘We—we said goodnight earlier. I saw your car on the way to the village—the hotel. So, what are you doing here?’
‘You have a short memory, ma belle. It was my unfortunate chauffeur you saw going to the hotel.’ The dark eyes glinted at her. ‘I told you that on my next visit I intended to spend the night here in this house.’
‘Yes, but I never thought…’ She stopped, biting her lip, struggling for dignity. For some kind of rationality. Most of all, for some way of keeping him at arm’s length—or an even greater distance. ‘I prefer my guests to wait for an invitation.’
‘I feared I might be made to wait for ever.’ His mouth curled sardonically. He walked across and took the percolator from her wavering hand. ‘Before you damage yourself, Hélène,’ he added drily. ‘Or me. Now, come and sit down.’
If she turned and ran he would only follow her, she knew, and she didn’t want to demonstrate that kind of weakness—let him see that she was scared in any way.
So she moved on legs that did not seem to belong to her to the sofa, and sank down, grateful for its sagging support. A small table had been drawn up, holding a tray with cups, a cream jug and sugar bowl, plus a decanter of brandy and two glasses.
She said shakily, ‘You certainly believe in making yourself at home—in every way.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps because I believe that very soon this will be my home.’ He sat down at the other end of the sofa and began to pour out the coffee.
She gave him a swift, wary glance. ‘Isn’t that a premature assumption?’ She tried to keep her voice toneless. ‘After all, you said you’d give me twenty-four hours to answer you.’ She paused. ‘And I also thought you’d have the decency to allow me to consider your proposition in private,’ she added, with a touch of hauteur.
‘But I decided I would pay court to you instead, cherie,’ he drawled. ‘Decency has always seemed to me such a dull virtue.’
His words, and the amused glance which accompanied them, were like an icy finger on her spine. Her hands were clamped round each other in an attempt to conceal the fact that they were trembling.
But she lifted her chin. ‘Virtue?’ she echoed cuttingly. ‘I’m surprised you even know what the word means.’
‘What a low opinion you have of me, ma chère,’ Marc drawled, pouring measures of brandy into the glasses. ‘But at least it releases me from any obligation to behave well.’
He leaned towards her and Helen flinched instinctively, realising too late that he was simply putting her coffee and brandy within her reach on the table. She saw his mouth tighten with sudden harshness, but when he spoke his voice was casual.
‘And I made you a proposal, not a proposition. Perhaps you would like me to demonstrate the difference?’
‘No,’ Helen said too hastily. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘To hear you,’ he said softly, ‘one would think that your namesake in the portrait had been a Vestal Virgin and that you were following her example.’ His gaze rested fleetingly on her mouth. ‘Yet all the evidence denies this.’
‘I dislike being railroaded,’ Helen told him, flushing. She was searingly aware of the lean body lounging so casually beside her—and alarmed by her awareness. ‘That does not, however, make me a prig.’
‘I am glad of the assurance.’ His tone was faintly mocking. ‘So,’ he went on after a pause, ‘what did Nigel say to you that has put you so much on edge?’
Avoiding his gaze, she picked up her glass and drank some brandy. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘But you don’t deny that there was another rencontre, I hope.’ He spoke pleasantly enough, but she was aware of a faint, harsh edge in his voice. ‘You are not the only one to take note of passing traffic, ma mie. I saw his car returning to the restaurant. You must still have been there. Also,’ he added judiciously, ‘you are paler than before, and your eyes look bruised. Was he angry, perhaps, at your attempt to drown him?’
Helen took another restorative gulp of brandy. ‘It was mentioned,’ she said shortly. ‘But he seemed more interested in bad-mouthing you.’
His brows lifted. ‘I was not aware I had the pleasure of his acquaintance.’
‘But you know—his new lady.’ She had to struggle to say the words. ‘Apparently you’ve met—at parties in London.’
‘Ah,’ Marc said softly. ‘But I meet a great many people at a great many parties, cherie. She made no particular impression on me at the time.’
‘Well, she remembers you very well,’ she said, adding recklessly, ‘And your reputation.’
He laughed. ‘Do I have one? I was not aware.’
‘You’re said to be anti-commitment.’ Helen stared down into her glass. ‘You never continue any of your love affairs longer than two months.’ She paused. ‘Can you deny it?’
‘Certainement.’ He was still amused. ‘I can assure you, ma mie, that love has never entered into any of my affaires.’
She bit her lip. ‘Now you’re playing with words. But then you like to do that, don’t you, Mr Delaroche? Proposal versus proposition, for example. Not that it matters,’ she added, ‘because we both know that it’s just some private game for your own amusement, and that you haven’t the slightest intention of getting married to me—or to anyone.’
She drew a breath. ‘So, can it stop right now, please? I’m getting bored with the joke.’
He reached for his jacket, extracted something from the pocket, and put it on the table. Helen saw it was a jeweller’s velvet covered box, and nearly choked on the brandy she was swallowing.
‘This is not the moment I would have chosen,’ he said quietly. ‘But perhaps this will finally convince you that I have indeed asked you to be my wife. And that I am quite serious.’
The diamonds in the ring were a circle of fire surrounding the deeper flame of an exquisite ruby. Helen’s lips parted in a silent gasp that was part wonder, part horror.
‘So, do you believe at last?’ His smile was grim. ‘Now all you need do, ma belle, is make your decision.’
She said huskily, ‘You—make it sound so easy.’
‘Yes, or no,’ he said. ‘What
