she said, deflated.
Shading her eyes, she once more studied the buildings advancing up the hill. Or were they tumbling down it? She felt a pang of worry about the state of her mother’s house.
‘We see what we wish to see—and you wanted to see only the postcard-picturesque,’ he said drily, his thick lashes fanning further down on his gilded cheekbones than was strictly fair in a man.
Tessa sighed. ‘I did. It’s still in a wonderful position above the river,’ she said wistfully, stuffing the empty chocolate wrapper in the hip pocket of her skintight leathers and finding that the man’s speculative eyes were noting with very masculine interest what a struggle it was. Hastily she grabbed at something else to say. ‘I envy the people who live with such a view.’
‘Don’t.’ Half turning, he scowled at the hillside, lost in thought.
Tessa wrapped herself in her own troubles. She ought to prepare herself for the fact that her mother might be poor and living in some dump of a building. That had never crossed her mind up to now and she fidgeted uncertainly, wondering if she could break in on the man’s deep absorption in the scene ahead, into whatever thoughts were going on in that handsome head.
Nothing ventured…‘Do you know the village very well?’ she asked, her eyes soft with anxiety.
He turned and looked at her thoughtfully. Suddenly he seemed to be pinning her in place with the intensity of his stare, frowning as though something about her reminded him of someone. ‘What’s your interest?’ he enquired guardedly.
Some inner alarm made her cautious. ‘It’s pretty,’ she replied lamely, earning herself a scornful curl of his autocratic mouth. She sought to expand her remark. ‘You can’t deny that, crumbling walls or not! All those roses clambering up walls, orange-blossom heaving over hedges, geraniums dotted about on balconies…’ She hesitated, then asked, ‘Is—is all of it run down?’ And she found herself praying for his reassurance.
‘Virtually all, I regret to say,’ he replied, bringing the worry lines to her forehead again. ‘The landlord didn’t give a damn.’
That last sentence had been said softly—and not to her. Only the faint breeze had carried his half-audible words to her sharp ears. Yet his icy anger had been unmistakable. Alarmed by his words, she wondered why he cared so much. Because he obviously did, and she struggled to understand why his eyes were so cold and his mouth had set in such deep and bitter lines.
She shivered. Something was wrong about the village. And suddenly she felt afraid of what she might find when she reached her mother’s house.
‘I must go,’ she said hoarsely.
‘So you know what happened?’
‘N-no.’
‘I think you should.’
His tone made her whole body tense. What was he trying to tell her, with those knowing, sardonic eyes? Did he know her mother? Was he trying to prepare her for something?
TRYING to sound unconcerned, Tessa said, ‘OK, tell me.’
The man squared his shoulders. ‘It’s a well-known scandal. Go into any village or town for fifty miles and mention Turaine and you’ll get several lurid versions.’ His gaze homed in on her as if watching for her reaction. She stared back with wide, apprehensive eyes. ‘The landlord, Lucien de Turaine, had a mistress who held complete sway over his every move. She led him such a dance around the fleshpots of the world that he neglected the village he owned and it gradually fell into disrepair.’
‘How awful!’ she exclaimed.
‘Criminal,’ he agreed. ‘But she was totally self-centred and de Turaine only too willing to be her slave.’
‘Amazing that any woman could influence a man that strongly,’ marvelled Tessa.
‘She was beautiful. And irresistible. One of those born flirts who are utterly confident about their looks and who use men to their own ends,’ he said cynically.
Despising the woman, Tessa probed for more information. ‘Lucien de Turaine…If he’s the landlord, does that mean he owns the whole village?’
He nodded, the bright sunlight catching the glitter in his eyes. ‘The family has owned the village for seven hundred years.’
‘Then I’m appalled that he doesn’t have a better sense of duty! It’s dreadful that he can’t be bothered to look after his tenants!’ she declared indignantly, ready to do battle on her mother’s behalf.
‘Couldn’t,’ came the languid correction. ‘The man is dead. His son has taken over.’
‘Is he more caring? Will he do the repairs, do you think?’ she asked anxiously, caught up now in the welfare of Turaine.
‘The village is bankrupt. The estate coffers are empty. The mistress drained his father dry. Every last damn penny.’
Tessa’s face showed her shocked disapproval. ‘That’s outrageous!’ she declared. ‘I’m so sorry. What a dreadful situation.’
‘She’s a money-grabbing monster and deserves to be hanged, drawn and quartered.’ He sounded grim and she shot him a curious look, but his expression was neutral.
‘The damage is done,’ she mused soberly. ‘What’s going to happen if there’s no money for restoration? Will the son sell some of the houses and use the proceeds for repairs?’
‘I think,’ he said, in a casual tone that belied the disdainful curl of his nostrils, ‘the current seigneur would rather sell his soul.’
A cloud crossed the sun, throwing the two of them into sudden shadow. Though a light remained in the stranger’s eyes which must have come from within. The air grew chill without the sun’s warmth, reminding Tessa that it was still the treacherous month of May. She gave a little shiver. However intriguing this might be, she was anxious to drive on and find out her mother’s situation for herself.
‘It doesn’t offer much hope for the village if he’s strapped for cash, does it?’ she commented quietly.
Her poor mother. What conditions would she be living in? More than a little apprehensive now, Tessa unthinkingly bent and vigorously massaged her aching thighs and calves. When she straightened, throwing back the wings of pale blonde hair which had fallen across her face, she found herself the subject of a languid appraisal.
Time to withdraw gracefully, she thought, recognising that maybe she’d chatted for too long and had been over-friendly. In the old days before her transformation, it wouldn’t have mattered.
‘That’s the trouble with long journeys on a road-bike,’ she said briskly, thinking she ought to explain away her massage. ‘Muscles begin to seize up.’
‘Yes.’
He said no more. But somehow he imbued that one word and the expression in his suddenly velvety eyes with
