The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience. Sara Craven

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The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience - Sara  Craven

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moved pleasurably against the ingenious questing of his fingers. ‘Almost certainly, darling. But we don’t need to underline the fact.’

      He rolled over suddenly, imprisoning her under his body. ‘I don’t want to let you go,’ he told her huskily. ‘I need you to stay here with me, mon coeur. To sleep in my arms tonight.’

      ‘How can I?’ Allie appealed ruefully. ‘Tante is obviously trying to be understanding, but she has her limits, especially as I’m her guest.’ She paused. ‘Besides, she’ll certainly expect us to be discreet.’

      Remy sighed. ‘Tu as raison, ma mie. I am not thinking as I should—perhaps because I feel I am almost scared to let you out of my sight.’

      She put up a hand, her fingers tender against the roughness of his chin, her voice teasing. ‘Haven’t you had enough of me, monsieur?’

      He said quietly, ‘I have been waiting for you my whole life, Alys. I shall never have enough.’ He slid his hands under her flanks, raising her a little, so that, slowly and sweetly, he could enter once more her rapturously acceptant body.

      Unlike the fierce, searing passion they’d shared earlier, when he’d taken her to some blind, mindless sphere where she’d thought she might die, this time it was a gentle almost meditative union, composed of sighs and murmurs, and subtle, exquisite pressures, so that the moment of climax rippled through her like a soft breeze across a lake. And her voice broke as she whispered his name.

      Afterwards, Allie lay supine, her eyes closed, her body languid with fulfillment. But as she felt him leaving the bed, she lifted herself on to an elbow. ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘To take you back to Les Sables—after I have taken a shower.’

      She smiled mischievously up at him. ‘You don’t want company?’

      He gave her a wry look. ‘Oui, naturellement. But I am trying to learn to do without you, ma mie.’

      She tutted reprovingly as she swung her legs to the floor and followed him into the bathroom. ‘That sounds like a very dull lesson. Now, I think, my darling, that you should make the most of me when I’m around,’ she added serenely as she joined him in the glass cubicle under the power spray. She poured some shower gel into her hands and began to lather his body, beginning with his shoulders, then moving downwards across his chest to his abdomen, and lower, her fingers working in small, enticing circles. ‘Don’t you agree?’

      ‘Dieu,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You are insatiable. You will kill me.’

      She glanced down, and laughed softly. ‘Even though the evidence suggests otherwise, my love?’

      ‘But will the evidence be strong enough to prove your case, mon ange?’ He turned the shower full on, then reached for her, lifting her off the tiled floor, and locking her legs round his hips. ‘Eh bien, there is only one way to find out.’

      She said tremulously, ‘Remy—oh, God—Remy…’

      It was twilight when they eventually arrived at Les Sables, but there was no light in the house, and Tante’s car was missing from its usual parking place.

      ‘I seem to have beaten her to it,’ Allie said, as she opened the door. ‘Perhaps I can convince her that I spent the day here quietly on my own.’

      ‘I doubt it.’ Remy followed her in. ‘Madame is a woman who has loved. She will recognise the signs.’

      ‘And you,’ she said, ‘are altogether too pleased with yourself.’

      He slid a hand under the fall of still-damp hair, and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘But I am pleased with you, also, chérie. Does that excuse me?’

      The sound of the telephone made them both jump.

      ‘Is that Madame de Marchington—the great-niece of Madame Colville?’ an elderly-sounding male voice enquired when Allie picked up the receiver. ‘Ah, bon. I am Emil Blanchard. I regret to tell you that Madelon slipped on the wet pavement outside our house as she was leaving her car, and fell.’

      ‘She fell?’ Allie echoed, dismayed. ‘Oh, God, is she badly hurt?’

      ‘No, no. Our doctor made a thorough examination. But she is shocked, and bruised, of course, and it would not be wise for her to drive. So we have persuaded her to remain with us for a few days until she has recovered.’ He added with faint peevishness, ‘I have attempted to telephone you several times before, madame, but could get no answer.’

      ‘No, I’ve also been out—visiting friends. I’m sorry.’ Allie hesitated. ‘Thank you for telling me, and please give Tante Madelon my love. I hope she’s fine—very soon—and tell her that I’ll take good care of the house.’

      ‘Pauvre madame,’ Remy said soberly, when Allie outlined exactly what had happened. ‘Such accidents can be serious at her age, but fortunately she seems to have escaped lasting damage.’ He paused, his expression quizzical. ‘But this means, ma belle, that you will be alone in this isolated place. Will you feel safe?’

      ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine during the day,’ Allie assured him. She also paused. ‘But I might be nervous at night,’ she added pensively.

      ‘If you have problems with your nerves, ma belle,’ Remy said solemnly, ‘then you should always call a doctor.’

      She said softly, ‘I think I just did.’ And walked happily into his arms.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      ALLIE came back to the present with a start, to the realisation that she was shivering violently. The night air had gone from cool to cold now, and the last thing she needed was pneumonia, she thought, her mouth twisting wryly as she closed the back door and locked it.

      Or maybe the last thing she really wanted was to go upstairs and try to sleep in that room—in the bed she’d once shared with Remy.

      She’d known from the first that that was, inevitably, where she’d be expected to spend her nights, but up to now she hadn’t allowed herself to think about that too closely, or examine how she would feel when she had to lie there alone.

      When she would not feel the warmth of Remy’s arms, the murmur of his voice, or the beloved weight of him as, stunned and breathless, they lay wrapped together after climax. Or even the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her cheek as she drifted blissfully to sleep.

      For a moment she leaned forward, leaning her forehead against the stout panels of the door as the pain of it lanced through her.

      Oh, God, she thought. Knowing the truth as I did, how could I have allowed myself to be so happy? To keep silent, even though I was virtually living with him? When I was breathing and dreaming him through every passing hour?

      She drew a deep breath, composing herself, then switched off the lights and made her way slowly upstairs.

      Tom was sleeping peacefully, and did not stir as she trod over to the cot to check on him. She sank down on the rug beside him, her back to the wall, her arms clasping her knees in the darkness.

      Moonlight

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