Mariella corrected her, ‘and it never really mended, not even when she met and married my stepfather. You see, she thought when my father told her that he loved her he meant it, but he didn’t! She trusted him, depended on him, but he repaid that trust by abandoning us both.’
‘Ah, I see. And because of the great hurt your father caused you, you are determined never to trust any man yourself?’ Madame Flavel commented shrewdly. ‘Not all men are like your father, chérie.’
‘Maybe not, but it is not a risk I am prepared to take! I never want to be as… as vulnerable as my mother was… never.’
‘You say that, but I think you fear that you already are.’
Mariella was glad of Ali’s arrival to put an end to what was becoming a very uncomfortable conversation.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon and Madame Flavel was taking her afternoon nap.
Mariella walked restlessly round the garden. She was itching to get on with the frieze. She paused, frowning slightly. And then, making up her mind, hurried back inside, pausing only to pick up Fleur.
Ali made no comment when she summoned him to tell him that she intended to go back to the enclosure, politely opening the door of the car for her. Stepping outside was like standing in the blast of a hot hairdryer at full heat.
The car was coolly air-conditioned, but outside the heat shimmered in the air, the light bouncing glaringly off the buildings that lined the road.
Like the car, the enclosure was air-conditioned, and as soon as Ali had escorted her inside and gone Mariella began to work.
A moveable scaffolding had been erected to allow her to work on the upper part of the wall, and she paused every now and again to look down from it to check on Fleur, who was fast asleep. Her throat felt dry and her hand ached, but she refused to allow herself to stop. In her mind’s eye she could see the finished animal, nostrils flaring, his mane ruffled by the wind, the sea foaming behind him as he emerged from the curling breakers.
Somewhere on the edge of her awareness she was vaguely conscious of a door opening, and quiet but ominously determined footsteps. Fleur made a small sound, a gurgle of pleasure rather than complaint, which she also registered, her hand moving quickly as she fought to capture the image inside her head. This horse, the proudest and fiercest of them all, would not tolerate any competition from the sea. He would challenge its power, rearing up so that the powerful muscles of his quarters and belly were visible… Fleur was chattering happily to herself in baby talk, and Mariella was beginning to feel almost light-headed with concentration. And then just as she was finishing something a movement, an instinct made her turn her head.
To her shock she saw that Xavier was standing beside Fleur watching her.
‘Xavier…’
She took a step forward and then stopped, suddenly realising that she was still on the scaffolding.
‘What… what are you doing here?’ she demanded belligerently to cover her own intimate and unwanted reaction to him.
‘Have you any idea just how much you distressed Cecille by ignoring my instructions?’ he demanded tersely.
Mariella looked away from him. She genuinely liked his great-aunt, and hated the thought that she might have upset her.
‘I’m sorry if she was upset,’ she told him woodenly, her own feelings breaking through her tight control as she gave a small despairing shake of her head.
‘I promised His Highness that the frieze would be completed as soon as possible; your aunt is elderly. She likes to spend the afternoon resting, when I need to be here working! Whether you believe this or not, Xavier, I too have a… a reputation to protect.’
‘In that case why didn’t you simply come to me and explain all of this to me instead of behaving like a child and waiting until my aunt’s back was turned?’
Mariella frowned. What he was saying sounded so… so reasonable and sensible she imagined that anyone listening to him would have asked her the same question!
‘Your behaviour towards me has hardly encouraged me to… to anticipate your help or co-operation,’ she reminded him as she went to climb down from the scaffolding, surreptitiously trying to stretch her aching muscles.
‘Although she herself refuses to acknowledge it, my aunt is an elderly lady,’ Xavier was continuing, breaking off suddenly to mutter something beneath his breath she couldn’t quite catch as he strode forward.
‘Be careful,’ he warned her sharply. ‘You might…’
To her own chagrin, as though his warning had provoked it, the scaffolding suddenly wobbled and she began to slip.
As she gave a small instinctive gasp of shock Xavier grabbed hold of her, supporting her so that she could slide safely to the floor.
Mariella knew that the small near-accident was her own fault and that she had worked for too long in one position, without stopping to exercise her cramped muscles, and her face began to burn as she anticipated Xavier’s triumphant justification of his insistence that she was chaperoned, but instead of saying anything he simply continued to hold her, one hand grasping her waist, the other supporting the small of her back, where his fingers spread a dangerously intoxicating heat right through her clothes and into her skin.
Dizzily Mariella closed her eyes, trying to blot out the effect the proximity of him was having on her, but, to her consternation, instead of protecting her all it did was increase her vulnerability as sharply focused mental images of him taunted and tormented her, their effect on her so intense that she started to shake in reaction to them.
‘Mariella? What is it? What’s wrong?’ she heard Xavier demanding urgently. ‘If you feel unwell…’
Immediately Mariella opened her eyes.
‘No. I’m fine,’ she began and then stopped, unable to drag her gaze away from his mouth, where it had focused itself with hungry, yearning intensity.
She knew from his sudden fixed silence that Xavier was aware of what she was doing, but the shrill alarm bells within her own defences, which should have shaken her into action, were silenced into the merest whisper by the inner roar of her own aching longing. No power on earth, let alone that of her own will, could stem what was happening to her and what she was feeling, Mariella recognised distantly, as her senses registered the way Xavier’s grip on her body subtly altered from one of non-sexually protective to one of powerfully sensual. She could feel the hot burn of his gaze as it dropped to her own mouth, and a sharp series of little shivers broke through her. Without even thinking about it she was touching her lips with the tip of her tongue, as though driven by some deep preprogrammed instinct to moisten them. She was trembling, her whole body galvanised by tiny sensual ripples of reaction and awareness that made her sway slightly towards him.
She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw and raised her hand to touch it with her fingertips, her eyes wide and helplessly enslaved.
‘Mariella!’
She felt him shudder as he drew breath into his lungs, her body instinctively leaning into his as weakness washed over her.
His mouth touched hers, but not in the way she had remembered it doing before.
She
