Authors: Charlotte Lamb
Paris altogether.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked him
angrily.
He did not answer, his face cool and remote in the dim
interior of the car, but some minutes later he pulled up at
the kerbside, near a small tree-lined square. The wind
gently moved the branches of the lime trees, and their
cool scent floated in through the open windows of the car.
He turned, one arm along the seat, and looked at her.
Her heart shook. It just wasn’t fair that any man should
make one feel like this, she thought. With an effort, she
made herself sit upright, her chin tilted defiantly.
“Take me back to the Murray apartment,” she ordered.
She was only wearing a thin shawl over her white voile
dress, and it kept slipping down. “I’m cold,” she said, her
voice reproachful.
He put out his hand and ran it lightly along her thinly
covered arm. It burnt through the fine material and she
jerked away.
“Don’t touch me!”
He stiffened and a glint came into the grey eyes. “I’m
tired of this game of yours,” he said thickly. “As you seem
to expect me to try to seduce you, I might as well be
hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, as you say in England!”
He leant over her, holding her back against the seat.
Vaguely she thought of struggling, of pushing him
away, but the clamour of her senses drowned the voices
of common sense. When his mouth lowered to hers, she
abandoned herself, heart pounding, and allowed her arms
to creep round his neck and touch the dark hair at the
back of his head.
He groaned and pulled her closer, kissing her throat
and her closed eyes.
“Kate, my dearest,” he murmured, “you love me, I can
feel it! You couldn’t kiss me like this if you didn’t love
me.” His mouth moved back to hers, burning and dry on
her lips.
She half sobbed, but responded passionately, unable to
resist him. When he drew away again she was weak and
drowsy with pleasure. Eyes huge, she stared up at him as
he thrust a hand through his hair.
“Why the devil did you hold me off?” he demanded.
“Why did you refuse to talk to me the night before I left
Kianthos? I was almost out of my mind over you.”
“I can’t have an affair with you, Marc,” she whispered
through dry lips. “I love you—I admit it. I wish I didn’t.
But I’m just not the sort of girl who has casual affairs.”
He stared down at her. “Casual affairs? What the hell
do you mean? I want to marry you, you featherbrained
female!”
She began to tremble violently. “Marry me ... you ... but
... she said ...”
“She?” His voice was sharp. “Who said?”
“Marie-Louise,” she said miserably. “Oh, Marc, what
about her? She said ... everyone thought ...”
“I wouldn’t marry her if she was the last woman in the
world,” he said forcefully. “She is fun for a party, but
hardly the sort of girl one marries. She is all surface, like
a painted doll. In the rain the paint comes off. And with
Marie-Louise, the glitter comes off when one knows her
well enough. So what did she say to you, my silly
darling?”
“She implied that you only wanted to seduce me,” she
said softly, half dazed by her joy, “that you would throw
me away when you were tired of me. I couldn’t bear it. I
was so miserable.”
“And that’s why you wouldn’t let me in that night? You
thought I’d come to drag you into bed with me?” He
grinned at her. “Was it a struggle, my sweet? Or did you
righteously lock your door without a second thought?”
“Don’t laugh,” she pleaded. “I was desperately
unhappy.”
He wound his fingers in the silky blonde hair and
pulled her close to him, kissing her ear. “I felt pretty fed
up myself. I came to ask you to marry me. When you
wouldn’t even talk to me I felt like smashing the door
down. You don’t know how close you came to being pretty
savagely kissed that night. I lay awake thinking of what I
would like to do to you. I couldn’t understand your
sudden changes of mood.”
“I didn’t want to love you,” she said, sighing.
“That was obvious. I thought, though, that once I had got
Peter Hardy out of your life it would be plain sailing. It
was a big shock to find I was still not home and dry.”
Kate sat up indignantly. “How conceited! You thought
that as soon as I was free I’d fall into your arms, I
suppose?”
“Something like that,” he grinned unrepentantly. “You
see, my dear girl, I fell in love with you on our second
meeting, when you threw home truths at me like
poisoned arrows. Your eyes fascinated me. They were so
blue and so cross!”
“You deserved every word!” she said.
“So I did,” he agreed lazily, with disgusting com-
placency. “I knew then that I had to marry you. I had
been in love before, but never like that—it was like a
thunderbolt. When you told me you were engaged I felt
the first qualms. Jealousy was a new experience, and not
one I enjoyed. I felt a little better after I had met the
gentleman.” His derisive tone irritated her.
“Peter is very nice,” she said. “I just didn’t love him.”
“I’ve no axe to grind about Hardy,” he shrugged. “I
found him boring, personally,” he grinned. “I enjoyed
listening to you giving him his marching orders. I knew
then that I was right—you didn’t love him.”
Kate pinched the hand which was fondling her neck.
“Vanity, again—you’re too sure of yourself!”
Marc looked down at her, his face darkened with a look
which turned her bones to water. “I wanted you so much
that I just dared not believe you wouldn’t feel the same,”
he said thickly, kissing her throat.
“Oh, Marc,” she murmured joyfully, stroking the black
hair.
“My mother gave me hope when I came back from the
States,” he went on. “She was sure you loved me. I came
to England after you, but you were away, and your
mother seemed so vague about who you were with ... I
wasn’t certain you weren’t seeing Hardy again. I meant to
come back again soon. Then I saw you with Jean-Paul.”
“Jean-Paul was using me to make Pallas jealous,” she
explained.
Marc grimaced. “Stupid ass! But why did he break off
his engagement if he still loves her?”
She explained and he groaned. “You again! I might
have known! But Pallas adores Jean-Paul, you little fool.
She has been miserable since we left Kianthos.”
“I was sure she was reluctant to marry him, though,”
she explained anxiously.
“I talked to her about that,” he said. “She said she was
only unhappy because she thought it was a business
arrangement—that Jean-Paul did not really love her. He
had never breathed a word of any affection to her, of
course. It was all done through me. And Pallas hated the
idea of an arranged, loveless marriage. But she is
attracted to him, all right.”
“Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t harmed them,” said Kate,
biting her lip.
“I doubt it,” Marc said. “Jean-Paul must convince her
he loves her, that’s all. She is still very young. He will
have plenty of time.” He reached for her and kissed her
hard. “Never mind them. What about us? When will you
marry me?”
“I don’t know ...” She wriggled uneasily. “Marc, we
come from such different worlds. Do you think we could
make a marriage work?”
He looked very seriously into her eyes. “It has got to
work. I need you too much to let you go. Don’t start all
that again, Kate. I couldn’t bear it. When I saw you with
Jean-Paul tonight at the concert, holding hands like a
pair of lovers, I almost killed him. And I drove back to his
apartment, only to find him out. I waited around the
corner, where I could see when his lights went on, and
then when I got up there, and found you, with your hair
all tousled, as though he’d been making love to you ...”
he drew a deep breath, looking savage. “I am amazed at
how well I controlled my urge to knock him down.”
Kate shivered at the look on his face. “Don’t!” she said
sharply.
“Then don’t you ever again suggest that I could live
without you,” he said deeply.
She relaxed against him. “Just as you say, my
darling,” she whispered.
And Marc laughed, softly, and began to kiss her again
with a passion that convinced her that any further
argument would be a waste of time.
Next day he called for her, at the Murray apartment,
and drove her to his Paris home, to meet his mother
again. Mrs. Lillitos was overjoyed by their news. She
welcomed Kate with open arms, her eyes filled with
tears.
“I am so glad! I knew you were the girl for my son
when I first met you. The way he looked at you, spoke to
you, and of you—I could not be mistaken. But then you
told me you were engaged, and I was worried and
unhappy. I foresaw grief for Marc.”
Marc looked down at Kate with amused eyes. “How
right you were, too, Mother! She has given me more
headaches than any business deal I ever put through.
But I’ve got her now, and I mean to keep her!”
Kate grimaced up at him. “You talk as though I were a
valuable piece of property instead of a person!”
“You are valuable, to me,” he teased, and his mocking
eyes brought hot colour into her cheeks. “And as for not
being a person ... if you have forgotten how human I can
be then I’ll have to take you out and show you all over
again, and it will be a pleasure, I assure you!”
“Children, children,” said his mother gently, smiling at
them, “I am too old for such a conversation! So, Marc, you
have invited Jean-Paul to tea? Have you told Pallas that
he is coming here?”
Marc shook his head, grinning lazily. “Let it be a
surprise for her. I will even ask him to be my best man
at the wedding. Will you let Pallas be a bridesmaid,
cherie
?”
“Of course,” she said, still very flushed.
Three months later they were married, from her home,
and at the reception she watched Pallas, glowing like an
apricot in her orange bridesmaid’s dress, toasting their
health at Jean-Paul’s side.
Marc grinned at her, his eyes intimate. “I do not think
Jean-Paul will wait too long before following our
example!” he whispered.
She nodded, watching smilingly as Jean-Paul put an
arm around Pallas and said something to her which
brought a flush to her cheeks.
Since their engagement was announced she had seen
nothing of Marie-Louise, but she was here today, elegant
and provocative in a vivid flame-coloured dress. She had
a handsome escort with her and seemed to be enjoying
herself. But Kate had no doubts as to Marie-Louise’s
attitude towards herself. Once or twice the French girl
had looked at her viciously, eyes full of hatred.
Nothing could mar her happiness today, though. She
slid her hand through Marc’s arm and he turned his
head to look down at her with that intimate, smiling
glance which made her heart turn over.
“Shall we slip away, now, darling?” he whispered. “I’m
in a hurry to be alone with you. Three months is a long
time to wait for what you want.”
Kate flushed and laughed. Moments later she had shed
the lacy white bridal gown and was slipping down the
back way of the hotel in which the reception was being
held.
Marc grasped her hand and they ran to where his car
was secretly parked. Behind them they heard cries of
whooping pursuit, but they were in the car and away
before the guests could catch up with them.
Looking back, she saw Sam waving, and her mother
tearfully smiling. Pallas and Jean-Paul stood, close
together, their hands linked.
“We have both got nice families,” said Marc softly, as the
car left them all behind.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But I know a nicer one!”
He glanced at her, brows lifted.
“The one we’re going to start some day,” she said,
smiling at him.
He drew into the kerb, brakes screeching, and reached
for her. “For that remark, my sweet, you must pay the
forfeit!” he whispered, as his lips reached hers.
And she gladly paid it.