Mistress on Loan Read online

  'I don't want any bloody chicken.'

  'You'd prefer the cassoulet?'

  'No.' Her voice rose. 'Don't you care that I still love Piers?'

  'I admit it doesn't say much for your critical faculties,' he said. 'But look on it as an illness. Something childish and unpleasant, like measles. You'll get over it.'

  'Perhaps I don't want to,' she hurled back recklessly. He said quietly, 'Now you're being ridiculous. You were always blinkered where he was concerned, but that's carrying things too far.' He paused.

  'However, if that's really how you feel, why did you call me?'

  'Self-interest,' she said. 'I hear there's a lot of it about.

  Besides, you didn't leave me much choice.' She squared her shoulders defensively. 'I decided I wasn't prepared to lose everything I've worked for, particularly when there are other people involved who'd go down with me, and you were die only person to offer a solution. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.'

  '"Like" is a pallid word,' he said musingly. 'I prefer— "enjoy".' He smiled at her. 'As you will.'

  'Never.' Her voice was passionate. 'Never in this world.'

  He sent her a meditative look. 'I strongly advise you to try. You'll find it much easier that way.' He paused again. 'Anyway,' he added softly, 'I don't think you know what you like.'

  Her heart missed a beat. 'What,' she said 'is that supposed to mean?'

  'I'm sure you can work it out.' His tone was dry.

  'Now, get your coat. I've decided that we'll eat at the restaurant instead.'

  'I don't want to go out,' she said defiantly.

  'You'll find it safer.' The winter eyes swept her, stripping her naked with one devastating glance.

  'The urge to take you to bed and teach you several much needed lessons is becoming almost overwhelming.' He watched the rush of hot colour into her face and nodded. 'Besides, it's good policy for us to be seen in public together,' he went on. 'It may stop your creditors beating the door down.'

  Adrien bit her lip. 'Yes,' she said unevenly, angry to find she was trembling. 'Yes, I—I can see that.'

  The room seemed suddenly to have shrunk to claustrophobic proportions, making it difficult for her to breathe properly.

  She took another gulp of coffee, steadying herself. She said, 'Does it—have to be Ma Maison?'

  'You don't like it there?'

  'I—used to go there a lot.'

  He sighed. 'With Piers?'

  'Naturally.'

  'And now you're going with me,' he said. 'And soon that will seem equally natural.'

  'There's an Italian place in the Square...'

  'Adie,' he said. 'I'm not going to waste time avoiding places you might have visited with your ex-lover. Life is too short. Now, fetch your jacket.'

  She said bitterly. 'Yes, my lord. To hear is to obey.'

  He laughed. 'Now you're getting the idea. And hurry, please. It's a long time since I ate, too.'

  She glanced down at her creased blouse and rumpled skirt. T really should change.' She made it tentative.

  'Fine.' His tone was equable. 'I'll wait for you here.'

  She walked past him, across the hall to the stairs, turning on the bottom step and posing, hand on hip, her whole body a deliberate challenge.

  'You mean you're not planning to watch?' She mimicked astonishment, her eyes flashing contempt.

  'Why, yes,' he said. 'But only when I choose to do so. I'm setting the scenario here, darling. Not you. Try and remember that.' He paused. 'So, don't keep me waiting or make me fetch you, because you could seriously regret it.'

  'Don't worry,' Adrien threw over her shoulder. 'I already have all the regrets I can handle.'

  'I shouldn't count on that,' Chay sent grimly after her.

  Reaching her bedroom, Adrien was /Sorely tempted to lock the door, but she knew it would be a waste of time. Chay's body might be lean, but it was strong and muscular. Any physical contest between them he would win effortlessly, even if there was an elderly door in the way.

  She looked at herself in the mirror, swallowing convulsively as she saw the pale face and hunted eyes.

  Her decision to change her clothes had been purely an excuse—a temporary escape route from the ordeal of confrontation. She'd begun to feel stifled downstairs—totally trapped. Yet she had no one but herself to blame. Finding herself alone with Chay had brought the true implications of her decision forcibly home to her. So far he had barely laid a hand on her, but all too soon that would change. And she would have to accept it.

  Although something warned her that Chay would not settle for mere acceptance. She had agreed, after all, to be his mistress—his partner in passion. Which was almost funny under the circumstances, except that she didn't feel like laughing. And if Chay came upstairs and found her, in her underwear, staring into space, she might have even less to be amused about, she thought drearily, treading across to the wardrobe. Most of her things were working gear. The few play clothes she possessed she'd bought for Piers, loving to dress up for him and hear his voice murmur in approval.

  None of them seemed—appropriate for this occasion. Except for one outfit, which she'd bought but never worn. She'd been saving it for Piers's next visit, she realised, wincing.

  She took it out and surveyed it. It was a top and skirt in silvery grey voile, overlaid with a pattern in black. The filmy skirt was knee-length, and fluted at the hem, and the top had tiny cap sleeves and a deep vee neck. Too deep for the workaday bra she was wearing, she decided, rooting through her drawer for the only one she possessed with sufficient plunge. But it wasn't there, and she thought, To hell with it, and slid the top over her head.

  It was a good choice, she decided, the lines discreetly fluid, the skirt flowing round her slim body. She used blusher and eyeshadow swiftly and deftly, then ran a brush through her hair, tying it at the nape of her neck with a black silk scarf. She thrust her feet into low-heeled black kid shoes, grabbed up a matching purse and a black silk-knit jacket.

  When she got downstairs, Chay was standing in the sitting room doorway, leaning one shoulder against its frame.

  'I was just starting to get impatient,' he commented, his brows lifting as he surveyed her. 'Now I'm impressed.'

  'Don't be,' Adrien said brusquely. 'I haven't dressed for you. I'm certain that tongues will already be wagging about my financial problems. So, whatever the outcome of tonight's negotiations, I don't intend to look like a loser.'

  'You doubt that our deal will be concluded to our— mutual satisfaction?' The mockery in his tone scratched across her nerve-endings.

  'It takes two to make a bargain,' she returned coolly. 'And I have certain stipulations of my own.'

  'I'm sure you have,' he murmured, straightening.

  'Shall we go?'

  Ma Maison wasn't very large, but the intimate ambience and the quality of its food ensured that it was always busy.

  Adrien had secretly hoped that they'd be politely but regretfully turned away. It would be good, she thought vengefully, to see Chay thwarted, even in such a minor way. But instead they were met with smiles and shown to a secluded corner table, sheltered from the rest of the room by a large weeping fig tree.

  There was also an ice bucket, containing a bottle of Moet et Chandon and two champagne flutes. Adrien took her seat and looked at her companion across the table. She said, tight-lipped, 'When did you actually make this reservation?'

  'Not long after you made your outraged departure from the Grange. I'm glad I judged the situation correctly,' he added silkily. She said between her teeth, 'My God, you're sure of yourself.'

  'No,' he said. 'Just good at assessing the variables. That's why I've prospered, whilst Piers is in Brazil with a woman who'll soon tire of him, even though she is pregnant.'

  She looked down at the immaculate white cloth. 'I don't want to hear about that.'

  'Rubbish,' Chay said briskly. 'You're only sorry I haven't got photogr
aphs. Now you can tell me I'm totally insensitive—or are you still slurring your words?'

  Adrien stared at him. She said, 'You bastard.'

  'Well, that was clear enough.' The grey eyes glinted at her. 'But smile when you say it. We're being watched.' He handed her a menu. 'And don't tell me you're not hungry,' he added. 'You need something to soak up that bottle of wine.'

  'Thank you,' Adrien said, putting down the menu without a glance. 'I'll have fillet steak and a green salad.'

  'Just as you wish,' he said equably. 'It's your loss, not mine. But, as you've come here to negotiate, a degree of co-operation might serve you better.'

  There was a silence, then Adrien, biting her lip, reached for the menu.

  He was right about them being the centre of attention, she realised, sheltering behind the dark brown leather covers. Although, if she was honest, it was Chay who was attracting the sideways glances and murmured comments, not herself. Because it was the other women in the restaurant who were looking, their eyes lingering and speculative, and, in some cases, envious.

  If only they knew, she thought bitterly.

  And yet—and yet—if she was seeing him for the first time—encountering him as a stranger, with no past or hidden agenda—what would she think?

  He had a powerful physical presence, she admitted unwillingly. The silent, rather shy boy had been left behind long ago. And the cool eyes now held a world of experience in their mocking gaze. Perhaps this was what those other women sensed. He might be wealthy, but he would never need money as an aphrodisiac because he already possessed a potent sexual charisma.

  She might resent it, but she had to be aware of it. And she had to fear it, she thought, swallowing.

  'Have you decided?'

  She said huskily, 'It—it seems so.' And was glad that the menu was hiding her from him, so that he could not see her eyes.

  Food was a kind of salvation. A note of normality in a reeling world. In the end they both chose the terrine, after which she had the lemon chicken while Chay opted for the cassoulet. She even drank some of the champagne when it was poured into her glass, and listened to Chay making light, amusing conversation with a smile that felt as if she'd nailed it there.

  Several people came across to the table to greet her—a couple of former clients and the rest barest acquaintances— all of them wanting to be introduced to Chay. Adrien, face and voice expressionless, explained that he was the new owner of the Grange, and saw interest mount.

  Wait until they find I've moved in there, she thought wearily. They'll have a field day. She supposed she could only be thankful that her engagement to Piers had never been made official—or public. Local people had speculated, naturally, but no one, apart from Zelda, had known that Piers had indeed asked her to marry him.

  'I want to do it in style,' he'd told her. 'Throw an enormous house-warming party and invite the whole county. Until then let's keep them guessing.'

  Adrien had chafed at the restriction, but now she was thankful. The rumours already flying about her financial status were bad enough, but they'd be dispelled soon by even more fascinating gossip. Somehow to have it known she'd been tricked and abandoned—and to be pitied or laughed at—would have been infinitely worse.

  Whereas here she was, dining out with a new man, seemingly without a care in the world. So let them think and say what they liked. Now and for ever. The main course was served, the wine poured, and the waiter left them alone.

  'So,' Chay said softly. 'Shall we talk business?'

  'Perhaps we should.' Adrien chewed a piece of her delectable chicken as if it was the sole of an old boot, and swallowed it with difficulty. 'From what you said this afternoon, you're prepared to pay the debts I've incurred over the Grange, and allow the remaining work to be finished, if I—make myself available to you. Is that right?'

  'Yes.' The candlelight made his eyes glitter oddly.

  She concentrated on cutting another morsel of chicken. 'So—how long would this—arrangement last?'

  'I beg your pardon?' His voice was quiet.

  She gestured with her fork. 'Weeks—months—a year? How long before you'd consider the debt paid and let me go?'

  'That's difficult to assess,' he said after a pause.

  'I'd expect my money's worth.'

  She stared rigidly at her plate. 'Yes.'

  'Have you worked out how much cash you need.'

  'Approximately,' she said huskily, and named the figure. It sounded outrageous—and maybe it would be. Perhaps, even at this late stage, he'd decide she wasn't worth it after all.

  But he nodded, apparently unfazed. 'You'd better let me have an exact rundown of all the people you owe, and the amounts. I'll arrange for my PA to have the money transferred to the account you've been using.'

  'When?' Adrien asked baldly.

  He said softly, 'When you've fulfilled your part of the bargain, Adrien—and to my complete satisfaction.' He smiled at her. 'So the timing is entirely down to you.'

  "That's not fair.' Her voice sounded stifled. T can't guarantee to—be what you want—to please you.'

  'Come now, darling,' he said mockingly. 'Don't tell me that the fire in that beautiful hair of yours is all bad temper. I'm sure Piers didn't think so.'

  Her back stiffened. 'But that's totally different. I—I loved Piers.'

  'And you hate me. Is that what you're trying to say?'

  She said curtly, 'You can hardly blame me.'

  His mouth twisted. 'Love and hate, Adie. Opposite sides of the same coin. And in bed, believe me, the distinction can become very blurred.' He paused. 'But I've been patient for a long time. I can wait a while longer for you to accept the situation.'

  'A year,' she said. 'Whatever happens, you have to let me go after a year. That has to be my absolute limit. Do you agree?'

  He shrugged a shoulder. 'If that's what you want. But has it occurred to you, Adie, that a year might be too long? That six months might be a more realistic target? After all, I get bored very easily,' he added softly. 'So your ordeal may be over sooner than you think.'

  She said hoarsely, 'Six hours—six minutes—would be too much for me. And I want my own room—my own space. Somewhere that I can pretend none of this is happening.'

  'You can have a whole suite,' he said. 'But you occupy it while I'm not there. When I'm staying at the Grange you share my life and my bed. Understood?'

  Mutely, she nodded.

  'Then it's all settled. Now eat some of your chicken before it's cold.'

  She said, very distinctly, 'Another mouthful would choke me.'

  He grinned. 'You wish.'

  She said slowly, 'How do you know that I won't simply empty the account and vanish?'

  'I don't,' he said. 'I'm counting on your regard for your colleagues and creditors outweighing your resentment of me. They'd have to bear the brunt if you went, and I know you don't want that.'

  'No,' she said. 'Damn you.'

  'If ever I thought I was irresistible, tonight would be one hell of an eye-opener,' he commented sardonically. Then his voice became businesslike again.

  'My furniture will be arriving during the week. I'd like you to supervise the unloading and arrangement, and complete the outstanding work on the house. There isn't that much left to do.'

  'You mentioned staff...'

  'My present housekeeper will be joining me. I'd like you to engage local cleaners, and contractors to handle the gardening. If you have a problem, talk to my PA. Her name's Sally Parfitt, and you can reach her here.' He handed a Haddon Developments business card across to her.

  'I shall be in Brussels until the end of the week,' he added. 'But I'll be coming down to the Grange on Friday evening.' He paused. 'And I expect to find you there, Adie. Warm and welcoming. No excuses.'

  She said tonelessly, I'll—be there. I've said so.'

  'I'd prefer a little more conviction—and commitment,' he said silkily. 'But I can wait. And now
shall we shake hands on our bargain—for the sake of our audience?'

  She stared down at the table as his ringers closed round hers, only to glance up, startled, as he turned her hand over and bent his head to drop a kiss on to its palm.

  For one searing moment she felt the flicker of his tongue against her soft skin, and her body jerked in shock at the brief intimacy of the contact. He straightened, his eyes glinting as they took a leisurely toll of her, lingering on her parted lips and the hurried swell of her breasts.

  'You taste like Paradise,' he told her softly. 'Friday just can't come soon enough.'

  'For you.' The words were barely audible. 'But not for me.'

  She pushed back her chair, and got to her feet, collecting her jacket and bag. She said, clearly and calmly, 'Goodnight, Mr. Haddon. And—thank you. I—look forward to working with you. Have a pleasant trip.'

  And with a smile that acknowledged the other diners, Adrien, her head held high, walked to the door and out into the chill of the night.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  She was breathless when she reached the cottage, almost flinging herself through the front door. She snapped on the central lamp in the hall, then found herself running from room to room, pressing light switches with feverish energy until the whole ground floor was lit up like a Christmas tree. Anything— anything—to dispel the darkness that seemed to be closing around her. The darkness that Chay Haddon had brought.

  And that other inexplicable darkness inside her that had responded to the brush of his mouth on her flesh.

  Adrien shivered, wrapping her arms round her body, her throat tightening convulsively.

  He took me by surprise, she thought defensively. That's all it was. I was startled. In future I shall be on my guard. And stone-cold sober. All that wine—and then champagne. That was the problem. She nodded fiercely as she started towards the kitchen. More black coffee was what she needed. And what did it matter if it kept her awake? After the events of the past twenty-four hours she was unlikely to sleep anyway. She'd just filled the kettle and set it to boil when the tap came at the back door.

  Zelda must have seen all the lights go on and popped across to check that she was all right. Only Adrien wasn't sure she wanted to talk right now. She was afraid that she might say too mucli—alert her partner to what she was planning. Because, no matter what the consequences might be, Zelda would forbid her to do it. She knew that.