Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King
my solicitor,’ Kate reassured her. ‘No wonder he was desperate to speak to me…’
‘But you’ll ask him to obtain an independent translation?’ Megan cut in.
‘Already done. I telephoned him just before you arrived.’
‘Good,’ Megan said, pushing her plate away as if the whole matter had been put to bed. ‘So while your solicitor’s attending to that side of things, why don’t you and I concentrate on Freedom Holidays’ newest new venture, Freedom Breaks? Our first guests arrive when?’
‘Too soon.’
‘Well, don’t sound so worried,’ Megan said, patting Kate’s arm with a plump, lavishly beringed hand. ‘This old carpet bag of mine is like a magician’s trunk.’ She opened it up to illustrate her point, allowing a shambles of well-used artists’ paraphernalia to spill across the floor. ‘I’ve got everything in here to keep the world and his wife hap… Who’s that now?’ she said, breaking off to stare towards the door. ‘Could this be our first guest?’ She cocked her head to one side like a super-alert squirrel.
Kate’s gaze switched desperately from Megan, to the mess on the floor, to the door. If it was Guy he wouldn’t wait to be invited into the cottage, he would walk straight in as he always had… Springing to her feet, she pelted across the room, hoping to get there before he could…hoping somehow to distract him so he wouldn’t notice. It never occurred to her once that it could be anyone else, and by the time she opened the door her heart was leaping around in her chest like a demented rabbit.
‘Guy, what a surprise,’ she lied, flinging open the door and then closing it again quickly to just a crack. She saw his eyebrows quirk with bemusement as she tried in vain to block his view into the cottage.
‘Are you busy?’ he said, peering over her head. ‘If so, I can always call back another time—’
‘We’re not too busy to see you,’ Megan called out before Kate had the chance to stop her. ‘There’s only me here, Your Worship—’
‘Now, Megan, stop that,’ Guy insisted, moving past Kate to sweep Megan off her feet as if she weighed no more than a baby. ‘I’ve told you before, Megan O’Reilly, I’m the only one licensed to tease around here—’
‘Licensed to thrill, more like,’ Megan declared, making a great fuss of straightening her clothes as he set her down. ‘Look at you!’ she said, standing back to give him a proper inspection. ‘Blue jeans and work shirt! And here was me thinking that real counts walked around in powdered wigs with a flurry of flunkeys trailing after them.’
‘Once upon a time, maybe,’ Guy said, grinning. ‘But this is here and now, Megan, when even real counts have to get down and dirty checking out the stock in their cellars.’
Megan’s brows rose in twin arches of mischief. ‘If you need any help with the stock-taking—’
Kate shut the door with a bang as if to shock some sanity back into Megan’s thinking. She shouldn’t be encouraging Guy; she should be finding some way of getting rid of him before he drew his own conclusions from the dozens of paint brushes littering the floor… But even Megan seemed dazed when presented by such an impossibly virile and aristocratic male.
‘If I do need any help, Megan, you’ll be the first person I call on,’ Guy promised.
But, in spite of his warm assurances, Kate felt herself growing increasingly tense. His hail-fellow-well-met eye-line might be resolutely fixed on Megan’s face but his lips were tugged down in an unmistakable show of speculation. And what he said next only confirmed her suspicions.
‘So, what are you doing here, Megan?’ he said, affecting a harmless interest. ‘I thought you had settled into that teaching job at the college. The term hasn’t finished already, has it?’
The silence only lasted for a moment, but for Kate it seemed to go on for ever. And when Megan did speak her voice had lost its customary brightness, leaving it dry and unconvincing. ‘I had a better offer—’ Her gaze glanced apologetically off Kate’s.
‘Really?’ Guy said mildly. ‘Anything exciting?’
‘Ooh, yes,’ she began enthusiastically. Then, remembering she wasn’t supposed to talk about it, she pressed her lips flat.
‘Aren’t you allowed to discuss it?’ Guy prompted sympathetically. ‘The details aren’t finalised yet,’ Megan explained awkwardly, spreading her arms wide in a gesture of innocence and resignation.
Kate knew Megan had always found it impossible to tell untruths, but at least Guy didn’t press her. He just stood viewing them both with his arms loosely crossed over his chest as if they were a couple of naughty schoolgirls and he their indulgent master.
‘Perhaps you can enlighten me, Kate?’ he said, switching his attention abruptly to her.
The suggestion was made so lightly…almost playfully, anyone else might have been taken in and been tempted to lower their guard, but it didn’t fool Kate for a minute. Guy was hot on the trail. He probably only needed a few more pieces of the jigsaw and—
‘So, how is her ladyship bearing up, Guy?’ Megan demanded in a voice grown unusually strident.
‘Well enough, I think.’
A few moments passed during which Kate was relieved to see Guy accept Megan’s conversational detour.
‘You don’t sound too sure,’ Megan observed gently, with the familiarity years of acquaintance with Guy’s family had conferred upon her.
‘She’s taking a long time to get over the loss of my father.’
‘Of course,’ Megan agreed softly. ‘As you must be, Guy.’
His expression and the tilt of his head confirmed her deduction. ‘And she misses Madame Broadbent too—we all do…’ His gaze found Kate’s and held there for a moment.
That look was the key to unlocking Kate’s feelings…and her doubt too. What would Aunt Alice have made of her plans and the deception she now seemed locked into? She had to remind herself that it was for love of Aunt Alice that she found herself in Villeneuve at all. But surely Aunt Alice must have intended her to live in the cottage when she left it to her…and everything Aunt Alice stood for was encapsulated in her plans for La Petite Maison—love, sanctuary, happiness, fun and relaxation, self-fulfilment…
Dragging her eyes away from Guy, she found them drawn back to Megan. Even the little she had read about the covenants had told her that carrying out any form of business at the cottage was expressly forbidden… Forgetting the potential for financial loss, Megan had given up her job, her whole way of life, to come and teach at La Petite Maison. Kate’s mouth firmed as she considered the implications. One thing was sure—she had gone too far to back out now.
‘Did you come for anything special, Guy?’ She forced a little steel into her voice so that the subtext suggested she had lots of things to be getting on with, as must he…
‘Should I have made an appointment?’ he demanded, throwing her a darkly amused glance from beneath an extraordinary fringe of pitch-black lashes.
‘An appointment would have made everything possible,’ Kate said innocently, just to show she hadn’t forgotten their initial confrontation at the château.
‘Everything?’ Guy mused softly, as he sampled the stubble on his chin with a strong tanned hand. ‘Now you do have my full attention.’
‘Now, now,’ Megan warned, coming to stand between them. ‘That’s enough fooling around for one day, your High and Mightyness, or it’s back to the dungeons for you.’
‘If you say so, Megan O’Reilly,’ Guy agreed, holding up his hands in mock-submission. ‘Who am I to countermand the order of a direct descendant of the illustrious Brian Boru that ancient High King of Ireland?’
Well