lie to me.’ Angrily, Hope pushed him away. ‘You told me yourself last night that my father made your sister his mistress, that he wouldn’t marry her …’
‘He wouldn’t marry her because of her lack of wealth, not her lack of virtue,’ she was told grimly. ‘And it was not because my sister chose to give herself to your father that I have brought you here, but because of his treatment of her once she had. Now, I suggest you have your breakfast and then get dressed.’
‘What in?’ Hope demanded childishly. ‘I don’t have anything in scarlet …’ He laughed, further infuriating her, seeming more amused than annoyed by her comment, saying wickedly:
‘Even dressed in the garments of a putain, you would still look exactly what you are, mon petit—an innocent bearing the outward and inward bruises of her ravishment.’
‘When do we leave for the Caribbean?’ Hope asked him, trying to subdue the high colour his words brought storming to her face.
‘When you have ceased to look like a ravished child and have become a woman.’
‘That will never be,’ Hope promised him rashly, hating him when he laughed again, curling a strand of her hair round his finger until she jerked away.
‘Au contraire, ma jolie,’ he mocked her. ‘I would hazard a guess it will be sooner than you think–much sooner.’ He leaned forward, his fingers sliding along her throat to her jaw, holding her prisoner while he stroked his tongue against her lips and then kissed her, withdrawing to study her flushed cheeks and tumbled hair with a thoughtful expression. Just for a moment, Hope thought that he would touch her again, but to her relief he made no move to do so, simply saying, ‘Now, I have to go and inspect the vineyards. You are at liberty to explore the house and inner courtyard, but I’m afraid you cannot wander any further. The drawbridge will remain up, and remember Pierre cannot help you. Take my advice and accept the inevitable, Hope,’ he finished quietly. ‘There is no shame in finding pleasure in the sexuality of your body, you know, despite what the Sisters may have taught you.’
‘How can I find pleasure, as you call it, when I hate you,’ Hope flung at him, watching the smile crease his skin, tiny lines fanning outwards from his eyes.
‘You will see,’ he promised softly, heading for the door. ‘Eat your breakfast. I shall see you tonight.’
He was gone before she could think of a suitably cutting retort, leaving her alone with her thoughts. What a complex man he was, one side of his nature passionately Russian, thirsting for the revenge his pride demanded and determined to have it no matter what the cost to anyone else, and yet there was another side to him almost completely opposite, and that had been the side she had experienced this morning. But she wasn’t going to make the mistake of underestimating either, Hope decided with a shiver. She couldn’t escape, he had told her, but even if she could it was too late, if what he had said about her father’s plans was true, and somehow she sensed it was. He would do with her what he had said and nothing would swerve him from his purpose, but one day he would no longer have any use for her, there was nothing to hold them together, no emotion on either side bar his thirst for revenge, and once that was satisfied …
Hope’s skin chilled and goose-fleshed, and she shivered, struggling to come to terms with what had happened and what her life would now be. Life in the convent had been ordered and peaceful, not requiring any effort upon her part other than obedience, but she wasn’t a child any longer and somehow she was going to have to find a way to make her own life. Alexei’s plans for her were something she would have to endure until she could escape from him, but once she did … gnawing her bottom lip, she wondered what was going to become of her, jolted out of the passive acceptance that had become second nature to her. She would have to find a job; thousands of other girls her age survived on their own. Thousands of other girls had affairs with men outside marriage; thousands of girls learned to cope as she was going to have to learn, and feeling sorry for herself would achieve nothing.
Her coffee was cold by the time she had washed and dressed. She found the kitchen eventually, and saw Pierre standing over the sink peeling some potatoes. He raised his head warily and Hope guessed that Alexei had warned him about her. A coffee percolator stood on a table next to the sink and she picked it up miming a pouring action. Nodding his head, he took it from her and Hope watched him fill it with fresh coffee and water. While it was perking, he opened the fridge door and indicated the contents. Guessing that he thought she might want some breakfast, Hope shook her head, unable to face the thought of food, although the hot strong coffee was blissfully reviving.
When she had finished it she went outside into the courtyard, and walked aimlessly around it. Stables bordered it on one side, but the stalls were empty. When she peered over the wall Hope saw the water of the moat glistening below, some ducks diving for food. It was warm enough for her to be tempted to sit in the sun, but she felt too restless, too keyed up to relax.
Unwillingly, she returned to the château, wandering from room to room, studying the portrait of Tanya for several minutes before going into the library and searching the shelves for something to read.
Eventually, she picked out a volume of Tolstoy’s War and Peace, something she had not read, hoping she could lose herself and her fears inside its pages.
At one o’clock, Pierre brought her some lunch—a light, fluffy omelette and a pot of fresh coffee with some fruit to eat afterwards. The smell of the omelette made her realise that she was hungry, and when she took a forkful, she found that it tasted as delicious as it looked. When she returned the tray to the kitchen, Pierre eyed the clean plate with a glimmer of approval.
Hope read well into the afternoon, tension curling through her body as the afternoon wore on until she was no longer able to deceive herself that the novel was holding her attention. Closing it, she wandered to the window, looking out on to the lake. The ducks were diving industriously in the pale green water, and suddenly restless she went to the kitchen looking for some bread to feed them, thinking the activity might distract her mind, if only momentarily.
There was no sign of Pierre, but she found a loaf and cut off a small chunk, going outside and walking through the courtyard until she came to the small gap in the wall she had noticed that morning, leaning out from it so that she was directly over the water, breaking the bread into crumbs and calling to the ducks. For several minutes their antics amused her, the inept attempts of the small ducklings to get their share making her smile.
The heavy sound of wood and moving machinery drew her attention, and frowning, she turned, just in time to see Alexei’s car drive into the courtyard. He climbed out, hesitating when he saw her, calling her name sharply, his forehead creased in what looked like anger.
Automatically, Hope panicked, retreating into the embrasure as he strode towards her, shrinking away instinctively, not realising how tenuous her foothold was until her shoe slipped and she overbalanced, the water of the moat rushing up to meet her, engulfing her, silencing her choking cry as her mouth and nose filled with the cold water. She could swim, but the shock of falling made her panic and struggle instinctively as she felt something clasp her arm, Alexei’s angry features swimming in front of her eyes.
Later, she remembered thinking in a confused way that Alexei was trying to drown her, before she realised that that couldn’t be true. He couldn’t flaunt her in front of her father if he drowned her, but at the time the thought made her fight against his constraining arms, consciousness ebbing and flowing until she was suddenly aware of sun-warmed stone beneath her body, and the cold darkness of wet clothes. Alexei was standing over her, water dripping from his lean body, his mouth a grim line that made her shudder.
He muttered something in Russian as he bent to pick her up, and Hope realised that Pierre was standing beside him. Alexei must have indicated something to him, she realised, because the other man hurried into the house.
‘Mon Dieu!’ Alexei swore as he carried Hope inside. ‘Is that how your mind works, you little fool—death before dishonour?’
Hope struggled to tell him that her fall had been an accident,