Alleyn, Fredrica

Cassandra's Chateau

FREDRICA ALLEYN

Black Lace novels are sexual fantasies. In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.

First published in 1994 by

Black Lace

332 Ladbroke Grove

London

W10 5AH

Copyright © Fredrica Alleyn 1994

Typeset by CentraCet Limited, Cambridge Printed and bound by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks

ISBN 0 352 32955 6

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Chapter One

T
he party, which had lasted three days and nights, was finally over. In the early hours of a Monday morning in June the guests, many of them of international renown, made their way quietly out of the chateau into their chauffeur-driven cars, which then glided smoothly away along the winding roads of the Loire valley.

Baron Dieter von Ritter stood at the top of the flight of white stone steps leading up to the intricately carved front doors of his French home and accepted their effusive thanks and tentative hopes of a future invitation with his usual charming smile.

Next to him, shivering slightly in the chill early morning air, Cassandra Williams kissed the departing visitors' cheeks, let their hands caress her face and arms one final time and wondered what her lover was really thinking. They had been living here, in his glorious chateau, for over eighteen months now but she understood him no better than on the day they had arrived. Unfortunately, she reflected, she now loved him even more.

As they waited for Sir James Desmond, the acclaimed British historian and secret sexual libertine, to leave, the baron slid an arm round Cassandra's waist. 'A success I think, my dear, yes?'

Cassandra, remembering all that had gone on during the party, nodded. 'Everyone said it was the best party yet.'

He glanced at her. She'd changed during her time here, become far more sophisticated in behaviour and appearance, yet there was still something hidden deep inside her that escaped him. Even in the throes of most extreme sexual passion he sensed that she kept a part of herself hidden. He had changed her, shaped her to fit into his world of dark perversity, a world that she had embraced with enthusiasm, but he couldn't manage to consume all of her, to make her totally his.

'Did
you
enjoy it?' asked Cassandra.

The baron blinked, drawn out of his musings. He smiled gently at her. 'But of course.'

Cassandra hesitated. 'I thought you seemed . . .'

'Yes?'

She tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't imply criticism. 'It was as though at times, the party bored you.'

He looked away from her, gazing into the darkness of the night. Cassandra was too perceptive at times. He had been bored. The same jaded people, needing more and more bizarre entertainment had suddenly irritated him. There had been too many such parties, he needed something new. The problem was, he had no idea what that could be.

Cassandra knew by his silence that she was right. He had lost interest in the party. That was why he'd contented himself with merely observing. Not once during the entire time the party had lasted had he become physically involved with anyone, and he hadn't touched Cassandra at all until his arm had gone around her waist just a few minutes earlier.

She wondered what she could do. Life without him was unimaginable, but she knew how ruthless he was.

Her predecessor, Katya, had tried to re-establish contact with him soon after they'd moved here. His savage, cutting rebuffal had ensured that she'd never try again. There was no reason why Cassandra shouldn't suffer the same fate.

She swallowed hard. 'Perhaps you need a change,' she suggested casually.

The baron was startled. Even now she could surprise him. He turned back to her and saw a pulse throbbing at the side of her neck. Leaning forward he licked tenderly at the spot. 'When I want a change, you'll be the first to know,
liebling,'
he murmured, and felt some of the pent-up tension go out of her.

At that moment, Sir James Desmond, a tall grey-haired man of military bearing who looked far younger than his sixty-two years, appeared with Lara, his twenty-two year old fiancee, on his arm. It was the first time she'd accompanied him to one of the baron's parties but her enthusiastic participation had ensured that it wouldn't be the last. As she stood chatting to Cassandra, Sir James drew the baron to one side.

'Marvellous party, Dieter. The best ever! Cassandra improves with every month that passes.'

'Thank you.'

The older man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. 'The fact of the matter is, old chap, there's a favour I want to ask you.'

The baron's eyes were totally without expression. 'You can always ask,' he said coolly.

This was proving to be more difficult than Sir James had anticipated. 'Quite! Quite! It's my daughter, Nicola, you see.' He paused. The baron continued to watch him, his wide-set eyes unblinking. 'She's twenty-one, only a year younger than Lara. Makes life tricky at times.'

'I imagine so.'

'Damn it, Dieter, I don't know what to do with the girl. She was shut away at a convent school until she was eighteen and since then she's been cataloguing my military library for me. She's had no experience of the world. I can't just throw her out to make her own way, but Lara insists she's gone before we get back from our honeymoon.'

The baron felt a small flicker of excitement at the Englishman's words, but he kept his face impassive. 'How can I help? If your daughter is really so unworldly, surely I'm the last person to whom you should turn for help.'

Sir James's eyes grew hooded, a gleam of pleasure showed in them for a second and when he spoke again his voice was husky. 'I want you to be her mentor, Dieter, to "bring her out" sexually. You can always finish off with the erotic equivalent of a debutante's ball!'

For once even the baron was taken aback. 'If this is what you want, why keep her so closeted from the world until now?'

'Because it was what her mother insisted upon before she died. I suppose she wanted to make sure Nicola didn't turn out like me, damn her. Well, I've kept my promise but the girl's reached her majority now. She's no longer my responsibility.'

'She'd have a more normal awakening in London,' said the baron slowly. 'Why send her to me?'

'France, finishing school, all that kind of thing,' blustered Sir James, but the baron knew the truth. This was to be Sir James's revenge on his long-dead wife; a woman he'd married purely for money and who had found his sexual attentions utterly distasteful.

'Is Nicola obedient?' he asked quietly. 'My chateau is strictly run. I'm a man who believes in rules and discipline.'

'She's used to that. She'll be no trouble, I give you my word.'

The baron sighed with pleasure. This was exactly the kind of stimulation he needed; someone new, untried and innocent, just as Cassandra had once been innocent. It would enable him to use Cassandra and her new-found skills on the girl. He would force her to help him mould her possible successor. The irony of the situation appealed to him and for the first time in many weeks he felt sexually alive again.

'Well?' asked Sir James anxiously.

The baron shrugged. 'If she is all you say, I see no problem. When do you want her to come?'

'Next week?' suggested Sir James eagerly.

The baron nodded. 'Next week will do very well. There are certain . . .
preparations
that have to be made before we can receive her, but a week will give us plenty of time.'

Sir James shook him warmly by the hand. 'Wonderful! If there's ever anything I can do for you . . .'

'I shall ask,' responded the baron smoothly. He glanced towards the waiting Daimler. 'Your chauffeur is ready.'

'Of course. Lara, come my dear. Cassandra, you were magnificent last night. Absolutely magnificent!' Together he and Lara descended the steps and disappeared down the drive in their black limousine.

The baron closed the heavy oak doors behind them. He and Cassandra were finally alone in the vast hall with its scarlet and white mosaic floor tiles whose matching floral arrangements were renewed every alternate day. Roses and chrysanthemums, poppies and daisies, scarlet berries and white gladioli, the permutations were inventive and endless. It was one of Cassandra's tasks to choose the flowers, while Monique, one of their two maids, arranged them. The baron glanced at the flowers approvingly.

'How skilfully you enhance the beauty of my home, my darling,' he murmured, lifting a hand to tidy a strand of dark hair that had escaped from her chignon. Cassandra flushed, unsure whether he was referring to her or the flowers.

'Such a pity that Monique had the accident with the Limoges cream jug at dinner last night,' he continued, letting his fingers trace the outline of her jaw so that a shiver of desire ran through her. 'No doubt you'll make sure she's suitably punished.'

Cassandra's clear gaze met his. 'Naturally,' she said calmly.

He felt a moment's frustration, unable to tell whether or not she enjoyed this part of her role as chatelaine; her eyes and demeanour gave nothing away. Suddenly he gave a wide smile. 'Come! We will watch the film of you and Sir James last night. After that, I have some exciting news to tell you.'

Cassandra followed the baron to the room they shared on the nights when he chose not to sleep alone. It had been ingeniously designed so that the fitted cupboards formed a room divider between the area where they slept and made love and the incredible bathroom with the enormous bath, large enough to accommodate several people. The walls and ceiling of the bedroom were plain cream, the floor was made up of highly polished pine boards covered by cream sheepskin rugs and against this comparatively spartan setting the specially commissioned, highly explicit paintings of the adventures of the Marquis de Sade stood out in sharp contrast.

The huge circular bed, covered by a cream and pink silk spread, seemed at first glance to be perfectly normal, until closer inspection revealed the metal rings fitted all around it. The other specialised equipment required by the baron was kept hidden away in one of the cupboards, and only he and Cassandra had access to the key.

Cassandra slipped out of her gossamer-fine white silk blouse and flared navy skirt, then lay on her stomach on the bed, feet pointing towards the mound of pillows and chin cupped in her hands, ready to watch the baron's recording of herself and Sir James.

She wondered how many of the guests knew that every room except one in the chateau carried twenty-four hour security camera surveillance and hidden microphones. Only in the baron's bedroom was privacy assured. Even now, as the video cassette began to play, a small red light glowed high on the decorated wall opposite the bed.

The baron, still fully clothed, stretched out next to Cassandra and rested a hand on her long slender back. Her skin was warm and she moved slightly beneath his touch. He smiled to himself, well aware that she wanted him but pleased that unlike Katya, her predecessor, she would never admit as much.