The Marriage Bargain (18 page)

“What do you think happened to the dress?” Camille’s soft, sweet voice invaded his happy thoughts.

He’d give her three guesses and the first two didn’t count. In a word—Madeleine. But without proof, Julian wasn’t comfortable making accusations. “I could only guess, Chéri.”

“Yeah, and your first two don’t count.”

What the hell
? A manic, crazed feeling slammed Julian’s heart to the floor. He swallowed the panic and lugged his heart up into his chest. “When we return to Marseilles,” he said, commanding himself to relax, “I will find out what happened to your dress.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter.” She shrugged, disappointed. “It’s not like there was really anything to spoil by stealing it.”

Her words left no guessing on the matter. She suspected, just as Julian did, that someone, probably Madeleine, had stolen the dress.

“But the dress is yours, Chéri,” he said, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa. “No matter the circumstances. The dress was made for you. It belongs to you.”

She smiled and seemed to soften, melting into a display of agreeability. “You’re an awfully nice guy, Julian.” A tremor touched her lips. “No wonder Madeleine’s blowing a gasket.”

Julian laughed. Partly because the last thing he ever wanted to be thought of was
a nice guy
, but mostly because he found her American point of view hilarious.
Blowing a gasket
. How amusing.

An attendant appeared in the doorway next to the wet bar. He waited until Julian acknowledged him with a slight nod.

“Good evening, sir,” he said. “Will you and Mrs. de Laurent be dining in here, or do you prefer one of the dining areas?”

Julian looked at Camille. She shrugged, a clueless look shaping on her face. He thought about a romantic candlelit dinner up on deck overlooking the sea, but it was still raining. Eating in here in the lounge was out of the question. He didn’t have many memories of his mother, but one of the few he had was about this place. She’d never allowed food in this room, beyond hors d’oeuvres.

“The dining room,” he said.

A
n hour later, Julian and Camille were finishing dessert dishes of chocolate mousse and fresh strawberries.

He reached for his glass of wine, needing to sate the fires ignited while he’d gazed upon Camille in the candlelight. Her crystal eyes sparkled in the flame’s glow. Her mouth was inviting and begged to be kissed—long, slow, and hard.

Moaning desire charged up Julian’s throat. He disguised it by clearing it out in a regimented cough.

Camille looked agitated. How was he going to get her to relax? What had her so wound up? Surely the dress wasn’t an issue still. Granted, he saw how the whole missing dress episode could be unsettling, but he and Camille weren’t actually committed to one another. It wasn’t like it was a real omen. She’d pointed that out. Maybe it was all for show. A real bride would be devastated. And Camille was, after all, an actress.

But he couldn’t help thinking there was something more to her anxiety. She’d been fiddling with her silverware. Cutting, poking and stirring the food on her plate all through dinner and dessert. Finally, she laid the fork down, the prongs resting on the edge of the dish, and raised her gaze to meet his.

“We need to talk.” She rested her wrists against the edge of the table and rubbed her thumb against her forefinger.

Ah, perhaps I’m about to find out what’s gotten her so upset
. Julian sighed. If he knew what was bothering her, he could fix it. There was always a way to fix a woman’s disappointment. You just had to know how to go about it, and Julian was an expert in that department.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, opening the door to any possibility.

“Look, I know where you and I stand on our marriage,” she said provisionally. “But you yourself have said, more than once, that you want it to appear real.”

That notion aroused old anxieties. “To everyone, including my family, our marriage must appear authentic.” Obviously, she was worried about that and he needed to know why. “You think someone may not believe our authenticity?”

“Well...” She hesitated and shifted uneasily. “Some may doubt our sincerity, especially with your
booty call
hanging around.”

“Booty call?”

She raked her fingers nervously through her hair. “I mean, I know it’s none of my business and all, but, it’s kind of hard to expect people to believe our marriage is real if there are noticeable indicators suggesting otherwise.”

Somewhere in her rambling, she had a point. Madeleine was the whole reason for this ersatz marriage. That amplified Camille’s point. But Julian had already realized that—which is why he’d taken steps at the reception to neutralize the awkward and problematic concerns.

To Julian’s surprise, Camille was also coming across as a bit jealous of Madeleine, and he knew there was nothing quite so tempting as a man who was wanted by another woman. Especially when there was no love lost between the women. He was pretty sure Camille didn’t think much of Madeleine.

“I can see your point.” He leaned back in his chair and fed her his practiced, captivating grin. The one that charmed the ladies out of their good graces. “It’s probably not a good idea to let a seemingly harmless idiosyncrasy poke holes in our otherwise perfect plan.”

“Then you really need to get Madeleine in check.”

Smart girl. She was getting rid of the thorn in her side and doing it diplomatically. Who could argue with the case she’d made?

“I’ve already taken care of that.” It was best to let her know she’d triumphed over Madeleine. He was counting on it winning him points. “Either she’s gone by the time you and I return, or we will be moving into town.”

Just as he suspected, a victorious smile spread over her face. “Really?”

“You find that hard to believe?”

“Well, yeah. Kind of.”

“Why?” He hadn’t shown Madeleine any sort of particular favor since he and Camille had returned from America. Perhaps it had something to do with Madeleine being a guest at the house.

“Well, you know...” Her words drifted into a hushed whisper and she looked away shyly.

Julian laid his hand on the table, regretting they were so far apart that he couldn’t touch her. “Chéri...?”

“Look, I know it’s really none of my business who or what you do.” Her tone was lit with a possessive desperation. “But since you’re the one who wants it to look real, you probably should use a bit more discretion in your dalliances with Madeleine.” She looked almost embarrassed.

Julian laughed. Camille thought he was carrying on a running affair with Madeline. And she was jealous. Huh. Imagine that. “Did she tell you we were...?” Or maybe she didn’t like having it thrown in her face.

“Yes.” Camille nodded. “In graphic detail.”

No wonder she was angry.

“Chéri, have you forgotten...?” He paused, and managed to contain his laughter to just a thought. “Madeleine is the reason I married you.”

A look of torment crossed her face. “I just don’t get that.” She paused, waving a gesture into the air. “Why didn’t you just marry her? In your room this morning, she made it clear you’ll be continuing your affair.”

“What are you talking about?” He tried to hide his confusion, but it escaped in his coolly disapproving tone.

“She was in your room this morning.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Yes, she was.”

“When?” There was no way Madeleine was in his room, and he didn’t understand why Camille thought otherwise.

“Oh, she was there. You were in the shower.”

He shook his head, hardly able to believe Madeleine’s nerve. “She must have come in when I got in the shower.”

“Of course.” Camille closed her eyes and seemed to be letting reality sink in. “You said she’d do this.” She shook her head in a slow, rhythmic movement and looked at Julian. “I feel like an idiot,” she said, almost laughing at herself. “She insinuated she’d been there all night.”

A sense of sadness hung a long brittle silence in the air. He shook his head regretfully. “She’s crazy. She was no more in my room last night than I was in yours.”

“You did say she’d set out to have me catch the two of you in bed together,” Camille said. “I just didn’t realize it would all be a charade.”

He felt bad now, that Madeleine—who thought the marriage was authentic—had thrown a faux affair in his wife’s face.

“Chéri, I’m so sorry.” He closed his eyes for a second or two and then looked back at Camille. “Even in a business arrangement, you didn’t deserve to be humiliated.”

Her cheeks reddened a tinge. He could see it, even in the dimly lit candles’ glow.

Should he make his move? Or, should he bid her goodnight and let her contemplate all she’d learned?

He had to be very careful. Moving too quickly could ruin his chances forever.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AT SOME POINT
during the night the storm had passed and the Naoma Louise had set sail. The night had been restless for Camille. What possessed her to think she could pretend to be married to a guy like Julian de Laurent for six months and not develop a consuming desire to have sex with the man?

All night long, he’d invaded her thoughts, her dreams, her heart. The only place he hadn’t invaded was her bed. And that was the one place she wouldn’t have turned him away, even though it was the smart thing to do. But he’d slept on the sofa in their bedchamber.

She’d thought it looked uncomfortable, but he’d fallen asleep almost instantly and hadn’t awakened, even after she’d started moving around in the bathroom that morning.

Sunshine and blue skies peeked in through the window. She slipped into a black bikini that fit like it had been made specifically for her body. Camille studied herself in the mirror, surprised at how good she looked. She grabbed a towel and her sunglasses and ventured outside.

Finding a swimming pool on the upper deck surprised and pleased Camille. She grabbed a lounge chair and made herself at home. For a while, she drank in the sight of the open sea, observing nothing but water and small dots of land off in the distance. Soon, drowsiness accompanied her into a nap.

She couldn’t be certain how much time had passed since she’d fallen asleep, but footsteps fell over the deck and Camille opened her eyes behind her sunglasses. Julian in a pair of deep green boxer shorts jolted her heart. She swallowed hard. Acting on such an attraction—no matter how much she wanted to—would be perilous, because in six months he’d send her packing.

His eyes raked daringly over her, and his mouth softened. “Good morning, Chéri.” He straddled the chair beside her. “I trust you slept well last night?”

Hell, no. She’d had the worst night ever. And how dare he tease her like that? “Fine, thanks.” Fortunately, she had the shades to cover her eyes, which probably contradicted her lie.

“How about lunch? Are you hungry?” He extended his hand, his knuckles skimming against her bare thigh.

She inched her leg away and tipped her sunglasses, peering at him with one eye closed. “What’s on the menu?”

“Whatever you want.”

Whatever I want
. A slight moan trickled up her throat. To stop it from blasting out in a full-blown expression, she lunged forward and threw her legs over the edge of the chair. “Lunch. That sounds like a plan.”

Julian chuckled and stood, reaching for her hand. She draped her fingers over his, igniting a quick shiver that rolled through her. On the far side of the boat, a fully furnished table under an umbrella commandeered her attention.

He let go of her hand and seated her with her back to the sun. She worried about him as he moved to the other side, hoping the umbrella would provide him with shade.

The attendant, Jonathan, appeared with two lobster tails, fresh fruits, and various green and pasta salads.

Lobster tails
?
For lunch
? “Oh, no,” she said, thinking about the fat and calories that came as a packaged deal with all this rich food.

“What?” Julian asked, as if his feelings had been hurt. “You don’t like lobster?”

“Oh, no...I like lobster just fine.” She didn’t want to sound ungrateful. “In fact, I love lobster.” She paused, and while she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, there were consequences for eating so recklessly. “But if I keep eating like this...in six months, I’ll be as big as a house.”

A flash of humor curled on Julian’s lips. He grabbed his champagne glass. “Make a list of the foods you’d prefer to eat and give it to Soren when we return home. He’ll relay your instructions to the kitchen.”

“Man, you sure are accommodating.” Camille dipped a piece of lobster in fresh butter. She popped it into her mouth and the flavors, sweet and rich, engaged her taste buds and filled them with immense pleasure.

“Well, I aim to please,” Julian said.

They focused on their meal with bits and pieces of small talk about the weather, the Naoma Louise, and the Mediterranean around them. Afterward, Julian suggested they have dessert indoors, and they moved inside to an informal dining area.

She followed his lead and slipped into a chair at one corner of a very large table. Jonathan brought them each a covered tray. The dish was cold. Very cold.

“What is this?” she asked, pointing to the silver lid.

Julian looked at her with amplified innocence.

“Is it ice cream?” A sense of defeat swept over her.
Please, don’t say yes
.

He smiled.

Damn. She was doomed. “You know, you’ve really got to start paying attention.” She paused, trying to gulp down the lump swelling in her throat. “Big as a house. Remember that.”

The smile spreading across his face was as intimate as a kiss. He lifted the cover, revealing an ice cream sundae. A diamond studded heart pendant on a gold chain was draped around the crystal bowl’s stem.

“That’s beautiful.” Camille sucked in a breath filled with joy and then sorrow and disappointment. Disappointment that she hadn’t been able to find a man such as Julian for real. Her very own Prince Charming. She sighed. “But why?” She summoned the courage to look at him. Their marriage wasn’t real. Why was he baiting her with the actions of a
real
husband?