The Seduction Scheme (18 page)

The slow, contemplative smile on his face broadened as the hot colour flared in two angry bands of red across her cheekbones.

‘If you don't care about my feelings you might at least have the common courtesy not to embarrass your family,' she choked furiously. The bland look she received in return didn't display any signs of remorse.

‘I'm not embarrassed,' Natalie observed chirpily.

An expression of shocked comprehension crossed Sabrina's face. ‘But she's…' Her perfect nose wrinkled in confusion as she compared her own willowy reflection in the mirror with Rachel's slightly shorter, more curvy figure.

‘
She's
going,' Rachel snapped. She didn't need the blonde to remind her of the disparity in their claims to beauty. And unlike Sabrina there was no way she could ever hope to match Benedict's sophistication. How he must be cursing the moment of madness that had tied him to her. She could imagine how relieved he'd be when he knew that there was no need to do the ‘right thing'. His father certainly knew which buttons to press, she thought bitterly; Benedict wasn't the most obvious candidate for old-fashioned values.

‘Not till I say so, you're not,' he replied in a cold, clear voice from which old-fashioned chivalry was noticeably absent.

Rachel heard a collective startled gasp and a nervous giggle, but she didn't notice from where it had originated. Her head was filled with the dull roar of the blood pounding in her ears.

‘I'll go when and where I like, and if you try to stop me you can…'

‘I can what?' he goaded.

She looked around and saw that all the audience was waiting for her answer with bated breath. Well, he might not mind providing a floor show for his nearest and dearest but she did!

‘You know something, Ben? Meeting you is right up there with mumps and acne. You're the most insensitive, self-centred, manipulative…' She made a sound of disgust low in her throat. ‘I wouldn't marry you if my life depended on it.'

‘What makes you think it doesn't?' If anything the aggressive tilt of his square jaw had grown even more pronounced.

‘You were right, Ruth. I owe you a tenner. He proposed! Well, I'll be—'

‘Tom!' Benedict snarled, evincing no sign of brotherly love as he swung around to face the man who'd entered the room behind him. ‘As a matter of fact I have. I've proposed and been refused. Thinking of offering me advice, are you?'

The eldest of the Arden brood bit back a grin and arranged his mobile features into a suitably sombre mask. ‘Actually I just came to tell Miss French—Rachel—that her lift is here.' His green eyes sparkled with lively interest.

‘Show him in, Tom,' Emily Arden instructed. ‘Them in,' she corrected herself drily as the door swung open and Charlie walked in, followed at a more sedate pace by her uncle.

Charlie looked calmly around the room, completely unfazed by the unknown faces. ‘This place looks like something off a magazine cover,' she remarked admiringly. She grinned at her mother. ‘Hi, Mum!'

‘She must be
old
.' Sabrina's chagrin was almost comical. She looked indignantly from Rachel to Charlie and back to Rachel again as if she expected to see her age before her eyes.

It was then that Charlie saw Benedict.

‘Ben!' Her small face lit up and she ran like a heat-seeking missile straight at him.

That's what I want to do. Rachel felt the dull pain of acknowledgement. For a split second all she felt was deep envy for the ability to display such spontaneous pleasure.

Hiding her feelings meant she had to consider every word, every gesture. The expression on Benedict's face as he bent forward and lifted her high brought a heavy, emotional constriction to her aching throat. There could be no doubting the genuine nature of his feelings where Charlie was concerned.

His family watched with varying degrees of shock as Benedict swung the youngster up into the air before placing her back down on her feet and ruffling her halo of damp golden-blonde hair.

‘I was wondering where you were.' He saw for the first time who had followed Charlie into the room. It was as if someone had flicked a switch. He was projecting such intense hostility, you could almost see the waves of loathing emanating from his eyes.

‘I was with Uncle Christophe.' Charlie's vivid blue eyes turned happily to the figure who had so far been silent. ‘We went swimming.'

‘Ah, yes,
Uncle
Christophe.' His dark eyes met Rachel's. The contempt she read there made her jaw tighten and her chin go up in automatic defiance.

He obviously thought she'd created another story to spare herself Charlie's awkward questions, but she couldn't squash his nasty theory without revealing the fact that she'd let him believe a lie. Her glance moved worriedly to Christophe and she wondered how the older man would respond to Ben's hostility. She knew she only had Charlie's presence to thank for Benedict's restraint so far.

‘Charlie is an excellent swimmer.' Christophe smiled warmly at his niece.

‘When I go to France I shall swim in the sea—it's warm there—won't I, Mum?' Not daring to look in Benedict's direction, Rachel nodded weakly.

‘And when is this trip arranged, Charlie?' Benedict asked, no discernible expression on his face.

There was no question of drawing blood from a stone; Charlie was only too happy to reveal her plans to Ben. Rachel listened with deepening resignation as her daughter told him their plans in tiresomely meticulous detail.

‘Wouldn't it be great if Ben could come too, Mum?'

That really did focus her attention!

‘Great!' she echoed hollowly. ‘But he's a very busy man and he'll probably be in Australia by then.' She met the glittering mockery in Benedict's eyes with as much dignity as she could muster.

‘My schedule is flexible.'

‘My plans aren't.'

‘We have an open house; any friend of yours is welcome, Rachel.'

She silently mouthed ‘no' to Christophe and grimaced to indicate this wasn't a good idea. All her furtive pantomime achieved was to make Christophe look even more confused. She wished now that she'd given him an explanation for her trip here this morning.

With her luck the way Benedict's mind was working he'd probably think poor Christophe was inviting him to form part of some sort of
ménage à trois
! Before Rachel could divert Christophe's native hospitality Benedict spoke up.

‘Open…?' he mused slowly. The derision seeped around the edges of his languid drawl and Rachel instinctively moved to stand protectively in front of Christophe. ‘Myself,
I like boundaries. In homes, in jobs, most importantly in marriages. It cuts down on confusion.'

Christophe Fauré looked bemused and Rachel could understand why. She just hoped he'd stay that way. As he was completely innocent of marital infidelity, Benedict's heavy-handed irony wasn't likely to prick his conscience.

‘Why doesn't Ben like Uncle Christophe?' There was an embarrassed silence as Charlie glanced enquiringly at her mother. She tugged imperatively at the loose white shirt Benedict wore tucked into his blue denims. ‘He's nice, Ben.'

‘I'm sure he is, Charlie.' He visibly reined in his aggression. He flexed his fingers as they unfurled from the balled fists which had rested suggestively at his sides. His breathing was almost normal as he smiled reassuringly down at the child.

‘Well, I think Frenchmen are very nice.' Natalie got to her feet and crossed the room towards her brother. Her mother smiled on proudly as, displaying maturity beyond her years, her daughter successfully took the spotlight off her sibling.

‘Thank you,
mademoiselle
.'

‘I'm Natalie.' With a self-confident smile she extended her hand and eyed this mature example of the breed with open approval. She gave a laugh of delight as it was raised to his lips. ‘Watch and learn, boys,' she advised her brothers.

‘Are you Ben's sister?' Charlie asked curiously.

‘For my sins.'

‘You look alike.'

‘So I've been told,' she replied, with a grimace. ‘But, unfortunately, he's much prettier than me.'

‘You're too kind,' her brother responded drily.

‘Do you like horses, Charlie?' Natalie continued in her friendly manner. She squatted down until she was at eye level with the little girl. ‘I was just on my way out to the stables…'

‘I used to ride,' Charlie explained, her eyes sparkling in response. ‘But we live in the town now.'

‘Would you like to come and see them?'

‘I'm afraid we've intruded long enough.' Rachel ignored the reproachful spaniel look her daughter threw in her direction. ‘Christophe has an appointment in town this afternoon.' If he didn't pick up her desperate signals this time she'd just die.

‘Yes, unfortunately I do need to leave.'

Rachel sighed with relief and sent him a grateful smile.

‘That's no problem; I can give you and Charlie a lift back later, Rachel. I was going that way anyway.'

Fear was supposed to sharpen your wits, lend an extra edge to your mental faculties. I must be the exception to the rule, she thought, unable to tear her eyes away from Benedict's gaze. The insolence in those dark eyes was deliberate; he was daring her to get out of that one. She'd have loved to rise to the occasion but her brain was the consistency of mush.

‘I…that is….'

‘That's settled, then. Shall I show Mr Fauré to the door?'

‘It's a bit late to play the perfect host, Benedict,' his mother said lightly. ‘Mr Fauré, let me do the honours and possibly persuade you to come and visit again when things are less…' she eyed her son thoughtfully ‘…volatile?'

‘Come on, Charlie,' Natalie said, chivvying the dogs with a piercing whistle. ‘We'll go and see the horses.' She leant close to her brother. ‘This will cost you big,' she said softly.

‘I know.' Benedict's eyes didn't leave Rachel's face for an instant.

‘And I expect a blow-by-blow—'

Benedict did look at her then with indulgent tolerance. ‘Get a life, Nat,' he advised, not unkindly.

‘Some chance of that; you want to try being sixteen,' she
tossed back, taking Charlie by the hand and leading her out into the garden.

‘Weren't you going to show us those photos of the big bash for your brother's engagement, Sabrina?' Tom shot a slightly apologetic look towards his wife as he pulled her to her feet. ‘Ruth was amazed when I told her who was there.'

This was enough to draw Sabrina's resentful eyes from the silent tableau of the two remaining figures in the room. ‘Did I tell you that…?' She began ticking off all the minor members of royalty and media personalities who had been there on her carmine-tipped fingers. ‘And she's much fatter than she looks on TV.' Rachel never did discover who this was: the doors in the Arden mansion were very solid.

‘Alone at last.'

‘I didn't say goodbye to Christophe. He'll think…'

Benedict's expression grew harsh, his jaw clenched in anger and his eyes were obsidian-hard. ‘He's history,' he said with a dismissive shrug. ‘And if he's got an ounce of intuition he knows it, and if he hasn't…' His sensual lips thinned to an unpleasant line.

She could hardly believe this was the same man with a solution to the most complex of legal problems who was displaying an amazing willingness to solve this problem with his fists. Violence was implicit in every line of his athletic, power-packed body.

‘How dare you act like a…a barbarian? And if you touch me I'll scream…' she warned, backing away in panic as he moved towards her. If he touched her it would only be a matter of time—very little time—before she was begging—and this time she wouldn't be pleading for him not to touch her…

‘As a family our mating rituals tend to be noisy; I don't think anyone will come running.'

‘I'm not interested in your family.'

‘Shame; they seem to like you. Of course it wouldn't make any difference if they didn't, but on the whole it makes matters simpler if they like my wife.'

‘Ben.'

‘Yes?' An odd expression flickered into his eyes as he looked down at her hands curled tightly in the fabric of his shirt. Her head was downbent, as though she couldn't bear to look at him. The tension in her slender body was palpable.

How did you convince someone of your sincerity? She closed her eyes tightly and willed him to hear the truth in her words. ‘I'm
not
pregnant.'

‘I know.'

Her eyes snapped open. ‘What did you say?' Wide-eyed and confused, she finally lifted her eyes to his face.

‘I know you're not pregnant.' He deftly untied the ribbon that confined her silky hair at the nape of her neck. ‘That's better,' he reflected thickly as he spread it carefully over her shoulders. The delicate friction of his fingers on her scalp fragmented her residual concentration. He gently blew a stray strand that had settled on her cheek.

The warm scent, the teasing reminder of the taste of him made her ache; lips parted, she gasped for air. His fingers framed her face and firmly he pressed his lips to hers. It was all giving, no taking. The tenderness brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

‘I tracked Dad down, and he admitted the truth—well, his version at any rate. I suspect I got a strictly censored version. He skated around the stuff that might reflect him in a less than favourable light.'

‘That doesn't leave much.'

Was he feeling sorry for her? Was that why he was being so gentle? He realised how much she'd wanted it to be true? God, but she couldn't bear his pity.

This is what I wanted, she told herself. Mission accom
plished. That was it, it was over; she could relax. She could get on with her life. Why wasn't she feeling better? Benedict was; he was looking positively smug. He was free. She knew she'd never be free from this love—not ever! It was a life sentence.