In the Millionaire's Possession (29 page)

She felt his fingers linger on her hipbone, then move inwards across the flat plane of her stomach with unmistakable purpose while his mouth sought hers with renewed intensity.

She moved then, swiftly, frantically, both hands capturing his and dragging it away from her body.
‘
Don
’
t,
’
she said hoarsely.
‘
Don
’
t touch me.
’

He was still for a moment, then she heard him sigh.

‘
Ah, mon amour
.
’
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, caressing her palm softly.
‘
Don
’
t fight me,
je t
’
en supplié
. Relax. Let me make this beautiful for you.
’

‘
Beautiful?
’
She echoed the word with bitter incredulity.
‘
You bought me for sex,
monsieur
, so how can it possibly be beautiful? Not that it matters. I
—
just want it to be over.
’

He was suddenly tense, his fingers gripping hers almost painfully. At last he said quietly,
‘
Hélène, you do not know what you are saying.
’

‘
Yes
—
yes, I do.
’
The words tumbled out of her, heartsick and wounded.
‘
I
’
m sick of this hypocrisy
—
this pretence that I
’
m anything more to you than just another girl in another bed, marriage or no marriage. And I can
’
t bear to be touched
—
kissed,
’
she added quickly.
‘
So just
—
do it and let me go. Because I don
’
t want you and I never will.
’

His sudden harsh laugh made her flinch. He released her and sat up, the sheet falling away from his body, his mouth grim.
‘
And what now,
madame
? I am expected, perhaps, to admit defeat and send you back to the virgin sanctity of your room. Is that it? To be followed by a swift, discreet annulment back in England?
’

He shook his head.
‘
Well, you may dream on,
mon coeur
. Because you will go nowhere until I have made our marriage a reality.
’

Before she even realised what was happening he had lifted himself over her, his hand pushing back her nightgown and parting her thighs with ruthless determination.

She felt his fingers discover the moist silken heat that he
’
d created, in spite of herself, heard him laugh softly, and could have died of shame.

‘
You
’
ll make me hate you,
’
she stormed, trying to twist away from him and failing totally.

‘
That is your privilege,
’
he said.
‘
This
—
is mine.
’
And, poised above her, slowly, skilfully, he guided himself into her.

She lay beneath him unmoving, hardly able to breathe, her eyes closed and one fist pressed against her mouth, waiting for the pain but determined that she would not cry out.

Yet there was no need. She had not expected consideration. Probably did not deserve gentleness. But he offered them to her just the same. In spite of the unyielding tautness of her body, his possession of her was deliberately leisured and totally complete. Also utterly determined.

Yet at the same time it was a curiously sterile performance. Sexually naïve as she was, Helen could still recognise that. And although she
’
d stipulated no kisses or caresses she
’
d not expected him to listen. But it seemed that he had, because apart from that one supreme intimacy of his body joined to hers there was no other physical contact between them. His weight was supported by his arms, clamped either side of her on the bed.

When he began to move, it was also without haste. The drive of his body was controlled and clinical, expressing an almost steely resolve, and when Helen risked a scared, fleeting glance upwards at his face she saw that it was set and expressionless, his gaze fixed on the wall above the bed. As if he had withdrawn behind some silent, private barricade.

And even as she realised with anguish, This is not
—
not
how it should be…she felt, deep within her, at that moment, a small stirring, as if the petals of a flower were slowly unfurling in the sunlight. But as her shocked mind acknowledged it, tried with a kind of desperation to focus there, it was gone.

At the same time she heard his breathing change suddenly, and felt his body convulse violently inside hers as he reached his climax.

She heard him cry out something that might almost have been her name, his voice hoarse and ragged, as if that unyielding wall of reserve had suddenly crumbled, and for an instant she felt his weight slump against her, pressing her down into the bed.

But he released himself almost at once and rolled away from her, burying his face in his folded arms so that she was free.

For a while she lay still, adjusting to the slight soreness between her thighs and knowing at the same time that it did not compare with the vast ache of loneliness and frustration that now filled her bewildered body, making her want to moan aloud.

She moved away a little, towards the edge of the bed. She said, dry-mouthed,
‘
May I go now
—
back to my own room?
’

For a long moment there was silence, then slowly he raised his head and looked at her, his face wearily sardonic.
‘
Pourquoi pas
? Why not? I assume you do not wish to sleep in my arms and have me kiss you awake in the morning. So go back to your sanctuary, my little cheat.
’

His words stung, especially when she knew that even now, if he reached for her
—
held her
—
she would not be able to resist him.

She lifted her chin.
‘
I hardly cheated. I did what you expected.
’

‘
Did you?
’
His mouth twisted.
‘
How little you know,
cherie
.
’
He shrugged a sweat-slicked shoulder.
‘
And I still say you are a cheat. Because your victim is now yourself. You have defrauded your own body of the warmth and passion of being a woman. And you did it deliberately. Or did you think I would not know?
’
he added with contempt.
‘
So sleep with that,
hein
?
’

Somehow Helen got back to her own room. Somehow she stripped off her crumpled nightdress, kicking it away, and turned on the shower, letting the warm water rain down on her in a torrent, mingling with the sudden tears on her face.

She whispered brokenly,
‘
It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse…
’

And knew that she was lying.

It was late when Helen came back to full consciousness the next morning. She
’
d eventually fallen into an uneasy sleep around dawn, but now the sunlight was burning through the shutters, she realised, shading dull eyes with her hand as she peered at the window.

And somehow she had to shower, dress, and go downstairs to face Marc, she thought, uttering a soft groan at the prospect.

Yet at least she
’
d woken alone, and not been roused by his kisses, she told herself, remembering with a pang his soft-voiced taunt of the night before, as she pushed away the tangled sheet and swung her feet to the floor.

His accusation that she
’
d cheated herself of fulfilment still rankled bitterly, however, and her body was haunted by a feeling of numb emptiness that almost amounted to desolation.

Inexperienced as she was, her inner desolation was not helped by the recognition that her husband had subjected her to a possession without passion
—
a disciplined and calculated exercise for his own satisfaction. Nor was it alleviated by the knowledge that she
’
d deliberately instigated this bleak and untender consummation.

Was this a foretaste of what she could expect each night of this caricature of a honeymoon? she wondered. If so, at least it would make it marginally easier to withhold herself, as she knew she must.

She had to be careful too, she thought, remembering that brief instant when simply the stark rhythm of his body inside hers had been enough to provoke that strange flicker of desire, as unwelcome as it was unexpected, but no less potent for that.

She could only hope that, caught between boredom and anger in this war of attrition between them, Marc would be keen to put the whole wretched episode behind him and return to his former way of life
—
and the women who shared it. Once this painful pretence of a marriage was finished in any significant way, she might be able to attain some peace.

After all, she thought, swallowing, Marc still had the house, which was and always had been his main concern in all this. She
’
d only ever been intended as a bonus in the transaction. His personal perquisite. He would simply be forced to write her off as a loss. Well
—
he was a businessman. He would understand that, and shrug.

And although she would be freed from any kind of sexual partnership with him, and ultimate and inevitable heartbreak, she would make sure she was nothing less than the perfect chatelaine for Monteagle. He would have no complaints about the way his home was run, or her behaviour as his hostess.

She sighed, and trailed across to the dressing room. In the meantime she
’
d have to pretend that this was the first day of a normal marriage and find something appropriate to wear.

Much as she might wish it, she could hardly go for the full covered-up blouse and skirt look when the temperature was clearly in the high eighties. Besides, Marc might even regard that as some kind of challenge, and that was the last thing she wanted.

It was probably better to attempt the role of radiant bride, she thought. And her pride demanded that she should behave as if the previous night had never happened, even if she was still weeping inside.

Eventually, as a concession to the climate, she picked out a black bikini that wasn
’
t too indecently brief, topping it with its own filmy mid-thigh shirt.

But, in spite of her fears, it was only Elise who was waiting for her as she apprehensively descended the stairs half an hour later.

‘
Bonjour, madame
.
’
Her eyes were twinkling.
‘
You
’
ave sleep well, I think? Your
’
usband say to let you rest as long as you desire. But now you like
un petit dejeuner
?
’

‘
Just coffee, please,
’
Helen said, self-consciously aware that her watch was saying it was long past breakfast-time. She glanced around her.
‘
Er
—
where is
monsieur
?
’
she ventured.

‘’
E
’
as go for drive into the
’
ills,
’
Elise informed her.
‘
But
’
e will come back soon. For the lunch. It is my fish soup, which
’
e does not miss.
’
She nodded with satisfaction, then bustled off to get the coffee.

Well, she was being allowed a brief respite at least, Helen thought. Given a breathing space to decide how she should behave and what she should actually say when she encountered him at last.

Elise
’
s coffee was a dark and vibrant brew, and it managed to rid Helen
’
s head of the last unhappy wisps of mental fog and enable her to think clearly.

It was vitally important not to give Marc the idea that she cared too much about the bleak conclusion to their wedding night.

Perhaps she should give the impression that it was no more than she
’
d expected. Or maybe she should wait, she thought. Judge his mood when he returned. Leave it to him to dictate the scenario.