Sleeping Love (2 page)

Sabrina felt afraid and for a moment considered making some excuse to leave the Chateau. But her common sense made light of the situation. She was imagining it. He obviously liked her, and she was complimented.

Is it so bad that he likes you? Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking that you’ve known him before. Maybe for once in my life I should take a chance on a man and not view him as the enemy. After all, Raoul is very attractive to say the least. I should be flattered he is even taking an interest in me, when he can have his pick of women. He’s kind, considerate, even if he is a little bit of a control freak. Married life with Raoul . . . Now there is a thought. I bet he’s great in bed and there would be no more money worries for sure . . . Then there is the Chateau . . . Bloody hell, Sabrina. Stop thinking like a school girl. I don’t need a man in my life. End of story. Raoul Valoire has got you thinking like a mad woman. Maybe I should leave. None of this feels right or safe. No, I came here to do a job and I am not leaving until it’s done. I will conduct myself professionally from now on and make sure he keeps his distance.

Yet, the strangeness of the whole occurrence kept intruding on her thoughts, and try as she might she could not put it aside. There was something about this house and the people who inhabited its walls, a familiarity she couldn’t quite explain. It was just like déjà vu.

Raoul interrupted her ruminations. His hands were firmly in his trouser pockets as if to keep them from further mischief, his speech formal and remote once more.

‘I will see you later. Please call myself or my staff if you require anything.’

Smiling, he headed for the door and took his leave. Sabrina was left wondering what other excitement the evening would bring and what part Raoul would play in it.

Sabrina changed into a short plain black dress with spaghetti straps. It was the only dress she possessed. She preferred trousers. They never let her down. They hid the petite legs she always unjustifiably condemned herself for owning, but defined her small waist to perfection along with the feminine curve of her hips. She looked at herself in the full length mirror and groaned, trying to pull the dress down a little further to her knees.

Her attention turned to her breasts and produced another groan. They were generous and voluptuously round. She had no wish to over amplify their size, but the dress wasn’t giving her a choice. Not really one for wearing dresses, Sabrina had thought she better make the effort to look her best. It wasn’t every day that she got to dine and stay with the glitterati in their mansions. The dress had been bought at considerable expense, putting a heavy strain on her meagre budget, and now she felt self-conscious wearing it. It made her feel exposed, as if all her secrets were on show.

Just what I need. More fodder for Raoul to tease me with.

About to decide to rebel and pull on her jeans and a sweater, she became distracted by a new torment. Her hair. Half an hour later she finally gave up the ghost on trying to soften and straighten her defiant bob of black curls. A quick glance at her watch had her cursing her lateness and heading for the door.

Her host was about to knock on her door when she left, making her think he’d been prowling around outside waiting for her to come out all of that time. But he had changed. He was in a black suit and casual white designer shirt open at the neck. Those dark eyes scanned her dress and came to rest on her breasts. An approving smile twitched across Raoul’s lips. Triumph that he found her attractive in the dress warred with her indignation at his intimate assessment.

‘You look beautiful Sabrina, but you should have worn something warmer. The Chateau is full of draughts,’ he teased.

‘I will be fine, Monsieur Valoire,’ she insisted, irritation audible in her tone. She edged away to maintain some distance between them. But his hand rested firmly against the smooth satin skin of her bare arm when her distracted mind tried to lead her in the wrong direction and brought her back to heel.

They walked through a string of rooms until they finally reached the dining room. It was decorated in a deep earthy gothic red, garnished with Flemish tapestries and portraits of the Chateau’s previous ancestral owners. The long oak table which sat twelve people was dressed with elaborate candelabra dripping lightly with molten wax. The flames of the candles flickered shadows around the room as they entered. It was just the way she liked to have dinner, romantic by candlelight, and in this Chateau, it was a dream come true. How did this man know all of her secrets?

Maybe he’d had her followed, checked out. She wouldn’t put it past a rich man like Raoul.

But why would he do such a thing? Maybe he really is interested in me. It’s flattering but . . . Tough, this lady is not for turning, Buster.

He pulled out a high back chair covered in Spanish leather for her to sit next to him at the head of the table.

‘Monsieur Valoire, when can I expect to view the historic documentation you possess on your ancestor Christophe Valoire so I can begin my research?’ she asked as they were served a light started of goats’ cheese and salad dressed in aromatic oil.

He caught her eyes as the butler poured claret into the crystal glasses.

‘You are a work alcoholic, Dr Michaels. I thought you could take a few days to relax and enjoy your stay. I thought you might allow me to show you around the Loire Valley. He was looking at her so intently she felt her eyes lower and her cheeks flush in response.

Sabrina managed a nervous smile. It was no secret that he wanted her. The conversation continued, his deep velvety tone playing havoc with her every attempt not to melt and fall at his feet like some love struck teenager.

You know damn well what kind of effect you are having on me and like an idiot I am falling for it. He is making fun of me. I can see it dancing in his bloody eyes. Bastard. I don’t like being manipulated.

‘I have read your book and recent articles, Sabrina. I am especially interested in your research concerning gender issues in popular culture in Europe in the Eighteenth century. You are a hopeless feminist, aren’t you?’

It was her turn to smile.

‘Does that threaten you, Monsieur Valoire?’

‘Please call me Raoul. Why would I feel threatened? I admire it. Well, to a certain extent,’ he grinned. ‘As long as it suits me. I just wonder whether or not you have considered how a man would have felt about the way he was forced to live in the Eighteenth century in France?’

‘I can assure you Monsieur…Raoul that I make adequate recompense to the issues of masculinity, that is why I intend to write a biography of your famous ancestor…’ she told him firmly, feeling her temper rise at his questioning of her professional work ethic as a Gender Historian.

But when she heard him laugh and realised with embarrassment that he was merely teasing, she halted her passionate speech and bent to eat her food feeling foolish. An awkward silence ensued, and Sabrina began to feel more uncomfortable. Ribbons of light from the candles danced across Raoul’s handsome face giving him a dark and mysterious air when he finally broke the oppressive silence.

‘I’m sorry, Sabrina. I was only playing with you,’ he smiled warmly. ‘I enjoyed reading your academic work. It raises some interesting questions.’

She nodded, accepting the apology but felt reluctant engaging in any further conversation, suddenly feeling very tired and on edge. The more she looked around the room, the more convinced she was that she had been in it before. She couldn’t explain it. Maybe she’d visited the place as a child when its previous owner allowed the public to visit. But the explanation didn’t seem adequate. Even the tapestries and the scenes they depicted were more than familiar.

‘Are you ill, Sabrina? You look a little pale,’ he asked.

‘No, no I’m fine. I just have this weird déjà vu feeling that I’ve been here before. It’s silly really,’ she joked. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. ‘Maybe in my last lifetime,’ she smiled, amused at her thoughts.

He said nothing, taking another sip of wine. For a moment his eyes avoided her. She found it odd that he would not make some remark or even a joke.

‘I look forward to reading your work on my rogue ancestor, but for now I want to hear all about you,’ he insisted, putting down his glass, quickly changing the subject.

Raoul’s eyes never left her face as she took a hurried sip of her own wine.

‘There isn’t much to tell I’m afraid,’ she said nervously.

Sabrina didn’t really talk about her memory loss to anyone. Only a couple of close friends knew about it. It wasn’t something she was very comfortable talking about. There was always a worry that the wrong person would find out and somehow use it against her. It was an odd fear to have, but it was there. She always wondered if it was a way to hide from the man who beat her and put her in the hospital.

‘Maybe we should talk about something more interesting.’

She smiled sweetly, expertly covering the pain that slashed at her insides with a knife. But he was to remain annoyingly inquisitive.

‘No. I’m intrigued. Tell me about yourself.’

She didn’t miss the command in his tone. There was no escape. Raoul Valoire was the first man she’d come across who didn’t take no for an answer. Many people had sensed she was secretive. They had tried to find out about her past, but she had eventually been able to suppress their curiosity and change the subject. Raoul was clearly different. He was not about to let her gracefully bow out of the conversation.

There was nothing to tell. Nothing she could remember beyond seven years ago when she’d woken up in the hospital badly beaten, raped and without her memory. She didn’t want to talk about it. Sometimes when people continued to press for her life story and family details she would make up stories. They were better termed fantasies. She didn’t want to do that tonight. Besides, she had a feeling Raoul would see straight through them. Sabrina’s voice stalled in her throat and another awkward silence fell upon the dining room. She looked away, desperately searching her mind for a way of excusing her behaviour.

‘Well, I don’t see you wearing a wedding ring, so I take it that you aren’t married?’ he quizzed. His voice was soft but Sabrina could hear some malice lingering in his tone.

What is your problem? I’ve had enough of your games. Maybe I really should leave.

She jumped when he suddenly picked up her hand that rested on the table and began to gently examine her fingers. He stroked each one sensually, circling the pad of his thumb in the middle of her palm. His touch was tender, gentle and warm, her hand so small and slender against his large one. The action made her feel safe, soothed. It felt curiously natural for him to caress her this way as if he had done many times before. Her mind seemed reluctant to even question it. She watched entranced as he continued his rhythmic stroking of her hand, wondering why Raoul appeared to have so much power over her self-control.

It was a normal thing to ask, to see if there was any competition. He wasn’t hiding his interest. But there was a curious firmness in his tone that appeared to challenge her answer, dared her to say no.

‘No, I’m not married,’ she told him truthfully.

She felt herself begin to tremble when his eyes stared directly into her own. To her amazement they were full of hurt. Her heart began to thud at an alarming rate when his eyes slowly began to narrow with dark primitive anger.

‘I think you are lying,’ the words were spoken coldly, a streak of menace lining every one. ‘Where is your wedding ring, Sabrina?’

Confused and terrified, Sabrina attempted to pull her hand away. Raoul’s response was to hold it tighter, making her cry out with the strength of his grip. Once more he demanded angrily, ‘Where is your wedding ring? Did you throw it away? Why did you forget? Answer me, Sabrina or so help me. . .’

Almost as if on eerie cue, the wind that had been building outside swirled around the Chateau with a deathly cry from an open window, extinguishing the burning flames of the candles. The lamps at intervals on the walls also went out as if a fuse had been blown. Sabrina felt suffocated as the wall of darkness imprisoned her sight and pressed down upon her. She was terrified of the dark and had never known the reason. The last seven years had been spent living in the dark not knowing what had happened. It was all too much to bear. She struggled violently in Raoul’s hold.

‘Hush, Sabrina. I know you have been frightened of the dark since you were a child. It will only last for a few moments. The lights are always going out. It happens in old buildings,’ he told her gently, lowering his voice to a smooth velvet tone to calm her fear.

She heard him stand and felt him pull her struggling form into his arms. His fingers stroked soothingly through her hair, but she was not to be placated.