The Seduction Trap (11 page)

Suddenly she heard the clang of the chateau gates. Her body stiffened and she shrank deeper into the shadows. Guy wandered across the square. She watched as he accepted with good humour an invitation to join the handful of villagers sitting beneath the striped parasols outside the bar. Laughter drifted across to her and there was much chinking of glasses. It made a sorry contrast to her reception. ‘I want a word with you!’

Dismayed, she turned, recognising the voice of the man staying in The Bakehouse, the cottage next to The Old Bakery. ‘Yes, Mr Donovan?’ she said politely, fearing trouble. ‘My wife and I have talked things over and have decided we want our money back.’

Tessa looked stunned. This was worse than she’d expected! ‘I-I don’t have it! I’ve explained that my mother owned the properties until recently. She will have your money-’

‘That’s your problem, not mine,’ he said crossly, raising his voice a decibel or two. Tessa cringed. The whole village must be able to hear! ‘I’m not paying hardearned cash to spend my holiday in a damp, poorly maintained, dirty cottage which was furnished in the Dark Ages!’

‘Nineteen fifty-something, I think,’ she ventured meekly. ‘Exactly! So give us our money back or I’ll get someone in authority here to impound something you own. That bike, for instance. I won’t be cheated! Would you like to sleep on a lumpy mattress in a bed that’s rusting? Or have to clean the bathroom and kitchen from top to bottom on the day of your arrival because of the filth?’

‘No, Mr Donovan,’ she said miserably. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘And why isn’t the bar open in the evenings?’ he went on, getting into his stride. ‘And the advert said there was a leisure complex on the river, but that isn’t open at the moment. There’s nothing to do here but read!’

It sounded like bliss to Tessa. ‘I can’t be held responsible for the opening hours of local attractions,’ she said, as politely as humanly possible. ‘I suppose there just isn’t the custom.’

‘Damn place is all but deserted!’

‘It’s very peaceful,’ she pointed out placatingly. A figure appeared just at the periphery of her vision and she knew with a sinking feeling in her stomach who it must be. She squirmed on the seat in embarrassment-both at the present situation and at the memory of the last time they’d been together. Too together! Clamped together like limpets, worth every inch of his muscular body impressing itself indelibly on her mind. Pleasurable sensations spurted through her sensory system and made

her hands shake. Her legs too. They’d been perfectly under control until he’d turned up.

‘Having problems?’ enquired Guy, mockery in every smoothly drawled syllable.

What would he say, she wondered tetchily, if she replied, Yes, runaway hormones? But she didn’t. ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she lied, and wished he’d go away and mind his own business. ‘Who might you be, butting in on a private conversation?’ bristled Mr Donovan righteously, and he and Tessa frowned at

Guy in joint challenge.

Sublimely unperturbed, Guy produced one of his pat, charming smiles.

‘Guy de Turaine. I am the seigneur of Turaine-I think you call this the lord of the manor?’

Tessa’s eyes grew cynical. He was doing the helpless foreigner bit in order to disarm Mr Donovan-who was clearly falling for Guy’s ruse. ‘Don’t worry about choosing your words carefully. Guy will understand everything you say. He’s lived in America for years,’ she said sourly, earning herself a little sardonic glance from Guy.

Graciously he extended a hand to the man beside her. ‘How do you do? I gather you’re not satisfied with your holiday cottage?’ he murmured, now all concern and furrowed brow. ‘I most certainly am not!’ declared the man, clearly pleased and puffed up at having such an important person on his side. ‘Me and my wife were chatting to a local woman who came by, and she was horrified when we showed her around. She said the place was a disgrace-’

‘A ... local woman?’ Guy asked, suddenly alert. ‘Not Madame Legrand, from across the lane? Dark, short hair, sixtyish and plump, was she?’

Tessa gave Guy a suspicious look. He was trying to extract information out of Mr Donovan, and, judging by the man’s impatient shake of his head, his aim was about to be fulfilled.

‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘Long blonde hair. Very slim and stylish. Young. Wearing baggy trouser things. Raw silk palazzo pants, my wife said. Do you know who I mean?’

‘I have a fair idea;’ murmured Guy laconically. ‘Helpful young woman. She said we would be within our rights if we insisted on our money back. If you have any influence at all,’ said Mr Donovan pompously, while Tessa wished Miss Palazzo Pants all the ill luck in the world, ‘you’ll tell Miss Davis that she’s letting the place down.’

‘You’re letting the place down,’ Guy told her helpfully, his eyes as cold as black ice.

Tessa ground her teeth together. But at least he wasn’t harping on about her desperately enthusiastic reaction to his kiss. Small mercies. It meant she could fight him on equal terms again. ‘Mr Donovan,’ she said quietly, pretending to ignore Guy, even though he loomed over her like a dark spectre, ‘I am just as unhappy about the condition of the cottage as you are. I’ll do everything I can to get your money back to you.’

‘I want the full amount-!’ he began.

‘And you’ll get it,’ she promised hurriedly. ‘Please trust me. I can let you have something now, to start with, she said, unzipping her canvas shoulder bag, ‘and if you give me your home address and the total amount you paid for the week I’ll settle up with you when I can get the cash. I feel so embarrassed that you’ve had problems on your holiday. It must have been an awful disappointment when you arrived.’

‘Oh. Yes. It was.’ Mr Donovan seemed disconcerted by Tessa’s frank admission, but took the proffered money from her. ‘That’s not much! About twenty pounds in English money!’ he protested.

‘It’s all I can manage at the moment,’ she said quietly. ‘Hmm. I’ll see what my wife says. I expect the other couple next door in Oven Cottage will want a refund too. We all had a chat about our rights in the garden-’

‘You,’ interrupted Guy smoothly, ‘your wife, the other couple and this ... er... local woman?’

‘That’s right,’ answered Mr Donovan. ‘I must say, she was most supportive-and a mine of information. She said there were probably rats living inside that closedup oven-’

‘What?’ Tessa cried, flushing with anger. ‘I’m sure that can’t be true.’

‘How would you know?’ Mr Donovan glared. ‘She said it was highly likely. And that the mayor would close the cottages down on a local health order if something wasn’t done.’

‘Did she?’ grated Tessa, determined to find this interfering blonde and ask her to keep her nose out in future! ‘Yes. And I told her that next door’s cooker doesn’t work. And the drains-’

‘I know,’ she said hastily, wondering how on earth she was going to cope. Guy had been right. There was a tremendous amount to be done. ‘I’ve spoken to the couple next door to you and I’m intending to deal with that.’

‘Yes. You will. By making arrangements to repay us for our inconvenience and spoiled holiday. Or there’ll be trouble. We know our rights.’ On that firm note, Mr Donovan gave a curt nod of his head to Tessa, graciously took his leave of the courteous Guy then stomped off, very much on his dignity. ‘I’m surprised you gave in without a fight,’ Guy said curiously. Tessa shot him a look of surprise. ‘What am I supposed to do? Lie? The cottages aren’t fit for letting! I could hardly deny that.’

‘Most people in your position might try.’

‘I’m not most people,’ she snapped.

‘No. I’m beginning to realise that. Well, you’re in deep trouble,’ he mused. ‘Visitors arriving every Saturday of the season, demanding refunds the day after... And compensation for their disappointment ... That could cost you an arm and a leg!’ he declared with such false and simulated concern that she let her contempt show in the hot blaze of her eyes. He merely smiled mockingly. ‘You’ve seen your mother’s bookings schedule, I presume?’

‘N-no. I haven’t found it yet.’

She tried to stop her calculations of how much she might have to pay out during the season. It would be more than she possessed, whatever it might be. Her heart began to race with a sickening irregularity.

‘Pretty awful of your mother to leave you in this situation,’ he observed casually.

‘She couldn’t help it!’ flared Tessa. ‘She would never have fled unless things were desperate.’

‘But surely no decent mother would deliberately leave her daughter in that same, desperate situation, would she?’ His quietly clipped words hung in the air between them, the truth of what he’d said quite painful. Tessa stared ahead, her breath shallow in her breast. An awful suspicion came into her mind that she had been left to carry the can-but then, dismayed by the thoughts Guy had put into her head, she jerked her head up, her eyes aglow with hot violet fire. ‘You’re biased! You would think the worst of her!’

‘God! You really are blind and stubborn-’ he began irritably. ‘I give people the benefit of the doubt till I know all the facts! Mother had a reason for doing what she did,’ she flung at him, clinging to a forlorn hope that this was true. ‘She’ll contact me and tell me soon-’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

That wouldn’t happen. Her mother had promised. ‘Then I’ll make my own arrangements,’ Tessa said stiffly.

Guy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ah. Until then?’

‘It’s early days,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll see how things go for a week or so. I can take the flak. I’ve taken plenty before.’

It seemed as if she were back at school, being blamed for things that weren’t her fault just because she was an easy target. Crossly she rummaged inside her bag for the bar of chocolate she’d spotted when she’d reached for her wallet, and proceeded to demolish it angrily.

Guy watched her furious progress through the defenceless bar. Her small white teeth drove into the dark chocolate and all the time she scowled at him defiantly.

‘You turn to food for comfort. I know better ways to release the emotions,’ he drawled.

She had a large chunk of chocolate in her mouth and it was several seconds before she could reply. ‘This is my mid-morning snack,’ she defended.

‘I go to the gym,’ he confided. Her gaze whipped up and down his perfect body. ‘I need strenuous activity after sitting around in board meetings and on transatlantic flights,’ he explained. ‘I’m a very physical man and I hate being confined.’ She could believe it. Energy leapt from him in waves to batter her with its force. And she could imagine another way he’d release some of that excess energy, over and above a heavy indulgence in sit-ups and bench presses. She felt sure he’d enjoy the physicality of sex: Her eyes glazed over as her treacherous mind produced a clear image of him in all his muscular perfection, sweat glistening on his thighs. . . ‘Try a marathon-right now,’ she suggested grumpily. ‘And leave me in peace to organise one or two things.’ Her teeth snapped off another piece of chocolate.

‘I probably will. I need physical release rather badly.’ His mouth was far too suggestive for Tessa to cope with. She glared, knowing he wasn’t interested in her and furious that he should still flirt and try to provoke her.

‘You have a lot to organise,’ he remarked. ‘The cottages need urgent attention and a lot of money spent on them. What will you do?’

Tessa knew what he was getting at. A quick, cheap sale. It was tempting; she’d be free of all hassle. But until she spoke to her mother and explained the situation her hands were tied. ‘They need’ a bit of work,’ she said grudgingly, between mouthfuls.

‘Face reality! You’ll have to sell. No one will buy them on the open market. Why don’t you let me do what I was intending to do for your mother?’ Guy suggested, pushing his hands casually in his pockets.

‘She wouldn’t have sold to you,’ Tessa declared belligerently.

‘I don’t think she would have had any choice,’ he answered with an airy wave of his hand. ‘Why? You’re not the only buyer in France.’

‘I’m probably the only one who’d be prepared to offer a reasonable price for three collapsing, beetle-ridden, mouldering piles of stone,’ he countered, studying her hot, angry face with maddening insolence. ‘There’s a sentimental value involved where I’m concerned. No one else would show any interest. French villagers are voting with their feet and moving into smarter, modernised accommodation with larger gardens.’

‘I bet someone back home would be interested,’ she said, feeling an urge to goad him into thinking that he’d never get his hands on the cottages.

‘Possibly,’ he agreed sardonically. ‘The British have a manic attachment to the picturesque and a passion for restoring the unrestorable.’

‘We appreciate character!’ she defended. ‘And the cottages aren’t beyond all hope. You’re exaggerating!’ I’ve a good mind to test the market-’

‘Know much about it, do you?’ he taunted. ‘The legal aspects, the surveys, the land searches ... No. I thought not. You’d never do it, Tessa. It’s far too complicated. Why make work for yourself? It must be obvious to you that I’d like to unite the village under the Turaine umbrella again.’ He smiled at her appealingly. ‘Sell up to me. That’s your easiest way out. And then you can go home with money in your pocket-before you’re bankrupted by irate visitors.’

Unreasonably stirred by the persuasive, velvety timbre of his voice, Tessa did her best to switch him off. She leaned back against the cold stone wall and gazed gloomily at the happily chatting villagers in the bar.