At the French Baron's Bidding Page 12

  Stopping in front of the desk, he picked up the phone and dialled.

  'Hello, Gaston, comment vas-tu?'

  'Very well. And you? Are you here?'

  'No, I'm in Paris. But I'll be back at the Chateau in a few hours. Doing anything tonight?'

  'Nothing special.'

  'Then how about a bite of dinner?'

  'Sounds good, mon ami. Where?'

  'At my place,' Raoul responded, taking a sudden decision. He wanted to be on home turf for the conversation he was going to have later that evening.

  Of that he had no doubt.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  'WELL, well— Santa Maria, that is an amazing tale you just told me.' Mamma Gina wiped her hands on her red and white checkered apron, took a sip of the wine she'd brought to the table and shook her head, her black and grey curls bobbing.

  'I'll miss you, Mamma Gina. In fact, you and the restaurant are the only things I'll miss. London was never my home. None of my friends are here—or not permanently anyway.'

  'But of course you are correct to go back to your family's rightful home,' Mamma Gina exclaimed, shocked that Natasha could have doubted for a moment that she had taken the right decision. 'It is your blood—la sangue. It is more important than anything. The rest—bah! That is unimportant. Now all you need is to find a good man and settle down in this nice home your grandmother left you and have lots of bambini.'

  Natasha laughed and shook her head. 'I don't think that's likely to happen any time soon, Mamma Gina,' she replied, smiling.

  'But why not? Are these Frenchemen blind as well as crazy? Look at you, una bella ragazza, in the flower of youth, ready for marriage. Why, of course you will find a husband soon.'

  'Frankly, I'm not looking for one.'

  'You say that because you are still angry about Mr Paul,' Mamma Gina said, eyes narrowed and shaking her head wisely. 'He was no good for you.' She gave a demonstrative wave of her hand, relegating the infamous Paul to the past. 'I never like him. He very, very selfish. Not good for you. But you must keep open your heart, Natasha.'

  'That's not easy when all the men I meet merely want to go to bed with me and then drop me like a hot potato,' she said with a touch of bitterness, her mind racing back to Raoul and his insupportable behaviour.

  'Ah.' Mamma Gina nodded wisely and wagged her finger. 'So there is someone after all.'

  'No, there isn't,' she responded, a little too quickly.

  'Eh, va bene. As you wish.' Mamma Gina rolled her eyes and sighed gustily. 'I don't ask any more questions. When you're ready to tell me you will tell me.' Then she got up and grinned widely. 'Now, you will eat some of Mamma Gina's pasta, sit You look too thin. I think they don't feed you properly in France.'

  She bustled off to the kitchen to see to the preparation of the pasta and Natasha leaned back in the booth and sipped her wine, remembering Gaston's words at dinner. It was true that being out of a situation allowed one to view it more clearly. And it was becoming abundantly clear to her that, however painful, she simply must cut Raoul out of her life before he hurt her too badly. The realization that her feelings for him were far stronger than she had at first imagined came as a shock. How had it happened? How had this whole episode transformed from mere attraction into…?

  Love?

  Natasha set her glass down so sharply that a few drops of wine spilled on to the checkered tablecloth. Surely she must be imagining this. The feelings she had for Raoul were tempestuous, and they ranged from anger to deep attraction to wondering whether he'd got over the slight cold he'd had when they'd last met. But surely that didn't mean… ?

  She must definitely banish him once and for all from her existence, she realized, relieved that she'd left Henri instructions not to divulge her whereabouts. She needed time to think, to decide exactly how she would act. But that was almost impossible since Raoul was so erratic.

  The main thing, Natasha reflected anxiously, hastily composing her features as Mamma Gina came out of the kitchen door with a plate piled high with spaghetti Carbonara, was to avoid him at all costs. That way, whatever damage had already been done to her heart would be limited.

  She hoped.

  'Was there a specific reason for you inviting me here to dine?' Gaston asked, coming directly to the point as he accepted a whisky from Raoul and sat in the deep sofa opposite the fire.

  'Why would you imagine that?' Raoul queried, eyes narrowed as he leaned against the huge stone mantel.

  'Just a gut feeling. I know you very well, mon ami. Remember, we've been through a lot together since we were children. I know how you operate.'

  'Operate?'

  'Exactly. Let's not beat about the bush, Raoul. You invited me here tonight because you don't know where Natasha is and it's driving you crazy.'

  'Rubbish.' Raoul stood straighter to disguise his discomfort at his friend's astute summing-up of his motives for inviting him over.

  'Isn't that it? Come, come, cher ami, this is you and I talking. No need to keep up the fa between old friends.'

  'Old friends,' Raoul mused, staring into his glass. 'Yes, we are, aren't we? Yet our ancestors were mortal enemies. All because of another Natasha, to whom this one is related.' His eyes met his friend's full-on. 'I would hate for our friendship to end up in a similar manner. All because of a woman.'

  'Are you implying that I'm trying to court Natasha?' Gaston said, an edge to his voice.

  'Why not? You've taken her out to dinner; she's a very attractive woman. You know that I'm not interested.'

  'Do I?' he challenged. 'Or do you, the Baron, still expect me, the mayor, to ask for your permission to court a woman he considers his? In other words, it's all right if you don't want her any more? I thought droit de seigneur went out of fashion with the Revolution.'

  'Don't be absurd, and stop pokering up in that ridiculous manner,' Raoul muttered, realizing he'd insulted his friend. 'I meant nothing of the sort. I know you're not the kind of man to undermine his friends.'

  'In that case you should know very well that I would never court Natasha, and this conversation shouldn't be taking place,' Gaston said, slightly appeased. 'But you are the one being ridiculous. You are crazy about her, and guess what?' he murmured smugly, taking a long sip. 'I know where she is.'

  'Damn it, why did she disappear like that all of a sudden?' Raoul burst out. 'She won't tell me where she's gone. I can't make head nor tail of it. Women,' he exclaimed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. 'Always complicating what is perfectly simple.'

  'I fail to see how Natasha's leaving for a few days complicates anything. Besides, as she pointed out, it's really none of your business.'

  Raoul stiffened. 'She said that?'

  'Loud and clear.'

  'Well, alors,' he huffed. 'None of my business, indeed. What does she mean by that?'

  'Exactly what she said.'

  'But I'm her neighbour. I might have a problem between the estates which could require me getting in touch with her urgently. I might—'

  'Raoul, are you listening to what you're saying?'

  Raoul stopped suddenly, realizing that what he was saying was indeed absurd. Shaking his head, he raised his hands with a shrug and gave in. 'Okay, I admit I've missed her, wondered where she is.'

  'Ah, that's better. And, for the record, having deeper feelings for a woman isn't a crime.'

  'Who says I have deeper feelings for Natasha? I don't. Remember, she's a Saugure. They betrayed my family once already.'

  'If you call giving up your virginity to save the man you love more than life a betrayal,' Gaston remarked sardonically. 'Personally, I would rather have thought of it as heroism. But there, of course, we differ.'

  'Because it was your ancestor she slept with,' Raoul retorted, casting Gaston a dark look from under his thick brows.

  'Raoul, grow up, for goodness' sake. We live in the twenty-first century, not in the midst of the French Revolution. Times were different then. Surely you can understand what was really beh
ind the way those two men interacted?'

  'Well, yes, of course I can. Regis was a fool in part, I suppose.'

  'A complete fool, who threw away his and Natasha's happiness out of misplaced pride. Just as my ancestor was a bastard who should never have taken advantage of a desperate woman in such a manner. But let's stay in the present. What are your intentions towards the present Natasha?'

  'My intentions?' Raoul looked up, surprised. 'What intentions? I like her a lot, that's all. Ni plus ni moins.' He shrugged.

  'Strange, I had the impression that perhaps you felt more for her than you wish to admit.'

  'Put it this way,' Raoul said carefully, swirling his whisky before taking a long sip. 'I'm interested enough to want to know where she is and with whom.'

  'Where I may be able to help you with. With whom I have no idea. Probably on her own, from what I gathered.'

  'I see. Did she prohibit you from enlightening me about her destination?' There was a glint in Raoul's eyes as he spoke.

  'Not at all. She is in London, tying up some details from her former life and closing her flat.' Gaston threw his arm over the back of the sofa and observed his friend. He could read the conflict, the antagonistic war of pride and emotion. Ah, Raoul. When would he forget the past and wake up to the present?

  'Thank you, mon ami. I feel relieved to know she is safe. Do you have her address and number, by any chance?'

  'Since I was pretty sure that this was why you asked me here tonight, I went to the trouble of writing it down.' Gaston's eyes were filled with understanding mischief as he took a slip of paper from his breast pocket and handed it over. 'Voi, mon ami. Make good use of it.'

  Raoul accepted the paper and glanced at it a moment. 'Be sure that I will. Merci.'

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  STARING at the pile of boxes filling the small living room, Natasha leaned against the bookcase and took stock of her handiwork. Practically all her former possessions were packed away. She glanced at her watch. The storage company she'd hired would be here to take them away in half an hour. After that there would be little left to do except give the place a final go-over and hand the keys back to the estate agents.

  As she was about to put the last items inside the one remaining open box, the doorbell rang. Gosh, the movers had come early.

  She hastened to open the door, and a quick gasp escaped her.

  'Paul,' she exclaimed, bewildered. 'What on earth are you doing here?' She took an instinctive step backwards.

  'Hi. I was in the area and thought I'd drop in, see what you're up to these days.'

  'Well, I'm fine,' she responded warily. 'Actually, I'm in the middle of moving.'

  'Leaving this place, are you?' He leaned casually against the doorjamb and smiled cheekily at her. He looked unkempt and scruffy, and not for the first time Natasha asked herself what she'd seen in him.

  'Paul, I really don't know what you're doing here or why you bothered to come,' she said pulling herself together. 'You left fast enough last time, if I remember rightly.'

  'Still sore about that, are you?' He reached up and tweaked her hair.

  Natasha pulled back abruptly. 'Look, I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. I have the movers coming in a few minutes.'

  'Hoity-toity. Back to our aristocratic little self, are we? Always thought you were better than everyone else at uni, didn't you?'

  'Paul, don't be ridiculous. Just go away and leave me alone. I'm busy, and we really have nothing left to say to each other.'

  'Says who?' He stood straighter. Suddenly he was looming over her, leering down at her, and Natasha realized he was drunk. Fear shot through her. She was here alone. What if—?

  At that moment Paul reached down and yanked her towards him.

  'Stop it!' she cried, pushing her hands against his chest. 'Leave me alone and go away. You have no right to come here.'

  'Now, now, don't get snotty with me, Miss Smarty-pants. I'll show you who's in charge here.' He forced her against him and his mouth clamped down on hers.

  Natasha fought vainly, the futility of her plight all too clear. For although Paul was thin and lanky he was also strong and wiry, and there was little she could do to prevent his attack.

  Raoul stood at the bottom of the stairwell and glanced at the piece of paper. Second floor.

  It was only as he was climbing the stairs that he heard a scuffle and a muffled cry from above. Hastening his step, he took the stairs three at a time. When he came across Natasha struggling in a man's arms his reaction was quick and thorough. He grabbed the man by the scruff of his T-shirt collar and yanked him off her so fast that Paul didn't know what had hit him. In another swift and accurate move he sent him rolling down the stairs.

  'Didn't you hear the lady?' Raoul enquired icily of the whimpering creature lying prostrate on the landing below. 'Now, get out, and don't ever come back—salop.'

  Then he turned and eyed Natasha, who stood shaking in the doorway. She looked very young and vulnerable in an old T-shirt and faded jeans, tennis socks and a ponytail. 'Are you okay?' Raoul asked, frowning. He wanted to move forward, take her in his arms and make sure she was all right, but something stopped him. 'Who is that bastard?' he demanded.

  'My old boyfriend,' she whispered.

  'Ah.' Raoul nodded, came inside and, taking her arm, led her into the living room where he sat her down on the sofa. 'I'll get you a drink. Do you have anything here?'

  'No, just water.'

  'Right.' He moved quickly towards the kitchen and poured her a glass.

  'Drink this,' he commanded.

  Too shocked to do otherwise, Natasha did as she was told. The water soothed her. 'I don't know why he turned up here today. I haven't seen him for years, and then suddenly out of the blue, on the day I'm moving, he appears.'

  'In France we say that bad grass—les mauvaises herbes—has a habit of popping up when least wanted,' he answered dryly, looking down at her, his eyes filled with concern. So this was the bastard who'd hurt her. Now he wished he'd taught him even more of a lesson.

  Sitting next to her, Raoul slipped an arm around Natasha's shoulders. 'Now, calm down, ma petite. It's all over. He won't be back any time soon.'

  'No. Thanks to you, I don't think he will,' she agreed, a shy smile hovering as she turned and looked at him.

  Thanks for what you did. But how did you know I was here?' She frowned, remembering her instructions to Henri.

  'Oh, I have my ways and means of finding things out when necessary,' he said, touching her cheek and smiling down at her. 'Now, tell me, what is all this packing?'

  'I'm leaving this flat and the movers should be here any minute.'

  'And where do you plan to go tonight?' he enquired, interested.

  'I don't know. Actually, I hadn't really thought about it. I—'

  Raoul pulled out his cellphone and rose to his feet, punching in numbers as he did so. 'Is that the Berkeley? Peter—good afternoon. I'll need you to reserve a suite on the same floor as mine. It's for Mademoiselle de Saugure. Yes, we'll be arriving in a couple of hours. You do have one available? Perfect.' He ended the call. 'Well, that's settled. No need to worry about accommodation.'

  'Raoul, I never said I wanted to go to the Berkeley,' she protested, torn between annoyance and amusement at his high-handed manner.

  'Why not? It's a perfectly respectable establishment, I assure you.'

  'I'm very well aware that it's a perfectly respectable establishment, but that's not the point—'

  'Then what is?' he asked, eyes dark as he drew her up into his arms. 'Is there somewhere else you'd prefer to go? If so, tell me and I shall cancel everything, ch. Your wish is my command.'

  'I give up,' Natasha exclaimed, rolling her eyes and glancing again at the boxes. 'Raoul, I really have to get this finished.'

  'Fine. Then I shall sit here and watch you.'

  'Couldn't I just meet you later? I'll grab a cab when they've gone.'

  'And risk having that creep return? Non,
non. No way can I permit that. T shall stay, whether you like it or not. I'm afraid you're stuck with me.'

  'Oh, very well.' Natasha let out a sigh and, realizing she must finish off quickly, got down to the task of checking every last drawer, nook and cranny where some item might have been forgotten. She was conscious of Raoul in the room, conscious of how physical he made her feel. How was it that just the feeling of Paul close to her had caused nothing but repugnance and disgust, yet Raoul's closeness sent delicious shivers running through her?

  Several minutes later two burly men arrived from the moving company, and soon there was nothing left in the apartment but a few memories, most of which she had no regrets at leaving behind.

  'Right. I'm ready to go,' Natasha said, turning to Raoul.

  'Are you sure? No regrets at leaving this part of your life behind you?'

  'Actually, no. It was time.'

  'Good. Then let's get going.'

  Placing his hand lightly at her elbow, and picking up her duffle bag in the other, Raoul steered her out, and she locked the door behind her for the last time.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HARRY'S BAR was packed that evening, but of course Raoul had been kept one of the best tables in the corner, from where they had a full view of the restaurant.

  Natasha noticed several notables, one famous rock star and two royals, seated not far from them. It amused her how everyone treated Raoul so deferentially. No wonder he was so sure of himself. He took it all for granted, as though it was his right. Perhaps he wasn't so different from Regis after all, she reflected, hiding a half-smile as she studied him from behind the menu while a little voice inside told her to take heed of this last thought. Regis had deprived her ancestor of true happiness, thanks to his insufferable pride. It would be too easy for his descendant to do the same.