At the French Baron's Bidding Read online

  Quickly glancing the other way, she caught Madeleine peering carefully at her.

  'Be careful of that one,' she murmured, smiling in the direction of her cousin. 'He's a wonderful man, and I love him dearly, but don't get caught in his web. It's too tricky.'

  Natasha mumbled something incomprehensible and felt the colour rising to her cheeks just as Raoul turned and offered her his glasses. 'Look over there—the jockey in the green and pink shirt. That's number six, Grand Amour, the horse you bet on.'

  'Is it really Grand Amour?' Madeleine whispered to him softly, for only him to hear.

  Raoul turned and looked at her. 'Shut up, Madeleine, and stop talking rubbish.'

  'Now, now, don't get snotty on me—I'm your cousin; I have a right to tease you whenever I feel like it.'

  To his relief, Natasha, who was adjusting the glasses, did not overhear the interchange. But Madeleine's words left him troubled.

  For several days now—in fact two weeks, to be exact— Raoul had been in a quandary. Never before had he experienced anything similar. Any other woman would have fallen at his feet at the drop of a hat, only too glad to be invited here, yet Natasha had left him dangling. At first he'd been annoyed, and had thought of ringing her and demanding an immediate response. Then he'd changed his mind and decided to bide his time. This was the first time he'd ever needed time to consider a situation with a woman.

  His vision of Regis, and the message he'd sensed from his ancestor, had left its mark. But he was still damned if he would let a ghost dictate his future. He needed to follow his own instincts. Now, as he watched her standing next to him in the box, he suddenly wondered what it would be like to be without her. It was months since he'd broken up with Clothilde, and he hadn't had another steady relationship since. For some strange reason he hadn't wanted one.

  Forcing his eyes back to the course, Raoul concentrated on the race that was about to begin. Grand Amour was well placed. Seconds later they were following the galloping horses, glad to be distracted.

  It was a difficult concept to accept, Raoul admitted to himself later, after spending the better part of the night pacing his library. Difficult to come to terms with. But, like it or not, he must: he couldn't live without her.

  It bothered him profoundly to know that he could have become so attached to another human being, so dependent. On the other hand, the knowledge that he could conceive of a lifelong commitment with any woman was so surprising it left him flabbergasted.

  What he still didn't know—hadn't allowed himself to ponder too closely—was how Natasha felt about him. Oh, he knew she was attracted to him; that much was obvious. But what about the rest? It was, of course, an honour for any woman to be considered as a prospective candidate for the role of Baroness d'Argentan, he reminded himself. But was Natasha fully aware of precisely what an honour he was planning on bestowing upon her?

  After several more minutes' debate Raoul decided there was only one way to find out. He would drive over to the Manoir and explain, carefully and methodically, so that she was fully aware of the facts, what was expected of her. Satisfied that he had come up with a well-thought-out, rational solution, Raoul went on his way.

  She had no expectation of seeing him any time soon, Natasha reflected as she stepped out onto the terrace after breakfast for a breath of air. Autumn was here to stay now, the leaves red and golden, the air crisp and cool. She pulled her cardigan about her and moved towards the lawn, where she wandered for a few minutes. There was a lot to do this morning—correspondence to catch up with, and so many other little tasks that needed attending to. Her daily life had filled quickly, with so many different activities it was hard to keep up. Yet even though she was constantly doing, she still found it hard to banish Raoul from her mind, to accept that it was not to be and that it was for the best in the long run.

  She let out a long sigh and stuffed her hands in her pockets. Then she looked up and to her utter surprise saw Raoul's tall, determined figure moving towards her across the lawn.

  Her breath caught and she smothered the desire to run and throw herself into his strong arms. That was all in the past now.

  Raoul was approaching, and she pulled herself together and plastered on a little smile. 'Good morning, Raoul. What brings you here so early in the day?' Her tone was casual and pleasant, nothing more.

  'I have something I wish to speak to you about,' he said, taking her hand and lifting it perfunctorily to his lips.

  'Oh? Should we step into the office?'

  'No. That won't be necessary.' Raoul cleared his throat and looked her over thoughtfully. 'I need you to pay close attention to what I am about to say, Natasha,' he continued in an authoritative tone.

  'Very well,' she responded, mystified at the seriousness of his demeanour. 'Is something wrong, Raoul?'

  'Uh, no. Not exactly. Enfin, in a way there is.'

  'And how can I help you?' she said patiently, wondering when he would come to the point.

  Standing to his full height, Raoul looked down at her. 'Natasha, I have come to ask you to do me the honour of becoming my wife.'

  'Excuse me?' She blinked up at him in amazement.

  'I understand your surprise. In truth I am surprised myself.' He smiled self-deprecatingly. 'I had no notion that such a thing would come to pass. Particularly with a woman like you.'

  'A woman like me?' Now that the surprise was waning, and she understood the full import of his message, Natasha experienced a mixture of amusement at his arrogance, anger at his nerve, and cool detachment.

  'Yes. I had no intention of entering the marital state, but I find I cannot be without you. I am profoundly disturbed by your absence. As you can imagine, this is most unsettling. Not only does it affect my business acumen, but it also disturbs my sleep pattern, not to mention several other things.'

  'Really?' she murmured dryly. 'I'm very sorry to hear that.'

  'Yes, well, I hope that soon all that will be in the past,' he said with his winning smile. 'I think we shall deal very well, you and I, despite your being a Saugure.'

  Natasha avoided his outstretched hand and took a step back. She straightened her shoulders and eyed him askance.

  'Frankly, I find it. quite amazing that someone with your strong ties to the past and your family reputation would even consider asking me to marry him,' she said, controlling her temper.

  'Well, yes,' he replied ruefully. 'As I just said to you, it wasn't an easy decision to take. I had to overcome quite a few qualms.'

  'I see. And how did you overcome them, may I know?' she asked sweetly.

  'That is another long story, which I will share with you in due course. Suffice it to say that I have decided this to be the best course of action.'

  'For whom?'

  'Why, for me, of course. And I—'

  Natasha's colour heightened and her chin went up. 'Is this supposed to be a compliment?'

  'Well, I think that any woman would be honoured. After all, I have one of the oldest names and titles in France,' he replied modestly.

  'And you wish me to give you an answer?' She tilted her head, amused now at the sheer arrogance of the man, the utter disregard for anything but his own comfort.

  'Well?' He smiled down at her confidently.

  'Well, here is my answer,' she said, shoving her hands further into her pockets and looking him up and down scathingly. 'I thank you for thinking of me as a possible— though I gather somewhat unsuitable—candidate for the job of becoming your wife. Unfortunately, I do not find the post alluring. So my answer is a resounding no!'

  'Excuse me?'

  'Exactly what you heard, Raoul. I have absolutely no desire to marry a man who is not only full of his own self-importance but considers that he is doing me a favour by asking me to marry him. For your information, I'm very happy the way I am. I don't need you, and I can think of nothing worse than becoming your chattel. And, let's face it, that's basically what you consider your wife should become. Someone ready to hop, skip a
nd jump every time you snap your aristocratic fingers, to be there when it suits you, and to efface herself when it does not.'

  'But—'

  'I haven't finished.' She raised her hand like a traffic cop, allowing him no chance to speak. 'I imagine that you would also expect me to accept with a blind eye all your affairs and to be thankful for the rest of my days. Not to mention having to be eternally grateful that the Baron d'Argentan would even consider me as worthy enough of being offered marriage.'

  'Natasha, you are taking this in completely the wrong light. I had no intention of—'

  'Insulting me?' she retorted. 'Well, guess what? Not only am I insulted, but I must ask you not to set foot on my property ever again. Is that understood? I think after a few hundred years we Saugures have had just about enough of you. Good day.'

  With that she turned around and marched back to the house, slamming the French door behind her.

  'Ce n'est pas possible,' Raoul muttered, aghast, staring at her retreating figure, trying to assimilate all that had just taken place. Natasha must be mad.

  Angrily he marched around the Manoir, got back into his Ferrari and drove off towards the village. Driving slowly down the main street, he saw Gaston seated outside the café and immediately pulled over.

  'I need to talk to you,' he said, his mind still bursting with surprised outrage.

  'Fine. I'll order you a coffee.'

  'Make it a double,' Raoul muttered between gritted teeth as he parked the Ferrari and jumped out.

  'So?' Gaston looked him over and raised a brow. 'What's left you in this foul mood'?'

  'Who do you think?' Raoul threw out, dropping onto the basketwork chair and flinging an arm on the small bistro table.

  'I haven't the slightest notion.'

  'Well, let me put you in the picture.'

  'Go ahead,' Gaston said, agog with curiosity.

  'I have just—against my better judgement, mark you— asked Natasha to marry me.'

  'Mon Dieu. Are congratulations in order?'

  'No, they are not. She refused me.'

  'Ah.' Gaston nodded sagely.

  'What? You are not surprised? I just told you that she refused my offer of marriage. It is incroyable.'

  'Yes. Well, I had a feeling that might happen one of these days,' Gaston replied in a conversational tone.

  'Excuse me? I seem to be missing something here.' Raoul sat up straighter and stared his friend in the eye. 'Why the hell did you think anything of the sort? Is my offer not good enough? Why, I have offered her one of the oldest names in France and she refuses!'

  'That's where the problem lies,' Gaston answered patiently. 'You see, Raoul, Natasha doesn't give a damn about your noble name.'

  'That is ridiculous,' he spluttered, accepting his coffee from the waiter.

  'No, it's not. In fact, you should be very flattered.'

  'I can't imagine why.'

  'Because it is you Natasha cares for. Raoul the man. Not the Baron, not the spoiled odious brat, but the sometimes great guy who lies beneath that aristocratic veneer.'

  'This is a ridiculous conversation,' Raoul demurred, a cold feeling gripping his gut. Had he got it wrong? Had he missed the boat completely?

  'It is not ridiculous, and you know it. For once, my friend, listen to the counsel of one who knows better than you. You are a proud, selfish, egotistical son-of-a-bitch.'

  'Merci.'

  'But you are also my very good friend,' Gaston continued, ignoring the sardonic interruption. 'One I would very much like to see happy. Has it never occurred to you that you should be begging that woman to become your wife? That she is the best thing that has happened to you in the last twenty years? Or are you too stupid, too full of aristocratic nonsense, to see what any other man would already have understood a long time ago?' Gaston's eyes blazed into his.

  Raoul hesitated, then, placing his coffee cup back in the saucer, leaned forward. 'You really think this, don't you?'

  'Yes, I do,' Gaston replied with feeling. 'For goodness' sake, listen to yourself, man. Don't you understand marriage is not about you, you, you? It is about both of you. It is about making this woman happy, wanting to love her for ever, to give her everything you can. Love, Raoul. I don't think you know the meaning of the word. Frankly, I'm glad she refused you. You don't deserve to tread the ground she steps on.'

  With that Gaston got up abruptly and, throwing a few coins on the table, sent his friend a withering glance. 'Wake up, mon ami, before it is too late. You've wasted enough time already.'

  Without more ado Gaston marched off down the street, leaving Raoul even more bewildered than he'd been when he sat down.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  How could he be so impossibly odious? Natasha wondered, balling her fists and swallowing the tears that she refused to shed. The man didn't deserve even one solitary tear.

  Then why did she feel she was dying inside? Why did the mere sight and thought of him still make her want to melt as though she were an ice cream cone left in the sun?

  'Damn him,' she muttered, running upstairs to the privacy of her bedroom where, despite her vow not to cry, she fell onto the bed and indulged in a fit of sobbing.

  Ten minutes later she pulled herself together and, sniffing into a tissue, sat up. She wouldn't stay here—couldn't stay here. Not while he was about. Not while there was a very strong risk of banging into him.

  She'd refused the man she loved for one very good reason: he obviously didn't love her. He wanted her because it pleased him, because he enjoyed her in bed, because— oh, forget all the reasons. They weren't worth going over.

  Natasha rose and, pulling a suitcase from her closet, began randomly throwing clothes into it. She didn't care where she went, but get out of here she must.

  Half an hour later she was packed and ready, and giving instructions to the staff. This time she would only give her cellphone number so they could reach her. But not her address. Not that she had one to give, she reflected gloomily, revving the car engine. And she was determined that once she did Raoul was not going to get hold of it.

  * * *

  Of course he should have known that she would run after an incident like this. What a fool he'd been—what an imbecilic fool not to realize what was under his nose the whole time.

  He loved her.

  Of course he loved her. And he'd thought he'd made that plain to her by asking her to marry him.

  But Gaston's words, coupled with his own painful reflections, made him suddenly realize that in truth he had not been very complimentary.

  'Quel idiot,' he muttered to himself, recalling Natasha's expression as she refused him. And now he'd spoiled everything. For it was obvious that Henri really didn't know where she'd gone this time around, and neither did Gaston or anyone else.

  Raoul knew a sudden rush of panic and despair such as he had never before experienced. What if she'd driven off in a nervous state and had an accident? What if, because of him, at this very moment she was lying by the roadside covered in blood, or at the bottom of a ditch?

  As the myriad of horrifying images played out, Raoul realized just how much he loved this woman. But what was worse was the dreadful haunting feeling that it was too late. She'd expected something of him and he hadn't come through. In fact he'd made a complete botch of the whole thing.

  For the first time in twenty-five years Raoul dropped his head in his hands and recognized that he wished, more than anything, that he could turn back the clock twenty-four hours.

  But that was not possible.

  Now only a miracle could save the day.

  And, even if ghosts could appear to pass on unspoken messages, a miracle was too much to expect.

  * * *

  She drove.

  For three hours she simply followed country roads with no particular destination in mind, her being in turmoil, her heart in shreds.

  But she knew that, despite the pain, her decision was the right one.

  Forget marriage on his
terms. She was certain that Natasha would have thought the same. The way he envisaged it, things would have been as bad as they were for her ancestor.

  Or worse.

  For at least Natasha Senior had had the freedom of choice, whereas she, as his wife, would merely find herself subjected to his dominance. And no way, however much she loved him, could she allow that to happen. It was a sure recipe for unhappiness.

  But after several hours of wandering Natasha also came to another conclusion as, stopping by the sea, she got out of the car and took a long deep breath: she couldn't run away. She must go back home to the Manoir and face whatever she had to face. It was her home now, her reality. And whether Raoul was close or not was irrelevant. She must stand firm, head high, on her own terrain and confront the situation. Not flee like a scared rabbit.

  After several minutes' walking in the bracing sea air Natasha felt better. Gazing out over the grey waters, she let her mind travel back sixty years, to when these very beaches had been bathed in the blood, sweat and tears of those courageous men who'd so bravely fought for the freedom of Europe. Men who had not faltered, she reminded herself, but who had faced the enemy head-on, just as she must.

  Without more ado Natasha got back in her vehicle and, gunning the engine, prepared to drive home, in the knowledge that she too would stand strong. Whatever the odds.

  It was impossible to trace her. No one knew where she'd disappeared to. Should he hire a detective to find her? What if—? Raoul ordered himself to stop imagining the worst and blot out the horrific images that crossed his tormented mind. Perhaps she had merely gone to Paris for the day, or— But then why hadn't she left directions with her staff?

  'I don't know where she can be,' he repeated to Gaston for the hundredth time as he paced the Baronial Hall of the Chateau while his friend sat in one of the high-backed velvet chairs, holding his own counsel. It wouldn't do Raoul any harm to worry about Natasha. He himself wasn't concerned; he was certain that she had gone somewhere to seek some peace and regroup.

  'I must find her,' Raoul said at last. 'I can't go on like this, not knowing where she is.'