Desperate Measures (3 page)

dangerous and unpredictable. I am no saint, he had said, and she

could well believe it.

She realised he was watching her closely, the green eyes

narrowed, and hurried into speech.

'I'll let you know tomorrow what I decide—I promise.'

'Then I shall wait impatiently until then.' He strolled across to her, and before she realised what he intended, lifted her hand briefly to his lips. The contact was fleeting, but she felt as if her flesh had been seared.

He looked down at her, smiling faintly into her eyes. He said

softly, 'I wish you a restful night,
ma chere
. And if you cannot sleep, think well.'

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN she awoke the following morning to pale sunlight filtering

through the curtains, Philippa thought at first it had all been some

wild, preposterous dream.

Things like that just didn't happen, she told herself, huddling

under the covers. Not in real life. A girl like herself, with no particular looks to recommend her, couldn't possibly receive an offer of marriage from a French millionaire for any reason whatever, no matter how

practical it had been made to sound. She tried to recall to mind

exactly what he'd said, but her brain refused to co-operate, producing only a jumble of confused impressions.

It must have been a dream, she told herself foggily. My worries

and the name of Monica's dinner guest just got muddled in my

subconscious, that's all. There's a logical explanation for everything.

She stretched her arms above her head, then brought them

down slowly in front of her. She had small, workmanlike hands, which

she was accustomed to seeing stained with paint. Latterly, though,

she'd been using them mainly to help nurse Gavin, and they looked

almost respectable for once.

Suddenly, as she looked at them, one of the images in her mind

sharpened into a reality she couldn't ignore. She sat bolt upright,

stifling a startled yelp.

My God, she thought, he kissed my hand! She sat for a moment,

staring at her fingers, as if she expected to see them marked with the brand of Cain—re-living

with shock the swift brush of his mouth against her skin.

Knowing helplessly there was no way in which she could have

dreamed that particular sensation.

It happened, she thought. It all really happened. And, in that

case, what the hell do I do now?

Well, first she could answer the phone, which rang at that

moment as if obeying some cue.

'Well?' was Monica's response to her guarded 'Hello.'

Philippa swallowed. 'Well what?' she countered feebly.

Monica sighed irritably. 'Please don't behave as if you're half-

witted,' she commanded crisply. 'What have you decided? Are you

going to accept Alain de Courcy's offer?'

There were dust motes whirling in the broad beam of sunlight

slanting between the thin curtains.

That's what I feel like, Philippa thought, gripping the receiver as

if it was her sole contact with reality. As if I've been caught up in something I don't understand and can't control, and now I'm helpless

—going round and round forever.

'Philippa?' Monica's impatient voice sounded in her ear. 'Hello—

are you still there? I asked what you were going to do.'

She said quietly, 'I don't think I really have a choice. I'm going to

—to take his money.'

'Not merely the money, my dear.' Monica gave a short laugh.

'You'll also be getting an exquisite Paris apartment, a country house near Fountainebleau, and a villa in the hills above Nice, and that's just to start with. And Alain is one of the most attractive and eligible

bachelors in France. You're doing extremely well for yourself.'

'Am I?' Philippa asked. Her heart felt like a stone.

'You'd better be married from Lowden Square,' Monica went on.

'Will Gavin be well enough to attend the ceremony?'

Philippa sat up as if she'd been shot. 'No,' she said. 'No, I'm

afraid not. I hope by the time it takes place he'll already be in

America, starting his treatment.'

'Well, just as you wish, of course. I'll have a room prepared for

you, and expect you some time later today. We're going to have to do

some serious shopping.'

'Why?'

Monica's sigh quivered with irritation. 'My dear girl, although the

ceremony will undoubtedly be very quiet, and extremely private, you

still cannot be married in denim jeans. Lennox and I will supply your trousseau as our gift.'

'It really isn't necessary...'

'Nonsense,' Monica said crisply. 'I'll see you later.' And rang off.

An hour later, Philippa found herself being shown into Alain de

Courcy's hotel suite. He was sitting at a table by the window, eating breakfast and reading a newspaper, as she entered, but he rose to his feet immediately, greeting her courteously.

'I'm sorry,' Philippa said when they were alone. 'I should have

telephoned first. I'm obviously too early...'

'Pas du tout
.' He motioned her to the seat on the other side of the table. 'Have you eaten?'

Philippa realised with embarrassment that the table was laid for

two. 'Oh—you're expecting company as well.'

He smiled at her. He was casually dressed this morning, she

noticed, in slim-fitting dark blue pants and a matching shirt, open at the neck to reveal the tanned column of his throat, and the first

shadowing of hair on his chest.

He said, 'I was expecting you,
ma chere
. Will you have some

coffee?' He lifted the pot and poured some into the other cup, then

offered her cream and sugar which she refused.

Alain de Courcy took an apple from the bowl of fruit which had

accompanied his breakfast and began to peel it.

'You've had sufficient time to think?'

She nodded wordlessly.

'So—what is your answer?'

She picked up the spoon and aimlessly stirred the dark aromatic

brew in her cup, deliberately not looking at him.

'I—will marry you, monsieur.' She paused. 'But there are

conditions.'

'I imagined there might be,' he said with a certain irony. 'Tell me

about them.'

She said, 'My father's treatment is to start as soon as possible—

and he's to know nothing about our— arrangement.'

'You are going to keep our marriage a secret from him? But

why?'

'Because he'd know why I was doing it, and he'd refuse to go to

America—to let me sacrifice myself for him. I can't risk that

happening.'

'I understand, but I am not sure you will be able to carry it

through. There will come a time when he has to know.'

Philippa flushed dully. 'You mean when—if I get pregnant? I'll

cross that bridge when I come to it.'

'I did not entirely mean that,' Alain said slowly. 'If the treatment

is successful, he will wish to take up his former life again, and you were a close part of that. Don't you think he might notice you had

acquired a husband?'

She said quietly, 'If the treatment works—when he's fully

recovered, I'll tell him everything, because it will be too late then for him to object, and I hope he'll understand why I had to do it.' She

paused, biting her lip. 'If it doesn't work, then it won't matter anyway.'

She hesitated again. 'Also, I was wondering whether you wanted

me to have a medical examination.'

He put down the quarter of apple he was eating and stared at

her. 'Why should I wish such a thing? Are you feeling unwell? Do you

believe your father's illness is hereditary in some way?'

'Oh, no.' Philippa's face was like a peony. 'I was thinking over

what you said about wanting a—a child—an heir. I thought maybe

you'd want to check that I was capable...'

Alain lifted a hand and stemmed the halting words. 'You are not

some brood animal that I am purchasing,' he said bitingly. 'I think,

when the time comes, that nature should be allowed to take its

course, don't you?'

She mumbled something in acute embarrassment.

'I can't hear you,' he said with faint impatience. 'And why don't

you look at me when you speak?'

She gave him a despairing glance. 'I said—this is never going to

work. I mean, no one in their right mind is ever—ever going to believe in this marriage.'

'Pourquoi pas?'

'Well, just look at me!'

'I am looking,' he said. 'You are a little underweight, and your

hair needs cutting. What else is there to say?'

Philippa's hands clasped together tensely in her lap. 'I don't feel

like anyone's wife—especially someone who's a millionaire and has

got houses dotted all over France. I don't know what you expect...'

'Believe me, I expect very little. At the beginning it will be

enough that you exist—that you appear in public at my side.' He

shrugged. 'As for my homes— I employ efficient staff.' He gave her an ironic glance. 'You will not have to keep the rooms clean or cook for me.'

'But you'll want me to act as hostess when you entertain—and

I've never done anything like that before.' Her voice broke a little as she remembered the endless sun-drenched days with Gavin in the

southwest of France, the casual camaraderie, the street markets and

the tiny bistros.

'You can speak,' he said. 'You can express yourself articulately.

But I would be at your side—and I would naturally warn you if there

were any topics of conversation best avoided with particular people.'

'And I'd have to wear—different clothes.'

His mouth twisted in faint amusement. 'Did you plan to spend

the rest of your life in those deplorable jeans, ma petite?

'Of course not.' Philippa was silent for a moment, then said

jerkily, 'I don't think you realise just how fundamentally my whole life is going to change.'

'Mine also. Marriage as a concept has no more appeal for me

than for you, ma chere.'

'Well, I still think it would make more sense if you married your

cousin Sidonie,' she said stubbornly, drinking the last of her coffee.

'She must know you don't care for her, and if she's prepared to

pretend...'

'But she is not,' Alain said coldly. 'She would wish me to do so,

however. She would expect me to act as if I was madly in love with her

—to explain every absence from her side each minute of the day and

night in order to spare myself tears, temper and jealous scenes. I would find that wearing in the extreme.'

'I can imagine,' Philippa said sarcastically. 'I gather I'm not

supposed to ask questions?'

'Ask whatever you want, ma chere.' He gave her an enigmatic

look. 'But don't blame me if you do not like the answers.'

He pushed back his chair and rose. 'And now we have a busy

day ahead of us. I will contact my lawyers, and the London branch of

my bank, and arrange to have a preliminary payment made to you for

your father's expenses.' He walked round the table and stood looking

at her with a slight smile. 'You will not, I hope, take the money and run, cherie. Because that would not amuse me at all.'

'I'll keep my word.' Philippa lifted her chin. 'We shall just have to

—trust each other, monsieur.'

'So it seems.' He held out his hand. 'Shall we seal our bargain in

the usual way?'

Reluctantly, she allowed his fingers to encompass hers, and,

shocked, found herself drawn forward before she could resist. Alain's arm went round her, anchoring her against him, and she felt the firm, cool pressure of his mouth on hers.

She tried desperately to pull away, but he would not allow it. If

she'd been tempted to think of him as an

effete businessman, she now realised her mistake. His muscles

were like iron.

Yet his lips were silk, she realised with a kind of wonder, moving

gently and persuasively on hers. Coaxing her. Tempting her...

The kiss could only have lasted a few seconds, but it seemed an

eternity before he raised his head.

When she could speak, she said thickly, 'You— shouldn't have

done that.'

'No, I shouldn't,' he agreed, running a rueful hand round his

chin. 'I have not shaved yet today, and I have marked you a little. You have delicate skin, ma belle. I shall have to remember that.'

'All you need to remember,' Philippa said hotly, 'is that you

promised you wouldn't—molest me. That you'd give me time.'

Alain's brows lifted. 'What a fuss about such a chaste salute!

Now if had really kissed you...' He slanted a smile at her. 'Come and talk to me while I shave,' he invited softly. 'And then let us see, hein?

'No.' She took a step backwards, aware that her breathing was

flurried, and that he knew it too. 'I— I have to go. I've got to talk to my father—to his specialist—tell them the good news—make

arrangements.'

To her relief, he made no attempt to detain her. 'So how do I

maintain contact with you?'

'I'll be at Lowden Square. Monica has invited me to stay with her

—until the wedding.'

He nodded. 'Then I will see you there.
Au revoir.'

Until we meet again, Philippa thought wretchedly when she was

safely outside in the corridor with the door closed between them. She stood for a moment, allowing her hammering heartbeat to abate

slightly.

But she wasn't at all sure she wanted to meet someone as

disturbing as Alain de Courcy again especially under the

circumstances to which she was now committed.

I wish, she thought, that we had just said— goodbye.