Devil and the Deep Sea (20 page)

shoulders. 'I'll be five minutes,' she called back shakily.

There was laughter in his voice, 'You are making me impatient,

Samantha. Are you sure you need no assistance—with a zip,

perhaps?'

'No.' She got the words out somehow. 'I can manage.'

'Quel dommage,'
he said still laughing, and she heard his footsteps

retreating.

Samma pulled out another dress at random, black, square-necked

and long-sleeved. It was chic, and its stark lines added an air of

fragility to her blonde looks, but it was not the dress she had

dreamed all day of wearing for him, of entrancing him in so that he

would forget Elvire for ever—the dress she'd imagined him

removing with passionate tenderness.

When she was ready, she surveyed herself. The happy colour in her

face, the light in her eyes had faded, she thought sadly. She looked

strained, wary again. What was it he'd once called her? 'A little cat

that has never known kindness.'

A little cat, she thought, that's been kicked too many times.

She let herself out on to the balcony and went along to Solange's

room. The little girl, propped up by pillows, was reading, her face

still tearstained. She glanced up with a mutinous thrust of her lower

lip, as Samma walked towards her, then her face sharpened with

surprise and disappointment.

'Where is your lovely dress?'

'I think you know' Samma kept her voice level. In the big bed,

Solange looked so small, so fragile to have inflicted such damage.

Solange frowned. 'I do not understand.'

'Then that makes two of us.' Samma sat down wearily on the edge

of the bed. She said, 'Solange, things can't go on like this. I thought

we had agreed no more tricks—although what you did to my dress

is worse than any trick.' She glanced round her. 'What did you

use—one of the knives from the kitchen? You'd better give it back

to me and . . .'

'What did I use for what?' Solange's face was small and pinched

suddenly. 'The dress—something has happened to it?'

'It's cut to ribbons—totally ruined, as you very well know.' Samma

swallowed. 'And this is something we can't keep between the two of

us. Papa is bound to find out eventually . . .'

'You think I cut your dress? But I did not. I could not! It was so

beautiful. I wanted to see you in it looking like a fairy princess. I

wanted to be with you when you wore it.' The anguish in the child's

voice was genuine. 'Samma, you must believe me. I would not do

such a thing, even if I was angry—oh, beyond words.'

'Nevertheless, it has happened, and someone must be responsible.'

Samma kept her voice level. 'Have you any idea who it could be?'

There was a perceptible hesitation, then Solange said in a

half-whisper,
'Le Diable . . .'

'Is dead,' Samma said patiently. 'My dress was damaged by

someone who's very much alive.'

Solange shivered. 'But he—makes things happen, I think. I said you

were in danger.'

Her gaze did not meet her stepmother's. Samma thought, She's

protecting someone—she must be. Someone who established a

right to her loyalty before I ever got here. But whom? Almost

against her will, she remembered the sound of that desolate, bitter

weeping from Elvire's room earlier. Had that lonely grief erupted

into malice, and a final despairing blow against the girl who was

supplanting her with Roche? It was almost as unpalatable an idea as

her original fear that it might have been Solange. She got up

wearily.

'We'll talk tomorrow,' she said quietly. 'Don't worry, I'll sort

something out.'

Solange gave a small, reluctant nod. 'But take care,' she said in that

same scared whisper.

Roche was waiting for Samma at the foot of the stairs. His brows

rose in autocratic enquiry when he saw her. 'Why that dress,
ma

belle,
and not the other?'

'The—the white dress needs some alteration,' Samma improvised

hastily. It wasn't altogether a lie, she thought sadly.

'It does?' Roche sounded faintly surprised, then smiled reluctantly.

'Eh bien,
I am well paid for my arrogance in thinking I could gauge

your size with total accuracy.' The dark eyes caressed her with

disturbing warmth. 'And what does it matter? You,
mignonne,
look

beautiful in anything—or nothing,' he added softly.

Swift heat invaded Samma's face, and she couldn't think of a single

thing to say in reply. And the silence continued as she sat beside

him in the car, as they sped towards St Laurent.

'Why so quiet?' he asked at last. 'Are you regretting your promise to

dine with me?'

'Oh, no!' The denial was so immediate and vehement that she

embarrassed herself.

'Then what is wrong?'

She swallowed. 'Oh—things.'

'Solange?'

Samma moved her shoulders evasively. 'Perhaps.'

He sent her a swift smile. 'I said she was not to accompany us,
ma

belle,
and I meant it. I want no one in your thoughts tonight but

myself.' His mouth twisted in self-deprecation. 'Desire for you

makes me selfish,
cherie.'

Her heart was beating like a drum. It was so difficult to remember

she wasn't the first one he'd beguiled with that seductive tenderness

in his voice, the first one to be taken to heaven or hell in his arms.

Although the hell would come later, she thought, biting her lip,

when he no longer desired her.

She found a voice from somewhere. 'Where are we going?'

'To the casino. I remember you once expressed an interest in it, and

I have an excellent chef there.' He shot her a glance. 'I hope you are

not disappointed?'

'Not at all.' If he'd suggested a visit to the local electricity plant she

would probably have been equally beguiled, she thought ruefully.

Her first sight of the casino made her gasp out loud. A great central

tower, flanked by ramparts and gun emplacements, it loomed over

the edge of the harbour like some predatory grey stone beast.

'What do you think?' Roche asked, as he swerved the car expertly

under its gate.

'It looks more like an armed fortress than a place of entertainment,'

Samma said rather dazedly, and he laughed.

'You are right,
ma belle.
It was, of course,
Le Diable's
stronghold.

But these days the victims come willingly to be pirated of their

loot.'

The forbidding exterior gave no clue to the luxury to be found

within, Samma soon discovered. While the character of the building

had been retained, no expense had been spared on the decor, and

other details. It was romantically and unashamedly opulent, Samma

thought, gazing upwards at crystal chandeliers, while her high heels

sank into deep piled carpet.

'The gaming-rooms and the restaurant are all on the first floor,'

Roche told her. 'And the administrative offices and my suite are on

the next floor. We will see them later.'

There was a table awaiting them in the bar, and an attentive waiter

hovering to serve drinks.

'A champagne cocktail.' Roche's smile was wicked as he handed

Samma her glass. 'I thought you should know what they really taste

like. Perhaps it will stop you from hurling it at me.' He ran a slow

finger down the curve of her cheek. 'I am still waiting to exact my

revenge for that little incident,' he murmured, and Samma's first

sampling of her drink was a gulp which nearly made her choke.

When she had recovered her breath, and her equilibrium, she began

to look around her, partly out of genuine curiosity, but mostly to

avoid the disturbing intensity of Roche's gaze.

The restaurant lay beyond an elegantly draped archway, and

Samma could see that nearly all the tables were already occupied

by sleek, bejewelled women and their dinner-jacket-clad escorts.

From somewhere she could hear dance music being played by a

small but sophisticated combo. The whole atmosphere breathed

money, and something more. There was a buzz, a genuine

excitement in the air that she supposed gambling for high stakes

engendered. She shrugged mentally. She herself had never been

able to see the attraction, but then she'd had Clyde as an awful

warning.

'What are you thinking?' Roche asked, his face quizzical.

She smiled faintly. 'Just wondering where all the rich people come

from.'

'I think they flock like migrating birds from one fashionable place to

another,' he said drily. 'At the moment, Grand Gay is a fashionable

place.'

'And if they suddenly change their minds?'

He laughed. 'Afraid I will let you starve,
mignonne?'
he mocked. 'I

won't. The casino is only one of my business interests—and the

least interesting. Like my black-hearted ancestor, I prefer boats.'

Samma felt a little shiver run through her. She said tautly, 'Could

we leave
Le Diable
out of the conversation for once, please? I've

had enough of him.'

'My own sentiments entirely. And we have other topics to discuss.'

He paused. 'Samantha, do you remember my telling you early in our

acquaintance that I had a mistress? It is time I explained to you

exactly what I meant.'

Her mouth went dry. 'There's no need. I—I know already.

You—you must know that I do.'

'What do I know?' His mouth twisted wryly. 'We are just beginning

to learn about each other,
ma chere.
I did not realise you found me

so transparent.'

'That's hardly the word I'd have used,' Samma said in a low voice,

her gaze fixed on her barely touched drink. She took a deep breath.

'Roche—I can't—share you.'

'You will not have to,' he said softly. 'That period in my life is over.

At the time it filled a need—a loneliness, or I thought it did.'

She thought, wincing, of Elvire's need, of Elvire's loneliness. Had

she spoken to Roche, told him she was leaving? No more secrets,

he had said, but there were still questions she dared not ask.

Perhaps there always would be. Perhaps this would be the price she

would pay for loving a man like Roche Delacroix.

She said huskily, 'Please can we talk about something else?'

'Later,' he said gently. 'First, we have a small matter of business to

transact.' He looked past her, lifting his hand in smiling

acknowledgement. As Samma glanced round, she saw Maitre

Giraud coming towards them.

'Madame Delacroix.' He bowed over her hand, his eyes dancing

with admiration. 'You look radiant—
ravissante.
I need not ask if

marriage is agreeable to you.'

Samma flushed, murmuring something in reply, while Jean-Paul

turned to Roche.

'I have the papers here,' he announced, tapping the document case

he was carrying. 'Have you explained your intentions to your bride?'

'Not yet.' Roche took her hand. 'I am making certain settlements on

your behalf,
cherie.
It is time your finances were placed on a

regular basis.'

'Is that really necessary?' she asked, unevenly.

'It is, believe me,' Jean-Paul put in. 'One must be prudent, after all,

and if anything were to happen to Roche . . .'

Samma shook her head violently. 'I don't even want to think about

that,' she said. 'Please—can't we leave things as they are?'

'That is impossible,' Roche told her gently. 'You are my wife,
ma

belle,
and your status requires safeguards. I wish to do this for you.'

Samma looked down at the table. 'It—it wasn't in our—original

agreement,' she reminded him, low-voiced.

His fingers clasped hers more strongly. 'That, I think is something

we shall have to re-negotiate.' There was a faint note of laughter in

his voice. 'When the papers are signed, and we are alone.' He got to

his feet. 'I suggest we waste no more time.'

Samma felt as if she was being swept away on some slow,

inexorable tide.

She was trapped, she thought, between the force of her own desire,

and the enigma Roche still represented. Caught, as she'd always

been, between the devil and the deep sea which waited to engulf

her.

I ought to run, she thought. Escape while I still have the

strength—before, like Elvire, I have no pride left.

They rode up to his office suite in a streamlined lift. Roche's room

was vast, dominated by a battery of television screens which

provided a panoramic view of the gaming-rooms below.

'Don't you trust your staff?' Samma stared at the screens, intrigued

in spite of herself at the hectic activity they displayed.