If I’d cared, I’d have fought for him, she told herself. Anyway, it’s all in the past now, and, come June, he’ll be my brother-in-law.

But where and what I’ll be, heaven only knows.

She turned back towards the stairs then froze, as from the ground floor came the unmistakable creak of the front door opening and closing.

Her first thought was that it couldn’t be a burglar because there was nothing to steal but the cooker.

All the same, she reached into her bag for her mobile phone, only to remember it was on charge on her bedside table.

She crept to the top of the stairs and looked cautiously down into the hall.

And there leaning against the newel post, completely at his ease as he looked up at her, was Andre Duchard. He said softly, ‘Virginie.’

Once again, the sound of it made her feel as ridiculously self-conscious as if he had run a finger over her skin. She said huskily, ‘I don’t remember giving you permission to use my name. And what are you doing here?’

His gaze was unwavering. ‘Examining my inheritance,’ he said and smiled. ‘All my new possessions.’

‘Is that what you were doing last night—hanging round on the common?’

He shrugged. ‘I needed to clear my head a little.’

Ginny bit her lip. ‘Does Mr Hargreaves know that you’re here?’

‘But of course.’ The dark brows lifted. ‘I explained to him that I had never visited a hovel and wished to see for myself what such a place was like. He understood perfectly and gave me a key, which, naturellement, I have not needed to use. Because you were here first.’

She stared down at him. ‘Didn’t he tell you that I might be?’

‘No, why should that matter?’

She couldn’t think of a reason apart from how empty the cottage was—and how isolated. And that she had never expected to find herself alone with him—anywhere.

It occurred to her that in some odd way he made the hall seem even more cramped. And that with his untidy hair and the stubble outlining his chin, he was even less prepossessing in broad daylight than he had been the previous evening. He was wearing a dark roll-neck sweater under a thick jacket reaching to mid-thigh, and his long legs were encased in denim and knee-length boots.

And the silence lengthening between them was beginning to feel inexplicably dangerous.

She said hurriedly, ‘I—I’m sorry about the hovel remark. I’m afraid my mother was too distraught to think what she was saying yesterday.’

‘But today all that has arranged itself, and she is reconciled to her new situation?’ His tone bit. ‘I wish I could believe it was true.’

He glanced around him. ‘And how will she like her new home?’

The obvious reply was ‘She won’t.’ But Ginny decided to temporise.

‘Well, it’s rather small, and it does need refurbishing. But I think, in time, it could be—charming.’

‘Tout de même, she did not accompany you here to see for herself.’

‘I don’t think you understand what a shock this has been—for all of us.’ She bit her lip. ‘We didn’t even know that my—that your father was ill.’

‘Nor I,’ he said quietly. ‘It was a matter he chose to keep to himself.’

‘Like so many others,’ Ginny said before she could stop herself.

The dark face was cynical. ‘Perhaps he realised that news of my existence would be unwelcome.’

She said defensively, ‘My mother could hardly blame him for something that happened long before she met him. If she’d been warned what to expect, she might not have this—sense of betrayal.’

‘She feels betrayed?’ The firm mouth curled. ‘How interesting that she should think so.’

She moved restively. ‘Well, I didn’t come here to argue the rights and wrongs of the situation. I’ll go and leave you to your inspection.’ She began to descend the stairs, then paused. ‘I almost forgot. I have an invitation for you.’

‘An invitation,’ he repeated, as if the word was new to him.

‘Yes—to have dinner with us. Tomorrow evening.’ She saw the look of incredulity on his face, and wished she’d never thought of the idea, let alone mentioned it. But it was too late now, so she hurried on, ‘I was going to leave it at the hotel, but as you’re here...’

She continued her descent, fumbling in her bag for the envelope, missed her footing on the uncarpeted stairs and stumbled forward, to be caught and lifted to safety in arms like steel bands.

Momentarily, her face was pressed against his chest, her nose and mouth filled with the scent of clean wool, soap and the more alien aroma of warm male skin, before she was set, ruffled and breathless, on her feet.

‘You should have more care, mademoiselle,’ he told her coolly. ‘You do not need another tragedy in your family.’

Ginny flushed. ‘I—I’m not usually so clumsy.’ She handed him the envelope. ‘You don’t have to decide immediately, of course.’ She added quickly, ‘And we won’t be offended if you’re too busy.’

‘But naturally I shall accept,’ he said silkily. ‘I am most intrigued that your mother should offer this olive branch.’ He paused. ‘It does, of course, come from her?’

She said quickly, ‘Oh, yes.’ But the brief hesitation preceding it had been fatal.

Strong fingers captured her chin, forcing her face up to meet his gaze.

‘To be a good liar requires practice, ma mie,’ he said softly. ‘Let us hope you are not obliged to be untruthful too often, as I doubt you will ever excel. But clearly your powers of persuasion with Maman are formidable.’

Ginny wrenched herself free and stepped back. ‘If it’s frankness you want, monsieur, may I ask if you ever shave?’

‘Bien sûr—on occasion. Especially if I am going to be in bed with a woman. But I doubt I shall be so fortunate,’ he added pensively. ‘Your beautiful sister already has a lover, hélas.’

She felt jolted as if her heart had skipped not one beat but several.

She said quietly, ‘My sister is engaged to be married, monsieur. She has a fiancé.’

‘And a rich one, according to the talk in the bar last night.’ He shrugged. ‘What no one can decide is if the affair will end in marriage, or simply end when he decides he has paid enough for his pleasures.’

Ginny gasped, and her arm swung back, but before she could wipe the cynical mockery from his face, his hand had grasped her wrist.

‘So,’ he said. ‘The polite little girl has spirit. And what else, I wonder?’

He jerked her forward, his other arm going round her, pulling her against him, and as her lips parted in furious protest, his mouth came down hard on hers.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE COULDN’T STRUGGLE, or cry out. She could scarcely breathe. He was holding her too closely, her hands trapped between their bodies. Nor could she resist the practised movement of his lips on hers, or the slow sensual exploration of his tongue as he invaded the innocence of her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Drinking from her. Draining her, as she swayed in his arms, her mind reeling from the shock of it. And yet in some incalculable way—not wanting it to stop...

Only to find herself just as suddenly released.

‘Oh, God,’ she choked when she could speak, caught between anger and something dangerously like disappointment. ‘How dare you?’ And, her voice rising, ‘How bloody dare you?’

‘Sois tranquille.’ He had the audacity to grin at her. ‘It took courage, sans doute, but what experiment does not?’ He paused. ‘So, ma douce, do I still have that invitation to dinner, or have I offended too deeply?’

Ginny was in a cleft stick. The dinner party was being held at her insistence. How could she cancel it without involving herself in truly hideous explanations? And if she claimed he was unavailable, she had no guarantee he would not find some way of letting the truth be known.