LITMIR.BIZ

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The look in his eyes rather than his words made Hope aware of a streak of cynicism in his nature underlined by the mockery in his smile. The blend of Russian and French blood couldn’t be one it was easy to live with, she reflected thoughtfully, there must be times when war broke out between French hard-headed cynicism and Russian hot-blooded passion. She didn’t need to ask which side of him had prompted his need for revenge against her father, but it was the French blood in him that had carefully thought out the nature of that revenge, not the Russian.

      ‘I must leave now.’ She saw him glance at his watch and then frown. ‘I’m taking your passport with me, Hope, and I’m not leaving the car. Remember, you gave me your word that you wouldn’t attempt to leave.’

      ‘It would be too late if I did, wouldn’t it?’ Hope asked dully. ‘My father can’t marry me to Alain Montrachet now, although if I did leave, at least I would spare him the humiliation of having me paraded in front of his friends as your mistress.’

      ‘You have two choices, Hope,’ Alexei told her evenly. ‘Either you stay here as my … guest … with the freedom of my home, or I shall instruct Pierre that you are to be locked in these rooms until I return—the choice is yours. You can be treated as an adult or as a child.’

      ‘You accept my word?’ Hope asked him half scornfully and half curiously.

      ‘I believe that I can do so,’ Alexei said quietly. ‘Am I wrong?’ What could she say? That he couldn’t trust her to keep her word? Biting her lip, Hope looked away. ‘Am I wrong, Hope?’ Alexei repeated.

      ‘No, damn you,’ she flung at him. ‘You needn’t tell Pierre to lock me in. After all, I’ve nowhere to go, have I? According to you, my father won’t even give me house room now, and I don’t suppose they’d take me back at the convent.’

      ‘Poor little unwanted girl,’ Alexei mocked. ‘You will always be wanted … by someone, Hope, but first you would be wise to learn to want yourself, to accept yourself as a human being.’ He got up, stooping swiftly to drop a kiss on her unguarded lips, straightening with a smile to tousle her hair and open the door. ‘Think of me tonight, little one,’ he drawled as he paused by it, ‘sleeping alone without the tempting distraction of your body in my arms.’

      He was gone before she could think of a fitting retort, and although she heard the car engine fire a little later in the courtyard, she didn’t leave her seat, instead forcing herself to finish her cup of coffee.

      An hour later she was dressed, and she had stripped and remade the bed, gathering up the breakfast things automatically. Pierre turned round as she walked into the kitchen and Hope ventured a tentative smile, feeling unreasonably pleased when it was returned.

      The day stretched emptily in front of her and she frowned, impatient at her own boredom. She was intelligent, Alexei had said, and that intelligence told her that the blame for her boredom and its relief lay within herself. One day she would be free of Alexei, free of the nightmare that had darkened her life since Alexei arrived in it, but what was she going to do? She chewed her lip as she walked towards the library, remembering her wistful ambition to make a career for herself using her languages. She would do what they had done at school, she decided impulsively. She would make herself think, speak and read in a different language each day, starting today with Russian—the most difficult and least fluent of her languages.

      As she had expected, she managed to find some Russian books in the library, and settling down with a selection of short stories by Chekhov, Hope forced herself to concentrate on the written words.

      When Pierre came in at lunchtime he found her engrossed, and mimed to her that he had prepared some food. Unwilling to eat alone, Hope followed him to the kitchen, wondering if it would be possible for her to see the wine cellars and the bottling plant Alexei had pointed out to her. It would be pleasant to go out for a good long walk, but Pierre might mistake her motives and she decided she would have to content herself with exploring the gardens, irritated with herself for her self-imposed imprisonment.

      If she had not given Alexei her word … If she had not he would undoubtedly have instructed Pierre to stand guard over her night and day, Hope thought wryly. He was unswervingly determined to have his revenge on her father.

      What had Tanya been like, she wondered idly. Her portrait showed a startling similarity to her brother, although in Tanya, the harshly masculine features were softened into feminine lines. There was a vulnerability about her, too, that Alexei didn’t possess, and Hope shivered, remembering that she had taken her own life. She must have loved her father very deeply, and he … hadn’t he guessed how she would react when he ended their relationship?

      In many ways her father was more of a stranger to her than Alexei. It was a disquieting thought, but one which Hope found recurring as the days passed.

      The fourth morning of Alexei’s absence found Hope reading Claire Bretécher’s cartoon in Le Nouvel Observateur, when she heard the sound of a car outside. Immediately her body tensed, but she forced herself to keep on reading, picking up her coffee cup and drinking a little unsteadily from it, not because she was thirsty, but because the action prevented her from jumping up and running to the window overlooking the courtyard.

      Masculine footsteps and the deep timbre of Alexei’s voice warned her of his arrival before the kitchen door opened, and Hope was amazed at the wealth of information her senses relayed to her about him long before she lifted her eyes from the papers.

      ‘Bonjour, mon petit. Have you missed me?’

      His tan had deepened while he was away, and Hope felt her stomach clench disturbingly as she looked into his face. Had he been to the Caribbean? Making sure perhaps that the scene was set for his big dénouement. She responded coolly to his greeting, seeing his smile widen, his teeth white against the darkness of his skin, as he bent towards her and murmured against her ear. ‘I have driven at a speed well in excess of the limit all the way from the airport, hoping to find you still in bed, but Pierre tells me you have become an early riser during my absence. Dare I hope it is because you find our bed lonely without me beside you in it?’

      ‘It is not “our” bed—it is yours—and if I rise early perhaps it is because I have no wish to linger somewhere that holds unpleasant memories for me.’

      She had had three days in which to martial her defences against him and Hope had the satisfaction of seeing his mouth tighten, the smile disappearing. The sensual response of her body to his lovemaking was something that still had the power to shock and disturb her and her own intelligence conveyed to her the knowledge that she could not depend on herself to resist him physically. For the sake of her pride and her sanity she had to find some other way to erect a barrier between them and she had come to the conclusion that while she could not resist him physically, she must do so mentally, so that no matter how many times he tortured her with the vulnerability of her body, her mind remained aloof and antagonistic.

      Pierre came in with fresh coffee and warm croissants and Hope watched as Alexei poured himself a cup and bit into the flaky, sweet roll. He looked well-pleased with life, a warm smile curling his mouth, faintly reminiscent as though he were remembering something—or someone—with whom he had shared pleasure. What did he do when he wasn’t pursuing his vengeance against her father, Hope wondered sharply. He was a sophisticated man, who had already shown her by his tastes and conversation that he did not remain on his estate all year round, merely tending his vines, and yet he had mentioned his sister’s lack of wealth which seemed to suggest that he himself was far from being a wealthy dilettante, free to pursue a life of pleasure and idleness. No, that was definitely not Alexei, she thought intuitively, his mind was too keen and sharp to be that of a man who did not use it. The papers which were delivered daily to the château covered a diverse number of subjects.

      ‘You’re looking very thoughtful.’

      Hope raised her head, her eyes clashing bitterly with his. ‘And you find that surprising?’ Her temper rose when she saw the indulgent amusement her anger brought to his eyes. ‘Your absence seems to have improved your mood in addition to your tan,’ she said heatedly. ‘What did

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