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Besides, Armand’s e-mail had said he hadn’t yet proposed to her. She might not even have realised he was in love with her, wanted to marry her—yet she had still turned him down that night because of Armand’s presence in her life.
Whatever had changed Armand’s mind about her—or even hers about him—there was only one thing of importance now. Whatever Armand might have wanted—might still want—it was too late.
She is with me—that is all I care about. She is free to come to me. I have claimed her, and she is mine.
He would think no more than that.
‘Xavier, no! I can’t accept—I really can’t.’
For answer he waved an impatient hand. ‘I insist,’ he said.
Her mouth looked mutinous for a moment. ‘I won’t let you buy me clothes.’
Xavier took her hands in the middle of the formidably chic salon of one of the top French couture houses, where he had taken her after breakfast the morning they were due to leave Paris.
‘Do it for me, cherie. To keep me happy. I want to see your beauty set off to perfection.’
She bit her lip. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘It isn’t right.’
He gave a Gallic shrug. ‘Then why not regard them as a loan—nothing more—as you did the dress at the hotel?’
She frowned a moment. ‘What did you do with it, anyway? That dress?’
He shrugged again. ‘I believe I gave it to the maid. She was very grateful.’
Lissa’s eyes widened. ‘That was very generous—it cost a fortune. But not—’ she grimaced, looking about her in this bastion of high fashion ‘—as much as anything here will cost.’ She looked at him straight. ‘Xavier, it’s not just that I can’t accept you buying clothes for me, but it’s because I don’t want you spending your salary like this. I’m not sure how senior you are at XeL, but even so—’
There was the very slightest cough from the stick-thin, scarily chic vendeuse, hovering at a discreet distance. At least, it might have been a cough, or possibly more like a smothered choke. It certainly drew a forbidding glance from Xavier. Then he looked back at Lissa.
‘Let’s just say I buy clothes here at cost.’ He paused minutely. ‘XeL has a cross-holding with this particular design house which allows that. I get a discount.’
Lissa looked at him suspiciously. ‘How much of a discount?’
‘A substantial one,’ he answered smoothly.
It seemed to do the trick, and she gave in, contenting herself with merely stipulating that she would let him buy her—loan her—no more than three garments. As she selected them and went to try them on Xavier pondered whether to tell her that not only was XeL a co-owner of this couturier, but that his salary was that of chief executive and majority shareholder.
He decided against it. She had shown little interest in his work, or XeL—her initial description of XeL as a posh luggage company still rankled slightly—and so far as he was concerned that was all to the good. But he still wanted to see her in decent clothes.
Even though they would be for his eyes only. Where he was taking her would not be in the public eye.
Was it deliberate? Keeping her away from the world he moved in? It could well be, he acknowledged. Was it the last streak of caution or suspicion in his ultra-rational French soul? Not letting her see just how glittering his lifestyle could be? Or was it that he wanted her attention exclusively on himself—and his on her? That was more plausible.
Or was it even, he mused, that Lissa Stephens did not seem to be a woman impressed by displays of wealth? She really had seemed averse to his buying that dress for her in London, and now her objections here, where he’d actually had to trot out some rigmarole about getting a discount—clearly to the amusement of the vendeuse, who knew exactly who he was, of course, and had all but choked when Lissa had worried about whether he could afford such largesse.
Speaking of which …
A few short instructions to the vendeuse sorted the matter. Lissa might think she was only setting out with three paltry outfits, but Xavier had other plans. Now that the vendeuse had her measurements, she could easily provide the rest of her wardrobe. True, where they was going she would not require a large range of formal attire, but she would still need a lot more than th
e three outfits she was letting him buy. Satisfied, he then dedicated his attention to viewing the first outfit Lissa had emerged to model for him.
Half an hour later everything was complete. Lissa was wearing not the chainstore skirt and blouse she had arrived in, but an impeccably cut dress and jacket that finally did justice to her beauty.
Tucking Lissa’s hand proprietarily into his arm, leaving the salon staff to load the boot of his car waiting outside, he made his exit. The airport was their next stop, and then Nice. But not to the fleshpots of the Côte d’Azur. To somewhere far more private—where he and Lissa could be quite alone together.
Xavier lounged back in a padded chair on the small stone terrace, and let himself be diverted from the market report he was skimming through more out of a sense of duty than any real interest. Though he had, perforce, brought work with him, it was not holding his attention.
But then, nothing during the last two weeks had held his attention—except Lissa.
