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On that point, he was correct. There was no conventional garb on display. At this level, the women were more interested in looking different from each other. She might look startling to her own eyes and to those of anyone who knew her, but nobody was likely to suspect that she had deliberately dressed up as some sort of pantomime hooker. Had it been her intent to embarrass Luc in company, she would not have succeeded and, since that had not been her intent, she was relieved until it occurred to her that he would endure more than embarrassment when she walked out on him at the airport. A sneaking twinge of guilt assailed her. Immediately she was furious with herself. Luc had set the rules and she was playing by his rules now. He had given her no other choice. What transpired, therefore, was of his own making.
A middle-aged woman with a beaky nose took a seat to the left of her at the dining-table and asked, ‘Do you hunt?’
‘Only when I lose something,’ Catherine replied abstractedly.
Someone hooted with amusement as though she had said something incredibly witty. A wry smile curved Luc’s mouth. ‘Catherine’s not into blood sports.’
‘She must be planning to reform you, then,’ a blonde in cerise silk said with smiling sarcasm. ‘Blood sports are definitely your forte.’
‘And yours, sister, dear,’ Christian interposed drily.
The long meal was not the ordeal she had expected but it was impossible for her to relax. Luc was in an exceptionally good mood, which somehow had made her feel uncomfortable. She was flagging by the time the Viennese coffee was served in the salone. Christian’s sister settled down beside her and she struggled to recall her name. Georgina, that was it.
‘I didn’t see you with Luc in Nice last week,’ Georgina remarked.
‘I wasn’t there.’
Georgina contrived to look astonished. ‘But he was with Silvana Lenzi. Naturally, I assumed…Oh, dear, have I said something I oughtn’t?’
‘You’ve said exactly what you intended to say, young lady,’ the kindly woman with the beaky nose retorted crisply, and changed the subject.
Across the room, Luc was laughing with a group of men. Catching her eye, he gave her a brilliant smile. Hurriedly, she glanced away. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of her palm. She really couldn’t understand why she should feel so shattered. Luc had not spent the past four and a half years without a woman in his bed. Celibacy would come no more naturally to him than losing money.
The South American film actress was notorious for her passionate affairs. He certainly hadn’t been boldly going where no man had gone before, Catherine thought with a malice that shook her. She was speared by a Technicolor picture of that beautiful, lean, muscular, suntanned body of his engaged in intimate love-play with the gorgeous redhead. It made her feel sick. She felt betrayed.
Obviously she had had too much to drink. It had unsettled her stomach, confused her thoughts. If she felt betrayed, it was only because she had been the chosen one this week and the awareness was bound to distress her. Really, she didn’t care if he had been throwing orgies in Nice. His womanising habits were a matter of the most supreme indifference to her.
A few minutes later, Luc interceded to conclude her evening. She was tired. He was sure everyone would excuse her. With his usual panache, he swept her out of the salone. She shook off his arm with distaste.
‘It’s ten minutes to midnight.’ Impervious to hints, he was reaching for her. ‘Isn’t it supposed to be bad luck for me to see you after midnight?’ he teased, glittering golden eyes tracking over her in the most offensively proprietorial way.
Without even thinking about it, Catherine lifted her arm and slapped him so hard across one cheekbone that she almost fell. ‘That’s for Nice!’ she hissed, stalking up the staircase. ‘And if I see you after midnight, it won’t be just bad luck, it’ll be a death-trap!’
‘Buona notte, carissima,’ he said softly, almost amusedly.
Incredulous at the response, she halted and turned her head.
He stared up at her and smiled. ‘You’re crazy, but I like it.’
‘What’s the matter with you?’ she snapped helplessly.
He checked his watch. ‘You have six minutes to make it out of my sight. If you start talking, you’ll never make it.’
Her fingermarks were clearly etched on one high cheekbone. The sight of her own handiwork filled her with sudden shame. She really didn’t know what had come over her. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,’ she conceded.
‘I’d forgive you for anything tonight. Even keeping me awake,’ he advanced huskily.
That did it. She raced up to her room as though all the hounds in hell were pursuing her.
* * *
The beautiful breakfast brought to Catherine on a tray couldn’t tempt her. The hair-stylist arrived, complete with retinue, followed by the cosmetics consultant and then the manicurist. The constant female chatter distanced her from the proceedings. As the morning moved on, she felt more and more as if she were a doll playing a part. She had nothing to do. Everyone else did it for her. And finally they stood back, hands were clapped, mutually satisfied sm
iles exchanged and compliments paid…the doll was dressed.
It wasn’t real, not really real, she told herself repeatedly and stole another glance at her reflection, for it so closely matched that teenage dream. Certainly she had never before looked this good. No wonder they were all so pleased with themselves.
The little church was only a mile from the castle. It had been small and plain and dark when she had seen it earlier in the week. Today it was ablaze with flowers that scented the air heavily. She was in a daze. She went down the short aisle on the arm of a Spanish duke she had only met the night before. It’s five years too late, five years too late; this doesn’t mean anything to me now, she reasoned at a more frantic pitch as Luc swung round to take a long unashamed look at her. But somehow from that moment she found it quite impossible to reason at all.
