Runaway Fiancee. Sally Wentworth
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colourful, not afraid to speak or show his feelings. Or to use his charm to make her do what he wanted. Pushing herself away from him, she looked at Jean-Louis’s earnest face and said, ‘To be a great painter you need to work hard.’
‘Have I not been working hard for the last ten years?’ he exclaimed heatedly.
‘Yes, and you’ve found fame at last. On your own. You don’t need someone else’s fortune. You can get everything you want on your own merit. Surely it’s far more satisfying to do it that way?’
He grew angry. ‘It would take me at least five years, maybe more, to get the artistic freedom I want. If you can get this woman’s money I could have it now, at once. Are you so selfish that you would deny me that, deny the world my talent?’
‘I was happy as we were,’ she said bitterly.
‘Having money will only make us happier.’
‘No, it won’t; money only brings trouble. I don’t want to do this, Jean-Louis.’
But he had seen a rosy vision of the future, and having seen, wanted it, the freedom it promised shutting out everything else. ‘If you love me,’ he said forcefully, ‘you will go with Caine and try to get this money for us.’
‘Let me understand you. You want me to take this money if it’s offered to me, even though I know I’m not the person he thinks I am?’
Jean-Louis gave an airy gesture. ‘Why not? If he is so eager to give away a fortune, why not take it?’
Staring at him, her eyes glacial, Angélique said, ‘You are just like all the others, Jean-Louis. I thought you were different, but you’re not. I thought you had integrity, to your art, at least, but you don’t even have that.’
He gave an impatient gesture. ‘You’re being stupid, Angélique. It’s because I want to devote my life to my work that I need this money. Can’t you see that?’
She didn’t answer, just held his eyes with her own. He looked away first, swinging round to go to the door. Opening it, he called, ‘Caine?’ and the Englishman came back into the room.
‘Yes?’
‘We have come to a decision. Angélique has told me that she can remember nothing before her accident, so maybe she is this woman you’re looking for.’
Caine looked at them both for a moment, then said, ‘I would need her to come back to England with me.’
‘Very well, she will go.’
Looking directly at her, Caine said, ‘Are you willing to go?’
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her face set. ‘Yes.’
‘Having seen your old life, it may be that you will wish to return to it,’ he said carefully.
Her eyes flashed fire. ‘Be engaged to you, do you mean?’
Jean-Louis laughed. ‘Just as soon as the matter is decided Angélique will come back to France to be with me.’ And he put a possessive arm round her shoulders, then bent to nuzzle her neck in a gesture that was all confident defiance. Angélique stiffened a little but she didn’t move away.
Caine’s expression didn’t change. He said, ‘Very well—just so long as you are aware of the possibility. And, naturally, if she did decide to stay you would raise no objection; you would give Paige her freedom.’
With a cool smile Jean-Louis said, ‘Paige can do what she likes, but I assure you that Angélique will hurry back to me.’
It was a definite challenge, a glove being thrown down. Without any effort Caine accepted the challenge with a smooth, ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’ He turned to Angélique. ‘Where do you live?’
She told him and he didn’t bother to write it down. ‘I’ll collect you at ten tomorrow morning. Please be ready to leave for England.’ Then, with a brief nod, he left the room.
Pulling her against him, Jean-Louis gave her an exuberant hug. ‘We’re going to be rich, chérie. And we still have tonight, just as we planned.’
Putting all her strength behind it, Angélique punched him in his midriff. He doubled up with a groan as she said, ‘If you think I’m going to bed with you tonight after this, then you’re crazy!’ And she, too, marched out of the office.
A long, sleek car with British plates drew up outside her door at exactly ten the following morning, having to double-park in the narrow road. When Milo Caine rang the bell Angélique kept him waiting as long as possible, hoping the blue-capped dragon of a traffic warden who patrolled the area would catch him, but when he rang the bell for the third time she had to open the door.
He gave her a wry look but made no comment on her tardiness, merely saying, ‘Are you ready?’
She nodded ungraciously.
‘You have only the one case?’
‘Yes. I don’t intend to be away for long,’ she told him coldly.
He was driving the car himself; she had half expected a chauffeur. Opening the front passenger door for her, he said, ‘Would you like to take off your coat?’
‘All right.’ She shrugged out of the ankle-length coat and handed it to him. Under it she was wearing a sleeveless knitted top that hugged her breasts and a very short skirt. Her legs, long and tanned, were bare. His eyes ran over her and although his expression didn’t change she could sense his disapproval. Giving him a provocative look, she deliberately crossed her legs, lifting the skirt even higher. Caine’s mouth tightened for a moment but he still didn’t speak, instead closing her door and going round to his own side of the car.
Angélique laughed. ‘How stern you look, Englishman. Don’t you like my legs?’
‘You never used to wear clothes like that,’ he commented evenly.
‘It’s not too late,’ she pointed out mockingly. ‘If you disapprove of me so much you can forget all these crazy ideas you have. Forget me. Go and look somewhere else for the woman who ditched you.’
A slight stiffening of Caine’s jaw was the only sign that her jibe had gone home, and his voice was quite unemotional as he said, ‘On the contrary, I’m quite sure you’re the woman I want. And, now that I’ve found you, I don’t intend to let you go.’
Huffily, she turned away and yawned.
‘You’re tired?’
She gave him a sideways glance. ‘Very. I had to say goodbye to Jean-Louis last night. Remember? So, naturally, I am extremely exhausted.’
He probably didn’t know it, but the tightening of his features gave away his inner anger, and she laughed again in ironical amusement.
The Paris traffic was heavy and required his entire concentration so they didn’t speak again until the car was safely stowed on Le Shuttle and the train was carrying them at immense speed across France towards the Channel Tunnel and England. They sat in the passenger compartment in seats across from one another, the only other travellers were at the far end of the carriage, out of earshot.
‘You said that you were involved in an accident,’ he reminded Angélique. ‘What kind of accident?’
Her eyes shadowed. ‘I don’t remember it. I only know what I was told.’
‘And what was that?’
She hesitated, then said slowly, ‘They told me I was on a bus. It was travelling along the Périphérique in a storm when a container truck jackknifed in front of it and they collided. Most of the passengers were rescued but then the bus caught fire and was destroyed. Two people were killed.’ Her voice faltered a little on the last sentence, and then Angélique said, ‘That’s what they told me when I woke up at the hospital.’
‘Were