Susan Stephens Selection. Susan Stephens
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only the best of his father’s qualities, but some other genes that had driven him to restore his ramshackle birthplace as soon as he was able to. He had already explained how he was using ancient plans and drawings whenever possible in order to ensure authenticity and that it was a project that would take him many years to complete.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and her heart shot into overdrive as she watched it swing open. But it was only a young maid in a sky-blue and white gingham dress who had come to collect the breakfast tray. As the girl prepared to shut the door behind her with the tray balanced on one hip, she paused.
‘Monsieur le Comte sends his compliments, mademoiselle. He hopes you slept well and will see you in the gazebo at noon, if that is convenient to you.’
Kate felt her face flush pink at the prospect. ‘It is convenient,’ she confirmed, willing her voice to remain steady. ‘And thank you for the breakfast,’ she called as the girl backed out.
‘Ce n’est rien, mademoiselle.’
‘Oh, there is one thing more,’ Kate said, remembering that she had arrived in a filthy bathrobe and the top of her pyjamas. ‘I don’t suppose there are any clothes I could borrow? Just until I return home.’
The maid’s smile grew wider. ‘But mademoiselle, Monsieur le Comte has arranged everything for you. You will find all you need in the dressing room adjoining your bathroom.’
‘Of course,’ Kate said hesitantly.
‘I hope you like the clothes, mademoiselle. A courier arrived with an exquisite selection from the latest collections only minutes ago,’ the maid revealed shyly. ‘Monsieur le Comte surprised us—’ She stopped abruptly, perhaps thinking she had overstepped the mark.
‘Go on,’ Kate prompted with a smile. ‘You can’t stop now.’
‘Well, we thought them very pretty, mademoiselle…and you know men and shopping.’ She lifted her shoulders in an elegant little shrug.
‘Yes,’ Kate agreed, raising her eyebrows in amusement. ‘I know just what you mean.’
The fact that everyone was gossiping about her hardly mattered, Kate thought. She would be gone soon enough, and Guy would no doubt have some far more sophisticated companion in her place. But for now she was going to revel in her time at the château. Of course she had been to ‘the big house’ before, as Aunt Alice had quaintly referred to the colossal and utterly magnificent edifice that was Château Villeneuve. But Kate had never expected to sleep beneath its roof…or one of its many roofs, she mused, smiling as she tried to count exactly how many upside-down rose-tinted ice cream cones there were…
For her part, she had always thought of the château as Sleeping Beauty’s palace, and as a little girl had fantasised about her leading role in the drama of life there. What a shame there were no fairy tales for grown ups, she mused with a wry smile. But, even if there had been, everyone knew there was no possibility of fairy tales ever coming true. If that was the case the fire would never have happened, she would be wearing Aunt Alice’s locket around her neck and Guy would know her true intentions for La Petite Maison…
Was there a way round the problem? It had been bad enough getting his permission to live in the cottage. If he imagined for one moment that she intended turning it into a guest house… After everything he had done for her she hated herself for deceiving him. And the longer that deception was allowed to continue, the harder it would be to tell him the truth.
Shaking herself out of the doldrums, Kate slipped out of bed. Lifting the telephone, she waited a few moments for Madame Duplessis to answer. ‘Do you think it would be possible for me to make a short visit with the Comtesse de Villeneuve today? I see, Madame Duplessis. No matter,’ she said after a short pause. ‘I will wait for another time, when it is more convenient. Please tell the Countess that Kate Foster was asking about her and sends her love—’
Guy was waiting for her just inside the gazebo with his back turned. Kate was light-footed but he seemed to sense her presence and turned abruptly as she reached the top step.
‘Kate!’
The force of his smile competed with the rush of pleasure she felt just seeing him again.
‘I take it you slept well, if only for a few hours?’
‘You have the most comfortable beds in the entire world. How could I not?’
‘I hope you will not be a stranger here at Château Villeneuve now that you have returned to France,’ he said formally and with the suggestion of a bow.
‘Thank you,’ Kate returned with matching decorum. ‘And thank you for the beautiful clothes. There was really no need—’
‘Forgive me if I disagree,’ Guy insisted, walking towards her. ‘I find this season’s Chanel so much more appealing than last year’s grubby robe.’
His eyes were dark and luminous as he stared into her face and Kate felt as if her racing heart had taken a flying leap into her throat.
‘In this instance—’ she said wryly ‘—I think I can safely say you’re right.’
‘Well, that’s a first,’ he murmured. ‘Do a twirl,’ he suggested. ‘I’d like to see the full effect of that beautiful dress.’
Kate’s brows rose fractionally before she obeyed. But Guy didn’t make her feel like a clothes-horse, he made her feel like a valued, cosseted… She actually stamped her foot as she ground to a halt in front of him. This was ridiculous! What was she thinking of? ‘Look, Guy, this dress—’ She lifted the diaphanous skirt, subtly shadow-printed in shades of blue, and unconsciously ran her other hand over the figure-hugging bodice. ‘Well, it’s fabulous. But quite frankly—’
‘Quite frankly?’ he pressed, his silver-grey eyes dancing with amusement.
‘It must have cost a fortune and, well, I’ll never wear it again, will I?’ she said, trying reason on him.
‘I don’t see why not,’ he argued. ‘It’s perfectly lovely.’
Kate’s striking green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits of emerald light. ‘That’s exactly my point.’
Guy’s face adopted a mildly bemused expression. ‘You don’t like it because it’s lovely?’ he queried, sliding one strong tanned hand into the pocket of his grey tailored trousers.
Conscious that her eyes had followed his every move and he’d probably noticed, Kate shifted position uncomfortably. In the process she almost toppled off the high-heeled Jimmy Choos, forcing Guy to reach out and steady her. As he stood back again she protested, ‘That’s exactly my point. I don’t live your kind of life. I’m more of a—’
‘Garçon manqué?’ he supplied. ‘Tomboy, I believe, is how you say it in English.’
‘You know very well how we say everything in English,’ Kate scolded, noticing how he lifted his hand and kept the back of it across his mouth so that she had no idea if he was laughing or not. ‘Well, I’m hardly the Countess de Villeneuve, am I?’ The words flew out of her mouth.
‘Indeed. But surely it won’t hurt you to wear this lovely dress for one day?’
‘But if I’m clearing the cottage—’
‘True,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘I’ll have a selection of dungarees and work-boots delivered to you later this afternoon.’
Kate narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. It was hard to tell if he was serious or joking.
‘Meanwhile,’ he said, ‘we’ll have lunch…here,’ he added, pointing to the lakeside, where she could see a table had been laid with all the finest china and glass and a taupe canvas parasol had been erected to protect them from the midday sun.
‘I should be getting back.’
‘You