Susan Stephens - Susan Stephens Selection

‘So, how do you feel about my plans?’ she challenged.

‘Furious now,’ he admitted frankly. ‘I’m not going to let it happen.’

‘But it is happening,’ Kate pointed out, wishing she could sound a bit more sure of that.

With a gust of impatience, Guy wheeled away from her. He took a couple of strides across the room, where he drew to a halt with his back to her and swiped one tense hand across the back of his neck. ‘This isn’t a game, Kate. You aren’t a little girl now. You can’t just arrive in Villeneuve after all these years and turn everything here upside down.’

The passion in his voice frightened her. ‘And is that what I’m doing?’ Kate demanded softly.

‘You know you are,’ Guy murmured without turning around.

She longed to go to him, to say how sorry she was and ask if they could begin all over again. But the deep-rooted reserve she had always felt, being lower on the social scale than the Count de Villeneuve, held her back. He turned very slowly and stood in silence looking at her, his face a mask that told her nothing.

‘There’s no time to discuss this now,’ he said decisively. ‘You have guests waiting outside and more are due to arrive at any moment.’

‘That’s right,’ Kate agreed, holding her breath to see what he would say next.

‘Just remember, Kate. These estates and the people who depend upon them don’t exist for my pleasure. I serve the Villeneuve estate and everyone connected with it. It’s up to me to ensure that the environment in which we all live—’

‘Is sterile?’ she cut in.

He looked hurt by the remark. ‘I cannot allow you to run a guest house here,’ he said flatly.

‘And I cannot allow you to tell me what to do,’ Kate retorted, returning to the fray.

‘Perhaps if you had read those damned documents you would understand—’

‘Understand what?’ she said, shaking her head with frustration.

‘There’s no time,’ Guy said tensely. ‘The future of the Villeneuve estate may mean nothing to you, Kate. But it’s my life.’

‘And a pretty boring one with no characters in it,’ she pointed out stubbornly.

‘There are more than enough characters in the village without you importing any more,’ Guy informed her as he flared a glance out of the window. ‘Those covenants stand, and if you can’t, or won’t, live by them—’

‘What? Get out?’ Kate suggested angrily. She watched his jaw clench as he bit back the words that were clearly clamouring in his head. Guy wasn’t used to being countermanded. She could see his iron will flexing from every angle in the mirrors over the counter; his eyes were narrowed, his mouth a firm line, jaw tight and the magnificent spread of his shoulders were raised in a tense pose as he braced his hands against the side to watch Megan showing the others round the garden.

‘No, not that,’ he murmured to himself. ‘That would be far too easy for you.’

What did he really see? Kate wondered as she followed his gaze. Could Guy see La Petite Maison already working its magic on those six people outside, as she could? Did he hear their laughter, see the animation in their faces, the glow of anticipation in their eyes? How would he feel when he knew his own mother…?

He pulled away from the counter at last and stared down at her.

‘I can’t stop this now,’ Kate said tensely. ‘I know you’re angry with me, but—’

‘I’m more disappointed than angry,’ he said honestly, ‘that you didn’t see fit to share your plans with me.’

His anger wouldn’t have hurt so much, Kate realised. But what she had told him was true—she couldn’t turn back now. There were too many hopes invested in La Petite Maison. She only had to think of what Megan had given up. ‘If you force me to, I’ll fight you every inch of the way.’

‘Of that I have no doubt,’ he murmured.

For a few moments nothing seemed to exist beyond the drama being played out between them. Kate felt exhausted by it before she started.

‘You’d better get ready,’ Guy said, reading her mood. ‘Everyone will be here soon.’

‘So you won’t…?’ Her voice tailed away as she looked up at him.

‘I won’t spoil your party,’ he confirmed. A shadow briefly crossed his face, as if he was fighting an internal battle—almost as if part of him wanted her to succeed. ‘I can see how much effort you’ve put into this,’ he said as his glance took in the beautifully presented dishes of food covering every available surface. ‘We’ll talk about La Petite Maison some other time—soon,’ he added, as if to prove to her that the problem wouldn’t just go away.

‘Thank you,’ Kate said simply. ‘Will you stay?’

‘Stay?’

‘Yes, for the party. Why not?’

‘If I do,’ Guy reasoned aloud, ‘it will appear to everyone that I am endorsing your decision to open a guest house on the estate.’

‘And if you don’t,’ Kate argued, ‘the villagers will wonder why you do not wish to share this happy occasion with them.’

‘Oh, Kate…you’ve no idea, have you?’ He pressed his firm lips together as he looked at her and she saw the familiar mix of indulgence and frustration in his keen grey eyes. ‘I’d be no use to you here, anyway,’ he said, as if trying to convince himself.

‘I disagree.’

‘Of course you do,’ he said dryly. ‘Force of habit.’

A small answering smile touched her lips as she saw the suspicion of a smile starting to tug at the corners of his mouth.

‘ Allez ,’ he said softly, in a voice that made her ready to walk over hot coals for him if he asked. ‘Go and get ready for your guests.’

‘You’ll still be here when I get back?’

His jaw worked and he said nothing, only his sweeping brows rose minutely, as if he was pleased she had asked the question.

As she walked away from him, Kate felt the intensity of his stare following her every move—scorching a trail between her shoulder blades. She had no idea whether he would still be there when she had freshened up, but there was no doubt in her mind at all that this business between them was going to run and run.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THERE was no time to dwell on Guy’s disapproval. The moment Kate returned downstairs she was thrown into the thick of things. While she had been getting ready the whole village seemed to have descended on the cottage. She felt a stab of disappointment when she saw the kitchen was deserted, with no sign of Guy. But hearing a steady rumble of conversation outside, punctuated by laughter and shouts of recognition, she knew she had to get over it. She had shed her working outfit in favour of a simple linen dress in a soft shade of lavender and, having brushed out her long hair in frantic haste, she’d chosen the fastest option, leaving it loose to billow around her shoulders in a bright golden haze.

The strong afternoon sunlight was already mellowing into a rich apricot glow as she hurried to remove some warm apple brioche out of the warming oven. After dusting the sweet bread with icing sugar, she slipped it on to a large oval dish and placed it on to a tray, ready to go outside. Hovering for a moment by the window, Kate couldn’t help smiling to see Monsieur Dupont, missing only his badge of office—his crisp white jacket—holding court with the new arrivals clustered around him… Then she spotted Giles’s wife, Elise, chatting with Megan, and Madame Duplessis actually flushing with pleasure as she held the attention of the brawny young village blacksmith. And someone had thought to bring an accordion, and was playing so well that a few people had already started dancing on the stone-flagged patio.

The party was a success, she realised happily. And best of all, she decided as her gaze rested upon a tiny, but elegant figure, Guy’s mother was moving around the garden, offering titbits to the villagers and basking in their obvious delight at seeing her again—the men whipping off their hats and the women’s eyes full of pleasure to see this evidence of her recovery. Food was a great icebreaker, Kate mused, as she lifted out a large plastic container of her own cardamom ice-cream from one of the cooler bags Madame Duplessis had thought to bring over from the château. Putting the ice cream and a scoop next to the brioche, she opened the door, picked up the tray and hurried outside.