Free Bride of Desire by Sara Craven

who was almost certainly unused to rejection, and equally unlikely to take it well.
     
      I don’t suppose, Allie mused, he’s ever been stood up in his life. And—who knows?—it might teach him a much-needed lesson. And, more importantly, it will demonstrate that I’m not available. Let’s hope he takes the hint.
     
      She shrugged a bare shoulder, half smiling, as if resigned to her fate.
     
      ‘Very well, then. Lunch it is. As you say, we all need to eat.’ She paused. ‘What do you propose?’
     
      There was a brief silence, then he said slowly, ‘There is a good restaurant on the road towards Benodet—Chez Lucette. You think you can find it?’
     
      ‘Of course.’
     
      ‘Bon. Then, shall we say—twelve-thirty?’
     
      ‘Perfect.’ Allie looked down demurely. ‘I—look forward to it, monsieur.’
     
      His brows lifted. ‘Still not Remy?’
     
      ‘After lunch,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Perhaps.’
     
      He said softly, ‘I shall live in hope. A bient&frac;t.’ And went.
     
      Left alone, Allie realised she was as breathless as if she’d been running in some marathon. It was a reaction she was not accustomed to, and it scared her.
     
      All I had to do, she thought, swallowing, was tell him, ‘I’m married.’ And he would never have troubled me again. It was that simple. So why didn’t I say it? Why let him go on thinking I’m single? Available?
     
      Oh, stop beating yourself up, she adjured herself impatiently. As long as you brush him off, why worry about the method? And after tomorrow he certainly won’t be coming round again.
     
      She would change her brand of sun oil, too, she decided broodingly. Find an alternative with a different scent—one that wouldn’t remind her of the play of his hands as he massaged it into her warm skin each time she smelt it.
     
      She said aloud, ‘Whatever it takes, I will be left in peace. And to hell with Remy de Brizat.’
     
       
     
      ‘Are you quite well, chérie?’ Tante studied her anxiously. ‘You seem tense—restless—this morning.’
     
      ‘I’m fine,’ Allie assured her, wandering out into the garden to sneak a look at her watch.Twenty-five past twelve , she thought. Excellent. He should be at Chez Lucette by now, and ordering his aperitif. Probably looking at his watch too, gauging my arrival.
     
      I wonder how long he’ll wait before it dawns on him that he’s struck out for once? That I’ve not simply been delayed, but that I shan’t be joining him at all?
     
      And what will he do then? Eat alone at his table for two? Or pretend he has an urgent case to go to before the egg hardens on his face?
     
      Whatever—it serves him right, she told herself defensively, although she was totally unable to rationalise this conviction.
     
      And she was sure there were plenty of ladies in the locality who would be happy to help soothe his bruised ego, she added, ramming her clenched hands into the pockets of her skirt.
     
      ‘Alys?’ Tante was calling from the back door, surprise in her voice. ‘Alys, you have a visitor.’
     
      She swung round just in time to see Remy de Brizat walk out into the garden. He was dressed much as he had been the day before, with emphasis on the casual, his sunglasses pushed up on his forehead.
     
      For a moment, Allie could only gape at him. When she spoke, her voice was husky with shock. ‘What are you doing here? I—I don’t understand…’
     
      His smile was sardonic. ‘I decided against the restaurant after all, ma belle. It occurred to me that you would have difficulties in getting there. So I put food and wine in the car so that we can picnic instead.’ He added solicitously, ‘I hope you are not too disappointed?’
     
      ‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not the word I’d have chosen.’ She swallowed. ‘How did you know that I wouldn’t meet you?’
     
      He shrugged. ‘One minute you were spitting at me like a little