Free Bride of Desire by Sara Craven Page A

cat. The next you were—honey. It was too much of a volte face to be entirely credible.’
     
      ‘And, of course, you wouldn’t just take the hint and stay away?’
     
      ‘I considered it.’
     
      ‘Then why are you here?’
     
      ‘Because you intrigue me, Alys. Enough, certainly, to risk another rebuff.’ He added softly, ‘Also, I still wish to hear you call me Remy.’
     
      He held out his hand. ‘It’s only lunch, ma mie. Shall we go?’
     
      Is it? she thought, feeling the rapid thud of her heart. Is that really all it is?
     
      Tell him, counselled the warning voice in her head. Tell him the truth now. Say that you misled him the other day because you were upset and didn’t know what you were saying. That it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to see each other again because you have a husband inEngland .
     
      Then it will be over, and you won’t have to worry any more. You want peace of mind? Then take it. Because this could be your last chance.
     
      And she found herself looking down at herself—at the thin blouse, the straight white skirt and the strappy sandals. Heard herself saying, ‘I—I’d better change. I’m not really dressed for a picnic.’
     
      ‘You look enchanting,’ he said. ‘But—just as you wish.’
     
      Her glance was scornful. ‘Now, we both know that isn’t true.’
     
      Inside the house, Tante looked at her, her forehead puckered in concern. ‘My dear child, are you sure you know what you’re doing?’
     
      ‘Yes,’ Allie said, and paused to kiss her cheek. ‘It’s fine, really,’ she whispered. ‘We’re just going to have lunch—one meal together. And that’s all.’
     
      Then I’ll tell him I’m married, she thought as she ran upstairs. And it will finally be finished.
     
       
     
      Madness, Allie thought, returning bleakly to the here and now as tears burned in the back of her eyes and choked her throat. Sweet, compelling, uncontrollable madness. That was what it had been—how it had been.
     
      One man—the man—was all it had taken to breach the firewall around her. Just the touch of his hand had altered all her perceptions of herself, destroying once and for all the myth of her invulnerable reserve.
     
      How could she have known that she’d simply been waiting—waiting for him? Remy…
     
      His name was a scream in her heart.
     
      She drew her knees up to her chin, bent her head, and allowed herself to cry. The house was asleep, so thankfully there was no one to hear her agonised keening or the sobs that threatened to rip her apart.
     
      For two years she’d had to suppress her emotions and rebuild her defences. Never allowing herself to reveal even for a moment the inner pain that was threatening to destroy her.
     
      Now, at last, the dam had burst, and she yielded to the torrent of grief and guilt it had released, rocking backwards and forwards, her arms wrapped round her knees. Until, eventually, she could cry no more.
     
      Then, when the shaking had stopped, she got slowly to her feet, brushing fronds of dried grass from her clothing, and went into the house.
     
      She washed her face thoroughly, removing all traces of the recent storm, then carefully applied drops to her eyes, before returning to her room. Tom had not stirred, and she stretched herself on the bed, waiting with quiet patience for him to wake up, and for the rest of her life to begin.
     
      She must have dozed, because she suddenly became aware, with a start, that he was standing, vigorously rattling the bars of his cot. As she swung herself off the bed and went to him, he gave his swift, entrancing grin, and held out his arms.
     
      She picked him up, rubbing noses with him. ‘And hi there to you too. Want to play outside?’
     
      Tante was there ahead of them this time, sitting placidly under a green and white striped parasol, her hands busy with her favourite embroidery, a jug of home-made lemonade on the