Free Beyond Eden by Catherine Coulter Page B

soft voice, resisting the impulse to hold her hand and soothe her, “I have a daughter who is just your age. Just like you, mademoiselle. Her name is Felice. Last year she got this crush—that’s the American slang, isn’t it?—yes, this crush on an older man and she acted so foolish and so silly that we all of us were equally annoyed and despairing. But this man, he was a normal adult, you see, with no sickness in his mind, and thus it was that he understood she was merely a young girl in the agony of infatuation. He was kind to her, but nothing more. He didn’t take advantage of her. No normal man would. Do you understand?”
    She stared up at him, her eyes dull, not caring about his wretched daughter. “Yes, I understand.”
    â€œGood. Now, tell me exactly what happened.”
    Her voice was as dull as her eyes, and it worried him. “My father told you what happened. It’s true what he said, only it isn’t, not really. The prince wrote to me that both he and Sydney wanted me to visit them here in Paris. I wanted to see him, it’s true. I thought he was the most wonderful man in the world. I worshiped him. I thought my stepsister wasn’t right for him, wasn’t worthy of him—”
    â€œAh, and you, mademoiselle , were the only one who was right for him?”
    â€œYes. I believed she mistreated him, that she didn’t give him what he needed, what he wanted, what he deserved. Of course he told me of the bad things she’d done to him.”
    â€œSo you stayed when you saw your sister wasn’t there?”
    â€œYes. It seemed so natural, you see. He told me Sydney didn’t like him and had left. He told me notto blame myself. I felt so badly for him. I was so angry at my sister for hurting him. He was wonderful and so nice and he took me everywhere, showed me all through Montmartre, told me old stories. It was just like all my daydreams coming true. And then that night, he came in my bedroom and started asking me questions about what I let boys do to me and he told me he wanted to teach me all those things. He told me how he’d had to wait for me. And then I really saw him. He wasn’t handsome anymore or charming or kind. I was so afraid of him, and then, finally, I realized that he wasn’t what I’d believed him to be. He hurt me but I fought him, and I screamed and screamed like they taught me to do in my self-defense classes, and then he hit me and hit me and then—”
    The inspector waited. He saw she couldn’t get the words out and said gently, “Then your sister came and she shot him. He had already ejaculated in you?”
    She looked at him.
    Galvain searched his mind for another word, saying finally, “He came inside you? He had come?”
    She nodded, a spasm shaking her body.
    â€œYour sister fired the gun again?”
    â€œYes, she had to. To protect me. He fell off me onto the floor. We thought he was dead, but then he groaned.”
    Galvain patted her hand, unable to keep himself from making this bit of human contact with her. He wasn’t particularly surprised when she jerked away. Poor girl, he thought, poor girl. “You rest now, mademoiselle , and you get yourself strong again. All this will fade, you will see.” He prayed it would be true, but he doubted it. Fade, yes, but she would never forget, never. He wondered whatshe would be like in five years, in ten. He added, “Your father has hired two guards to keep the paparazzi away from you, those vultures, and the other media people as well. They will lose interest soon enough. I will talk to you again. Rest, petite. ”
    Â 
    Royce Foxe’s voice was heavy with fatigue, his eyes rheumy and burning with grit as he opened the suite door. He stared at the same inspector who’d been in Lindsay’s room at the hospital. “What the hell do you want? Is it the damned prince again? I thought you said he was