The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

and put a hand up to shade her brow, trying to make out details. ‘The view from there must be wonderful.’

      ‘How about the view from here?’ he suggested, and she turned back to him to see. He had found a place bathed in the warmth of the sun and yet totally private from any inquisitive eyes at the castle. Not that she imagined Natania and Marco would be bothered to watch them when the pair were clearly more involved in each other. They laid the blanket down upon the virgin sand and set the picnic basket in the middle.

      ‘I hope you’re hungry,’ he said. ‘Natania has prepared an entire feast.’

      He pulled out a plate of chicken, a dish of plump, green olives stuffed with feta, another plate of cheese, some crusty bread and the rustic salad. Everything looked and smelt delicious; she was more than hungry, but food was not her greatest need at this time.

      She accepted a glass of the local village wine, though, ruby-red and spun with gold in the afternoon sun. And she lay sideways on the blanket, one arm propping up her head, the other hand nursing the wine glass. She didn’t have large breasts but she knew the angle would spill them together and accentuate their curves. She was determined to seduce him, if he didn’t seduce her first. ‘How long have Marco and Natania worked for you?’

      ‘Ten years,’ he said, selecting one of the fat olives. ‘Maybe longer. Maybe shorter. Why do you ask?’

      ‘They seem very close.’

      ‘They have been together much longer than they have been with me.’

      ‘They clearly love each other very much.’

      He did not look at her, she noticed. He did not take the opportunity to say he loved her, as she hoped he might. Instead he looked out to sea. ‘Perhaps. It is not my business.’

      ‘You mean you haven’t seen them together? They’re very affectionate. Very—close.’

      ‘They do their work. That is all I ask.’

      ‘He is very good-looking, of course.’

      He looked at her now, she noted with satisfaction as she sipped on her wine. He had taken no time at all to swing his head around to her. ‘Who is?’

      ‘Marco, of course. I can see what Natania sees in him.’

      He picked up a small pebble from the sand and flung it at the sea where it landed with a plop. ‘You find Marco attractive?’

      She shrugged. ‘Maybe I like what he does for Natania. I like the way he is so fascinated in her, so drawn to her. She seems happy enough.’

      He didn’t answer, just turned his gaze out to sea again. She propped her glass in the sand, slipped off her cardigan and flicked her hair off her neck. ‘That’s better. It’s warm here. Natania said it was warm enough in the cove to swim naked.’

      ‘I wouldn’t know.’

      ‘Maybe we should give it a try.’

      ‘The water will be freezing.’

      ‘I can think of a way we can warm up afterwards.’ She sat up and popped the first two buttons on her dress. ‘I’m game if you are.’

      His arm snaked out, his wrist ensnaring hers like a manacle before she could attempt the third. His eyes were dark and storm-tossed. ‘Don’t do this, Gabriella.’

      ‘Don’t do what?’

      ‘What you’re doing.’

      But she refused to give in that easily. She knew he wanted her; he just had to see it. ‘I thought you liked to see me naked?’ she said innocently enough, her words couched as an invitation, designed to inflame him.

      ‘Anyone might see you.’

      She shook her head, unwound his fingers from her wrist and took them to her mouth, kissing each one in turn, sucking them, rolling her tongue around each fingertip, a blatant promise. ‘Not here,’ she said, taking his hand lower, curling his fingers around the third button, popping another so her bodice parted and exposed a wide wedge of her breasts that she held the palm of his hand against. ‘We’re completely and utterly alone. The only one who will see me is you.’

      For a moment she had him, his dark eyes molten, his fingers moving over her skin, exploring, brushing a nipple so that she mewed with pleasure, arching her back to press further into his hand.

      ‘Raoul,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me.’

      He spun away so suddenly she was left reeling with his absence. ‘I have to go,’ he said, his chest rising and falling like a bellow. ‘Take your time. I will send Marco later on to fetch the basket.’

      And then he was gone. When she recovered enough to look around, she saw his long legs eating up the stone steps three at a time until he reached the top. She watched him stride towards the castle, and she collapsed on the sand, lacking even the energy to rebutton her bodice, feeling as stung and sick as if he’d physically slapped her.

      What was happening to her? She was barely married twenty-four hours and her husband was rejecting her, refusing to make love to her when he had already shown how good they could be together.

      So what the hell was his problem?

       CHAPTER NINE

      BY THE time she returned to the castle, Raoul was gone. ‘To the village,’ Natania told her, looking sullen again.

      ‘Did he say when he would be back?’

      She shook her head and passed her a cup of hot, sweet tea; Gabriella gave up. Natania could not help. How could anybody help when she did not know what the problem was herself?

      So she sat in the library to await his return. Maybe Phillipa had been right, after all. Maybe she had rushed into this marriage without talking through the details of each other’s expectations. Maybe she should have waited. But it was not too late; they had only been married one day. She flatly refused to believe it was too late. He loved her, she was sure. Otherwise why would he have married her?

      So she would wait, and when he returned they would talk.

      She busied herself with studying the books in his collection, trying desperately to be interested and get absorbed when she found a rare or first edition, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her ears were permanently pricked, waiting for any sound that might signal Raoul’s return.

      Natania eventually came and brought her a bowl of chunky soup filled with vegetables, crusty bread and local butter; it smelled wonderful but Gabriella could not stomach it and sent it back barely touched.

      And, as day slipped into evening, Gabriella knew he intended not to return while she was awake, so she pressed Natania to take her to Raoul’s room. ‘Are you sure?’ the woman asked.

      ‘I have to,’ she said. Natania nodded and showed her to his room, not on the first floor as she had expected, but a modest room tucked away behind the kitchen, barely better than servants’ quarters.

      ‘He sleeps here?’

      Natania nodded. ‘Ever since we have worked for him. He will not sleep on the floor above.’ She fetched Gabriella a robe and laid it on the bed. ‘I am sorry. Even I did not think he could be this cruel or I would have not have let you marry him.’

      ‘I love him,’ she said, feeling weak, stupid and totally shell-shocked. ‘Nothing could have stopped me marrying him.’

      The gypsy woman nodded, her eyes sad. ‘I know.’

      He watched her sleep, her chestnut hair splayed across his pillow. He physically ached to join her, but he knew he could not. Not if he was ever to let her go.

      And he must let her go. She was too precious, too beautiful. She deserved far more than he could ever