Forbidden or For Bedding?

There was something different in her voice. Alexa didn’t know what it was. Didn’t know anything except that she had to go. Escape.

‘I’m so sorry, but I really can’t undertake the commission you mentioned—’ she began, her voice hurried.

Madame de Rochemont held up a hand. A graceful, imperious gesture, cutting her off. ‘That is not the favour,’ she said. Her voice was dry. Her expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a tension in it suddenly. She paused a moment, then spoke. ‘I would like you to go to France. To talk to Guy.’

Alexa froze, disbelief in her eyes. Had she really heard what she had? Had Guy’s mother really said that? Why? Why on earth…?

Words formed in her throat. Words that were impossible to say—impossible to get out—certainly not in front of this formidable grande dame who was Guy’s mother, and who knew about Alexa and Guy. But she must say something…

‘That isn’t possible.’ Alexa’s voice was flat. As flat as a butterfly crushed by a rock.

‘Why?’

Alexa’s face closed. ‘I think you will agree, madame,’ she said, with stony formality, ‘that it would not be comme il faut.’

The green eyes, so like the eyes she had once drowned in, widened slightly.

‘I do not understand you,’ said Guy’s mother.

Alexa pressed her lips, clenching her hands in her lap. She looked directly at Madame de Rochemont. ‘But your daughter-in-law would, madame,’ she said.

The older woman’s face stilled.

‘Ah,’ she breathed slowly. Her eyes were fixed on Alexa. She got to her feet. ‘You must forgive me for insisting,’ she said, ‘but it is imperative that you talk to Guy.’

‘I have already said everything necessary.’ Alexa’s voice was clipped. This was unreal—surreal. Standing here in front of Guy’s mother, who was telling her to talk to her son.

About what, precisely? About how his marriage is going? Is that it? What on earth is going on here? It doesn’t make sense—any of it.

‘But my son has not,’ said Madame de Rochemont. ‘And that is why you must go to France, to talk to him.’

Alexa stared, giving in. ‘Look, what is going on?’ she demanded, the edgy formality gone completely. ‘I’m sorry if I sound impolite, but nothing here makes sense. Why am I here? What do you want of me, and why? I will be open with you—as I take it that you know that, much to my regret, my relationship with your son progressed beyond the professional one of client and artist. I had a brief affair with Guy last year—that’s all. It meant…’ She swallowed, but ploughed on. ‘It meant as little to him as you might imagine. He informed me of his engagement, and terminated the relationship the same day. And, madame,’ she emphasised, restraining herself from saying anything about Guy’s subsequent attempt to restart it, ‘the relationship remains terminated. If that is your concern, then you have my assurance that—’

Again, an imperious gesture with the hand silenced her. ‘The only assurance I ask for is that you accede to my request to talk to my son.’

Alexa’s chin went up. ‘To what purpose?’ she said bluntly. Her eyes met those of his mother—defiance in hers, his mother’s unreadable.

‘For the future happiness of my son,’ said Madame de Rochemont.

Alexa’s eyes closed. ‘He may be as happy as he wishes, madame—it is nothing to do with me. I hope…’ She took a breath, opening her eyes again to look straight at the woman who was asking something of her that was inexplicable and impossible to agree to. ‘I hope he has a long and happy marriage.’

Something moved in the emerald eyes.

‘So do I, Mademoiselle Harcourt. Any mother must wish that for their child. Which is why it is essential for you to talk to Guy.’ She started to walk towards the door, and Alexa followed. ‘It will take very little of your time,’ said Guy’s mother, talking over her shoulder. ‘A car will take you to the airport, and you will be at the château in under two hours.’

‘Madame, I cannot—’

Guy’s mother stopped. Turned. ‘Please,’ she said.

What was it in her face, her eyes, that made Alexa stop as well? She bit her lip a moment, then simply nodded and said, ‘All right. If you insist.’ She gave a bewildered sigh, half throwing up her hand in concession. ‘I don’t understand why you are set on it—I cannot begin to imagine what you think it will achieve.’

‘I think that Guy’s wife,’ said his mother, and her eyes met Alexa’s full on, ‘will find it the making of her marriage.’

So that was it. Now Alexa understood. She might have assumed the wrong Madame de Rochemont earlier, but it was indeed Madame Guy de Rochemont who needed assuring that Alexa did not pose a threat to her marriage. So, in order to allay her fears, the woman her husband had set up to provide an adulterous liaison had to be flown in, so that Guy could tell her to tell his wife—who had somehow found out about Alexa—that she was not, in fact, her husband’s mistress.

She took a breath. ‘I will do this, madame, but only on the condition that I will be free of further contact with any of your family. I want nothing more to do with any of you. I’m sorry if that sounds rude, but my life has moved on and that is that.’

The unreadable look was back in Madame de Rochemont’s eyes. ‘As you wish, mademoiselle,’ was all she said. ‘Come—’