Chapter Sixteen
Sandrine couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so—so bouncy with fun before, as she fairly skipped up the stairs of her friend Penelope Oliver’s house towards the waltzing party that waited there.
She felt so young, so light, so free, filled with possibilities!
And she feared it was quite due to Alain.
In the past few days, they’d had long walks with Marie, card games by the fire at home, like a real family. Nights of wild passion. Laughter, talk, all the years between them filled and banished. It was more than she could ever have expected.
She paused in the drawing-room doorway to smooth the waterfall-lace sleeves of her sunset-coloured gown, and study the party gathered there. She couldn’t see Alain yet, and felt a tiny sting of disappointment.
She moved through the room, nodding and smiling with patrons and friends.
She tried not to look for him, not to be distracted—until he really was there.
She hurried towards him, and he smiled, a wide, white, eager grin.
He took her hand under cover of a fold in her skirt, and seemed as eager to see her as she was him.
‘Sandrine,’ he murmured.
‘Come with me,’ she whispered. ‘I know where to go.’ She led him down the corridor to a small library she knew of, and as soon as the door shut behind them he seized her in his arms and kissed her, their lips meeting desperately.
Alain seized her by the waist and spun her around, making her laugh helplessly as the room twirled and dipped around them.
He lifted her up onto a table, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, her skirts a rose-coloured cloud around them.
He kissed her neck, his lips so warm, so enticing on her skin.
She forgot the party outside, forgot everything but him and how happy she was in that moment.
Her head fell back, and his kisses spread down her shoulder, up to nibble at her ear, all around her. A hot sensation rushed through her, and she laughed with joy.
‘Alain…’ she whispered. ‘We’ll be missed.’
‘Not yet,’ he murmured against her. ‘Oh, Sandrine, I never want to be anywhere but here. Now.’
‘Nor do I. Only with you, everywhere with you.’ He dragged her closer, and she felt the press of his hardness, his desire, through her skirts. It made her even dizzier, and she kissed him again, falling into the blurry heat of it all.
Never, even in her youthful love for him so long ago, did she imagine such feelings. Such raw, burning need. She clung to him, willing herself to believe this was truly real.
‘Sandrine,’ he groaned. ‘I want you so much. Kiss me again.’
‘And again and again!’ Their lips met, clashed, filled with need.
There was a creaking noise just outside the door, as if someone fell against it, and a burst of laughter.
A stark reminder that there really was a world beyond their little circle, and they couldn’t leave it behind just yet.
Sandrine laughed, and gave Alain a playful little shove that made him stumble back from her.
He laughed, that deep, warm-whiskey rumble she loved so much, and lifted her down from the table.
He smoothed her skirts, only making them worse.
‘Here, let me help,’ he teased, and tugged her lacy sleeve down her shoulder. His head bent as if to kiss her again, and she stepped away, spinning from him even as she wanted to move closer.
‘Homme hilarant,’ she giggled. ‘We can never leave if you do that!’
‘That’s the idea.’ He gave her another kiss, longer, hotter. ‘Oh, Sandrine. I didn’t think I could ever be as happy as I am now. I never imagined anything like this.’
Nor had she. He looked like a god in the moonlight, alluring, beautiful.
A god who watched only her, focused only on her.
She seemed to teeter between bliss and worry, each feeling stabbing so sharp.
Could she really be with Alain now, this time?
Could she let herself have this one perfect thing, let herself believe it?
She was happy. Happy with Alain, happy with herself. She was alive. Free.
And it was thanks to him, to the bright days they’d shared together. Yet a part of her, a strong, insistent thought, like a ghost that dragged the past behind it and wouldn’t leave her alone, told her this was too fragile, too beautiful, to last.
She reached up and touched his face. The roughness of his beard prickled at her palm, and his skin was warm and soft underneath. He turned his head to press a kiss into her palm.
‘I am happy, too,’ she whispered.
His hand covered hers, holding her with him. ‘Then perhaps we could…’ He hesitated, faltered, shook his head. He seemed so uncharacteristically unsure and young in that instant.
‘Could what?’
‘Could marry again, retake our vows. But for good this time?’ he said slowly.
Sandrine was not expecting that. ‘M-marry?’ she muttered.
He nodded eagerly. ‘Yes! Why not? We could then feel this way always, make a home, a true home, with Marie. We can be a family.’
And that was all she had ever really wanted.
The younger Sandrine would have swooned away with the joy of it!
The Sandrine now felt dizzy at the thought.
Yet something held her back. Maybe it was that ghost, that old fear and hurt.
The lonely nights she’d spent. She loved Alain, loved him with all her being. She just had to be sure.
‘Oh, Alain,’ she whispered. ‘I just need a little more time.’
He shook his head, reaching out for her. She stepped away, knowing if he touched her she would be lost. ‘Have we not had too much time apart already? That was all my fault. Please, let me make it up to you. Let me give you anything you want.’
How she yearned to believe him! She swayed towards him, and he caught her against him, safe and warm and steady.
But what if it changed? What if he found that once they were married, once they had made their home, their everyday lives, together, he did not want that?
Did not want her? She had Marie to think of now. Marie to protect.
‘Just give me a bit more time, Alain, please,’ she said, afraid she would choke on the words, would cry in front of him.
‘I would give you anything you asked, Sandrine, I promise,’ he answered.
She ached to stay there, to hold on to him again, to give in and let herself believe.
But she backed away, and fled from the room, so confused and lost. The light and noise of the party was a surprise after the warm intimacy of their little room, their little world of two.
She blinked against it, wishing she could escape.
She heard the door open behind her, and knew Alain would soon appear beside her.
She couldn’t look at him, smile as if nothing had happened.
It was far too tempting. She plunged ahead into the crowd, making herself laugh and chat.
She glimpsed Mary and Adele, with Francoise d’Alency, and waved at them in greeting.
As she moved to chat with them, a new group appeared in the drawing-room doorway from the staircase, and their hostess, Penelope Oliver, went to greet them.
‘Oh!’ Adele exclaimed. ‘Who is that lady? I don’t think I have seen her in Bath before. She is incredibly beautiful, isn’t she?’
Sandrine turned to look, curious, wondering if it was someone she should entice into her shop—and froze. The lady who stood there, serenely smiling and nodding at Penelope, was Danielle Aurac. Still angelically beautiful, even in her stark black satin gown that proclaimed her a widow.
She suddenly realised exactly what had held her back when Alain declared he wanted to marry again.
It was this. The past coming into the present, always there, always real.
The chance of Alain seeing his old love again.
Or was Danielle still his real love? Maybe she was there in Bath because of him.
Had he rushed to Sandrine because he merely wanted to be free of his passion?
What was it Mrs Smythe had said? Rakes did not change.
‘Why, that is…’ Francoise said, her voice tight.
Adele glanced at her curiously. ‘That is Mademoiselle Aurac. Her grandfather was Alain’s schoolmaster.
He used to speak of them so fondly. I had heard she married, though she must be widowed now.
How strange she would be here in Bath.’ Her hand landed on Sandrine’s arm, in unspoken understanding.
Sandrine didn’t want to be watched, for fear her careful, smiling mask would crack.
‘Do excuse me for a moment, my dears,’ she managed to say.
She turned to leave, to find some quiet refuge, and saw Alain.
He stared at Danielle, his face pale, eyes wide in shock.
He seemed locked into place, unable to look away from her, to see anything else.
Danielle looked back at him, leaned towards him as if she would rush to him.
Sandrine felt like an interloper, a fool.
Again. She spun the other way and left the party, alone.
Alain no longer felt like himself, not like the man he was now. He was shoved back into the past when he saw Danielle walking towards him, as golden and beautiful as ever. He was the Alain he’d once been, the one he thought he’d banished forever.
‘Bonjour, Alain. It is so very good to see you again.’ She positively purred the words, in that low voice he remembered so well.
Alain stared down at her, every nerve frozen, every thought gone still. How could she be there again, right before him, after all these years?
How he had once longed for her, as the lost young man he’d been! How strange it all seemed now.
He must have been silent for too long, for her gaze, her smile, flickered, and a little frown creased between her eyes. ‘Alain? I do hope you remember me.’