The house of the de l’Oradore family dominated the rue du Cheval Blanc. It had survived the Revolution and the Occupation and stood now as a testimony to old money. Its brass knocker and letterbox gleamed and the shrubs in the planters on either side of the steps leading up to its double doors were perfectly clipped.
The front door led into an imposing hall. The floor was dark, polished wood and a heavy glass vase of freshly cut white lilies sat on an oval table at its center. Display cases set around the edges-each discreetly alarmed-contained a priceless selection of Egyptian artifacts acquired by the de l’Oradore family after Napoleon’s triumphant return from his North African campaigns in the early nineteenth century. It was one of the largest Egyptian collections in private hands.
The current head of the family, Marie-Cecile de l’Oradore, traded in antiques of all periods, although she shared her late grandfather’s preference for the medieval past. Two substantial French tapestries hung on the paneled wall opposite the front door, both of which she had acquired since coming into her inheritance five years ago. The family’s most valuable pieces-pictures, jewelry, manuscripts-were locked away in the safe, out of sight.
In the master bedroom on the first floor of the house, overlooking the rue du Cheval Blanc, Will Franklin, Marie-Cecile’s current lover, lay on his back on the four-poster bed with the sheet pulled up to his waist.
His tanned arms were folded behind his head and his light brown hair, streaked blond by childhood summers spent at Martha’s Vineyard, framed an engaging face and little-boy-lost smile.
Marie-Cecile herself was sitting in an ornate Louis XIV armchair beside the fireplace, her long, smooth legs crossed at the knees. The ivory sheen of her silk camisole shimmered against the deep blue velvet upholstery.
She had the distinctive profile of the de l’Oradore family, a pale, aquiline beauty, although her lips were both sensuous and full and her catlike green eyes were fringed with generous dark lashes. Her perfectly cut black curls skimmed the top of chiseled shoulders.
“This is such a great room,” said Will. “The perfect setting for you. Cool, expensive, subtle.”
The tiny diamond studs in her ears glinted as she leaned forward to stub out her cigarette.
“It was my grandfather’s room originally.”
Her English was flawless, with just a shimmer of a French accent that still turned him on. She stood up and walked across the room toward him, her feet making no sound on the thick, pale blue carpet.
Will smiled expectantly as he breathed in the unique smell of her: sex, Chanel and a hint of Gauloise.
“Over,” she said, making a twisting movement with her finger in the air. “Turn over.”
Will did as he was told. Marie-Cecile began to massage his neck and broad shoulders. He could feel his body stretch and relax under her touch. Neither of them paid any attention to the sound of the front door opening and closing below. He didn’t even register the voices in the hall, the footsteps taking the stairs two by two and striding along the corridor.
There were a couple of sharp raps on the bedroom door. “Maman!”
Will tensed.
“It’s only my son,” she said. “Out? Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
“Maman! Je veux te parler.”
Will lifted his head. “I thought he wasn’t due back until tomorrow.”
“He isn’t.”
“Maman!” Francois-Baptiste repeated. “C’est important.”
“If I’m in the way…”he said awkwardly.
Marie-Cecile continued to massage his shoulders. “He knows not to disturb me. I will talk to him later.” She raised her voice. “Pas maintenant, Francois-Baptiste.” Then she added in English for Will’s benefit, as she ran her hands down his back: “Now is not… convenient.”
Will rolled onto his back and sat up, feeling embarrassed. In the three months he’d known Marie-Cecile, he’d never met her son. Francois-Baptiste had been away at university, then on holiday with friends. Only now did it occur to him that Marie-Cecile had engineered it.
“Aren’t you going to talk to him?”
“If it makes you happy,” she said, slipping off the bed. She opened the door a fraction. There was a muffled exchange that Will couldn’t hear, then the sound of feet stomping off down the hall. She turned the key in the lock and turned back to face him.
“Better?” she said softly.
Slowly, she moved back toward him, looking at him from the fringe of her long, dark eyelashes. There was something deliberate about her movements, like a performance, but Will felt his body respond all the same.
She pushed him back on to the bed and straddled him, draping her elegant arms over his shoulders. Her sharp nails left faint scratch marks across his skin. He could feel her knees pressing into his sides. He reached up and ran his fingers down her smooth, toned arms and brushed her breasts with the back of his hands through the silk. The thin silk straps slipped easily from her sculptured shoulders.
The mobile phone lying on the bedside table rang. Will ignored it. He eased the delicate camisole down her lean body to her waist.
“They’ll call back if it’s important.”
Marie-Cecile glanced at the number on the screen. Immediately, her mood changed.
“I must take this,” she said.
Will tried to stop her, but she pushed him away impatiently. “Not now.”
Covering herself, she walked away to the window. “Oui. J’ecoute.”
He heard the crackle of a bad line. “Trouve-le, alors!” she said and disconnected. Her face flushed with anger, Marie-Cecile reached for a cigarette and lit it. Her hands were shaking.
“Is there a problem?”
To start with, Will thought she hadn’t heard him. She looked as if she’d forgotten he was even in the room. Then, she glanced over.
“Something has come up,” she said.
Will waited, until he realized it was all the explanation he was going to get and she was expecting him to go.
“I’m sorry,” she said, in a conciliatory tone. “I’d much rather stay with you, mats…”
Annoyed, Will got up and pulled on his jeans.
“Will I see you for dinner?”
She pulled a face. “I have an engagement. Business, if you remember.” She shrugged. “Later, oui?”
“How late is later? Ten o’clock? Midnight?”
She came over and threaded her fingers through his. “I am sorry.”
Will tried to pull away, although she wouldn’t let him. “You’re always doing this. I never know what’s going on.”
She moved closer so he could feel her breasts pressing against his chest through the thin silk. Despite his bad temper, he felt his body react.
“It’s just business,” she murmured. “Nothing to be jealous about.”
“I’m not jealous.” He’d lost count of the times they’d had this conversation. “It’s more that-”
“Ce soir,” she said, releasing him. “Now, I must get ready.”
Before he had a chance to object, she had disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
When Marie-Cecile emerged from her shower she was relieved to find Will had gone. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find him still sprawled across the bed with that innocent expression on his face.
His demands were starting to get on her nerves. Increasingly, he wanted more of her time and attention than she was prepared to give. He seemed to be misunderstanding the nature of the relationship. She would have to deal with it.