Then, as Andre took one slow step towards her, Jules again intervened. ‘You are clearly not yourself, mademoiselle. You must allow me to assist you.’
And before anything more could be said or done, he calmly lifted Cilla into his arms and carried her across the room and up the stairs, leaving an amazed silence behind him.
‘Did you expect this to happen?’ Andre asked harshly. ‘You received some advance warning, perhaps?’
They were in the petit salon, the last guests having left half an hour before and the Baron having bade them a tactful goodnight.
Although there’d been no mass exodus from the party, Cilla’s arrival had changed the whole atmosphere of the evening, offering another sensation for the participants to mull over.
And, in private, a different confrontation.
‘No,’ Ginny protested. ‘Of course not. I told my mother we were getting married, but I thought she was simply ignoring it like all my other messages. And clearly, she hasn’t told Cilla.’
He said icily, ‘But what irony, n’est-ce pas, that on the night of our engagement, your sister arrives to say her relationship with Monsieur Welburn is at an end.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because le bon Jonathan is now free to choose again. You may regret even more our afternoon of delight.’
And what about you? she thought, stung by the note of derision in his voice. Everyone in the room saw you take that step towards her. If Jules hadn’t butted in, I’d have had to watch you carrying her up the stairs.
When, only minutes before, you’d been asking me to sleep with you...
Because it’s obvious why she’s come here, she thought, and it’s not to see me.
She said, ‘And you may be reading too much into a lovers’ tiff brought on by pre-wedding stress. It happens.’
‘But not, I think, in this case.’ He paused. ‘You will be speaking to her?’
‘In the morning. She’s had a cup of bouillon, followed by one of Madame’s tisanes so I’ve been instructed to let her sleep.’
He nodded. ‘Clothilde is very wise.’ He added quietly, ‘We all need to sleep. Everything will be different tomorrow.’
Everything has changed already...
Including the rubies that now seemed to resemble drops of blood against her skin.
She reached to the back of her neck, fumbling for the clasp. ‘I should return these. I expect they belong in a safe somewhere.’
‘Permit me.’
Ginny tried not to flinch as he dealt with the awkward fastening, the brush of his fingers against her nape a brief but telling agony.
‘You can manage your dress?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Her response and involuntary recoil were both too hasty, as she was reminded of how the night might have ended. Of the taffeta slipping to the floor with a rustle like autumn leaves as Andre undressed her. His hands lingering in erotic persuasion as he explored her naked flesh.
Let me know that you belong to me.
At least she hadn’t said yes to him, with all the hideous embarrassment that would have led to under the circumstances. But being spared such an aftermath was no real consolation, although perhaps that too would seem different in the morning.
She thought, I can only hope.
She summoned a travesty of a smile. ‘Well—goodnight.’
He was already turning away. ‘Bonsoir, Virginie, et dors bien.’
Nodding jerkily, she headed for the door. Walked without hurrying to the stairs and climbed them steadily. Then began to run, as if pursued by demons, to the room that was still nominally hers and closed the door on her fragmenting world.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Cilla listlessly. She was reclining against her pillows looking enchanting in a low-cut blue silk nightdress trimmed with lace, a tray holding a barely touched breakfast on the bed beside her.
No amount of designer dresses could ever turn me into competition for her, Ginny thought with a pang. She moved the tray and sat down.
‘Not hungry?’
Cilla shrugged. ‘Not for bread and jam. Is that all that passes for breakfast round here?’
‘Pretty much, although you can have croissants or pains au chocolat if you ask before the trip to the boulangerie. And there are eggs, of course.’ Ginny tried a smile. ‘I’ve just fed the hens.’
‘Aren’t there servants to do that? The woman who gave me that revolting drink last night, for instance.’ Cilla shuddered. ‘I thought she was trying to poison me, and this morning she turns up with breakfast. No wonder I have no appetite.’
Ginny said quietly, ‘What’s gone wrong, Cilly-Billy? I mean between you and Jon?’
Cilla’s head lifted sharply at the idiotic childhood nickname. But instead of delivering the expected blast, she seemed to be fighting tears.