Angelique gave an almighty sniff, and as if by magic a neatly folded white handkerchief with an embroidered black C on it was handed to her. ‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
She blew her nose and scrunched the handkerchief into a ball inside her hand. ‘I’m fine now.’ She took a ragged breath and glanced up at him with an attempt at wryness. ‘Bet you don’t think I’m so beautiful now.’
His expression was clouded with concern as he looked down at her. ‘I was only teasing. You do know that, don’t you, ma petite?’
Why did he have to keep calling her those wonderful endearments in that sexy accent of his? It made it so much harder to hate him.
You don’t hate him.
Angelique skirted around the thought and gave him a small self-deprecating smile. ‘It’s a bit of a hot button for me. A red rag, if you like. I don’t beg. Ever. For anything.’
‘I’ll make a note of it.’
The silence thrummed for a moment.
She tucked a tendril of hair back behind her ear. ‘Um...I guess I should go and clean up.’
He handed her the pendant, his expression now inscrutable. ‘It’s very nice. Was it a gift from one of your lovers?’
The fine chain tickled Angelique’s palm as it coiled there. ‘It was my mother’s.’ She raised her chin a fraction. ‘Just for the record, I don’t accept gifts from my lovers. Ever.’
He held her gaze for a beat or two, his still dark and unfathomable. ‘Apart from Scottish mansions, of course.’
She pursed her lips at his counter-move. Would he end up giving her back Tarrantloch? He hadn’t made any promises. Nothing was written down or signed. They had consummated their relationship, but did that mean anything to him other than yet another sexual conquest?
Angelique gave a little shrug of her shoulder as if it didn’t matter to her either way. ‘I’m sure you’ll do the right thing when it comes to the end of our relationship.’ She met his gaze again with a bold look. ‘Have you got a date in mind or are we just going to wing it?’
The screen was still down over his eyes but a tiny muscle tightened near his mouth. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll give you plenty of notice.’
She smiled a saccharine-sweet smile. ‘Big of you.’
He let out an audible breath. ‘You have first shower. I have some things to see to. We’ll eat out at nine.’
‘But I—’
The door clipped shut and after a moment Angelique dropped her shoulders on a sigh. He had a nasty habit of getting in the last word.
She would have to break him of it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
REMY HAD BARELY stepped out of the hotel when his mobile buzzed. He looked at the screen and winced. ‘Rafe, I was just about to call you and—’
‘Tell me I did not just see you telling the press you’ve married the devil’s spawn, Angelique Marchand,’ Rafe said.
Remy glanced around to see if anyone was close enough to listen in. ‘That’s not a very nice way to speak of your brand new sister-in-law, bro.’
Rafe let out a curse. ‘Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you playing at?’
‘Hey, it’s not Angelique’s fault her old man is a double-crossing tool.’ Remy couldn’t help thinking how ironic it was to find himself defending her when normally he was finding any excuse to criticise her.
‘Don’t tell me you’re in love with her, because I don’t believe it for a second. The only person you love is yourself.’
‘That’s a bit harsh. I love lots of people. Even you.’
‘Come on, Remy, this is me—Rafe. I know you. You would never fall in love with Angelique. She’s as far away from your ideal woman as she could be. You’ve always said what a little slutty shrew she is. What’s going on? Has Henri Marchand done the dirty on you? Forced you to marry her? Set up some sort of dodgy deal?’
‘None of the above,’ Remy said. ‘Angelique followed me to Dharbiri and, to cut a long story short, she was found in my room and I had to marry her to keep from causing a public riot which might have ended up in one or both of us losing the skin off our backs. I decided not the take the chance.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Rafe asked.
‘Not at all,’ Remy said.
‘You said she followed you to Dharbiri. Why didn’t you say something earlier if you were involved with her? Why let us find out like this?’
‘I wasn’t involved with her. Before this I hadn’t seen or even spoken to her in years. She came to see me about her father’s house. Remember Tarrantloch in Scotland? I won it off Henri Marchand in a bet.’