The Designer(58)

‘When will you open it again?’ Copper asked.

‘When the war is over. Until then, I prefer a room at the Ritz. Do you like it?’

‘I love it. It’s gorgeous. If it were mine, I wouldn’t be able to wait.’

‘My darling, it is yours,’ he said gently. ‘Yours to do with as you please. When we’re married and the war is over, we’ll bring this place to life again.’

She looked around her, seeing the place as it would be once restored: one of the most beautiful houses in Paris. She tried to imagine herself, Oona Reilly from Brooklyn, as the mistress here; having the arrangement of the décor, hosting dinners, becoming a leading member of the belle monde. Parisian society would be at her feet. ‘Somehow, I just can’t see it.’

‘I can.’ He caressed the flowing auburn of her hair. ‘Don’t be angry with me. But I will have to be away for some time.’

She looked into his face. ‘What do you mean, “away”? Where are you going?’

‘I told you that the communists are planning a revolt. Well, it has already begun.’

‘You mean the strikes?’

‘The strikes are just the beginning. They hope to bring France to her knees over the next few weeks. I have things to do.’

‘Will you be in danger?’

‘Of course not.’ He took her arm. ‘Look. This would be our bedroom.’

It was an airy, charming room with a large, arched window that framed a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. Unlike the rest of the rooms in the house, this one was clean and in perfect order. There were fresh flowers on the table and the huge, four-poster bed had been made up, the spotless linen inviting.

‘What’s all this?’ she asked. ‘Did you have this room got ready especially?’

‘I wanted it to look pretty for you.’

‘So that I would fall into bed with you?’ she demanded, half angry and half amused.

‘One may always hope.’

Copper didn’t know whether to be shocked or flattered. ‘Henry! And here I was, thinking you were a perfect gentleman.’

‘I believe you Americans have a saying: nice guys finish last.’

‘I didn’t know it was a race.’

‘Nor did I. But now I see that there is a race – and the first past the post will be the winner.’

She stared at him for a moment. ‘You think you’re competing with Suzy.’

‘I know I’m competing with her.’

‘I don’t like being thought of in that way,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m not some kind of prize to be won.’

‘Copper,’ he replied, his voice quiet. ‘I love you. It’s not a question of winning you. It’s that losing you would destroy my happiness.’

‘You’re putting too much pressure on me,’ she said, turning away from him restlessly. ‘You promised you would give me time. You said you were patient.’

‘But my rival is not patient. My rival is pressing hard. If I’m patient, I will lose you to her.’

‘She’s not your rival.’

‘It seems that way to me.’

‘That isn’t fair.’ Copper lifted her face to his. She had intended to give him a rebuke, but somehow it didn’t work out that way. Her lips brushed his mouth, hesitated there, as though ready to flee – and then decided to remain. His answering kiss was warm, possessive. It deepened, and in a fraction of a second, she remembered everything that she had missed – the strength of a man’s kiss, the joy of being held in a man’s arms.

Her physical reaction was instantaneous. She felt her head swimming and for a moment she leaned against him, as though drawn in by the force of his gravity. For that moment, it was as though nothing were more logical than yielding to Henry, letting him take over her life. Shuddering, she buried her face against his chest. He held her tight, kissing the side of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, the perfume of her hair. Copper felt her breasts and thighs tense with desire. Her fingers dug into the muscular shape of his body under his clothes. She hadn’t felt like this since Amory. She hadn’t known that she could feel it any longer.

‘I feel dizzy.’

‘A night in the cells will do that.’ She could hear the smile in his voice.

‘You know perfectly well what’s making my head spin.’

‘Perhaps I do. Lie with me on our bed. Just for a moment.’ Reluctantly, she allowed Henry to draw her down on to the bed beside him. ‘Aren’t you happy with me?’ he asked, cradling her in his arms.

‘Everything’s beautiful,’ she replied quietly. ‘This room is beautiful, the house is beautiful, you’re beautiful. But my freedom is precious to me.’

‘I know that. And I don’t want to take it away.’

‘But you do. Isn’t marriage a loss of freedom?’

He smiled with a touch of sadness. ‘My view of marriage is perhaps a little different, my darling. I believe that marriage means voluntarily giving up certain freedoms – not having them forcibly taken away. If you marry me, you’ll be free to choose what you wish to renounce.’

‘Even if I want to keep on seeing Suzy?’

‘Even that.’