Secret Harbor by Barbara Cartland Read Free Book Online

Mademoiselle ,” he said, “and as you must be aware, I cannot interfere.”
    “No ... of course not,” Grania agreed. “I should not have ... spoken as I ... did. Forgive ... me.”
    “There is nothing to forgive. I want to listen. I want to help you, but I am an enemy, apart from the fact that I am also a criminal outlaw.”
    “Perhaps that is what I ... should be,” Grania said, “then even Mr. Maigrin would not ... wish to marry ... me.”
    Even as she spoke she knew there was nothing she could do to prevent him wanting her for herself apart from her social position.
    She saw again the look in his eyes last night and felt herself shiver.
    She was frightened, desperately, horribly frightened, not of the revolution, not of dying, but of being touched by a man who she knew was evil, and whose very presence disgusted her so that she felt physically sick when he was near her.
    Her face must have been very expressive, for suddenly the Frenchman asked harshly:
    “Why did you not stay in England where you were safe?”
    “How could I after Mama died?” Grania asked. “I knew very few people, and besides ... Papa would have ... insisted on bringing me back ... whatever I ... might have ... said.”
    “It is a pity you could not have found somebody to marry you while you were there,” the Frenchman remarked.
    “I think that is what Mama wanted,” Grania answered, “she intended to present me to the King and Queen, then I would have been asked to Balls and parties. She had planned so many things but she became ill ... so terribly ill before Christmas.”
    She paused for a moment before she went on:
    “The weather was foggy and cold, and Mama had been living in the sun for so many years that the Doctor said her blood had become thin and she was too ... weak to stand the English ... climate.”
    “I understand,” the Frenchman said in a low voice. “But surely you could tell your father that you have no wish to marry this man?”
    “I have told him,” Grania replied, “but he said he had it all arranged ... and that Mr. Maigrin was ... very rich.”
    She felt as she spoke that she was being disloyal, but it was, she knew, the whole crux of the matter, the real reason why her father was so insistent that she must marry.
    Roderick Maigrin was rich, he could keep her father in the comfort he wanted, and the only way her father could achieve this was by handing over his daughter.
    “It is an intolerable situation!” the Frenchman said suddenly in a voice that made her start.
    “But ... what can I do about it?” Grania asked.
    “When I lay in bed and looked at your mother’s picture,” he said in a low voice, “I thought it would be impossible for anybody to be lovelier, sweeter or more attractive. But now I have seen you I know that while outwardly you resemble your mother there is, perhaps because you are alive, something which the artist failed to portray.”
    “What is it?” Grania asked curiously.
    “I think the right word for it is that you have a spirituality , Mademoiselle , which would be impossible to convey on canvas, except for a Michaelangelo, or a Botticelli.”
    “Thank you,” Grania said in a low voice.
    “I am not just paying you a compliment,” the Frenchman said, “but stating a fact, and that is why I know it would be impossible for you to marry a man like Maigrin. I have only seen him once, but I have heard a great deal about him, and I can say in all truth; better dead then that you should be his wife!”
    Grania clasped her hands together.
    “That is what I feel ... but I know Papa will not ... listen to me ... and when he comes here I shall be forced to marry whatever I may say ... however much I may ... plead with ... him.”
    The Frenchman rose to his feet and walked to the rail of the verandah to stand leaning against it.
    Grania thought he was looking at his ship and thinking how easily he could slip out of harbour into the open sea where he would be free and could leave