The Right Bride? by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online Page B

gripping the wheel as if they’d been glued there. She thought numbly, But it can’t be him. It can’t be Remy because Tante said—she promised—that I’d have nothing to fear.
    Nothing to fear…
    An impatient hooting from the vehicles behind brought her back to the here and now, and she realised, embarrassment flooding her face with colour, that the total shock of seeing him had made her stall the engine. She restarted carefully, and set off, waving an apologetic hand to the other drivers.
    She threaded her way out of town and on to the narrow road which led to Les Sables, before yanking the wheel over and bringing the car to an abrupt halt. She sat for a moment, her whole body shaking, then flung open the car door and stumbled out, kneeling on the short, scrubby grass while she threw up.
    As she straightened, her head swimming, her throat and stomach aching, she heard Tom’s frightened wail from the car, and dragged herself to her feet in instant contrition.
    ‘It’s all right, darling, Mummy’s here.’ She found a packet of wipes in the glove compartment and hastily cleaned her face and hands, before releasing Tom from his harness and lifting him into her arms. She sat down on a flat boulder a few feet away from the car, and held him close against her, patting him and murmuring soothingly while she waited for her heartbeat to settle. And she tried desperately to make sense of what had just happened. But failed.
    There is nothing that should keep you away…
    The words were indelibly printed on her brain. Unforgettable.
    The wording of Tante’s letter had suggested—had seemed to promise—that Remy was still far off in South America. So how could he possibly be there in Ignac, charming tough old ladies into compliance, buying food from the market, clearly as much at home as if he’d never been away?
    She should have told me the truth, she thought passionately. Should have warned me that he was here. Except that if she had nothing would have dragged me here, and she knew it.
    Perhaps, she thought, Tante doesn’t know he’s come back. Maybe it’s a temporary thing—some kind of furlough—and she hasn’t heard.
    But she discounted that almost at once. Her aunt’s house might be secluded, but it wasn’t in limbo. Every piece of gossip, every item of local news, found its way to her sooner or later.
    Besides, Remy’s father, Philippe de Brizat, was Tante’s doctor—and his father before him, for all she knew.
    Of course the news of Remy’s return would have been shared with her.
    Anguish stabbed at her. It seemed unbelievable that her beloved and trusted great-aunt should have deliberately set out to deceive her like this. Unless she knew that the first time she did so would also be the last.
    She must, Allie thought sombrely, be really desperate to see me again—to see Tom—even to contemplate such a thing.
    Her immediate instinct was to turn the car and drive back to Roscoff. Get the first possible return sailing. But, apart from all the other considerations, that would mean returning to the Hall with her tail between her legs, losing any advantage she’d gained in her belated bid for independence.
    I could still visit Tante, she thought, but make it a brief visit—not stay for the ten days as planned. That should be safe enough.
    After all, France is a big country, and Brittany’s not its only region. Plus, it’s still early enough in the year for there to be hotel vacancies. I could take Tom exploring the Auvergne, or the Dordogne. Even go as far as the Côte d’Azur.
    Anywhere, she resolved, as long as it was far—far away from Remy de Brizat. Because Tante was so terribly wrong, and she had everything to fear from encountering him again.
    Her arms closed more tightly around Tom, who wriggled in protest, demanding to be set down.
    She held his hands, steering him back to the car as he paced unsteadily along, face set in fierce determination.
    ‘I know the feeling,’ she told him as she