Dancing on a Rainbow Read online

  There seemed, however, to be no way of doing so, for the windows were both tightly shut and she tried to work out in her mind whether this was some strange new idea of the Marquis’s to intrigue her or if, as seemed more likely, there had been some mistake.

  It was then a frightening suspicion came into her mind, so frightening that she was afraid to put it into words.

  She bent forward and tried again to open the windows, but with no success and because they were travelling at such a speed she dared not attempt to open the carriage door.

  “What is happening? What can – be happening?” she asked aloud.

  Then, as she wondered wildly what she should do, if her worst suspicions were confirmed, she realised they were almost at the end of the boulevard.

  The houses were now more widely spaced and she thought, although she was not sure, that they were on the edge of the Bois de Boulogne.

  The horse turned in through some drive gates and proceeded a little way through a flower-filled garden before they came to a standstill outside the portico of a large house.

  ‘There is a mistake,’ Loretta told herself consolingly. ‘The coachman must have gone to the wrong house and picked up the wrong person. It is my fault for not being more suspicious and not thinking it strange that the Marquis did not come into the house.’

  A footman opened the carriage door and she said to him in French,

  “To whom does this house belong?”

  “Monsieur is waiting for you, madame , inside,” the footman replied.

  “And what is the name of Monsieur? ” Loretta persisted.

  “He is waiting, madame, and asks if you will join him.”

  Because there seemed to be nothing she could do and it was impossible to go on arguing, Loretta stepped out of the carriage, saying as she did so,

  “Tell the coachman to wait. There has been some mistake and I must explain to your Master that I must go back to where I came from.”

  As she spoke, she walked into the hall, where another servant moved ahead of her to lead her up a broad stairway to what she expected would be a salon on the first floor.

  She began to think, since the house looked well-furnished and very luxurious, that what had happened was a genuine mistake and she would find herself with a party of people who had no idea who she was.

  ‘I must insist that I am taken back at once,’ Loretta thought, ‘otherwise the Marquis will arrive and wonder what has happened to me.’

  She caught sight of a clock at the top of the stairs and told herself that she had been very stupid in the first place to think it was the Marquis, because last night he had been exactly on time and now it was only just after eight o’clock.

  She must have been driving for at least ten minutes since leaving the Champs-Élysées.

  A servant opened the door and was silent as she passed him into a large room.

  She had taken only a few steps when she stopped dead, realising that standing waiting for her were not strangers, as she had expected, but one man – the Comte Eugene de Marais.

  He was looking somewhat strange and it took Loretta a second or two to realise he was not wearing evening dress, but a heavily padded brocade coat such as her father sometimes wore, though a very much more elaborate version, after hunting.

  Then, as she looked at him wide-eyed, wondering what she could say and how she could express her horror at being brought to him in such an extraordinary manner, she realised that the room was not a salon but a bedroom.

  There was a large draped divan-like bed against one wall and the Comte was standing in front of a long mirror, which reflected both his back and the bed.

  There were softly shaded lights that gave the room an air of seduction.

  Loretta found her voice.

  “How dare you – bring me here like this!” she spluttered in outrage.

  As she spoke she heard the door close behind her and the Comte moved forward to say,

  “You have come! This is what I have been longing for, my beautiful Lady and now there is no question of your not dining with me, as I wish you to do.”

  “As I told you this morning, monsieur , I have another engagement,” Loretta said, “and I am appalled at your extraordinary behaviour.”

  He had almost reached her and because she was frightened she moved back towards the door and tried to turn the handle, but as she did so she realised that the door was locked.

  Then, as she looked again at the Comte , she saw the amusement in his eyes.

  “There is no escape, my lovely one!” he crowed. “You have fought me in a manner I find entrancing since we first sat together at dinner and, if you continue to fight me, I assure you that I shall find it exceedingly alluring and very exciting.”

  “Having got me here by a trick, how can you expect me to do – anything but – fight you?” Loretta asked.

  “I want you!” the Comte said in the deep velvet tones Loretta found so frightening.

  She stared at him.

  Then, as if she felt that the way she was speaking was perhaps a mistake, she said,

  “Please – be civilised about this. You know I had no wish to come – here and I can only – beg of you as a – gentleman to – let me go.”

  “And how disappointed you would be if I did!” the Comte replied. “However, as you said, we will be civilised about it and the first thing is to have a glass of champagne. There is no hurry, for we have the whole night ahead of us.”

  The way he spoke made Loretta feel that she might scream at him with horror.

  Then with a pride and self-control she did not know she possessed she managed to say,

  “I would like a glass of champagne. But you can imagine, I am deeply perturbed at being – abducted in this – extraordinary way.”

  “I told you that I always get my own way. Now, come and sit down. I want to look at you and to assure you, in case you doubt my word, that I have never seen anybody more beautiful nor so utterly and completely desirable.”

  He gestured to Loretta to follow him as he moved to a sofa that had its back to the heavily-curtained bow window and in front of it was a table.

  On it she saw that there was a bottle of champagne in a huge gold ice-cooler on a gold tray and a number of decanters and bottles.

  She sat down, feeling that if she did not keep a tight hold on herself, she would run to the door and bang on it with her fists and scream to be let out.

  She was sure that, if she did so, the Comte’s servants would pay no attention and it was horrifying to be aware that a servant had locked her in, as he must have been instructed to do.

  The Comte sat down beside her and she saw that beneath his open velvet coat he was wearing his evening trousers and a thin lawn shirt.

  But instead of the conventional stiff collar there was a soft satin tie around his neck, which she realised would be much easier to remove.

  She felt faint at the idea and tried not to look at the bed they were facing, having already seen that it had silk sheets edged with lace and fat satin pillows engraved with the Comte’s monogram.

  He poured some champagne into two glasses, saying as he did so,

  “A golden wine which echoes the gold in your hair and I suggest you have one of these sandwiches which are made with a pâté I have sent from Strasbourg or, if you prefer, there is caviar.”

  Because she was afraid she might faint, Loretta took a sip of the champagne and the Comte said,

  “Later we will have supper in the next room, but first, my beautiful Lady, I intend to teach you, as no Englishman could do, the passions of love, the secrets of which were known to the Ancient Egyptians and to the Indians, many of whom were famous lovers.”

  The way he spoke made her feel as if every word he uttered was a delight to him and as if in some unpleasant way it excited him.

  She felt too that he looked at her as if he mentally undressed her and, because she could not help it, she shrank away from him.

  He laughed softly.
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  “In a little while,” he said, “I will make you mine. Then, my adorable, unawakened Englishwoman, you will become more mature, more feminine and, although it seems impossible, even more desirable than you are at this moment.”

  Now, before Loretta could move, he put his arm around her and, taking her glass from her hand, drew her closer to him.

  She tried to resist him, but realised that he was exceedingly strong.

  “No, no!” she cried.

  But he merely pulled her relentlessly and now her body was touching his.

  ‘Fabian, help me, help me,’ she prayed.

  It was then, as she sent out a cry for help in her heart, that she knew what to do.

  She put out her hand as if in protest and, as she did so, knocked the earring which Ingrid had lent her and which was only clipped to her ear, onto the floor.

  She gave a cry of consternation,

  “My earring!” she cried. “Don’t stand on it, it is very fragile!”

  The Comte looked down to where the earring was lying just beneath a low table.

  As he bent down Loretta leant over him and, picking up an unopened bottle of mineral water that was standing on the gold tray beside the decanter, brought it down with all her force on the back of his head.

  He fell forward with a groan and, as he did so, she hit him again.

  Then, rising to give more force to the blow, she struck him for the third time.

  As he collapsed onto the floor between the table and the sofa, she heard a noise behind her.

  Turning her head involuntarily, she saw the curtains part and Fabian came into the room.

  She gave out a cry of relief, which seemed to echo round the walls.

  Throwing the bottle down on the sofa, she ran round it to fling herself against him, crying out as she did so,

  “I have – killed him! I have – killed him! Oh, Fabian – I have killed – him!”

  Chapter Six

  Fabian put his arms around Loretta and held her close against him.

  Then, as she hid her face against his shoulder, she murmured in a voice he could hardly hear,

  “I-I have – k-killed him! W-will I be taken to p-prison – and be – guillotined?”

  He felt her whole body tremble at the thought and said quietly and calmly,

  “It’s all right, my darling, leave everything to me.”

  As he spoke, he drew her through the curtains and an open window onto the balcony.

  Because she was still clinging to him desperately, he very gently moved her to the support of the stone balustrade and suggested,

  “Stand here and breathe deeply. I am going back to see exactly what has happened.”

  “H-he is – d-dead!”

  Obeying almost like a child what Fabian had told her to do, she clung onto the balustrade, feeling the cold of it was somehow helpful and she could lean against it.

  He disappeared through the window and Loretta closed her eyes, feeling that what had happened could not be true, but must be part of some terrible nightmare.

  But she knew, with a throbbing of her heart and a dryness of her lips and a feeling of terror that was still inside her, what the Comte had meant to do and how she had saved herself only by a miracle.

  It seemed to her a long time that she stood there, feeling as if she might collapse on the balcony. She feared, however, that if she did so, Fabian would despise her.

  ‘I must control myself and be brave,’ she tried to tell herself.

  But she knew that she felt weak and helpless, while waves of nausea seemed to be rising within her.

  Then, when she felt that she could not bear it any longer and she must go inside and see what was happening, Fabian returned.

  She heard his footsteps behind her and turned to fling herself against him.

  He held her very close and the strength of his arms was an unbelievable comfort.

  “It’s all right, my precious,” he said. “He is not dead!”

  “N-not – dead?”

  It was almost impossible for her to say the words.

  “No, he is alive, but you have been very rough with him and he will suffer the effects of concussion for some time, which he richly deserves!”

  Fabian’s voice was harsh, but all Loretta could think of was that she was safe. She would not be imprisoned or guillotined, since the Comte was not dead, as she had thought he must be.

  Fabian drew her a little closer and she thought his lips were on her hair as he said,

  “Now I want you to be very brave, for, as I cannot ask you to climb down the way I climbed up, we will have to walk to the front door, where my carriage will be waiting.”

  “B-but we – cannot get out,” Loretta faltered. “The – the door is – locked.”

  “I am aware of that,” Fabian said harshly, “but fortunately there is another door from the room where you were to dine.”

  She looked up at him enquiringly and, as he saw her face very pale, her eyes still dark with fear, her lips trembling, he said gently as if he was speaking to a child,

  “Just be brave for a little while longer. We must not let the servants think that there is any reason that you should be overwhelmingly upset by what has occurred.”

  His words made her stiffen and raise her chin.

  There was a very tender expression in his eyes as he looked at her for a long moment and then put his arm round her shoulders and steered her through the door behind them.

  He parted the curtains and for a moment Loretta dared not look at the battered man she had left lying on the floor.

  Then she saw that Fabian must have lifted the Comte onto the bed, for he was lying there against the satin pillows with his eyes closed.

  His padded coat and his shirt were open as if Fabian had felt his heart.

  When she would have asked the question, Fabian picked up her velvet wrap, slipped her arm through his and drew her firmly to a door beside the fireplace in the bedroom, which led into a boudoir , where there square stood a table laid for two.

  The lights were very low and seductive, but Fabian propelled Loretta towards the door, which opened when he turned the handle.

  Without speaking, he escorted her along the corridor and down the stairs up which she had followed the servant when she first arrived.

  There were several flunkeys and an elderly man who appeared to be in charge in the hall.

  Loretta was sure that they would be looking in astonishment at Fabian and wondering how she could have suddenly materialised from the locked bedroom of their Master.

  Fabian helped Loretta down the last step of the stairs before he said with a note of authority in his voice,

  “Your Master is unwell! Attend to him and send for a doctor immediately.”

  When he had finished speaking, he did not wait to hear any reply, but went with Loretta out through the front door and down the steps to where his carriage was waiting.

  He helped her into it and sat beside her and, as soon as the footman had closed the door, the horses drove off.

  It was then that the self-control Loretta had summoned up in order to obey his instructions broke and she burst into tears.

  It was as if she were swept away by a tempest of her own fears, until she could no more control her tears than stop the Seine from flowing.

  She cried as a child might have done, the tears running from her eyes to wet Fabian’s evening cloak and she was blind and deaf to everything except her own misery.

  He held her very close and when her tears abated a little he said,

  “It is all right, my precious, innocent little Goddess. You were quite safe, for the moment I saw his carriage driving away and was told you had already left, I realised what had happened.”

  “You – knew he would bring me to his – house?” Loretta managed to whisper.

  “I know his methods only too well!” Fabian answered angrily. “Although you nearly killed him, my darling, it was no less than I intended to do myself if he had
hurt you in any way.”

  “I-I was – frightened – so very frightened!”

  “Of course you were, but you must have known that I would save you.”

  “I was – praying that you would,” Loretta said, “and crying out to you in my – h-heart.”

  “I heard you,” Fabian answered. “Fortunately I have been here before and guessed where the swine would have taken you. So I climbed up onto the balcony. It is a fairly easy climb as there is trelliswork beneath it. But if I had had to storm the Bastille, I would still have come to you.”

  Loretta tried to smile, but it was too difficult.

  She did indeed manage to stop crying, but she still hid her face against Fabian’s shoulder.

  Then she gave a little cry.

  “I left my – earring behind. It is Ingrid’s! If anybody finds it, they might know I was – there!”

  Fabian opened his hand and she saw that the diamond and pearl earring lay in his palm.

  “You – found it!”

  “I heard you say as I stepped onto the balcony, ‘I have dropped my earring’.”

  “Thank you – oh, thank – you!” Loretta exclaimed.

  Then, for no particular reason except that it was all so overwhelming, the tears were running down her cheeks again.

  Fabian wiped them away very tenderly, until, as the horses came to a standstill, Loretta said,

  “I-I cannot let anyone – see me like this!”

  “No, of course not,” he replied. “That is why I have brought you to my house.”

  Loretta looked at him and he said gently,

  “It will be quite proper for you to come here because my grandmother, the Duchesse de Mellerio, is staying with me at the moment. She is very old and has her dinner in bed.”

  At that moment a footman opened the door and Fabian alighted and helped Loretta from the carriage.

  She bent her head so that the numerous servants would not see her face.

  Fabian led her across what she thought was a large hall into a room on the other side of it.

  As he did so, he said to the servant who opened the door,

  “Tell the chef I require a light dinner for two with dishes that he can prepare quickly. And bring me a bottle of champagne.”