The Seduction Trap by Sara Wood Page B

responsible for the opening hours of local attractions,’ she said, as politely as humanly possible. ‘I suppose there just isn’t the custom.’
    ‘Damn place is all but deserted!’
    ‘It’s very peaceful,’ she pointed out placatingly. A figure appeared just at the periphery of her vision and she knew with a sinking feeling in her stomach who it must be. She squirmed on the seat in embarrassment-both at the present situation and at the memory of the last time they’d been together. Too together! Clamped together like limpets, worth every inch of his muscular body impressing itself indelibly on her mind. Pleasurable sensations spurted through her sensory system and made
    her hands shake. Her legs too. They’d been perfectly under control until he’d turned up.
    ‘Having problems?’ enquired Guy, mockery in every smoothly drawled syllable.
    What would he say, she wondered tetchily, if she replied, Yes, runaway hormones? But she didn’t. ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she lied, and wished he’d go away and mind his own business. ‘Who might you be, butting in on a private conversation?’ bristled Mr Donovan righteously, and he and Tessa frowned at
    Guy in joint challenge.
    Sublimely unperturbed, Guy produced one of his pat, charming smiles.
    ‘Guy de Turaine. I am the seigneur of Turaine-I think you call this the lord of the manor?’
    Tessa’s eyes grew cynical. He was doing the helpless foreigner bit in order to disarm Mr Donovan-who was clearly falling for Guy’s ruse. ‘Don’t worry about choosing your words carefully. Guy will understand everything you say. He’s lived in America for years,’ she said sourly, earning herself a little sardonic glance from Guy.
    Graciously he extended a hand to the man beside her. ‘How do you do? I gather you’re not satisfied with your holiday cottage?’ he murmured, now all concern and furrowed brow. ‘I most certainly am not!’ declared the man, clearly pleased and puffed up at having such an important person on his side. ‘Me and my wife were chatting to a local woman who came by, and she was horrified when we showed her around. She said the place was a disgrace-’
    ‘A ... local woman?’ Guy asked, suddenly alert. ‘Not Madame Legrand, from across the lane? Dark, short hair, sixtyish and plump, was she?’
    Tessa gave Guy a suspicious look. He was trying to extract information out of Mr Donovan, and, judging by the man’s impatient shake of his head, his aim was about to be fulfilled.
    ‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘Long blonde hair. Very slim and stylish. Young. Wearing baggy trouser things. Raw silk palazzo pants, my wife said. Do you know who I mean?’
    ‘I have a fair idea;’ murmured Guy laconically. ‘Helpful young woman. She said we would be within our rights if we insisted on our money back. If you have any influence at all,’ said Mr Donovan pompously, while Tessa wished Miss Palazzo Pants all the ill luck in the world, ‘you’ll tell Miss Davis that she’s letting the place down.’
    ‘You’re letting the place down,’ Guy told her helpfully, his eyes as cold as black ice.
    Tessa ground her teeth together. But at least he wasn’t harping on about her desperately enthusiastic reaction to his kiss. Small mercies. It meant she could fight him on equal terms again. ‘Mr Donovan,’ she said quietly, pretending to ignore Guy, even though he loomed over her like a dark spectre, ‘I am just as unhappy about the condition of the cottage as you are. I’ll do everything I can to get your money back to you.’
    ‘I want the full amount-!’ he began.
    ‘And you’ll get it,’ she promised hurriedly. ‘Please trust me. I can let you have something now, to start with, she said, unzipping her canvas shoulder bag, ‘and if you give me your home address and the total amount you paid for the week I’ll settle up with you when I can get the cash. I feel so embarrassed that you’ve had problems on your holiday. It must have been an awful