The Demon Lover by Victoria Holt Page B

miniature?”
    “I cannot say. So much depends on how the work progresses.”
    “Not long, I am sure.”
    “I imagine the Baron will want it done with the greatest speed.”
    The mention of the Baron brought a chill into the afternoon. I must have been enjoying it so much that I had forgotten him.
    I didn’t realize what was happening to me that afternoon, but it was an enchanted one. I began to believe afterwards that this was what people meant by falling in love something which had never happened to me before. I had met very few young men; I supposed I had lived a fairly sheltered life. I had certainly never met anyone in the least like Bertrand de Mortemer. His outstanding good looks, his elegant clothes, his determination to do everything he could to help, his gentleness which mingled with a certain worldliness enchanted me. And yet on the other hand I felt protective towards him, which was a strange way to feel. I didn’t know why-but then my emotions were so mixed and so strange to me. I was in the first place overcome with astonishment that I could feel so strongly about a man who was almost a stranger.
    So naturally I was excited as we galloped across the meadow and the castle came into sight. The wind caught at my hair under my hard bowler hat and I loved the feel of it. I loved the sound of thudding hoofs; and he was beside me, laughing, enjoying it as much as I did.
    Excitement. Adventure, Daring. And Danger . oh, definitely danger.
    To come here under false pretences, to work out a devious plan for painting a picture which would be mistaken for my father’s work. that was surely courting danger.
    Oh, but it was exciting.
    Even as we rode into the stables I was aware of the change. One of the grooms came running to us.
    The Baron had returned.
    I felt my excitement immediately tempered by apprehension. I looked at Bertrand de Mortemer. He seemed to have shrunk.
    The testing time had come.
    I had not expected it quite so soon, for as we came into the great hall the Baron himself was there.
    There was a second or so of silence while he looked at us. I felt then that my greatest fears had some foundation.
    He was an overpowering man but I had expected that. He was very tall and broad, which gave an impression of bulk rather than height. He was dressed in dark riding clothes which accentuated the blonde ness of his hair, which was thick and glistened in the light which came through the narrow windows. His eyes were steely grey, his nose was rather prominent but straight, and he had a fresh colour which gave the impression that he was full of health and vigour. There was something about him which set the alarm bells ringing in my head. I suppose I was wondering how we were going to deceive such a man.
    He came towards us, his eyes on me. His brows were raised slightly ironically.
    “Bertrand,” he said, ‘why do you not present me to your friend? “
    “Oh,” replied Bertrand with a little laugh which could only indicate embarrassment, ‘this is Mademoiselle Collison. “
    “Mademoiselle Collison?” He paused and looked at me quizzically.
    I had always believed that when one was on the defensive one must go into the attack, so I answered quickly: “I came with my father. He is Kendal Collison who is to paint the miniature of the Baron de Centeville.”
    He bowed.
    I hurried on: “I travel with my father. I can be of some use to him.”
    “I trust they have looked after you,” he said.
    “I mean within the household. I can see that Monsieur de Mortemer has performed his duty as host in my absence.”
    “So,” I replied, ‘you are the Baron de Centeville. I am glad to meet you. “
    “You have been riding, I see.”
    “While we were waiting for your arrival I thought I would show Mademoiselle Collison the countryside,” Bertrand explained.
    “What do you think of our countryside, Mademoiselle Collison?” His English was good but his accent slightly more foreign than that of Bertrand.
    “Very