The Devil at Archangel by Sara Craven

you,
    madame, ' she managed weakly.
    Mrs Brandon gave her a shrewd glance. 'It embarrasses you that my
    grandson should find you attractive?'
    'No.' Christina gave a tiny shake of her head. 'He doesn't exactly hide
    his feelings. But since you ask, I must admit I'm surprised that you
    don't mind him going out with— the hired help. After all, I'm little
    more than one of the servants here and ...'
    'You are my guest and the goddaughter of my old friend.' Mrs
    Brandon's eyes were suddenly glacial. 'We will speak no more, if you
    please, of hiring or of servants. You speak as if we were still living in
    the last century.'
    Christina bent her head. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But ray position here
    seems so ambiguous ...'
    In spite of herself, an inward vision rose in her mind of scornful
    silver-grey eyes in a tanned face—a harshly drawn mouth that
    sneered at her as a parasite.

    'You seem unduly sensitive about it,' Mrs Brandon chided her, but she
    seemed to have recovered at least some of her good humour. She put
    out her hand and gave Christina's cheek a slight tap. 'We shall have to
    teach you to relax, ma chere. You are so tense, so lacking in
    confidence. Now, ring the bell, and we will go down to dinner.'

    Is spite of her disturbed emotional condition, not helped by the fact
    that Theo hardly took his eyes from her during the entire meal,
    Christina enjoyed her dinner of calalou, a Creole soup delicately
    flavoured with herbs, followed by delicious stuffed crab with rice.
    The fresh pineapple served for dessert provided a refreshing contrast.
    Coffee, dark and aromatic with thick cream, was served in what Mrs
    Brandon referred to as the salon, a large and rather formal room ,
    furnished in shades of gold and ivory.
    While Theo and Mrs Brandon occupied themselves with a rather
    desultory game of piquet, Christina wandered round the room
    studying the pictures and ornaments on display. As well as the
    expected family portraits of long- dead Brandons, executed with
    varying degrees of competence, there were also a number of paintings
    of the Impressionist school that she suspected were valuable
    originals, including a probable Renoir.
    Her tour of the room complete, she felt at a loss for an occupation.
    She would have liked to have gone for a stroll in the grounds, but she
    suspected that Theo would immediately offer to accompany her, and
    she wasn't sure how she felt about that. She still felt that her original
    instinct not to embark on a flirtation with him was probably the right
    one, although she had no real objection to the idea of being shown the
    plantation and the rest of the island in his company—but preferably
    by daylight, she decided.

    'Do you like music?' Theo's voice spoke close to her ear, and she
    jumped slightly.
    'Very much, although I don't play an instrument myself,' she returned.
    He walked over to an imposing antique cabinet and opened it,
    revealing a comprehensive built-in stereo unit and a large collection
    of records.
    'What do you like?' He motioned her over to look through the records.
    'It is all classical music, I'm afraid. Grand'mere thinks "pop" is an
    abomination. If you are dying for some dance music, there is a night
    club of sorts in Port Victoire. We could go there one evening, if you
    like.'
    The invitation was casual enough to be acceptable, she decided, and
    she could not pretend it was unexpected, so she smiled constrainedly
    and thanked him.
    'Oh.' Looking over his shoulder, she saw one of her favourites.
    'Debussy— La Mer.'
    He wrinkled his nose slightly, but put the record on the turntable.
    'You don't care for it?' she asked.
    He shrugged. 'It is a little placid for me. Debussy never saw one of our
    storms, that's for sure.'
    'Take care, Theo.' Mrs Brandon, who was playing a complicated form
    of patience, glanced up. 'You will make Christina nervous.'
    Theo looked at Christina, his eyes dancing and his brows slightly
    raised.

    'Oh, I would think it would take more than