The French Aristocrat's Baby (4 page)

The downward spiral began when she put the key into the ignition of her little car. The engine had to be coaxed into life, and the reason was easy to remember from earlier that afternoon. The petrol gauge was now well into the danger zone. Gwen dropped her head onto the steering wheel and groaned. She had meant to pop out before the garage closed and fill up, but there hadn’t been time. Now it was far too late to try. She wondered briefly about going back into her office and trying to sleep on the floor. Her nice comfy bed called too loudly, so she abandoned that idea. All she wanted to do was get home. She pointed her tiny Citroen in the right direction and hoped for the best.

It was a bad idea. The car spluttered to a halt halfway up the twisting mountain road leading to her rented
cottage. With a sigh, she nosed it up onto the verge. Unlocking its boot, she grabbed the petrol can. There was barely an eggcup full of fuel inside it. A couple of weeks earlier she had given the contents to one of the waiters to top up his moped. She had totally forgotten to refill the can.

Gwen was faced with a long, dark walk home. Locking the Citroen, she started off. With no one to blame for the situation but herself, she tried to make the best of it. During the day, the views from this road over the Mediterranean were spectacular. At night the uphill journey was breath-robbing rather than breathtaking, although there were compensations. A million stars speckled the sky from one horizon to the other. If that wasn’t enough to take Gwen’s mind off her blistered toes, the nightingales that gave her restaurant its name were in full song. It was the perfect opportunity to let her mind wander back to that breathtaking kiss with the man who had called her irresistible.

Her head was so full of romance she was only dimly aware of a wholly man-made sound attacking the peace and quiet of the hillside. It took the blazing spotlights of a fast car to bring her to her senses. She jumped off the road in panic, but the vehicle slowed dramatically. Drawing level with her, it paused. The driver opened his door and hailed her.

‘Ah,
c’est le chef anglais
! Where are you going on such a dark and lonely night?’

It was him. Etienne Moreau. Gwen was hardly able to believe it. He was behind the wheel of a sleek, low,
sports car and with relief she saw he was alone. To have met the gorgeous Etienne with another woman so soon after that wonderful kiss would have been unbearable.

‘I’m on my way home. My car broke down.’ Gwen smiled ruefully, hoping he wouldn’t want details. This was the man who called her irresistible. She didn’t want her fantasy wrecked by hearing him call her an airhead for running out of petrol.

‘The red Citroen C1 with the parking scrapes and missing offside wing mirror, parked half a kilometre back?’

Gwen nodded, trying not to look pained. That was all she needed. A fantasy man so perfect he knew enough about cars to recognise an idiot when he saw one.

‘Get in. I’ll give you a lift.’

Gwen looked over his impressive car as it purred contentedly beside her. And then the look in his eyes. They mirrored his words, after that brief moment of passion…
You are irresistible…

Panic overwhelmed her. It was one thing to fantasise about a man. With her dream threatening to come true, she felt totally inadequate.

‘N-no—it’s OK. I’m fine. Totally. I’m nearly home. I couldn’t possibly…’

The wider he smiled, the faster her voice dwindled.

‘Nonsense. Get in. How could I let you walk any further on those stilettos, and still call myself a gentleman?’ he added with perfect logic, casting an appreciative glance at Gwen’s small, shapely feet. They were peeping out from beneath the hem of her dress as she held it up, away from the long grasses of the verge. She
let her hands fall, freeing the folds of material to hide her painfully impractical shoes.

‘So—will you accept a lift from me now?’

Gwen sighed. Her feet did hurt, the road was long and dark and Etienne’s warm car, not to mention the man himself, looked wonderfully appealing.

‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ It was tricky keeping the apprehension out of her voice.

Without a word, Etienne took the magnum of champagne that was propped up on the passenger seat. ‘You’ll be a much more interesting companion than this,
ma chef anglais.
I won it in a charity auction! Perhaps I will donate it as a prize somewhere else.’ He laughed as he got out of the car and walked around to where Gwen stood. Filling her arms with the heavy foil-wrapped bottle, he opened the car door for her. Gwen thanked him with a smile.

Getting into the confined space of the passenger seat was another trial. It sharpened her nerves to the point where she had to say something to cover her embarrassment. ‘Although I should tell you,
monsieur
, I’m Welsh, not English.’

‘Ah, that explains it.’ Etienne nodded sagely, slipping into the driver’s seat beside her. He paused, one hand on top of the steering wheel.

‘Before we start, give me your keys. I’ll arrange for someone to collect your car, and get it fixed.’

‘Thank you, that’s really kind,’ Gwen muttered, glad he would never see the tell-tale bill. When she was safely belted in, he pushed his sports car into gear and powered on up the hill.

She watched him, her eyes narrowed.

‘Why should the fact that I’m Welsh explain anything, Count?’

Etienne gave her a lazily superior smile. ‘That rebellious streak of yours…the way you chose to try and walk home in those ridiculous little shoes instead of phoning someone for help…I should have guessed. And don’t bother using my title,’ he added casually. ‘In my experience, people who call me by it are only looking to gain some advantage.’

Gwen felt slightly affronted, having never tried to gain anything from anyone in her life. ‘OK, Monsieur Moreau.’

‘It’s Etienne.’ His voice crackled, then softened as he asked, ‘Where do you live?’

‘I’m staying in Nick’s
gite
, right at the top of the hill. You can drop me anywhere that’s convenient for you.’

‘And you are his fiancée’s best friend, Gwyneth.’ Etienne’s accent turned her name into something beautiful and exotic, but his words were an accusation.

Gwen stiffened. No matter how gorgeous he was, she couldn’t stop herself reacting angrily.

‘I was his
ex
-fiancée’s
ex
-best friend. And, please call me Gwen!’

‘
Dommage
!’ He inhaled sharply. ‘That’s some reaction. What caused the split between you?’

Gwen wondered where to start. She felt like blaming Carys for all her problems, but that wasn’t entirely fair. Nobody had held a gun to Gwen’s head and made her buy out Nick and Carys’ share of the business. ‘Well, she upset Nick
and
eighteen months’ worth of arrangements by running off with another man on the very day of their wedding. She’s cost me a fortune by abandoning
our partnership, and I’m so shattered I hardly know what day it is any more.’

She hadn’t meant to sound so resentful, but it was impossible not to warm to her theme. Etienne glanced at her. Despite the darkness, he was clearly shocked.

‘What happened to the unbreakable bonds of sisterhood? All for one, one for all, and take the man for everything he’s got?’

‘I’m old-fashioned,’ Gwen said primly. ‘I expected our business partnership to be like marriage—forever. And an engagement is almost as binding—certainly when it gets all the way to the big day.’

‘Are you saying you would rather see your best friend trapped in marriage to a worthy, predictable man like Nick, rather than let her follow her heart?’

‘I’d rather things were exactly as they were, with Carys still my partner. She knew what Nick was like before she agreed to marry him. Why did she have to take off like that, all of a sudden? She left me right in the lurch,’ Gwen grumbled, heaving another huge sigh. ‘I thought she was resigned to life with Nick. I’d always told her not to expect carnivals when he was in town, but she wouldn’t listen!’

‘That isn’t what I told Nick when he asked me to be his best man,’ Etienne growled. He was staring straight ahead at the road and gripped the steering wheel with both hands for once.

Gwen was amazed. ‘I never saw you at the supposed wedding?’ she ventured.

That day, she had hardly seen anyone beyond her crew of catering staff. She had been determined to put on the perfect reception as well as acting as bridesmaid,
but one thing was certain. However busy, she could never have missed seeing Etienne. He would have stood head and shoulders over the rest of the guests in every meaning of the phrase.

‘Like Carys, I cancelled at the last moment. My father’s funeral was held on the same day.’

‘Then I’m sorry,’ Gwen said quietly.

Etienne made a small gesture of acceptance, but added, ‘Thank you, but my father the late count was nearly ninety. He died peacefully, in his sleep.’

‘All the same, it must have been a horrible experience for you.’ Gwen fell silent. For once, she was wishing her own family weren’t so far away.

‘And?’ He prompted, when she had been lost in thought for some time.

Puzzled by the questioning note in his voice, she looked at him. He pierced the shadowy interior of the car with a sly grin. In reply she frowned and shook her head in a silent appeal for more details.

‘This is where you ask me what he left.’

‘Do I? Why?’ Genuinely confused, Gwen picked up her handbag as Etienne turned his car into the narrow driveway leading to her home.

‘Because that’s what single women always do when they meet me.’

Gwen paused as the cold, hard meaning of his words sank in. They were weighed down by the resignation in his voice. Here was a man who had everything—looks, style, a title, the money to back it all up—and no doubt all the hangers-on that came with such privileges.

‘Oh, dear. You’re almost making me feel sorry for you a second time!’ She chuckled self-consciously. ‘And there was me about to invite you in for coffee, to thank you for running me home. I’ll bet your fan club all do
that
, too!’ She tried to laugh off the confession. To her surprise, he joined in.

‘Yes. Until tonight, I’ve always refused—but for one night only, I might allow myself to be tempted by a chefprepared
café noisette
—and perhaps a little something to go with it?’ he added in a wicked whisper.

The intimacy in his voice stroked a finger of desire all the way down Gwen’s spine. Accepting a lift from a strange man was right out of character for her. Inviting him into her home was something else again.

It must be the season for taking risks.

She drew in a long, slow breath. The sophisticated tang of his aftershave bolstered her courage until she was able to speak with hardly a tremble in her voice.

‘If you’re sure an invitation wouldn’t be too predictable?’

‘You’re doing the inviting. It’s your call, Gwen.’

Her mouth went dry. He was putting her in the driving seat, but she had never felt so close to losing control. When she spoke, she could only manage a faint whisper.

‘I wanted to thank you for saving me tonight, not only from that…’ she had to choose her words carefully, in case the drunk was one of Etienne’s friends or relatives ‘…guest, but from a long walk home, as well. That’s two rescue missions in one evening. It seems only fair to offer you coffee.’

‘Then the least I can do is to accept.’ He smiled, and the starlight seemed to dance in his eyes. Gwen was overwhelmed. It took a lot of concentration to get out of the car, find her house key and open the door. She was trembling with sheer amazement at what was happening. Etienne Moreau could stop her heart simply by looking at her. She had thought she would never see him again after the party—but here he was, coming into her house to drink coffee!

She groped for the light switch and pressed. Nothing happened. Etienne was following her closely. Although the thought of him so close behind her was wickedly tempting, she kept moving. The bulb in the hall must have blown, and she had to reach the wall lights before either of them stumbled in the dark. She clicked the second set of switches. There was still nothing. A little breeze followed them into the house and sent a sheet of paper flickering off the telephone table. Gwen clapped a hand to her face in horror as she remembered what it was. The electricity bill. How long had she been promising herself she would get around to paying it? Too long, as far as the electricity company was concerned.

Etienne bent down and picked it up.

‘Is this important?’ It was too dark for him to read inside the house, so he stepped back outside. Gwen darted after him, but she was too slow.

Glancing at the bill, he made sympathetic noises. ‘So this means we’ll be drinking chilled champagne rather than hot coffee!’ He shrugged. ‘I can live with that.’

‘No—I’m sorry, I can’t possibly invite you in when I’ve got no power!’ Gwen peered around helplessly in
the gloom for inspiration. ‘But if you were desperate for a drink, I could light a fire in the old range and boil a pan of water on that—’

She stumbled to a halt in the face of his devastating smile. This had been the perfect chance to spend a little while longer basking in it. She had blown it. He wouldn’t want to sit in a dark house. Every second in his company was worth losing a whole night’s sleep, but it was slipping away through her fingers. Gwen cursed herself silently.

‘I’m such a fool—first the car, and now this!’ she announced, already moving towards the front door again. ‘I’m so sorry I can’t offer you anything, Etienne.’

She was getting ready to close the door behind him when he left, but he stayed where he was.

‘Let me be the judge of that, Gwen. Why don’t we talk about it over champagne at my place instead?’

His voice was as soft as a breeze moving through the pine trees outside.

Gwen had been busily covering her disappointment by fussing with the door. At his words she stopped. Maybe there was a God in heaven after all! She was getting a second chance. For a heartbeat she allowed herself to experience the fierce thrill of anticipation. Then reality supplied a quick cold shower.