The French Aristocrat's Baby (12 page)

That was easy, although it took some getting used to. At first she crept around like a mouse, half afraid she might wake and find it was all a dream. The suite she had been given was large and luxurious. There were lush arrangements of flowers on every horizontal surface, and all the rooms were cushioned with the exclusive silence that only thick, wall-to-wall carpeting could bring. The cupboards were packed with delights, in the same way Etienne’s bathroom back at the chateau had been. Nothing was left to chance. She
even found a cupboard filled with brand-new robes and swimming things in every size, for guests to use in the private spa.

Worrying about Le Rossignol was such a major part of Gwen’s life it was hard to stop, but within an hour
The Windflower
had almost caressed it from her mind. The place was a delight from top to bottom. She had never enjoyed such a leisurely afternoon.
Actually
, she thought as she floated on her back in one of the shimmering, soft water pools,
I can’t remember enjoying an afternoon off at all!

She had spent her childhood studying, and her adulthood gaining skills. For the first time in her life she had the perfect excuse to do nothing for a few hours. She felt like a hamster released from its wheel. It was lovely. Every so often she stretched and sighed, simply because she had the space and time to do so. The sky had never seemed quite such an irresistible shade of blue as she enjoyed doing nothing, for once. The only thoughts in her head revolved around Etienne. She kept mulling over the things she had seen on the Internet. Newspaper coverage at the time had called him ‘ruthless’ over his handling of the Angela Webbington saga. There was no doubting his financial flair when she looked over his partnership proposal. But could she trust him? His smile made her feel like marshmallow. But the look on his face as he had stood on her doorstep, refusing to apologise, had hinted at something far darker beneath.

Despite the heat of the Mediterranean sun, she felt her skin go cold.

Etienne didn’t intend wasting any time on the mainland. He sent his driver to collect the list of things Gwen wanted, while he called into his office. Working steadily, he soon emptied his in-tray, despite being distracted by a particularly tricky puzzle. Whenever he sealed a deal, he always presented the other party with a bottle of something sophisticated. So far, he had only dealt with business
men.
He knew Gwen would sign his agreement in the end, and wanted to make a similar gesture. The trouble was, he couldn’t decide what it should be. Her furious reaction when he’d wanted to make her his mistress meant a bottle of vintage champagne was right out of the question. She would probably think he was just trying to get her drunk. His gift needed to be subtle, yet irresistible—like Gwen herself. He liked the perfume she wore already, and was in no hurry to change a winning formula. Without knowing its name, he was not about to risk buying the wrong brand.

He spent a long time with his brow ridged in thought. This task was outside the scope of a PA. Etienne wanted to do it alone, because Gwen deserved his personal touch. That was where his problem lay. Other women were easy to spoil. He had accounts with the finest chocolatiers and florists all over the world for exactly that reason. But he had dined at Le Rossignol often enough to know nothing could compete with Gwen’s handmade luxuries. As she was currently staying on board
The Windflower
, the very last thing she needed right now was a bouquet of flowers. His staff always ensured there were armfuls of the things in every room. Any more, and the place would look like a funeral parlour. As Etienne
walked out of his office he pulled out his mobile. Much as he hated to delegate in this case, it was time to enlist some help.

And then he glanced up, and saw the perfect solution to his problem.

It was displayed in a shop window on the other side of the road. Until that moment, he had been confident Gwen was totally unlike any other woman he had ever met. That was what made it impossible to get inside her guard. Now with a grin of triumph he remembered she
did
have one, single weakness. It hadn’t registered with him at the time, but thinking back he recalled that she had let something slip only a few hours earlier.

Putting away his phone, he strode through the traffic to buy Gwen the present of her dreams.

While the deliciously feral shape of Etienne was away, mousy little Gwen was transformed. She was free to make the most of her chance to play. The longer she lingered aboard
The Windflower
, the bolder she got. Wistfully, she realised that if she hadn’t snubbed his first offer, she might be swanning about this ship as Etienne’s mistress. That illicit thought excited her. It coloured the rest of her afternoon. She swept along corridors, danced around the ballroom in solitary splendour and tried to imagine life as his
belle de jour.
She went up on deck and looked out towards the coast as though it were her own private kingdom. Somewhere out there, Etienne was busy with balance sheets and dry-as-dust documents. She thought back to their session in the boardroom. Smiling, she imagined his head bent over some
tricky calculation. That endearing little crease would appear now and then between his brows as he applied his mind to some problem or another. Gwen had seen it so often over the past few days, but this afternoon there was a painful difference.

She was certain that, right now, she was the very
last
thing on his mind.

Gwen had just emerged from a long, luxurious shower when there was a knock at the door of her suite. Pulling on a silken robe, she hurried to open it. A steward stood outside in full uniform. He was delivering the things she had asked to be fetched from her house, but that wasn’t what caught her eye. The man was also carrying a large white cardboard box, tied up with wide pink ribbon. Thanking him, she took the parcel inside her suite, wondering what on earth it could be. There was an envelope tucked inside, lying on layers of pink tissue paper. It was a card written in Etienne’s distinctive handwriting. All it said was:

I saw this, and thought of you.

Gwen peeled back whisper-thin sheets of pastel paper like the petals of a rose. At their heart lay the most beautiful dress she had ever seen.

It was the full magnolia—a soft profusion of raw silk, simple, clinging and unutterably stunning. Spellbound, she lifted it up. The low-cut, subtly embroidered bodice would accentuate her voluptuous shape perfectly. The skirt fell in sensuous rustling folds to the floor. She inhaled the fragrance of luxury, long and lovingly.

And then she let slip a little moan of dismay. This was every woman’s fantasy brought to life, but she couldn’t possibly let it be hers. After she spent the afternoon strutting around
The Windflower
imagining life as Etienne’s mistress, he presented her with this. This dress was exactly the sort of thing a man would buy his mistress. In an instant, she realised what had happened. Etienne hadn’t taken her first two refusals seriously. A gift like this was a very obvious sign that he was choosing to ignore them. He assumed that because she was considering his business proposal, she would cave in to all his other demands, too. And as she imagined the silk of that dress against her skin she couldn’t be at all certain that he wasn’t right.

She dropped the dress as though it were suddenly red-hot. Putting her hands to her mouth, she stared around her sumptuous suite.
Appearance is everything here
, she thought.
If I wear this dress tonight, I’ll fit in perfectly. And Etienne will know he’s won…

It took her a long time to get ready for dinner. As she added a dash of perfume behind her ears another knock came at the door. It might as well have been a hammer blow.

‘Come in!’ she called, expecting a steward who would escort her to dinner.

‘I can’t. I don’t have a key.’

Etienne’s voice came as a shock. Jumping up from her seat at the dressing table, Gwen crossed her changing room, but couldn’t quite make it all the way. Memories of his ruthless treatment of Angela Webbington stopped her. She already knew sparks
would fly tonight, but nothing had prepared her for the way she would feel as the showdown began.

‘The door isn’t locked,’ she told him, in as reasonable a voice as she could manage.

When he didn’t enter straight away, she walked hesitantly through her suite. Assuming the catch must have stuck, she intended to help. When the door popped open as she reached it, she jumped back in alarm.

Etienne was looking magnificent in full evening dress. His stark white cuffs were enlivened by gold studs, which he was twisting between his fingers.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you—’ He began with a smile, and then stopped. Looking her up and down appreciatively, he studied every facet of her appearance. Then he widened his smile. ‘You look lovely, Gwen. I’ll get one of the seamstresses to alter the new dress for you. I’m sorry it didn’t fit.’

Gwen had been primed to expect instant fury when he saw her in the blue velvet gown of their first meeting. His actual reaction completely foxed her. She reacted in the only way she knew.

‘It didn’t fit with my lifestyle—or the image I have of myself,’ she said smartly. Picking up her handbag from a side table, she headed out into the corridor. ‘Thank you for the gift, Etienne, but I’ve told you before. I’m here to consider your business proposal, and nothing more.’

‘I know. That’s why I bought you that dress. It was simply a present to celebrate our business partnership,’ he said with a faint air of puzzlement. ‘Whenever I enter into a new working relationship, I like to make a significant
gesture. A dress seemed more your style than a gold fountain pen. Especially as you seemed sad about not having something to wear.’

Gwen hesitated, one hand lingering on the door of her suite. When he put it like that, he sounded almost convincing.

‘It is a truly beautiful dress…’ she agreed.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to go back and change. But when she looked into the depths of Etienne’s eyes they were dark with significance, and she knew she had been right. ‘But a pen
would
have been more practical,’ she added.

He lowered his head in grave acknowledgement. ‘Yes, it would. I know—but I’m afraid I wasn’t feeling very practical when I spotted that dress in the designer’s window. Not that it matters.’ He brightened, gallantly offering her his arm. ‘You look absolutely wonderful.’

It was hardly the response Gwen expected, and she blushed. ‘I was afraid you’d hit the roof. I thought you’d be furious,’ she murmured.

‘I’ve told you, Gwen. I don’t waste words—or emotions.’

He smiled, and his expression backed him up. Gwen tried to take his arm in the spirit in which he offered it. The feel of his sleeve beneath her fingers was wonderfully provocative. She could only wonder how much more responsive she would have felt in that beautiful new gown.

Etienne looked every inch the suave, sophisticated aristocrat. Gwen had thought it was impossible for him to look better than he did the moment she first laid eyes on him. She was wrong. His perfect tuxedo, brilliant
white shirt and black tie were perfectly set off by a small white rosebud in his buttonhole. His appearance almost made her forget the Internet coverage of his illfated affair with Angela Webbington. The tabloids had hacked out a flinty picture, but tonight there was no trace of the short-tempered, humourless man they described. Gwen hoped that pitiless nature had been exaggerated. After all, tabloids were hardly famed for being overly concerned with factual detail and as long as he confined his bad temper to her business enemies, it could be turned to her advantage. All she had to do was make sure she didn’t get her own fingers burned. Or her heart.

She tried to laugh.
Chance would be a fine thing!
she thought.

Etienne frowned.

‘This is a serious occasion, Gwen. It’s a special dinner in honour of our new business venture.’

‘Of course,’ she responded quietly, thinking,
It’s no wonder poor Angela disappointed him. Who could live up to standards like his?
‘You look wonderful, by the way.’

‘And you look as spectacular as the moment I first saw you,’ Etienne replied.

Seared by his gaze, Gwen paused. ‘That’s a matter of opinion!’ She suddenly didn’t feel very glamorous in her old dress. So she pushed on, refusing to let her feelings show. ‘I should warn you that flattery is even less likely to cloud my judgement than buying me things. In any case, what makes you so sure I’ve decide to let you buy into Le Rossignol?’ she added impishly.

He looked at her as though he could hardly believe what he was hearing.

‘Only a fool would refuse such an offer, and you’re very far from that,’ he said, in a voice that would have cut diamond.

Gwen shot back, ‘Or the size of your ego has overshadowed any thoughts of failure.’

He treated her to a smile filled with feline satisfaction. ‘I’ve never met a woman who’s complained.’

As he spoke his eyes travelled from the crown of her head down to the tips of her toes. Then his scrutiny moved slowly back up again. ‘You don’t need designer dresses to make you look wonderful,’ he murmured. ‘You have a natural beauty beyond fashion.’

‘I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.’ Gwen chuckled, before his gaze silenced her. It was filled with the predatory tension that had thrilled her from their first meeting.

‘I mean it, Gwen. Any man would be proud to escort you into dinner. I’m glad that honour falls to me this evening.’ He gave a little bow. Gwen felt herself grow several inches in stature.

‘The honour is all mine,’ she breathed with a sparkling smile.

This was rapidly turning back into the dream to end all dreams. Etienne was so darkly handsome, and he was standing so close her heart bounced with anticipation. It took a huge effort to remember what had happened to his ex-fiancée. She had been the media’s idea of a trophy partner, yet it had ended in disaster.

‘Although that’s as far as it’s going to go tonight, Etienne,’ Gwen warned quickly.