The French Aristocrat's Baby (8 page)

‘Stop!’ he said in a voice that instantly commanded her full attention. Looking up, she winced as his eyes inflicted points of pure pain.

‘I wouldn’t dream of insulting you again with talk of money, Gwyneth. Consider it my pleasure,’ he said through a smile that showed all his teeth, but not in a good way.

Gwen opened her mouth to reply, but he was already on his way, shaking off her wordless outrage. She watched him storm away in total silence, fighting the urge to call him back. Maybe this was for the best. It
was hard to know which was worse. A man who couldn’t admit he was in the wrong—or a debt that he wouldn’t let her repay.

She knew both would work on her like grit in an oyster.

Fury propelled Etienne down the hill in silence. Two rebuffs in as many hours were unknown. What on earth had he been thinking about, laying himself open to such an attack? As he strode through the great gates of his chateau he wondered what had come over him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. The thought of never seeing Gwen again worked on him like a headache. If he picked up a girl, they had a good time and when the evening was over, so was the liaison.

The only exception to that rule had been Angela. They had fitted together so perfectly it would have been a sin not to take it further. Old money and new ideas, ‘tellystocracy’ and the real thing combined in the most beautiful couple in the public eye. They had been so perfectly matched, it had been a nightmare. One word had kept coming back to haunt him. Duty. Celebrity anchorwoman Angela could not understand why she should respect the Moreau family and its traditions. That had spawned a million arguments, but the final crowbar forcing Etienne and Angela apart had been far smaller, and totally innocent…

The memory of the day he discovered Angela’s worst deception still had the power to pierce Etienne like a barb. Gwen Williams was obsessed by her career. In that respect she was exactly like Angela Webbington. Why should he be surprised if both women were cut from the
same fabric? With a snort he decided it was madness to have considered making Gwen his mistress. A short affair was one thing. Offering to restrict himself to one woman for an unspecified length of time was quite another. They always put themselves first and others nowhere. One tragic error of judgement in his life was surely enough of a warning.

It had taken Etienne a long time to start getting over that.

And now there was Gwen.

He marched on. The sun was rising higher in the sky by the moment, but Etienne would have been at boiling point if it had been January. He had never lacked for anything in his life, and he wasn’t about to start denying himself now. Whatever happened, he was going to have Miss Gwyneth Williams.

He stopped—why was she playing on his mind so much? Was it simply because he couldn’t have her, or because she was something special—? No, he baulked at using that word. It was too loaded with meaning. She was
totally unlike
any other woman he had ever met. That made her…

He gazed along the drive towards his impressive chateau, trying to think of a description.

Unique. Yes, that was it. He smiled. She had shown no signs of fawning around his money. Quite the opposite. She had stood up for herself. He couldn’t help contrasting her behaviour with Angela. His ex-fiancée had made a career out of defying him for the hell of it, and the headlines.

He continued on towards his home, but this time more slowly. Maybe there were faults on both sides. If he had
given Gwen time to cool off properly, they might have laughed about their argument. It would have been forgiven in an instant. The making up would have been a lot slower, and supremely enjoyable. He liked that idea. Gwen had a lovely laugh. That wasn’t the only thing he enjoyed about her. She pleased his body in a way more experienced women had never managed. Gwen, in all her innocence, was a superbly generous lover. He remembered how responsive his body had been to her touch, and her delight in it. The simple act of thinking about her made him want her, right here and now. He turned in a crunch of gravel and took two long strides back towards her house. Then he stopped. Striking while her anger was hot had made her reject his offer a few minutes before. It obviously wasn’t the way to tame her. A woman like Gwen deserved careful handling.

For once, Etienne would have to make haste slowly.

With a smile, he strolled back home to plan his next move.

Gwen’s embarrassment was so total she thought she would never recover. She could have cooked crêpes on her cheeks. Etienne had been doing her a favour, but she had yelled first without even bothering to ask questions. She had wrecked any hope of seeing him ever again. It was the worst disappointment she had ever suffered—and when her staff clocked into work at the restaurant, it got a whole lot worse.

‘And don’t forget, the Count of Malotte is booked in for lunch today!’ Clemence the waitress nudged Gwen archly.

‘I had no idea, but I doubt if he’ll turn up,’ Gwen said grimly. ‘He’s probably had enough of my kind of hospitality to last him a lifetime.’

She was wrong on both counts. Etienne was determined to taste it again—but on his own terms. The first volley of his attack on her will power arrived shortly before lunch that morning. Gwen was busy in the kitchen. Suddenly there was a commotion out in the restaurant. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she rushed out in time to see three large, flat cardboard boxes being unloaded from a florists’ van. The delivery man handed her an expensive, tissue-lined envelope and—more importantly as far as Gwen was concerned—an invoice with the word ‘paid’ stamped across it in large, comforting letters.

She tore open the envelope. It contained a short note written in real ink on handmade paper. She knew who it was from without needing to see the bold, flowing signature at the bottom. The faintest trace of Etienne’s sophisticated aftershave had been enough to get her pulses racing.

Dear Gwen,

It would be pointless to send flowers to you at home.

You obviously spend all your time at Le Rossignol, so I’ve arranged to have regular deliveries of fresh flowers sent to the restaurant from now on. That way you can appreciate them. There will be a bouquet for each table, and a complimentary corsage of miniature orchids for each female diner—

‘So? What do you think?’

Gwen jumped at the interruption. It was a deliciously familiar voice. She looked up, and found herself gazing straight into the beautiful brown eyes of Etienne Moreau.

‘I think you’re full of surprises.’ She folded the letter and carefully replaced it in its envelope. Then she slid it into her apron pocket. ‘Thank you, Etienne. It’s far more than I deserve. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the misunderstanding earlier,’ she muttered, after checking none of her staff were close enough to hear.

He waved away her apology. ‘Oh, this is inconsequential. It’s a simple gesture, nothing more.’

He couldn’t have been more wrong as far as Gwen was concerned. It meant all the world to her. No man had ever sent her flowers before. She looked up at him with shining eyes, but he hadn’t finished.

‘I knew a hard-headed businesswoman like you wouldn’t want money wasted.’ He went on, before she could interrupt. ‘This way my honour is satisfied, and you get a unique selling point for your restaurant.’

With that simple phrase, her newly revived dreams melted like candyfloss in a heatwave. The ulterior motive behind his gift robbed it of all romance. Gwen put on a brave face and tried not to care. She only had her own temper to blame, after all. It was too late for regrets.

‘Ah, so they aren’t a sign of your affection. They’re for the good of your conscience and my restaurant!’ She tried to chuckle, but it was difficult while she was so busy trying to swallow her disappointment.

‘Yes, and I can do Le Rossignol another good turn too,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘I have a business proposition
to put to you, Gwen. When I’ve finished lunching here, you can come back to my yacht with me and we’ll discuss it.’

‘Today?’ she enquired, leading him to his table.

‘Of course. Good ideas won’t wait.’

‘But it will have to…we’ve got another big party here tonight. I’ve got to supervise everything!’

Etienne was unfazed. He sat down and watched with interest as Gwen’s staff began unpacking the flowers and putting them out on display. ‘That’s not a problem—I’ll send a couple of my chefs down from the chateau. They can cover for you.’

Gwen gaped at him. ‘No—I don’t think so! This restaurant is my life. I can’t abandon it on a whim!’

Etienne clicked his tongue in disgust. ‘If this place is so important to you, you can spare a couple of hours to consider its future.’

‘It wouldn’t have a future if I hadn’t mortgaged myself to the hilt. I can’t let my guard down for a minute, much less go gallivanting off on a private yacht for the afternoon! And me on a yacht? What on earth would my old mam and dad say?’

‘If they had any sense, they’d tell you to do as I say,’ Etienne said mildly.

Gwen was aghast. She couldn’t possibly leave it at that. Hands on hips, she regarded him, her head on one side.

‘I thought you were issuing me with an invitation, not an order?’

He raised a mocking brow. ‘I was. You don’t have to come, but you would be crazy not to hear what I have to say.’

‘In your opinion,’ she said caustically, but her suspicion had no effect on Etienne. He was far too sure of himself.

‘You’ll be of the same opinion, when you’ve listened to me.’

Gwen pulled out the chair beside him and sat down. ‘All right—if your idea is so good, tell me about it now.’

He shook his head. ‘All the relevant paperwork is set out in my conference room aboard
The Windflower.
You’ll see it this afternoon.’

‘No, I won’t, because I shan’t be there. I’ll be here,’ she explained patiently. ‘I’ve told you. I must supervise arrangements for the party.’

A small wrinkle appeared between Etienne’s brows. He took a sip of mineral water, which gave him time to iron out his frown. ‘I’m giving you the opportunity of several lifetimes, and you want to delay things? I thought you couldn’t wait?’ He looked at her narrowly.

‘I
can’t
wait, but I
must
,’ she stated.

He turned slightly in his seat, studying her for some time before replying.

‘A good manager knows how to delegate,’ he said eventually.

Gwen was glad he sounded reasonable rather than irritated, but it still took courage to state her case.

‘Maybe: but I’m not just a manager. I’m the owner, head cook and bottle-washer. There is no fallback position. It’s me. Although,’ she added quickly, raising her hand to stop him objecting, ‘I
might
be able to get away tomorrow. Le Rossignol is closed for our half-day. I usually spend the time stocktaking and going through
the accounts. If your offer of some temporary help right now still stands…’ she ventured, looking up at him from beneath her long, dark lashes. He gave a brief nod.

‘I
could
try and get everything done today, so I’ve got tomorrow afternoon free.’

‘Then I suppose that will have to do.’ He returned her look with interest. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up, then, after lunch. It wouldn’t do to have you run out of petrol again, would it?’

She flushed in embarrassment. Until that moment she had been totally unable to tear her gaze away from him. Now her eyes were glad to have an excuse to escape.

‘Tell me—did you drive my car back to the
gite
yourself this morning?’ she said in a low voice.

‘Of course.’ He shrugged as though the gesture was nothing. But to Gwen, secretly, it meant a lot—that he’d gone out of his way for her. Then he checked his watch with a deftness of touch she remembered so well, and Gwen signalled for his menu to be brought. As he studied it her mind was a jangle of possibilities. After the way she had spoken to him earlier, seduction must be the very last thing on his mind. His businesslike attitude just seemed to confirm this. Still, he was here and she could at least try to make amends. Wistfully, she realised he would be highly unlikely to pull her in out of her depth, ever again.

He looked so calm now, Gwen began to doubt her sanity. They had tumbled through the night, she had snubbed him, stormed off and then snubbed him a second time, yet there was absolutely no trace of their history on his face or in his manners. Both were as perfect as ever.

‘Thank you for sorting out my car. It’s fine now,’ she said uncomfortably, hoping his staff hadn’t told him of her simple stupidity in letting it run dry.

‘As good as any old vehicle can be,’ he allowed. ‘My mechanics gave it a full service. Then I filled it up with petrol. She’ll be good for a while longer.’

Gwen gasped. ‘Oh, I must owe you a fortune!’ She couldn’t believe he’d had to take her car to the filling station for her—it was all so embarrassing.

He looked equally shocked. ‘Of course not. It was all done on site at my chateau. There’s no charge. Once the problem had been identified, my people did a few little repairs and a spot of touching up. After that, I said I’d test-drive it for them.’

‘And did you?’

‘Only as far as your
gite
, as it turned out. I was intending to drive you down to Le Rossignol.’

That revived something of Gwen’s fighting spirit. ’
You
were going to drive me in
my
car?’ she asked pointedly.

Etienne struggled visibly to bite back a smile at her indignation.

‘You are a remarkable woman, Gwen,’ he drawled. ‘Last night was a unique experience. I feel privileged to have been part of your life, if only for a few hours.’

Watching him skate on a veneer of perfect manners made her feel totally inadequate. If he was struggling to ignore the bad feeling that had passed between them, then perhaps she should, too. Gripping the edge of her chair, she wondered what to say. Surely if he really considered her mistress material he would have bundled her straight back to bed first thing that morning. Staring
across the table at him now, she saw no trace of the wild beast who had ravished her time and again through the hours of darkness. Now he was reduced to the status of a normal executive, lunching at his favourite restaurant.
Reduced
? Gwen almost laughed out loud at that idea. Etienne Moreau was unique, to use his own word. His effect could never be lessened in any way. Beneath those beautiful clothes he had the body of a god and the bearing of a count. Turning down his offer had been close to impossible. It was only her self-esteem that had made her do it. Now she wasn’t sure how much restraint she had left.