Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (55 page)

“Because in a way that, too, was an act. My mind still runs back to the crowded parade grounds where I'm watching the eyes, waiting for the flash of an automatic weapon and steeling myself to take the bullet if it comes.” He shook his head. “It doesn't change overnight. But it will. One day La Trouvaille will be natural for me. The grass will feel right beneath my feet and the wind over the hill will be the most ordinary thing in all the world. But for now it's still an amazing gift every second of every day I pass there, and until that changes I guess I'll feel like a fake.”

“You
are
truly blessed, Dominic. I have no doubt that your sense of being blessed is what makes that wine of yours so special.”

He gave her a slight smile. “Keep telling me that often enough and I might begin to believe you, Irish. Until then—” Dominic held the box out to her “—believe that this is no act. What I feel for you is as natural as breathing—and every bit as necessary.” He took out a ring with three emeralds separated by tiny diamonds and slid it onto Cathlin's finger, where it rested next to the Ashton family ring which it had been designed to match.

“This is real Cathlin. My throat goes dry whenever I look at you. My hands get clammy when I see you shove your hair back out of your eyes. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you at that blasted wine auction, so sleek and confident and utterly American. I resented that wine you were so in love with and I wanted to put that same glow in your eyes.” He drew a ragged breath. “I'm making a mess of this, I'm afraid.” He went down on his knee before her. “I've never been good at facing my deepest feelings, much less expressing them. But I want to now, Cathlin. What I feel for you is so real it makes my eyes burn. Somehow you reached into my chest and found the heart I wasn't sure I had. That's what I had to explain to you. I had to show you how much you've changed my life.” His eyes darkened. “So will you marry me? For us, this time. Because of this feeling, not
because of wine or wills or dead ancestors creeping through our heads. Will you, Cathlin?”

She rose and pulled him into her body, her eyes misty. “I will. Because I love you. Because I love how you try to hide every single good thing about yourself and then get angry when you can't. For such a big, tough guy, you're a pushover, Montserrat. And now…” She started to tug at the belt of her raincoat.

Dominic's eyes blazed. “No, Cathlin. Not yet. I'm not done.”

“Yes you are. I've heard enough explanations for one day. Besides, if we stand here any longer that buzzer is going to ring again and a dozen new people will flood in with gifts. Then we'll never have any privacy. Just go put out the Do Not Disturb sign.”

An arrested gleam in his eyes, Dominic did as she asked.

When the sound of jetting water drew him into the vast marbled bathroom, he saw Cathlin's raincoat discarded on the floor and her body half-hidden beneath a froth of bubbles in the creamy marble tub.

Dominic's mouth filled with cotton gauze. “I hope the ring fits.” Sweat broke over his brow. “I tried to estimate your size.”

“It's fine.”

“And about La Trouvaille, we can split our time there. I have a handpicked staff who can manage things at the vineyards during the slack season. If you prefer to focus your work here in London, then—”

“Dominic?”

“What?”

Her toe climbed from the froth. “London's out.”

“It is? So you want Philadelphia? We could manage it, I suppose. Tricky, but not entirely impossible.”

“Dominic?”

“Yes?”

White foam slid back to one sleek calf. “Not Philadelphia either.”

“No?” He nodded, after a moment's reluctance. “I understand, Cathlin. Your job is very important. I never meant to take it from you.”

“Not
anywhere
but with you, at La Trouvaille.”

Dominic's eyes took on a rush of primitive, elemental shock. “Truly?”

Cathlin rose slowly, foam in every sleek curve, her eyes awash with love. “Truly.”

“You're certain?”

“Without a doubt. And now I've got a confession of my own to make.”

“I knew it. You're already married?” His voice was husky.

Cathlin shook her head silently.

“You're wanted for armed robbery in three countries?”

She kept approaching; as she did Dominic's hands kept getting tenser.

“Be quiet and let me confess, tough guy.” When she moved into him, it felt as natural as ice cream melting on an August afternoon.

“I'm listening,” Dominic said hoarsely, his body hardening instantly at the wet pressure of her naked skin.

“What I've been trying to tell you is that you can guard my body anytime you like, Officer. In fact I've been having fantasies about your guarding me. Ever since that first day at Seacliffe.”

“No kidding.”

Her hands feathered over his broad chest. They kissed, long and slow. Linen fell and cotton fled. Skin melted against hungry skin.

Two bodies met the scented waters. Dominic's foot accidentally triggered the jets, which screeched into activity, water and foam flying everywhere.

He groaned as he sank into her, his blood churning, hot and wild as the water jetting around them.

Cathlin arched against him, endlessly pliant, endlessly welcoming. She sighed huskily, taking the whole demanding length of him.

Dominic closed his eyes, fighting for sanity. “But the ring—are you sure it fits? If not I can—”

Her ankle eased over his thigh. Her muscles tensed, catching him up in a rush of pure, exquisite torture.

Cathlin's eyes gleamed. “As a point of future information, Officer Montserrat,
this
is as perfect a fit as I ever expect to find anywhere in this life.”

And when she spoke, the emerald and diamond ring Dominic had slipped on her finger was nowhere in sight.

France
The Garonne Valley

I
T WAS A PLACE OF SUN AND
stone and heat. The sky was shimmering and cloudless as the wind ran over the green hills, rich with orange blossoms and lavender.

La Trouvaille spread over the hillside and covered the valley carved out by a curve of the Garonne River. Every fertile inch was consigned to neat rows of grapes that hung on emerald vines.

A bird screeched angrily. Tired and dusty, Dominic Montserrat pushed from beneath a layer of leaves and surveyed the netting he had been tying to keep off pests. “That should do it.”

“Now you're going to rest.” Cathlin's face was tanned and radiant as she eased out of the spot where she'd sat to help him. Of course, Dominic could have turned the backbreaking work over to one of his staff, but by habit he chose the hardest work for himself. Cathlin had long since given up trying to persuade him to do otherwise. Stretching her shoulders, she sat back and surveyed her dusty, but very satisfied, husband.

“Not yet. There are three more rows yet to finish.”

Cathlin sniffed. “I knew you'd say that. That's why I took matters into my own hands.”

“
What
matters?”

“Lunch, for a start.” Cathlin pulled a hamper from beneath a
neighboring vine. “Caviar. Wild strawberries.” Her eyes rose to Dominic's face. “Belgian lace napkins. Unless, perhaps you've forgotten a certain drive to London in a certain limousine?”

“Oh, Irish, I haven't forgotten. Not in a thousand years.”

“Good. Then relax while I open this bottle. You might remember it from a certain London wine auction? Château d'Yquem 1870. Marvelous texture and wonderful finesse.”

“It was a very expensive way to get your attention. And not very effective, as I recall.”

“You might be surprised about that.” Her eyes turned thoughtful. “I thought you had to be the best-looking man I'd ever seen.” Cathlin touched the smudge of dirt at his chin. “I still think so.”

Heat swept between them. The distant hum of a tractor, the backfiring of a truck, the high shrill cry of a hawk, all melted away to nothingness as Cathlin stared at Dominic's deeply tanned face and thought how lucky they were to be alive and together and here in this beautiful valley filled with golden light.

Happiness. She had finally begun to trust that it wouldn't go away, that she had the right to be happy. The change hadn't come immediately. She still awoke sweaty and breathless sometimes, expecting to hear Joanna Harcliffe's cool, hypnotic voice telling her that she was the cause of her mother's death.

But now that Cathlin's shadows had faces, she was finally able to fight them. Every day brought greater strength and deeper understanding. And every velvet night brought new textures of pleasure shared in the arms of the man beside her.

Happiness. Cathlin smoothed the soft blue linen of her dress and looked out over La Trouvaille. The reddish soil was warm and pungent in the sun and the grape leaves whispered in their neatly trellised rows astride the hills above the river.

“Dominic?” Cathlin's fingers moved in restless circles. “I have to talk to you.”

“I thought we were.”

“No, really talk.”

The seriousness of her voice made him sit up, frowning. “You miss England, don't you? Blast it, I knew keeping you cooped up here at La Trouvaille was a bad idea. I can—”

“It's not that.” Her fingers went back and forth on the sun-warmed linen.

“You want to go back to Philadelphia?” He took her face between his palms. “You should have told me, Cathlin.”

“No, you don't understand.” Her eyes darkened.

“Say it. Whatever you want, we'll manage it somehow, I promise.”

“It's not a matter of my wanting. That is, not myself alone. It takes two to manage what I'm talking about, Dominic.”

“Two? Is something wrong, Cathlin?” He sat up sharply. “Damn it, if you lifted those old casks after I told you not to—” Abruptly he went very still. “Two. Are you trying to tell me that you're—that we're—” He swallowed.

“I am. A baby.”

“A baby?” He looked at her face and then his eyes slid inexorably to the slender waist where her fingers were still moving restlessly. “A baby,” he whispered, half disbelieving. “You're sure?”

Cathlin nodded. “I got the results today.”

A moment later she was gathered to his chest, his lips pressed to her hair. “You should have told me sooner!”

“I wanted to be sure.”

His fingers tightened and Cathlin felt a long sigh of contentment heave from his chest. “Just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any better. You are seriously altering my gloomy view of the world, do you know that?”

“You're glad? Truly?”

“I have no words to tell you how glad.” Their fingers locked. “I only hope she looks like you,” he said in a besotted voice.

“I hope
he
looks like
you.
”

“Sweet God, a baby. I think I need a drink,” Dominic said blankly. “Aunt Aggy will be ecstatic. She's got chest upon chest of baby clothes she's been saving neatly in lavender. I think she'd just about given up hope on me.”

“You
are
a hard man to tame. I nearly gave up, too.”

Dominic gave a crooked grin. “I've been conquered territory from the first moment I saw you, O'Neill. My heart shattered the second I saw you slithering past me in that black velvet suit.”

“Slithering! I did no such thing. How dare you—”

He cut her off with a kiss, fierce and hard, possessive and protective at the same time, as if he couldn't quite trust his good fortune and needed to persuade himself this was not some kind of dream. When he finally pulled away, his face was hard with desire. “Let's go back.” There was no mistaking his intention.

“But it's barely noon, Dominic. We still have three more rows to finish up here.”

“To hell with the vines,” he said thickly. “I want to undress you slowly, and kiss you until you moan my name. I want to hear that soft cry you make when I take you over the edge. And then I want to start all over again.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “Unless—maybe you shouldn't. Now, I mean.”

Cathlin laughed huskily. “I can't imagine why not.”

“You're sure? God, I wouldn't want to hurt…”

“We've got months yet, my love.”

“We do?” He gave her a wolfish grin. “Then what are we waiting for? Come to think of it, why go all the way back down to the château?”

“But, what if one of the staff comes by? Besides, today is the day the mayor is going to—”

“To hell with the staff. To hell with the mayor, too.”

The tablecloth from Cathlin's hamper hit the ground with a
whoosh.
Dominic spread it carefully, then worked Cathlin back beneath the leafy shade of the trellised green vines.

“What about that Château d'Yquem I've got cooling on ice?”

“Forget it, Irish. I've got something with greater complexity and far more staying power in mind.”

“I hope you're prepared to demonstrate the proof of that statement, Lord Ashton.”

“You can damned well bet I am, Lady Ashton.”

The green leaves shuddered. A single cloud marched across the crystal sky. Down the hill cicadas droned from the darkness of the woods.

Husky laughter spilled from the high vines. “Sorcery, Lord Ashton? Is this primitive ritual how you manage to keep producing those amazing vintages?”

“Be quiet and kiss me, wife of my heart, mother of my child.”

She did, and the love they made between them was fine and sweet and unforgettable.

Tempered in pain, anchored in joy, it was stronger than any wine that would come from even La Trouvaille's hardy vines.

 

T
HEY SPILLED OUT OF THE
sunset an hour later like a ragged circus parade, two Citroëns lurching along at the fore followed by an old farm truck. Behind that, tethered with a stout rope, trotted a donkey in a straw hat with holes cut for his ears. The backfiring motors roused the two figures half-asleep beneath a row of grape vines.

“Dominic, did you hear that?”

“I bloody well did.” Dominic sat up and squinted into the sun, watching a cloud of dust swirl over the gravel drive and across the mellow golden walls and blue shutters of the beautiful old château at the foot of the forest. As the lead car lurched to a halt, he held his hand to his eye and frowned. “But that's—”

“Nicholas and Kacey,” his wife finished breathlessly. “And there's Marston. Did you know about this?” she demanded. “Really, Dominic you should have told me.” She sat up quickly, brushing twigs from her hair. “We'll have to hurry down.”

“I'm totally in the dark.” His eyes lovingly ran over her body, slender and shadow dappled. “But maybe you should put something on before you go running down to greet our guests.”

“Maybe
you
should too.”

They wriggled into their clothes clumsily, shielded by the low vines, then went down to welcome the visitors spilling over the lavender-edged lawns of the château.

Nicholas was leaning at ease against a dusty Citroën, elegant in a sherry-colored tweed jacket and deep brown trousers. “So the recluses of La Trouvaille emerge from their vines at last.” Nicholas's sharp eyes ran from Dominic's dusty shirt to the bits of grass and leaves caught in Cathlin's hair. “I trust we haven't interrupted anything,” he said blandly.

His wife was frowning. “I told you we should have phoned ahead, Nicholas. If it's a dreadful nuisance, we can always go back to the last town. But the farmer insisted on showing us the way personally. Then the mayor had to come along, too.” The official in question was already hailing Dominic in a torrent of voluble French, detailing the arrival of his English friends, who had clearly been lost. Meanwhile, the farmer, after untying his donkey, launched into his own account of the story, shrugging expressively as he talked.

In the midst of this cheerful chaos of explanations and hugs and kisses from a sleepy-eyed Genevieve, Marston moved off to make the acquaintance of the housekeeper, who was just emerging from the château.

Dominic would permit no talk until all were settled at the old stone tables under a pair of poplar trees at one side of the house. Cathlin's Château Climens was opened and a first glass lovingly savored.

“Celebrating something special, were you?” Nicholas asked.

Dominic looked at Cathlin. “We were, actually.” He took his wife's hand. “I've just found out—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Lord, Nicky, I'm to be a father.”

Another interval of chaos ensued. Soon the two friends were perched on the old table while the farmer and mayor wandered off to argue over the best choice of name for the coming child. Kacey and Cathlin, meanwhile, moved off to the bank of the brook that wound along the foot of the forest.

The viscountess touched Cathlin's arm. “You look positively radiant, my dear.”

“I can't think why. I've been eating like a pig,” Cathlin confessed. “I think that's how I first realized.”

“Lucky you. I couldn't eat for weeks. Besides, your husband doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, he looks utterly exhilarated with the news.”

“Do you think so?” Cathlin studied Dominic tenderly as he sat shoulder to shoulder beside Nicholas.

“Without a doubt. Men have a habit of getting that way about this time. Just wait until the first dirty diaper appears,” Kacey added sagely.

Insects droned from the rows of lavender and banked rosemary. The mayor and the farmer had dispensed with female names and now were moving through a weighty selection of boys' names. Didier and Alexandre had emerged as the front contenders when Marston returned bearing a tray of watercress sandwiches and a bottle of La Trouvaille.

“Marston, you are impossible. Do sit down and be waited on like everyone else,” Cathlin scolded good-naturedly.

“I'm afraid I can't, my lady. Some deficiency in my character, I fear. Would you care for more wine?” he asked in the same breath, the sun glinting off his purple running shoes.

Cathlin sighed and let Kacey take a turn at trying to bully the butler into taking the vacation he richly deserved.

The viscountess was no more successful than Cathlin.

Only when Genevieve tugged at his trousers and demanded that he pour her some of that “sparkly stuff all the grown-ups were
drinking” did he put down his tray. Smiling faintly, he took her off to the kitchen in search of something “much better than that nasty sparkly stuff that was making the grown-ups laugh so much.”