The French Aristocrat's Baby (13 page)

‘I rather got that impression. Although it’s early yet,’ he added, a half-smile dancing around his lips. ‘Who knows what might happen?’

Summoning up all her will power, Gwen regarded him boldly. ‘I do—and it’s going to be absolutely
nothing
.’ She gave him a meaningfully honest smile. ‘So, to get me into the mood and you out of it, how about telling me what happens to your conquests who
aren’t
entirely satisfied, Etienne?’

‘There haven’t been any,’ he said innocently as they strolled along the wide, thickly carpeted corridor towards the state dining room. Gwen hesitated. He was lying. He must be. She had seen the coverage of his broken romance, Angela the wronged fiancée and his hideous ultimatum.

‘I’ll prove it to you again, if you like.’ He turned a slow, devastating smile on her. She pulled her hand from the crook of his arm, mostly to stop herself from leaning into him. In response he stopped and narrowed his eyes in disapproval. ‘Any time, Gwen.’

L
OOKING
him directly in the eyes, Gwen laid her hand on his arm again. He smiled as her fingertips connected with his. It was the worst thing he could have done. Her body began to betray her with a long slow-burning blush of anticipation.

‘That’s better. You may not know how to accept a compliment about your appearance gracefully, but you can’t possibly object to taking my arm.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwen said, and then decided to draw another line in the sand straight away. ‘The truth is, I’m not used to getting praise for the way I look. It’s what I do that has always mattered, to me and to others.’

‘OK,’ he allowed as they reached their destination. ‘But I wish you had felt able to accept my gift in the innocent spirit in which it was offered. I always like to make a little gesture to my new business associates. That dress was yours.’

He stood aside to let her enter the dining room. Gwen gasped. Its walls were mirrored from floor to ceiling. They reflected a beautiful table, set with silverware and fresh flowers, a handsome man in a tuxedo—and a
beautiful woman with a glow in her eyes that Gwen didn’t recognise. It was a seductive picture and for the second time that day Gwen let out a little moan of dismay. Etienne strolled past her and picked something up from a place setting on the grand dining table.

‘As far as I’m concerned, all you need now is this single finishing touch.’

He turned, his hands moving towards her breast. She jumped back before noticing the corsage of miniature orchid blossoms held in his fingers.

‘May I?’

‘Of course,’ Gwen said, breathless and annoyed at herself for being so. When his warm fingers slipped between her skin and the fabric of her dress, she had a different reason to feel embarrassed. Etienne’s deft movements as he secured the flowers sent a torrent of hormones surging through her body. The nearness of him and his touch was enough to turn her legs to jelly. Her discomposure was so obvious, she waited for him to comment on the effect he was having on her. There could be no denying it. Any concern she might feel for Angela Webbington now was overwhelmed by a fierce flush of arousal. She raised her eyes to Etienne’s face. It was impassive.

He finished fastening her corsage and took a step back, but did not look down to admire the finished effect.

‘There. That looks almost as beautiful as the wearer.’

‘How can you tell? You aren’t looking at it.’

‘I’ve seen enough.’

He sauntered off to pull out her chair. When she was seated, he took the delicate linen and lace napkin from her plate. Shaking it out, he draped it over her lap. As
he did so his fingers trailed across her thighs. Gwen looked up, but he was already heading for his seat on the other side of the table.

With silent efficiency, uniformed staff delivered soup and crisp rolls, warm from the oven.

‘So—what is your verdict?’

Gwen was lifting a pure white curl of butter from a crystal dish set in crushed ice. Leaning forward, his dinner forgotten, Etienne looked as driven as he had done earlier in the day when he was talking business.

‘It’s delicious, Etienne. My compliments to your chefs. This consommé is as good as anything we serve at Le Rossignol.’

‘I’m talking about my business proposition.’

That explained the tension obvious in every inch of his body. Gwen smiled and took her time coaxing the chilled butter onto her bread.

‘I think it’s an absolutely brilliant idea,’ she said, when she thought he had waited long enough. ‘My only reservation is the division of profits.’

With a sigh of relief he sat back and picked up his soup spoon.

‘Knowing how independent you are, I thought you would kick if I refused to take anything at all.’

‘That’s right—which is why I want you to reverse the order. You’re putting up the money and taking the risk, so it’s only right you should get the higher amount.’

She heard his spoon click against the fine china of his soup dish. He had stopped moving. She looked up, and found him staring at her, shocked.

‘You don’t mean that?’

‘Of course I do. I’d cook for nothing, me. Well, enough to cover my costs, anyway,’ she conceded. ‘I’m not interested in making a fortune. I’d rather work on my reputation as a chef.’

‘You’re joking,’ he said quietly.

Gwen mirrored his expression of disbelief. ‘No. Why would I joke about a thing like that? I’m happy enough in my work. As long as I’ve got enough to cover my bills, I’ll reckon myself lucky beyond the dreams of millions.’

‘You’re saying you don’t want my money?’

His voice was indistinct, as though the words were having difficulty making themselves heard through the stone wall of his disbelief.

‘No, not at all. I need your investment to keep my business afloat. In return, I want you to be fairly rewarded for the risk you’re taking by investing such a huge sum of money.’

His laughter was incredulous. ‘It’s no wonder you were too proud to wear your new dress. I might have guessed we have differing views with regard to money. That amount is nothing, believe me. It’s a mere drop in the Med!’

Gwen paused, and fixed him with a knowing look. ‘You know your trouble? You want a taste of real life—a visit to my family home back in Wales would soon knock a few home truths into you!’

She had meant it as a joke. Etienne didn’t laugh. Her own smile died as she saw the generous line of his lips struggle to rise in response.

‘I don’t doubt that. I’ve never had a home, only houses.’

‘But you’ve got a family that goes back centuries!’
Gwen countered, thinking of his portrait gallery back at the chateau. ‘It’s a family that makes a home, and you’ve got more of that than most.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t have any blood relatives left at all. My father was the last Moreau of his line. He was already an old man when I was born. He never made any attempt to hide the fact that if it wasn’t for the family name, he would have remained childless until the day he died.’

Gwen almost dropped her spoon in horror. ‘He told you that?’

Etienne shook his head. ‘He didn’t need to. After thirty years of being a widower, he married his house-keeper. I’ve never got on with Sophie, but my father knew I would consider it my duty to provide for her, as his widow. Watching them no doubt helped to give me rather a jaundiced view of relationships.’

This was getting heavy. Gwen tried to lighten the atmosphere and said brightly, ‘Well, as long as you remember the “strictly business” rule, you’ll have no problem with
our
relationship.’ Her words had the desired effect. He laughed out loud.

‘Gwen, I’ve never ridden a bicycle, but it must be exactly like dealing with you—a constant search for balance!’

She stared at him, unable to believe her ears. ‘You’ve never been on a bike? How did you get around when you were a kid?’

‘By car, of course. With a chauffeur,’ he added quickly.

Gwen shook her head in amazement. ‘That would have gone down a storm at Cwmbach Primary, I tell you.
Anyone turning up at the gates with a man to carry their satchel would’ve been dunked straight in the mud.’

‘They tried that at my school. I floored them,’ Etienne said succinctly. ‘It wasn’t as if I didn’t want a bike, like all the other boys. My father finally relented when I was twelve. He presented me with the best bike money could buy, costing hundreds of thousands of francs. It came complete with more safety equipment than anyone could ever need—
including stabilisers
.’ He finished in a way that told Gwen the horror of that moment had never entirely left him.

‘I suppose your chateau on the Loire has plenty of private roads and tracks where you could have used them out of sight, to begin with?’

Etienne grimaced. ‘That was too far beneath my dignity. If I couldn’t have what I wanted on my terms, I wouldn’t have it at all. I made them take it back to the shop.’

Gwen stared at him. He had been a wilful little monster in need of a good talking-to even then.

‘That was a bit childish, wasn’t it? Denying yourself something you really wanted, for the silliest little reason?’

‘I was a child at the time. I’d never do a thing like that now,’ he assured her.

‘Nor me. If anybody gave me a fantastic present like that, I’d be falling all over them,’ Gwen said, then fell suddenly silent. If that were true, she would be sitting there in her brand-new dress. She was as ungrateful and quick to condemn as the young Etienne had been. She looked up, expecting to feel the heat of his superiority. If he was aware of the irony of the situation, he hid it
well. After checking to see that she had finished her soup, he summoned his staff. As they materialised to clear the first course Gwen came to a decision. Standing up, she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

‘Would you excuse me, Etienne? There’s something I have to do. I won’t be a moment.’

Taking advantage of the short delay while the staff served the main course, she walked with great dignity as far as the corridor. Once out of sight, she sprinted to her suite. In seconds, she tore off her blue gown and wriggled into the spectacular silk dress. Retrieving the corsage Etienne had given her so carefully, she got back to the dining room as fast as she could. Pausing to collect herself outside the door, she took a deep breath.

The enormous dining room was echoing to the quiet efficiency of Etienne’s staff. They were still plating the
Assiette de cochon de lait rôti
, but as Gwen entered everything stopped. For a fraction of a second she had the full attention of every single person in the room. Everyone stared. Then Etienne cleared his throat, and the waiters and waitresses remembered their manners. Heads down, they hurried back to work. Gwen blushed. Her shy smile was repeated on every mirrored surface, trapping her in embarrassment.

Quietly, Etienne got to his feet. Ignoring his staff, he walked straight to her side and took her arm again.

‘I knew this dress was the perfect choice for you. It looks every bit as spectacular as I imagined,’ he murmured warmly, gazing down at her for long moments before escorting her back to her seat.

‘It feels absolutely wonderful,’ Gwen agreed, twirling the orchid corsage between her fingers.

‘Would you like me to fasten it for you again?’ He smiled.

Her insides turned to cream and honey. This time she didn’t flinch as he moved in close to her. Instead, she was disappointed when he slipped his fingers inside the shoulder of her dress to fix the flowers in a totally uncontroversial position.

From that moment on, something changed between them. Etienne relaxed in her company in a way he had not done before. They discussed the small print of the partnership contract. He called for champagne to toast their new enterprise, and Gwen’s spirits bubbled like the wine. The thought of having the freedom to concentrate on her cooking while specialists did all the jobs she hated set her spirits free. Etienne was such good company, the end of their meal came far too soon. His stiff formality had given way several times, prompting Gwen to make a spontaneous offer as they finished the last mouthfuls of
Soufflé aux framboise.

‘Why don’t we take coffee in my suite instead of here, Etienne? We can alter both copies of our contract at the same time,’ she suggested as the waiter brought them a trolley loaded with silverware and petits fours. He considered this, then checked his watch and shook his head.

‘I’m sorry. Once I’ve seen you safely back to the mainland, I have another appointment.’

‘Oh.’ She could not keep the disappointment from her voice, and he laughed.

‘You’re trying to knock me off balance again,
Gwen! You were so keen to stop me propositioning you earlier on! How can you have the nerve to sound disappointed now?’

‘This evening has been one of the best times I’ve had in my life,’ she said with a smile that could only hint at the strength of her true feelings. Etienne stood up. Strolling around the table, he waited while she got up from her chair. This time he did not offer her his arm.

‘Surely the best time was when we were in bed together, in my chateau,’ he said softly.

She held her breath, but the moment did not last. He rebounded with a chuckle. ‘But that was in the past! Now we are partners in business, not crime, Gwen.’

Leaning forward, he kissed her softly on the forehead.

It was the closest she would get to his heart.

For several weeks, Gwen managed to keep up her relentless approach to work. She spent practically every waking moment at the restaurant. The pressure on her should have eased, but she was still convinced that the place couldn’t function without her. Then she began to see Etienne’s investment paying dividends. Instead of employing just anyone, she could afford to advertise in trade magazines for top graduates. With Etienne’s advisors taking the routine work off her hands, she could spend more time in the kitchens. She experimented with new dishes to complement established favourites on the menu. Life was looking up, especially as she now had a glamorous receptionist to take over the front-of-house work she hated. There were only two tiny clouds on her horizon. One involved Etienne. He entertained at Le
Rossignol often. His fellow financiers were always men, but Gwen didn’t like the way her new receptionist fawned over him. It needed a will of iron to ignore it, but her second problem had no solution at all.

Gwen now had plenty of free time, and most of it was stress-free. But no matter how much extra sleep she got, she felt permanently exhausted. That was bad enough. When she started to feel sick as well, the challenge of getting out of bed each morning became harder by the day. She hadn’t taken a day off for illness since her college days, and wasn’t about to start now. Some days were easier than others. As long as she kept busy, Gwen could hide the way she was feeling.

And then her period didn’t arrive. That was unusual, but she managed to put it to the back of her mind. After all, she had lost weight. Telling herself that the time to worry was when the weight started piling on did not work for long. She began to worry. Etienne had taken precautions. She was sure of that. In fact, she was absolutely positive, which only made her worry more. Perhaps she was ill, not pregnant. That thought really scared her, so she worked ten times harder at the restaurant. Her bouts of sickness got worse. She could not face going anywhere near the food-preparation areas. Soon the restaurant itself began having a bad effect on her. She could not stand the smell of the flowers Etienne had delivered each week. Shortly after that, she began to feel strange all the time. Grasping at straws, she wondered if it could be put down to the Mediterranean sun. That seemed unlikely. She spent so much time at work, she was practically nocturnal. For some time, no
one guessed she wasn’t feeling her best. But she was fooling herself, as well as everyone else.