Susan Stephens Selection

‘Not a horse-riding accident,’ Kate confirmed, feeling her face flush as she realised what people must be thinking.

‘Hold her steady while I bathe the wound, if you please, Monsieur le Comte,’ the pharmacist instructed Guy. ‘This may sting a little, mademoiselle,’ he confided in Kate. ‘And I wouldn’t like her to pull away,’ he added in a dramatic stage whisper.

‘Don’t worry, monsieur,’ Guy assured the jaunty pharmacist. ‘I won’t let her get away.’

Kate’s heart started beating to its own crazy rhythm. And it was a rhythm that had nothing to do with stinging wounds or the unselfconscious scrutiny of anyone in the shop.

Monsieur Dupont was determined to draw out the drama to its fullest extent and was brandishing a length of bandage that could have easily bound her up like an Egyptian mummy from top to toe. ‘Now you may release her,’ he informed Guy. ‘The unpleasant part is over—’

This time he was wrong, Kate thought as Guy let her go. As far as she was concerned, the pleasant part was over. She was conscious of Guy watching her, leaning back casually against the wall with his arms loosely folded and one tightly clad leg crossed nonchalantly over the other.

‘There!’ Monsieur Dupont declared with a flourish. ‘A neat job, if I say so myself.’

‘A very neat job,’ Guy confirmed as he eased himself away from the wall. ‘What do I owe you, Monsieur Dupont?’

‘Owe me!’

Kate felt sure that all the women in the shop tensed and leaned forward a little to catch him, so great was Monsieur Dupont’s affront.

‘I want nothing from you, monsieur, except your assurances that you will escort this young lady home. She’s had quite a shock today.’

Understatement of the year! Kate thought wryly as Guy accepted the gesture with his customary charm.

‘I’m sure there must be something I can do in return for you,’ he insisted.

‘Monsieur le Comte,’ Monsieur Dupont exclaimed bashfully with a very low bow indeed, ‘I assure you, there is no need whatever—’

‘I have a better idea,’ Kate broke in impulsively. ‘In about three weeks’ time I intend to have a housewarming—’ Well, that was one way of describing the opening of her guest house and the safest option whilst Guy was around. ‘I’d like to invite you…all—’ She caught sight of Guy’s face and stopped.

‘I hope that includes me,’ he said.

Her mouth dried.

‘Mademoiselle could not possibly leave you out, Monsieur le Comte,’ Monsieur Dupont exclaimed as he turned from one to the other like a spectator at a tennis match. ‘Well, could you, mademoiselle?’

‘No, of course not. You’re very welcome, Guy.’

‘You don’t sound too sure,’ he murmured so that only she could hear. ‘Don’t forget to send that invitation.’

‘I won’t,’ Kate promised, backing her way towards the entrance. ‘Well, thank you, Monsieur Dupont…everyone… Guy.’

‘Not so fast,’ Guy drawled, coming after her. ‘I have to see you home, remember?’

‘I can manage…honestly,’ she protested when he insisted on guiding her out by the elbow. ‘I can walk.’

‘So can I,’ he pointed out. ‘Or we can ride back. It’s entirely up to you.’

‘You don’t have to treat me like a child. I hurt my hand, that’s all. It’s been attended to. Thank you very much for your assistance—’

‘Et au revoir?’ he suggested sardonically.

‘Yes. No,’ Kate amended quickly, realising how ungrateful he must think her.

‘Walk, or ride?’ he demanded.

The day had mellowed into a hazy, lazy afternoon and in spite of all the warning klaxons sounding in her head, Kate chose to walk. She waited outside under the green and white striped awning of the pharmacie until Guy found one of the young village lads to ride his horse back to the stables at the château.

‘You’re very trusting,’ she said, seeing the young boy’s face light up with excited anticipation as he urged the magnificent animal into a brisk trot.

‘Yes, aren’t I?’ Guy agreed dryly. ‘But since I’ve known Leon since birth, as I have all the youngsters in the village, I’d say it was a calculated risk. I didn’t pick him out at random. He is one of the best young riders we have around here. Letting him ride Fireflash is my way of showing my appreciation for the hours he puts into his training.’

‘I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me. I should have realised—’

‘Forget it,’ Guy said, steering her in the direction of the shops.

‘Where are we going now?’ she demanded when he paused to stare into the window of the patisserie.

‘Cake? No,’ he said, reading her face. ‘I take you for a bread, cheese and salad woman right now.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Kate asked suspiciously.

‘Cake signals self-indulgence to me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but, right now, you strike me as being in a rolling up your sleeves kind of a mood.’

‘Hardly,’ Kate said, struggling to rein in her wayward senses as she raised her bandaged hand to make the point.

‘Well, as I suppose I’m indirectly responsible for that, how about I do the labouring and you give the orders?’

‘Count Guy de Villeneuve labouring?’ Kate exclaimed as she threw him a look.

‘I am quite a capable individual,’ he confided, moving in close. ‘Believe it or not, I can even put jam on my own croissant in the morning.’

As his breath warmed her ear, Kate backed away. ‘Please stop teasing me, Guy.’

‘Why?’ he murmured. ‘You used to love it when you were a little girl.’

Her heart thundered at the reminder. Once any attention from the handsome young aristocrat had been bliss, but now it only spelled trouble.

‘What do we need food for anyway?’ she said, trying to keep her mind from straying on to dangerous territory.

‘I get very hungry when I work.’

‘You’re not going to be doing any work,’ Kate insisted firmly. Her original resolution still held firm. No one was setting foot inside the cottage until she was completely satisfied that the interior had been returned to its original pristine condition—and that included Guy. No, especially Guy, she thought, shooting a glance at him. ‘So, you don’t need to eat.’

‘Nonsense!’ he said, steering her into the fromagerie. ‘I’m hungry. We’ll have a picnic.’

Kate sighed with frustration. And she’d thought she was self-willed! She hadn’t known the meaning of that state until now!

At least she succeeded in getting her own way over one thing. Pleading a muddle at the cottage, she set out the food Guy insisted on buying for them on the grassy bank above the narrow stream that meandered through the garden. And somehow the years seemed to peel away until it was almost like being back in the time when groups of holidaymakers, villagers, estate workers and even members of Guy’s own family had congregated on the banks of the main river that ran through the town to loll away the sunny afternoons eating and chatting. But then Guy wouldn’t always have chosen to sit with her…or, more precisely, lie by her side, Kate realised as she took the greaseproof wrapping paper off the cheese. The bread shop had furnished her with a red gingham cloth and a wicker basket in which to put the mountain of food Guy had acquired on his trawl round the village square. There was chilled wine, a fragrant crusty loaf, some fat green olives and a selection of cheeses to arrange on top of the makeshift table she had adapted from a tree stump.

Removing a graceful strand of meadow grass from his mouth, Guy rolled over on to his side. Resting his head on the heel of his hand, he gazed up at her. ‘Ready yet?’ he murmured. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Ready,’ Kate confirmed, feeling her face growing hot beneath his scrutiny. He looked gorgeous, she realised, trying to find comfort in the fact that he seemed so at ease…deceptively so, she warned herself, and not a moment too soon.

‘Feed me,’ he called across to her in a softly seductive voice.

‘Get it yourself,’ Kate blurted, too shaken to realise she had reverted to the way she might have spoken to him when she was a cheeky teenager.

Picking up on her mood, Guy countered by falling back into the role he had once played in her life…and it was a dangerously provocative role that carried far more risk than the sophisticated manner that had marked his behaviour towards her since her return.

‘It’s a no to that, Katie Foster,’ he drawled lazily. ‘You feed me, or you pay the penalty. You owe me a favour. And now I’m calling it in.’

Guy’s apparent languor didn’t fool Kate for a moment. He was just as likely to launch himself on her at any moment and tickle her to death, she remembered, trying not to let her disappointment at the likely outcome become too apparent.

‘I need to build up my strength for the hard work to come,’ he reasoned, tossing a languid glance towards the cottage.

Kate doubted that, judging by the muscles bulging beneath the pewter-coloured polo shirt he was wearing…and his thighs. She dragged her eyes up again, conscious that he was still watching her. ‘Don’t worry about that now, Guy,’ she said, forcing her attention back to more mundane problems. ‘There’s really no need if your men are coming tomorrow—’

‘I can’t allow you to go another day with boards across the windows,’ he insisted. ‘It’s intolerable.’ His voice grew harsh, as if they had both returned at the same time from their brief visit to the past. ‘If I’d had any idea at all that you were trying to live here—’

‘I haven’t been here all that long.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said firmly. ‘It must have been a shock for you finding the cottage in this condition.’ He sat up abruptly and levelled a penetrating stare straight into her eyes. ‘And on top of everything else—’ He pressed his beautifully shaped lips together as he shook his head. ‘Please accept my apologies.’

‘Accepted,’ Kate said as she broke the bread into chunks. She wasn’t sure which was safer—Guy playful or Guy serious.

‘So now you can feed me,’ he murmured, rolling on to his back again.

Kate’s hands remained suspended in mid-air. For a moment it seemed as if the bees stopped humming and the soft breeze rustling through the leaves died away. Then Guy’s laugh splintered her trance.

‘Hurry up, Kate. Or I’ll just have to come over there and make you,’ he warned.

Kate’s eyes cleared and the soundscape burst into life again. ‘You wouldn’t,’ she said confidently.

‘Vraiment?’ he countered softly.

Before his intentions could be put to the test, she switched to a subject that was both important to her and safe. ‘Guy, I know I’ve only just arrived. But, if it’s possible, I would like to make arrangements to see your mother.’

His mood altered in an instant. ‘She isn’t seeing anyone.’

‘Are you quite sure she wouldn’t see me?’

‘Anything that reminds her of the accident— And in particular anything that reminds her of her dearest friend, your aunt—’

‘I understand,’ Kate broke in softly. ‘I’d just like her to know that I was asking after her, that I’m thinking about her. You will tell her that?’

‘Naturellement,’ he said. ‘And thank you, Kate. It’s very good of you to be so concerned. I think she gets very lonely up at the château. As soon as she feels up to it I’ll suggest that you pay her a visit.’

‘Or she’s always welcome here at La Petite Maison,’ Kate said quickly. ‘At least when everything’s back to normal,’ she qualified. ‘I’d hate her to see the cottage as it is right now.’

A muscle worked in Guy’s jaw as he sprang to his feet. ‘Now you’re making me feel guilty,’ he said, coming over to help her with the food. ‘If I had even suspected you meant to come back—’

‘Don’t,’ Kate said firmly. ‘It’s not all your fault.’

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on my estate manager in future,’ he said. ‘It seems my request to dispose of the holiday cottages was handled with more rigour than I had bargained for.’

‘I’m sure that’s the way business is usually conducted,’ Kate said wryly. ‘I know I won’t brook any time-wasting once I set my sights on achieving a certain goal.’

‘But this isn’t business,’ Guy pointed out as he cut a slab of creamy Brie and pressed it into the soft heart of the fresh bread for her. ‘It’s you.’

His eyes were dancing with laughter. At her? With her? Kate had no idea as she took the bread from him and sucked her thumb appreciatively. ‘This is delicious.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Guy murmured as he poured them both a glass of chilled white wine.

After the picnic Guy insisted on staying on until he had removed every single board from her windows. And he promised that his workmen would bring tubs of plastic wood with them to repair any holes made by the nails. Then the decorators would arrive.

Waving him off, Kate decided that the cottage would be back to normal in no time. Except that it never would be completely back to normal, she thought wistfully, taking the wicker trug laden with flowers they had collected inside with her. Her intention was to keep everything just as it had been during Aunt Alice’s lifetime. A memorial? No, a tribute, she corrected herself as she dropped the bunch of garden blooms into a vase of water. And when Guy found out what she really planned to do with La Petite Maison? She would have found the opportunity to explain her plans to him long before that became a problem, she told herself confidently.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS deep in the still and secret part of the night when time had no meaning that Kate woke up coughing. Reaching out still half-asleep for the switch on the lamp by her bed, she suddenly realised that her eyes were stinging too. Squinting her eyes as she peered at the clock she became slowly conscious of the sharp, throat-catching tang of fire. She could taste it, smell it…and, as if drawn by an invisible hand to contemplate the dawning horror, she could see it too as her eyes fixed on the bottom of the heavy oak door where the first few puffs were billowing innocently through a tiny gap at the base.

Instantly alert, she sprang out of bed and raced to grab her robe. Returning to the door, she felt down the length of it with the flat of her hand. It was still cool and formed a sturdy barrier between her and whatever lay beyond. She stiffened, listening intently as she tried to gauge the extent of the fire. Her face tensed with concern. She could hear the crackling of the flames quite clearly. But she had been so careful…

Obviously not careful enough, she thought, remembering the candles she had lit on the kitchen table. Recreating the scene in her mind, she pictured the photograph albums next to the candles. She had meant to move them before going to bed. But she had stayed up too long worrying about Guy, her mixed-up feelings, the state of the cottage and whether she could possibly get it ready in time for her first guests. A sharp sound of distress escaped from her throat as she realised that would never happen now. And if by some miracle it did? Guy would never forgive her either way. She had lied to him. And she had planned to coax Guy’s elderly mother out of isolation too, bring her to the cottage… Was this like drowning, she wondered, having your whole life flash before your eyes?

Kate forced her attention back to the door. One thing was for sure; she had wasted enough time. Opening the door a crack, she stared into the smoke-filled gloom. The stairs were still clear and probably safe. Glancing behind her into the bedroom, she took the chance to go back and snatch up a couple of things.

On the glass-covered surface of the bow-fronted dressing table sat a silver frame containing a photograph of Aunt Alice, and to either side of Aunt Alice like two disapproving sentinels stood Kate’s mother and father. Clutching the frame in one hand, she snatched up a silver locket. The locket contained a photograph of herself as a young child staring defiantly into the camera. Kate felt a sudden pang to see that at nine years old there had already been something pinched and anxious behind her bravado. Snub-nosed and freckled and with a halo of red-gold curls in such disarray it proved that the photograph could only have been taken in France. And on the facing side, in perfect counterbalance to the reckless young hoyden she had once been, Aunt Alice appeared, apple-cheeked and twinkling. The locket had no real value except that it expressed everything about her young life and the influence Aunt Alice had wielded upon it…and that made it one of her most treasured possessions. She never went anywhere without it, for in spite of the angst behind the tomboy façade, those two photographs represented everything that had been good and happy and carefree about her childhood once her parents had agreed that she could be released into Aunt Alice’s care each summer.

The smoke was growing dangerously thick and Kate knew she would have to find some clean air or fall where she stood.

This time when she opened the door the heat scorched her face, forcing her to draw back in alarm. Snatching another glance, she saw the fire licking up the sides of the wooden staircase, creating a surreal vista of shadows and flame and smoke and ash. Gathering her courage around her like an invisible blanket, she burst out of the door and with gravity as her only guide she launched herself down the stairs. Her eyes were stinging so badly they filled with tears, blinding her as the thick black smoke curled its deadly tentacles around her chest.

Stumbling across the kitchen she found the back door, but fear made her clumsy as she struggled to pull back the locks. Gasping, coughing and sobbing all at once, only sheer bloody-mindedness kept her going. As the locks yielded she fell into the night and half-crawling scrambled along the path until she could no longer feel the heat of the fire. But as her mind slowly cleared she realised that somehow during her flight the precious locket had fallen from her hand. Her cry of despair sounded eerie in the darkness. But when she turned her agonised gaze on the cottage she saw that smoke was already billowing from the roof and glowing cinders were issuing in burnished clouds through the kitchen window like some unseasonable firework display.

Laughing hysterically, Kate got to her knees and made a desperate calculation. There was no sign as yet of any flames on the upper floor of the cottage. Perhaps she could retrace her steps? Dazed with shock, she got up slowly. She had seen films where people wet a cloth and tied it around their mouth and nose to keep out the worst of the deadly fumes.

All she could think about was the locket. And then she remembered the chain biting into her hand as she leaped down the stairs. Slipping off her robe, she soaked it under the outside tap. Then, shivering with fear and cold, she forced her arms back inside the sodden towelling. Stepping quickly out of her flimsy pyjama bottoms, she wet them too and, tying them around her face, she staggered back to the front door cursing the fact that while her resolve was as strong as ever, the old injury to her leg was holding her back. Darting her head in and out fast, she took in the scene. The fire had taken a strong hold, but the flames would light her way and she might be all right if she was quick enough. There was a slim chance she could save the locket before it melted into a pool of molten metal…and a slim chance was enough.

She was just gearing herself up to dive in when the sound of noisy engines crested the ugly sounds of the fire. People were shouting and then she became aware that alarm bells were ringing in the village. Relief burst from her throat in a guttural cry she would not have recognised as her own. She was so thankful not to be alone—so grateful someone had noticed and had thought to rouse help. But she was past the point where reason governed her actions. And if she was going to find the locket she had to go now—

‘No! Kate, no! What are you doing?’

An iron band snapped round her waist, holding her back. Then she was yanked away from the threshold of the cottage—carried off, away from the stream of people who were racing up the path—some carrying a wide bore hose between them, others bringing water in an endless stream of buckets and all of them shouting, urging each other on as they rushed to help.

‘Let me go! Let me go!’ Kate shrieked so forcefully that her throat was almost raw by the time Guy lowered her to the ground.

‘Mon Dieu! Kate!’ he said as he stared into her wild, desperate eyes. ‘What were you thinking of? You could have been killed!’

‘I don’t care! It doesn’t matter! Don’t you understand?’ she cried huskily as she tried to fight him off, tried to get back to the cottage. ‘I have to go back. Let me go!’

‘No!’ Guy rasped as he held her tight to his chest.

‘I’m warning you—’ But her voice was wobbling and her legs were giving way.

‘No,’ he said again a little more gently, but holding her even more securely. ‘You’re not going back in there, Kate. It’s too late.’

‘No! It can’t be!’ Her cry was almost primeval in intensity. But her ferocity only seemed to make Guy all the more determined to hold on to her.

‘Regardes, Kate!’ he insisted, gripping her chin and forcing her round to face him. ‘They’re getting the fire under control. The cottage will be saved. Look!’ he said again. And when she tried in a last desperate flurry of blows to fight him off, he bound her so tight in his arms she couldn’t move at all. ‘You can’t turn away,’ he said, ‘and you will listen to me. I will personally oversee all the repairs. I’ll have the damn cottage rebuilt brick by brick if necessary. I’ll even build it myself—’

‘No…no, you don’t understand,’ she broke in, repeatedly shaking her head. ‘It won’t be the same.’

‘What do you mean, it won’t be the same?’

‘Aunt Alice’s things—’ Kate broke off then, sobbing against him, melting into him, accepting, needing his arms around her and the comfort of his soft, body-warmed sweater against her face.

‘Things?’ Guy queried softly, nestling his face against the top of her head while he smoothed her hair with long calming strokes.

‘You know what I mean,’ Kate insisted.

‘I’m not sure I do,’ he said, holding her back so that he could look into her face. ‘But if you’re trying to tell me that all these tears are being wasted on a few ornaments and decorations—’ He shook his head as he stared down at her. Then, very gently, he rested the palm of his right hand against the left side of her chest. ‘Aunt Alice is in here, Kate, not in the cottage,’ he said softly.

For a few moments she stared back at him. His conviction gave her strength, broke through the madness of the last hour. Very slowly she relaxed in his arms. ‘You’re right,’ she whispered, fighting to come to terms with it. ‘But it’s not fair,’ she added brokenly, half to herself. ‘I can’t keep hold of the past, however hard I try.’

The soft knit of his cashmere sweater felt warm against her face as she nestled against it and Guy’s voice was like a caress as he drew her into him. ‘The future will be even better,’ he said roughly. ‘You’ll see.’ But then they were distracted by a small group of men, their faces smoke-blackened as they emerged from the cottage.

‘Everything is under control, Monsieur le Comte,’ said one. ‘But we will have a better idea if the structure is safe in the morning, when we can make a thorough examination in good light.’

‘Merci…merci beaucoup,’ Guy exclaimed softly, still with his arm around Kate, supporting her. ‘You have all responded magnificently. I can’t thank you enough.’

Kate knew words were inadequate for what they had done. ‘You saved the cottage and my life. I will always be in your debt,’ she managed huskily.

‘It is nothing, mademoiselle,’ the leader informed her. It is our job, after all.’

‘It was the middle of the night,’ Kate pointed out hoarsely. ‘Yet you came…all of you.’ She turned to include the many villagers who had turned out to help their local firemen.

‘Monsieur le Comte alerted us,’ one man explained. ‘We all rely on each other here in Villeneuve. It’s a good system, don’t you think, mademoiselle?’

‘I certainly do,’ she said, flashing a look at Guy, who showed no sign of wanting to accept any of the credit for saving her life. ‘And now that the fire is out, can I just go back inside and—?’

‘Certainly not, mademoiselle,’ the chief fireman insisted. ‘We cannot be sure yet that the cottage is safe. You really must wait until tomorrow.’

‘But if I only take a quick look around outside, surely that will be OK?’ As Guy groaned with impatience she saw how the thick black smudges only managed to enhance his incredible bone structure. Only Guy, she thought ruefully, could look like some warrior prince with what looked like camouflage paint striped across his face.

‘You’re not going back,’ he said bluntly.

Kate bristled. She wasn’t used to following orders. ‘But if the fire engine turned so that its lights—’

‘I know you’ve had a frightening experience and I know you’re upset,’ Guy told her, ‘but you’re not thinking straight. These men left their beds to come here.’

A rush of heat spread across her cheeks as Kate realised he was right. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘It can wait.’ It couldn’t, but she knew it would have to.

With their job completed, the villagers and the firemen began to peel away, singly and in groups, until just Kate and Guy were left together on the grassy bank in front of the cottage. The only light came from the slivers of moonshine that managed to penetrate the thick canopy of trees.

‘I’m taking you home with me,’ he said, starting to lead her away.

‘Oh, no, I—’ She tried to pull back and then stopped. What was she going to do? She had nothing with her and was only wearing the top of her pyjamas under a filthy, wet robe. She could hardly bed down in the forest dressed like that.

‘Until we know the cottage is safe you cannot even start to repair…redecorate, let alone move back in. It may be quite some time before it is fit for habitation,’ Guy said as he gave her an encouraging nudge towards the path.

Kate grimaced. The shock had put everything out of her head. But this was hardly the time to tell Guy that the cottage had to be ready in under three weeks’ time because that was when her first guests arrived.

‘Come on,’ he said, urging her to keep in step with him. ‘You’re shivering. And it’s not that cold. If you’re in shock the sooner I can put you to bed the better.’

‘At the château?’

‘Of course at the château, where else?’ he said speeding up.

‘I’m being a terrible nuisance,’ Kate said, forced to jog to keep up with him.

‘No more than I remember,’ he murmured dryly as he steered her through the trees and back on to the path that led to his home.

Being treated like a dainty porcelain doll that might break if it was handled too roughly was something new for Kate. But that was exactly how Madame Duplessis, Guy’s formidable housekeeper, insisted she had to be looked after. It was she who had opened the magnificent double doors for them just before dawn that morning, already dressed in her customary uniform of crisply tailored shirt-waister dress, a garment Kate remembered she possessed in any number of sober colours. Clucking with alarm when she had seen the state Kate was in, Madame Duplessis had whisked her away from Guy, insisting she took a warm bath before installing her in one of the sumptuous guest bedrooms. Here Kate had been force-fed with a cup of hot milk, having first been clothed in a floor-length fleecy robe in a soft shade of coral and a long-sleeved cotton nightdress buttoned up to the neck.

If she hadn’t been suffering such emotional turmoil she might actually have enjoyed the pampering. Instead, she found herself sitting up in a bed made for Daddy Bear, plucking at the sheets and fretting. At least she had extracted a promise from Guy that, whatever happened, he would take her back to the cottage later that morning… The thought of that alone was enough to send her pulse-rate soaring. But first they had to give Madame Duplessis the slip. As far as that redoubtable lady was concerned, Kate would need to convalesce at Château Villeneuve for the next few months after the terrible shock she had sustained.

Just being close to Guy was therapeutic enough, but there were other consolations too, Kate mused as she gazed out through one of the tall sash windows by her bed. From her eyrie high in one of the pink-roofed fairytale towers, she had the most magnificent view over the formal gardens at the front of the château, laid out centuries earlier, in homage to Versailles.

The sound of fountains playing in the background was just audible above the steady hum of gardening implements. The team of gardeners had been hard at work since dawn, ensuring that everything was maintained in the pristine condition demanded by the intricate design. But it hadn’t always been like this, Kate remembered. When she was small, the gardens had been overgrown and disorganised like every other part of the estate. Guy’s father might have been known as the most charming aristocrat in France, but he had also been the most impractical. She could see that Guy had inherited not only the best of his father’s qualities, but some other genes that had driven him to restore his ramshackle birthplace as soon as he was able to. He had already explained how he was using ancient plans and drawings whenever possible in order to ensure authenticity and that it was a project that would take him many years to complete.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and her heart shot into overdrive as she watched it swing open. But it was only a young maid in a sky-blue and white gingham dress who had come to collect the breakfast tray. As the girl prepared to shut the door behind her with the tray balanced on one hip, she paused.