The French Aristocrat's Baby. Christina Hollis
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she had given the contents to one of the waiters to top up his moped. She had totally forgotten to refill the can.
Gwen was faced with a long, dark walk home. Locking the Citroen, she started off. With no one to blame for the situation but herself, she tried to make the best of it. During the day, the views from this road over the Mediterranean were spectacular. At night the uphill journey was breath-robbing rather than breathtaking, although there were compensations. A million stars speckled the sky from one horizon to the other. If that wasn’t enough to take Gwen’s mind off her blistered toes, the nightingales that gave her restaurant its name were in full song. It was the perfect opportunity to let her mind wander back to that breathtaking kiss with the man who had called her irresistible.
Her head was so full of romance she was only dimly aware of a wholly man-made sound attacking the peace and quiet of the hillside. It took the blazing spotlights of a fast car to bring her to her senses. She jumped off the road in panic, but the vehicle slowed dramatically. Drawing level with her, it paused. The driver opened his door and hailed her.
‘Ah, c’est le chef anglais! Where are you going on such a dark and lonely night?’
It was him. Etienne Moreau. Gwen was hardly able to believe it. He was behind the wheel of a sleek, low, sports car and with relief she saw he was alone. To have met the gorgeous Etienne with another woman so soon after that wonderful kiss would have been unbearable.
‘I’m on my way home. My car broke down.’ Gwen smiled ruefully, hoping he wouldn’t want details. This was the man who called her irresistible. She didn’t want her fantasy wrecked by hearing him call her an airhead for running out of petrol.
‘The red Citroen C1 with the parking scrapes and missing offside wing mirror, parked half a kilometre back?’
Gwen nodded, trying not to look pained. That was all she needed. A fantasy man so perfect he knew enough about cars to recognise an idiot when he saw one.
‘Get in. I’ll give you a lift.’
Gwen looked over his impressive car as it purred contentedly beside her. And then the look in his eyes. They mirrored his words, after that brief moment of passion…You are irresistible…
Panic overwhelmed her. It was one thing to fantasise about a man. With her dream threatening to come true, she felt totally inadequate.
‘N-no—it’s OK. I’m fine. Totally. I’m nearly home. I couldn’t possibly…’
The wider he smiled, the faster her voice dwindled.
‘Nonsense. Get in. How could I let you walk any further on those stilettos, and still call myself a gentleman?’ he added with perfect logic, casting an appreciative glance at Gwen’s small, shapely feet. They were peeping out from beneath the hem of her dress as she held it up, away from the long grasses of the verge. She let her hands fall, freeing the folds of material to hide her painfully impractical shoes.
‘So—will you accept a lift from me now?’
Gwen sighed. Her feet did hurt, the road was long and dark and Etienne’s warm car, not to mention the man himself, looked wonderfully appealing.
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ It was tricky keeping the apprehension out of her voice.
Without a word, Etienne took the magnum of champagne that was propped up on the passenger seat. ‘You’ll be a much more interesting companion than this, ma chef anglais. I won it in a charity auction! Perhaps I will donate it as a prize somewhere else.’ He laughed as he got out of the car and walked around to where Gwen stood. Filling her arms with the heavy foil-wrapped bottle, he opened the car door for her. Gwen thanked him with a smile.
Getting into the confined space of the passenger seat was another trial. It sharpened her nerves to the point where she had to say something to cover her embarrassment. ‘Although I should tell you, monsieur, I’m Welsh, not English.’
‘Ah, that explains it.’ Etienne nodded sagely, slipping into the driver’s seat beside her. He paused, one hand on top of the steering wheel.
‘Before we start, give me your keys. I’ll arrange for someone to collect your car, and get it fixed.’
‘Thank you, that’s really kind,’ Gwen muttered, glad he would never see the tell-tale bill. When she was safely belted in, he pushed his sports car into gear and powered on up the hill.
She watched him, her eyes narrowed.
‘Why should the fact that I’m Welsh explain anything, Count?’
Etienne gave her a lazily superior smile. ‘That rebellious streak of yours…the way you chose to try and walk home in those ridiculous little shoes instead of phoning someone for help…I should have guessed. And don’t bother using my title,’ he added casually. ‘In my experience, people who call me by it are only looking to gain some advantage.’
Gwen felt slightly affronted, having never tried to gain anything from anyone in her life. ‘OK, Monsieur Moreau.’
‘It’s Etienne.’ His voice crackled, then softened as he asked, ‘Where do you live?’
‘I’m staying in Nick’s gite, right at the top of the hill. You can drop me anywhere that’s convenient for you.’
‘And you are his fiancée’s best friend, Gwyneth.’ Etienne’s accent turned her name into something beautiful and exotic, but his words were an accusation.
Gwen stiffened. No matter how gorgeous he was, she couldn’t stop herself reacting angrily.
‘I was his ex-fiancée’s ex-best friend. And, please call me Gwen!’
‘Dommage!’ He inhaled sharply. ‘That’s some reaction. What caused the split between you?’
Gwen wondered where to start. She felt like blaming Carys for all her problems, but that wasn’t entirely fair. Nobody had held a gun to Gwen’s head and made her buy out Nick and Carys’ share of the business. ‘Well, she upset Nick and eighteen months’ worth of arrangements by running off with another man on the very day of their wedding. She’s cost me a fortune by abandoning our partnership, and I’m so shattered I hardly know what day it is any more.’
She hadn’t meant to sound so resentful, but it was impossible not to warm to her theme. Etienne glanced at her. Despite the darkness, he was clearly shocked.
‘What happened to the unbreakable bonds of sisterhood? All for one, one for all, and take the man for everything he’s got?’
‘I’m old-fashioned,’ Gwen said primly. ‘I expected our business partnership to be like marriage—forever. And an engagement is almost as binding—certainly when it gets all the way to the big day.’
‘Are you saying you would rather see your best friend trapped in marriage to a worthy, predictable man like Nick, rather than let her follow her heart?’
‘I’d rather things were exactly as they were, with Carys still my partner. She knew what Nick was like before she agreed to marry him. Why did she have to take off like that, all of a sudden? She left me right in the lurch,’ Gwen grumbled, heaving another huge sigh. ‘I thought she was resigned to life with Nick. I’d always told her not to expect carnivals when he was in town, but she wouldn’t listen!’
‘That isn’t what I told Nick when he asked me to be his best man,’ Etienne growled. He was staring straight ahead at the road and gripped the steering wheel with both hands for once.
Gwen was amazed. ‘I never saw you at the supposed wedding?’ she ventured.
That day, she had hardly seen anyone beyond her crew of catering staff. She had been determined to put on the perfect reception as well as acting as bridesmaid, but one thing was certain. However busy, she could never have missed seeing Etienne. He would have stood head and shoulders over the rest of the guests in every meaning of the phrase.
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