“You’re invited to join us,” he’d assured her.
For the past twenty-four hours she’d hated him for it. For essentially ripping the child from her life and making her nothing more than an invited guest who had no choice but to accept the precarious invitation.
She detested Alex Lejardin for forcing her to come to St. Michel. She was prepared to detest everything about the godforsaken…and purportedly unbelievably beautiful place he was taking her to.
But the conscientious objector in her was short-lived.
Once they boarded the plane bound for Alex’s home and family, she’d managed to put a cap on her anger. She certainly wasn’t going to cause a scene that would upset Liam. He was a smart little guy. He sensed when she was upset. They were so close that often his moods mirrored hers.
Having a baby in her life had been a never-ending lesson in humility. For Liam’s sake, as well as her own, she’d learned to defuse stress and anger, keeping him away from negative emotions as much as possible.
This unexpected sojourn was proving to be one of the toughest tests of her mettle she’d ever experienced.
She had no choice—even if she didn’t like the situation, she was going to make the best of it and regroup once she had a chance to seek legal counsel.
Sometime during the flight to St. Michel, somewhere over the ocean, her anger faded away. She realized that once her feet were firmly planted on St. Michel soil.
It wasn’t the luxury of the private jet that couriered her there that appeased her—if anything, that would’ve added to her displeasure. There were few things she disliked more than someone with money riding roughshod over those who couldn’t fight on the same battlefield. As an artist, she’d witnessed it plenty of times with patrons whose philosophy was my way or the highway.
Nor was it the first-class treatment she received during the short flight from Paris.
The tipping point came in the tender way Alex had treated not only Liam, but also her.
She’d expected him to be angry.
He wasn’t.
She’d expected him to at least act sullen or superior.
He’d been the opposite: open and willing to talk; forthright about explaining why he’d had to do what he’d done; willing to hear Julianne out and let her have a say in certain options involving Liam.
He’d even taken care to inform her colleagues of her “change of plans” and ensured that they had been given her contact information.
No wonder her sister had fallen in love with him. Julianne was beginning to understand the effect he could have on women. Maybe her change of heart was caused by something he’d slipped into the sparkling water she’d sipped aboard the jet.
No, she’d experienced the pull of Alex Lejardin before he’d leveled her with the news that he was taking Liam to St. Michel.
If she thought too hard about the effect he seemed to have on her, or even the fact that she still found him attractive in the midst of this friendly kidnapping, she felt simply ridiculous.
So she decided not to think about it, not to think about him that way.
When they exited the plane in St. Michel, a black stretch limousine waited on the airfield. Julianne hugged Liam a little tighter and Alex carried the boy’s car seat as they crossed the tarmac toward the limo.
“My brother and sister-in-law sent a car.”
Very thoughtful of the queen and prince consort.
The uniformed driver greeted them, opened the door and set to work installing Liam’s seat on the rear-facing seat of the limo.
The sun shone in the sky but while it was warmer here than in Paris, there was still a chill in the air.
“It’s beautiful here,” Julianne said. “I could see that as we flew in, but I thought it would be more tropical.”
“No, actually, St. Michel is located roughly the same latitude as Boston. But it’s warmer here because the Alps shield it from icy winter winds. It’s relative. Compared to Boston, fifty-five degrees might seem tropical this time of year.”
“Well, I won’t expect to spend a lot of time on the beach, then.”
“You can spend as much time as you’d like at the beach. But I must warn you, this is the wet season. It rains several times a week.”
They stood in silence for a few moments waiting for the driver to finish.
“Here’s a bit of trivia for you,” Alex said. “St. Michel used to be a winter retreat for Britain’s rich and famous. Now, the big season is in the summer. Even if the weather is a little cooler now, at least you can enjoy it without the traffic jams and other hassles of summer tourism.”
“Are you always Mr. Brightside?” Julianne asked.
“Are you always the cynic?” A mischievous glint danced in his eyes.
She smiled at him. “Touché.”
“After you,” Alex took Liam from her and with his free hand he took hold of Julianne’s arm to steady her as she climbed into the car. She settled herself on the seat across from where the driver had installed Liam’s infant seat. Alex handed the boy to her and she strapped him in. By the time she’d finished, Alex was sitting beside her and the driver had closed the door.
Chauffeured limos and private planes.
It was all a little surreal. She certainly wasn’t used to being on this side of luxury. She was starting to realize that here, she would probably see a completely different side of Alex.
A side that Marissa had never spoken of. All her sister had said was that Alex was a good-looking lawyer.
Julianne’s gaze drifted to the center of the car’s bar area where an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne sat chilling. Alex extracted it from the bucket, picked up the cloth napkin that was laid out beside it and wiped the water from the bottle.
“Ah, look, Krug Clos du Mesnil.” As the words rolled off Alex’s tongue, his French accent was more pronounced. Even so, he said the name of the champagne—one she’d never heard of—as if it were as common as Korbel.
“Very nice,” he said. “It’s my brother’s favorite nectar.”
Alex dislodged the cork and poured two glasses, handing one to Julianne.
“Welcome to St. Michel.”
In somewhat of a daze, she found herself clinking glasses with Alex. “Thank you.”
They sipped their drinks as Liam cooed softly in his seat. He’d slept most of the way, after having a breakfast of cereal and a banana on the plane. He seemed perfectly content riding in his little seat. A good traveler, Julianne thought as she contemplated him over the top of her glass. Along for the ride.
So was she, apparently. At least for the time being. Until she could get settled and figure out what she was doing next.
She sat back in her seat and turned her attention out the window, catching her first glimpse of this place that might very well be Liam’s new home.
The enormity of the thought made her shudder.
“So, where are we going?” she asked.
“We’re staying at the Palais de St. Michel. Luc and Sophie have invited us to stay as long as we like.”
“In other words, if Liam and I want to leave in two or three days, we’re free to go?”
He smiled ruefully. “Not exactly.”
What he wasn’t saying was that she was free to go anytime she wanted to leave. But Liam was not.
“I just don’t want to impose on your family’s hospitality.”
“That’s hardly possible. The Palais has 210 bedrooms and 75 bathrooms. Not to mention the 95 offices and staterooms. The place is like a small city. We could go weeks without running into each other.”
“So, you could hold us prisoner here and no one would be the wiser?”
“No one except for the hundreds of employees who work at the palace, but they’re paid well enough that they’ll keep my secret.” Julianne could hear the laughter under his statement.
He touched her arm and his shoulder pressed into her as he leaned forward and gestured out the window toward a harbor brimming with ya
chts. “That’s the St. Michel Marina. I keep my boat docked there. I don’t own property in St. Michel, but I have a boat. Maybe tomorrow we can take it out for a sail?”
“Those are some pretty big boats,” Julianne said, completely and utterly aware of the heat of Alex’s arm. Even after he settled back into his seat, he was still sitting so close that his arm was pressed against hers.
“Mine is modest compared to some of the boats kept there. Are you familiar with Stavros Andros, the Greek shipping magnate?”
Julianne nodded.
“His old yacht Poseidon V is still housed there. After Stavros died, the son of St. Michel’s former minister of finance purchased it, but both he and his father are in jail for treason, murder and various other charges.”
“Is that a warning?”
The way he was looking at her ignited a flush that started at the base of her neck and crept upward.
“Yes, that is the fate of troublesome guests.”
“Nice.”
“Ah, we’re here.” Alex pushed the button that lowered the privacy panel between them and the driver. “Excuse me, please circle around to the front of the castle so that the mademoiselle can have a good view of it before you pass through the security gates.”
“Certainly,” the driver said in accented English.
Alex settled back, his arm, once again resting against hers. “So here’s your history lesson for the day. Are you ready?”
She nodded looking in wonder as they rounded a corner and a grand palace appeared in full view, as stately and splendid as a picture that might appear in a book called Magnificent Castles of the World.
“The Palais de St. Michel was built in the thirteenth century. The exterior of the castle still resembles the original thirteenth-century fortress, but the inside has been renovated and updated with the most modern of security and conveniences.”
“Which is the reason we’re here,” she quipped. “For the modern security and conveniences.”
“You catch on fast.”
There was that smile that always made her stomach do a triple gainer. She sat forward in her seat ignoring the way her body betrayed her. Instead, she let the thought that this was where they were going to stay steal her breath away. In the five years she’d lived in Washington, D.C., she’d never been inside the White House. She’d walked past it many times, but she’d always been too busy to plan ahead and make a reservation for a tour. Each time she passed by, she’d look at it wistfully and promise herself that someday she’d go inside. Someday…
The Palais de St. Michel had the same effect.
Only this time she didn’t have to stand outside the gates dreaming of what it would be like inside.
In a matter of minutes she’d be in.
“Is the castle open for public tours?” she asked.
“The staterooms are open during summer, and tours are almost always booked to capacity.”
“That’s a lot of people visiting each year,” she said.
As they continued to drive, Alex pointed at an expanse of manicured lawn. “See that?” She nodded.
“Here’s a fact that I think you’ll find interesting: For the past one hundred years, the palace courtyard has been the setting for concerts given by the St. Michel National Orchestra. I’ll check when the season begins.”
Season? He was talking in seasons, and she wasn’t sure how long she’d be there. The thought threatened to rob a little bit of the magic from the moment.
“But the Palais de St. Michel isn’t simply a tourist attraction and museum,” he continued. “It’s also a fully working palace and the government headquarters. My brother and sister-in-law are involved with the day-to-day running of St. Michel. Basically, running the country is my sister-in-law’s family business.”
He smiled, which made his eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that caused Julianne’s gaze to linger and her belly to flutter again.
The car continued its circle around the palace, causing them to list to the left and his shoulder to press into hers a bit more. For a moment, Julianne gave in to the gravity that made his body lean into hers and she lost herself in the masculine feel of him.
When the car straightened, neither of them reclaimed their personal space. And for just a moment, she wondered what the rest of his body would feel like pressed against hers.
She trained her gaze out the window because her cheeks were flaming and she couldn’t look at him.
As they completed the circle around the palace, she watched, captivated, as the majestic building passed outside the window, a stately scene of white stone set against the azure sky.
Wow, was she ever out of her league.
Suddenly she felt very small and a travel-weary exhaustion seeped into her bones. The initial adrenaline rush that had first presented itself as excitement faded into a strange sort of homesickness that manifested in the very center of her soul.
When they reached the palace’s unassuming back security entrance, armed sentries saluted as the limo proceeded through a series of gates.
There was no pretense of fairy-tale castles back here. This was serious business.
She leaned away from Alex’s hard body and reclaimed her personal space.
He seemed to understand because he respected the distance she’d put between them.
Once inside, the limo stopped in front of a set of steel doors that opened automatically. The car crept into the gaping mouth of the garage area. When the doors closed behind them, it was as if they were swallowed whole. Julianne took Liam out of his seat as a uniformed attendant opened the car door. He ushered them out of the limo and into an elevator, which carried them into the bowels of the castle to the living quarters—a wing never open to the public.
Julianne was about to meet her first—and quite possibly her last—monarch. She swallowed her nerves and put on her best face for Liam’s sake.
“Let’s go meet your aunt, sweetie.”
Chapter Eight
Alex could tell that Julianne was taken aback by the world he’d swept her into. To make her more comfortable, as the palace elevator carried them to their floor, he explained what was happening.
“The staff have been told only that the prince’s brother and his guests would arrive today,” he said. “They weren’t given details about Liam. It’s probably best that we don’t make announcements—even to the staff. Don’t get me wrong, Liam’s important, but the less fanfare the better. Do you agree?”
Julianne bit her bottom lip for a moment, before answering.
“I was the one who wanted to go quietly back to Washington and resume life as normal. So, yes, I agree. The less fanfare the better.”
There was an edge to her voice that sometimes made it seem as if she were baiting him. His gaze fell to her lips. She had a smart mouth to go along with her brains, beauty and talent. He liked it and respected her for it.
She challenged him, not content to take everything at face value. Above all, he admired her because she put Liam first. Bringing the baby to St. Michel was hard on her. It was disruptive and unfair, but it was necessary. She was a trouper, doing what was best for the boy.
When the elevator doors opened, two middle-aged women in traditional gray-and-white maid uniforms stood at the ready. Alex didn’t recognize them. Not that he was a frequent guest. In fact, he hadn’t been here since Luc and Sophie’s wedding more than a year ago. “Monsieur, mademoiselle, we welcome you to the Palais de St. Michel.” They curtsied.
“I am Isobel,” said the taller of the two. “This is Aimée. We are at your service.”
Alex gestured for Julianne to precede him as they followed the attendants down the long hallway—the tap-tap-tap of four pairs of shoes resonating on the parquet floors. Stopping in front of a set of white double doors trimmed in ornate gilded scrollwork, Isobel opened them with a flourish.
“This suite is for the mademoiselle and the baby.” She gestured inside. “Monsieur will be right next door.”
&nbs
p; Aimée opened the doors to Alex’s room in similar fashion, but she remained silent.
Because Isobel was doing all the talking, Julianne wondered if Aimée spoke English. If not, she seemed to have the drill down.
“You will find your bags inside,” Isobel said.
That was fast.
The efficiency conjured notions of secret passageways within the castle’s ancient infrastructure.
Or maybe not. Judging by the women’s crisp uniforms, Julianne had a hunch that everything around here ran that efficiently.
“Do you require anything now?” Isobel asked.
“Julianne?” Alex deferred to her with his impeccable manners.
“I should be fine. Liam will need an afternoon snack soon.”
Isobel smiled. “I believe the chef has instructions on what the boy eats. I will have the kitchen prepare something and send it right up.”
And where did they get that list?
“Thank you,” Julianne said, wondering what other bits of information the “palace” knew about them. Even if she didn’t have anything to hide, it was a little unnerving that the entire staff of the Palais de St. Michel might know all about her although she was unaware of how they’d come to possess such information.
Was it that easy to gather information?
She shivered, suddenly seeing Alex’s concerns about terrorists and kidnappers in a different light.
Big Brother obviously was watching. And she had a hunch it wasn’t simply Alex’s big brother, Luc. If the omniscient Big Brother was a bully, there was no telling what he might do.
Okay, she got it.
But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Liam cooed and pointed to a painting of an angel hanging in the hallway. Julianne was glad to have something to shift her focus.
“Pretty,” she answered.
Pretty was an understatement. This hall was like a museum wing with its gilded-framed paintings, sculptures and vases on pedestals. She made sure she kept at least an arm’s length away from anything breakable so that Liam wouldn’t be tempted to touch.
“Monsieur, may I get you anything?” Isobel asked.
Accidental Father Page 7
