Once she started to recite, the emotion she conveyed filled him with a myriad of disquieting sensations.
“My hair is grey, but not with years,
Nor grew it white
In a single night,
As men’s have grown from sudden fears:
My limbs are bowed, though not with toil,
But rusted with a vile repose,
For they have been a dungeon’s spoil,
And mine has been the fate of those
To whom the goodly earth and air
Are bann’d, and barr’d—forbidden fare;
But this was for my father’s faith
I suffered chains and courted death;
That father perish’d at the stake
For tenets he would not forsake;
And for the same his lineal race
In darkness found a dwelling-place;
We were seven—who now are one”
The last two lines she’d recited brought back remembered pain. He could have rewritten them. ‘In darkness found a dwelling place. We were three—who now are one.’
As he sat there staring at Abby, he suffered guilt for finding himself so intensely attracted to her. It seemed a betrayal to Angélique’s memory. It wasn’t this woman’s fault—nor her desirability nor the recitation that had reached his soul, reminding him of the tragedy. He felt Abby had gone to another place too.
“Byron was a great poet,” Raoul said in a voice that sounded thick to his own ears. “Thank you for bringing his words to life for a few minutes so eloquently.”
She shifted in place while she looked at the château in the distance. “It hurts to know how men have been persecuted. Byron had many problems, physical and otherwise. I believe his suffering came through in that poem.” Raoul felt she’d suffered too and wanted to know how.
“There’s no doubt of it. No wonder you were chosen to help on the film.”
She smiled. “I love what I do.”
He stared hard at her. “Do you love it enough to come to France for a few days?”
A stillness washed over her. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you would like to spend some time with me at my home in Burgundy. You said your life needed a little stirring up. Your friends are welcome too.”
His question seemed to have shaken her. It took her a long time before she said, “You’re only saying this because you think the news about Auguste has ruined everything for us.”
“Not at all. You’re not the type of person to fall apart because of a change in plans. I’m quite sure your friends aren’t either. That isn’t the reason I’ve invited you.”
He wanted to tell her about “Labyrinths of Lavaux” but wanted to approach her slowly. Maybe asking her to lunch would help her stay with him long enough to entertain the possibility that he was telling her the truth about his uncle’s find.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s something I’d like to show you because I know you would be one person who would appreciate it. If you’ll come to lunch with me, I’ll give you details.”
He sensed she’d try to put him off again, but after this talk on the lake, he was driven by an idea that refused to let go of him.
“If you say no after our lunch, then I’ll take you back to the château and that will be the end of it.”
Without waiting for a response, he started the engine. “Louis will be happy to know this speedboat seems to be in fine working order, but I’ll open up the throttle to be certain.”
CHAPTER THREE
ABBY STARED AT this striking man wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. If he were featured on a billboard, the sight of him alone in whatever he wore would be worth millions for the advertisers. She found him more fantastic than any fantasy of her imagination.
“You’re not a Realtor are you?”
In a few minutes, he’d pulled into the slip and turned off the engine, but the blood was still pounding in her ears. “I’m afraid that’s an assumption you made.”
“But you let me keep thinking it.”
He slanted her one of those seductive glances he probably wasn’t even aware of. “Forgive me?”
With a look like that, she could forgive him anything and probably a lot more. That’s what frightened her.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered him. It depends on what you do when you’re not picking up strange females, at a lonely train station, no less,” she went on. “In the middle of the week. In a car that looks like the one De Gaulle rode in on Bastille Day after World War II.”
His quick smile took her breath.
She removed the life jacket and climbed out on her own beyond his reach. Abby felt his gaze on her and knew he was still waiting for her answer. To give in to her desire and accept his invitation would be heaven. But at what cost later on, when he no longer wanted her? After she’d sold her soul, she would never be the same again and would never be able to pick up the pieces.
“Who are you?” she blurted in panic. “What are you?”
“Would it help if I told you I’m a vintner?”
“From Burgundy...” She hadn’t seen that coming, but she should have. Chalk it up to her being turned inside out by his male magnetism. “The clues were there. Not every Realtor knows the intimate goings-on during the pollination season at La Floraison.”
“I left out one detail in my résumé. Auguste Decorvet was a distant relative of mine. The Decorvet family has many offshoots, none of them into the selling of real estate. Years ago, one of them came to Switzerland to buy a vineyard, and to get away from the dark internal fighting and struggles between family members who all wanted to be in charge.”
She smiled. “I’m afraid that’s true of some dynastic-minded families.”
“But not yours?”
“No. My parents are quite easygoing. If I do things they don’t like, they show it by being disappointed. I don’t like to disappoint them.”
“You’re lucky to have grown up in such a household.” The tone in his voice led her to believe he hadn’t exaggerated his family’s infighting, which probably contributed to that brooding countenance. “While we eat, you can ask me all the questions you want. But I need to know what kind of a meal will give me the answer I’m looking for from you.”
“I’m afraid it’s not the white fish entrées they sell along the lake.”
“You really do need a change of scene.”
As they walked to the car, she knew what her friends would say if she said he’d invited them to come to France for a few days. Abby had only spent a few hours with him so far.
You didn’t just go off with a virtual stranger who was a vintner, even if it sounded exciting. Even if he had a legitimate familial tie with the former owner of this vineyard. Even if he had something important he wanted to show her.
But was it really so wrong if she wanted to throw caution aside and enjoy an adventure with him for as long as it lasted? To know what it would be like to lie in his arms and forget the world? Heaven help her that she was even entertaining the idea.
“I... I don’t know how soon my friends will be back,” her voice faltered. “If we eat in the village, they might be able to join us, depending on their timing.”
“Maybe they’ve returned. Let’s drive back to the château and check first.”
When they couldn’t see the red car, he drove them to a sidewalk café. They served the most divine lunch of escalope de veau she’d ever tasted served with peas that had to be fresh from the garden. Halfway through her galette framboise dessert, she put her fork down because his black eyes were studying her.
“Why are you smiling?”
“It’s a pleasure to watch a woman eat a meal with enjoyment.”
“I’m afraid it’s not ladylike.”
“According to whom?”
She didn’t have to think about that one. “Other women.”
“Then they’re envious of your figure. If I’m being transparent, I can’t help it. I’m a man.”
Yes. He was a man like no other and she was growing more enamored of him by the second.
“All right. I’m waiting to hear the real reason you’ve invited us to come to France.”
“Let me tell you a story first.”
Abby. You’re an idiot to sit here and listen to this any longer. This had to stop before he realized she was crazy about him.
“Raoul? Thank you for the delicious lunch. Now I think you’d better drive me back to the château.” She got up from the table, but he still sat there.
“You want to leave before you’re told where ‘Labyrinths of Lavaux’ can be found?”
With that question, she wheeled around.
“That’s the information you wanted to tell and show me?”
“I can tell you’re surprised,” he came back with enviable calm. “Only Lord Byron himself. It’s about the vineyards at La Floraison. When my relative Auguste Decorvet first moved into the château fifty years ago, he found it written in a notebook tucked in some terroir maps in the library. Perhaps Byron had stayed at the château when he was passing through years earlier.”
What?
“Auguste didn’t know what to think. Knowing my grandfather’s English is excellent and that he has a love for Byron’s works—especially those written during his Greek period—he sent the notebook to him.”
Abby stood there in shock and clung to the chair back. “Your grandfather has it?”
“That’s right. He thinks it’s the real thing. Apparently, Byron was intrigued with the vine terracing system of the steep terrain that he called labyrinths. It’s yet another example of what you were saying about the beauty, yet the harshness of nature.”
Unable to stand any longer, Abby sank back down on the chair. “So he’s never shown it to an expert to be authenticated?”
“No. If it was authentic, then he wanted to hold on to it and not let it be turned over to the world. I’ve read it. The piece only covers two notebook pages. He signed it Byron in that unmistakable, flamboyant style.
“With Auguste gone, no one knows my grandfather has possession of it except my grandmother, me and now you. If you’d come to France with me, he’d be honored if you would look at it and give him your expert opinion.”
Abby had already made up her mind to go to France with him for a day or two. But if he was being serious about this and the poem was authentic, then this would be the most exciting event ever to happen to her.
While she was sitting there in a daze, Ginger texted that they were back. Abby let her know she’d be there in a few minutes and put the phone in her purse.
“My friends ate in Broc. I told Ginger I’d join them shortly.” He wanted a yes or no answer. “If you’re telling me the truth, of course I’m tempted to meet with your grandfather and see it for myself, but—”
“But you’re not sure you believe me,” he broke in on her with a frankness that took her breath. He put some bills on the table and got to his feet.
She looked up at him. “After you drive us back to the farmhouse, I’ll talk to my friends.”
Raoul came around to help her up from the chair. She was already too sensually aware of him before she felt his hands on her shoulders. For a moment she wished he’d have pulled her into his arms. Now her legs had become traitors as he walked her out to the car.
She knew the girls had their hearts set on returning to Greece and Italy. They wouldn’t want to go to France and would laugh at her for being so gullible. She knew they’d question her sanity if she took Raoul up on his invitation.
Her thoughts were more than prophetic when a half hour later, after she’d introduced them to Raoul in the courtyard, they went upstairs to her bedroom. She told them everything, including the fact that he was a widower who’d lost his child too.
Zoe eyed her with compassion. “I understand the attraction. He’s gorgeous and has a male virulence no woman could be immune to. But maybe he’s a little too clever. Once you told him about the supposed missing work of Lord Byron and mentioned the name Labyrinths, it wouldn’t have been that difficult for him to fill in the word Lavaux, right?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Ginger murmured. “What I don’t understand is why he feels he has to bribe you. A man as attractive as he is could get his way with a woman anytime without using subterfuge to entice her. He must want you to go with him very badly.”
Not as badly as I want to go.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Zoe concluded. “I don’t think I could do it, but I guess it all depends on how much he means to you already.”
Abby averted her eyes. “You guys would be shocked if you knew the intensity of my feelings.”
“If they’re that strong, then all I can say is, don’t let him hurt you like Nigel did.”
Heat filled Abby’s cheeks. “That’s my dilemma, Ginger. I don’t want to get involved with him, yet I’m so drawn to him, I can hardly bear the thought of never seeing him again.”
“Then it sounds like you’ve made up your mind to go with him.”
“I don’t know. I believe he’s telling the truth, and he has invited you guys to come too. We could all take a look at it.”
“If it exists,” Ginger interjected. “But let’s face it. You want to be with him, whether he has something to show you or not, right?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “but I need more time to think about it. Why don’t you two take off for Italy so I don’t hold you up. I’m going to have another talk with Raoul this afternoon. If I decide it’s not worth the risk, I’ll fly from Geneva to Venice and meet you there tomorrow. How does that sound?”
Zoe smiled. “Whatever you decide, we’re behind you.”
“Just be careful,” Ginger cautioned before they all hugged.
Since they’d already packed the night before, there was nothing to do but walk them out to the rental car. “We’ll phone each other every day.”
“Absolument,” Abby assured them with one of the French words she loved and waved them off. Then she walked back in the farmhouse to phone Raoul from her bedroom phone. Her heart beat so hard in her throat she could hardly ask Gabrielle to put her through to him.
“Abby—” came his deep voice. “I was wondering if I’d hear back from you. What’s the verdict?”
Maybe she’d regret this, but she couldn’t stop herself. She longed to be with him and nothing else mattered. “The girls have already left for Italy.”
“Which means they don’t believe what I told you.”
She gripped the phone tighter. “They want me to make up my own mind.”
“And have you?”
“Yes. The likening of the vineyards to labyrinths sounded... Byronic. Not every charlatan is that clever.”
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. “How soon can you be ready to travel and finding out if that label fits me?”
“I’m ready now. If I come with you, it will only be for an overnight. Once I’ve seen the notebook, I’ll be leaving for Italy.”
“I admire you for being more open-minded than your friends.”
Or so much more foolish.
“I’ll pick you up outside in five minutes.”
“In what?”
“It won’t be the Renault.”
“I’m sure Gabrielle and Louis will be relieved. So will I. I wasn’t sure it was going to make it back from the village.”
Abby hung up on his chuckle and hurried to call Gabrielle to thank her for everything. Once that was done, she reached for her suitcase and walked down the stairs, wondering what on earth had come over her. How could she b
e this excited when she might be welcoming a heartache that could mean her ruination? But somehow it didn’t matter.
When she opened the doors, Abby didn’t know what she expected. But it wasn’t the metallic blue Maserati GranTurismo convertible sitting in the courtyard with the top down.
A car like that cost close to two hundred thousand dollars. Her gaze met Raoul’s. “Where did this come from?”
“I parked it around the other side of the château.” He reached for her suitcase and put it in the backseat. “I like the sun and the wind, but I’ll raise the top if you prefer.”
“No, please—I love a convertible!”
A heart-stopping white smile broke out on his tanned face. “A woman who doesn’t mind getting her hair mussed.”
“Give it time.”
Little did she know when she’d had her hair cut that she’d be thankful for the short style while he drove her to France. She felt his eyes on her legs as he helped her into the passenger side. Abby was glad she was wearing jeans.
Every look, every slight touch made her come alive. When he got behind the wheel, he angled a piercing glance at her. “We’ll be home in three hours. Fasten your seat belt.”
Abby’s misgivings about getting in over her head intensified as they wound around to the E23. It was too late to back out now. For a little while neither of them talked as they headed in a northwestern direction toward France. He drove with the expertise of a race car driver.
They stopped at the border for a cola and some madeleines. She could have brushed her hair, but didn’t see the point since they’d be off again in a few minutes.
He ate a couple of the cookies. “These are some of my favorites.”
“I like them too. Would you tell me where we’re going exactly in Burgundy?”
“To my home outside the village of Vosne-Romanée. It’s near the city of Dijon. The Regnac Capet Decorvet Domaine was founded in 1475 by my family twenty generations ago.”
“How wonderful to have a family history that dates back so far.” This man had an amazing heritage. But he also had a heartache no one could forget or totally recover from.
Captivated by the Brooding Billionaire Page 4
