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he had incredible self-control, which probably had a lot to do with his success. On the other hand, she felt about as secure as a bit of dandelion fluff and was in real danger of flying apart in the next breeze.
She went into the bathroom which was all mirrors and pale marble streaked with gold. The towels were a pale cream, and there were two cream-colored French terry cloth robes waiting for them on brass hooks behind the door. She ran a bath, poured in plenty of scented bath salts and tossed in her pink lingerie to soak while she bathed.
She felt like a princess surrounded by such opulence, but then she imagined most women who dated Griffin must feel like Cinderella. She relaxed in the tub until the water cooled to tepid. She used the fancy hand-held showerhead to wash her hair before she left the tub and thought she just might be relaxed enough to sleep all day too.
She didn’t want to sleep nude, though, and pulled on a lavender nightgown that was more lace than silk. She no longer recalled where she’d bought the sinfully soft garment, but this was the perfect place to try it out. She slipped into bed beside Griffin and envied him the ease with which he’d fallen asleep.
She gazed up at the beautiful plasterwork on the high ceiling and tried to shut out all thought save those of sleep. But each time she closed her eyes, the gunshot roared in her ears and the terrifying blood-drenched scene flashed in her mind. Tears began to spill over her lashes and drip down onto her pillow. She turned away and used both hands to muffle her sobs rather than disturb Griffin.
He still felt her tremble and rose slightly. “Hey, everything’s all right now.”
He turned toward her, drew her back against his chest and curved his whole body around hers. He searched his mind for a comforting phrase, a line from a beloved poem, a scrap from memory, but he came up empty. All he could do was rock her gently and blame himself for bringing her along on the worst trip of his life.
When Darcy finally cried herself to sleep, he continued to cradle her in his arms while he dozed on the edge of sleep. She didn’t stir until afternoon, and he came fully awake the instant she sat up.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well on the plane, and by the time I get used to the time change, it will be time to go home. Could we go out into the Tuileries garden? I doubt we’ll find a Zen garden in the park, but there should be benches.”
“Sounds great, but I have to call room service and order something to eat while we dress, or I’ll faint before we get downstairs. Don’t tell me you’re not hungry either.”
She wasn’t, but it had been so long since they’d eaten, she knew she should be. “Nothing too fancy, please, maybe just a turkey sandwich and iced tea. Would they make it on a croissant, or do the French only eat them for breakfast?”
“Who cares what they prefer? They’re paid to prepare whatever their guests request.” Griffin grabbed for the telephone without leaving the bed, and Darcy went in to use the bathroom first. When she came out wearing her denim skirt and chambray shirt, the young man from room service was just closing the door. Griffin walked by in his Levi’s eating a piece of cheese.
“If you can wait a couple of minutes to eat, let’s take everything down to the garden,” he suggested and swung the bathroom door closed.
Their food had been delivered in an elegant gold box, and Darcy opened it to find turkey sandwiches on buttery soft croissants, a selection of cheeses and gorgeous fruit tarts. She used the plastic knife to slice off the curved end of a sandwich and carried it over to the window to enjoy the view while she ate. Paris was such a lovely city, and she absolutely refused to allow Lyman Vaughn to ruin it for her. She was embarrassed to have cried so hard she’d bothered Griffin and told him so when he joined her.
“Don’t be silly,” he cajoled. “If it weren’t so damn unmanly, I would have wept myself. Lucien called to say the funeral’s set for tomorrow afternoon. The shops here are closed on Sunday, but the boutique in the hotel should be open, and we need to buy something for Astrid. Then let’s go down into the garden and pretend we came to Paris just to enjoy the sights.”
“And each other?” Darcy added coyly.
“Exactly.” He grabbed the gold box, and she carried the drink containers.
The shops in the hotel were expensive, but Griffin didn’t even check the price tag when Darcy spotted a pale pink dress trimmed in lace. He added a pink scarf to cover Astrid’s bandages, then asked to have their purchases delivered to the mortuary early the next morning.
As they exited the Meurice, Darcy had to make a conscious effort not to dwell on Astrid’s sad fate, but just as she’d hoped it would, the sight of the Jardin des Tuileries sent her spirits soaring.
The young families who frequented the garden on the weekends had already pushed their charges home in their strollers, but the wide paths were still crowded. Veering off toward the left, Griffin led the way to a shady bench beneath a chestnut tree.
“Will this do?” he asked.
“Perfect.” Darcy took a sip of tea. “The last time I was here, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a landscape architect.”
“Eat,” Griffin insisted. “I don’t want you to waste away before we get home.”
“There’s very little danger of that,” she assured him, but the turkey sandwich was delicious, and she consumed another third of hers while Griffin finished all of his.
“I’ll bet you know who designed this garden,” he said. “Tell me about him.”
“I thought you wanted me to eat.”
“Tell me between bites.”
“All right, if you insist. André Le Notre was the royal gardener to Louis XIV, and he also designed the garden at Versailles. We have a beautiful view from the hotel, but from here you can see how the flowing patterns of the low boxwood hedges and flowers create a living tapestry. The trees lining the walkways were planted to provide shade and frame the magnificent view.
