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“Indeed we have not,” Alexandre said. “That’s why we are all so pleased to finally have a guest.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Especially a guest as beautiful and enchanting as yourself.”
I blushed and giggled nervously. I could feel Alexandre’s eyes roaming over my body, but rather than making me uncomfortable, I felt flattered. There was pure appreciation in his eyes.
“You must get pretty lonely out here with only men to keep you company,” I said, shocked at my own boldness. Alexandre’s grin widened.
“Indeed, mademoiselle,” he said. “When I first came to Villeneuve, I was recently heartbroken, and I appreciated the opportunity to hide myself away. Now, I must confess, the novelty has worn off somewhat.”
“I can’t imagine anyone breaking your heart,” I said, my eyes roving over his broad, powerful shoulders.
“Neither could I, as a young man of 30,” he said. “I had a girl, and I thought we would marry, but as it turns out, she preferred my brother.”
I gasped. “That’s awful, I’m so sorry.”
Alexandre shrugged. “C’est la vie,” he said. “It took some time for my ego to recover.”
I nodded. “I felt that way after my separation,” I said.
Alexandre frowned sympathetically. “But you are not yet divorced?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Luis—my ex—is making it difficult,” I said.
“I can understand why he would not want to let a beautiful woman such as yourself go,” Alexandre said. “He should have done more to appreciate you while he had you.” His eyes locked on mine, and I felt heat pool low in my stomach.
“So this ex, he was the last man you were with?” Alexandre asked casually.
I knew I should be shocked, but I was enjoying the flirtation too much. Maybe this was just how French men were, I thought. “He was,” I said, flushing.
“That is a long time for a beautiful woman to go without,” he said.
“Not as long as five years,” I teased back. Heat flared in Alexandre’s eyes, and he caught my hand in his. I gasped at the contact, but didn’t pull away.
“Oui, mademoiselle,” he said, “Five years is a very, very long time.”
My heart was in my throat as he examined my face. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me, and I had just made up my mind to let him when he dropped my hand suddenly.
“But I have been distracted by your beauty for too long, and neglected my work,” he said. “Would you like me to escort you back to the castle?”
“No, thank you,” I said, my heart pounding and feeling slightly disappointed. “I can find my way. I’ll see you at dinner?”
“Of course, mademoiselle,” Alexandre said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Back in the castle, I leaned against the wall, mind racing. Get ahold of yourself, I chastised myself. You’re going to end up embarrassing yourself. Still, my hand felt warm from Alexandre’s grip, and I held it against my cheek tentatively. This assignment was turning out to be much more than I’d bargained for.
7
Isabel
Okay, I was definitely lost.
I rounded another corner and found yet another identical hallway. I sighed. There was no way I was going to find my way back to my bedroom on my own. My only hope was to keep wandering until I found someone who could get me back on track.
I hadn’t wandered very far when I began to notice the delicious scent of simmering garlic and onions. Following my nose, I found myself in an ornate kitchen. Distracted as I was by the spotless countertops and gleaming appliances, I almost didn’t notice the man at the stove. As the heavy door slammed behind me, he turned toward me, a tall, thin black man with a wooden spoon in his hand.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to intrude, it just smelled so good … ”
The man smiled gently. “Never apologize to a chef for appreciating his work,” he said. He came towards me, wiping his hands on his apron. “You must be Isabel, I am Isiah Boucher.” He held his hand out to shake.
“You left me the tea and sandwiches in my room,” I said. “They were wonderful; thank you so much.”
Isiah beamed. “De rien, it was nothing.”
“What are you making now?” I asked, taking a step towards the stove.
“Our main course for tonight, boeuf bourguignon,” Isiah said. “Have you had it?” I shook my head. “A beef stew made with red wine, a perfect dish for when the weather starts to turn chilly, like tonight.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.
“Ah, are you a chef, yourself?” Isiah asked.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, “but I do like to bake, when I have the time.”
Isiah’s face lit up, revealing deep dimples in either cheek. “A baker!” he said. “Well then, I must have you try something.” With that, he disappeared into what turned out to be, on closer inspection, an enormous walk-in refrigerator, emerging a moment later balancing a tray of ramekins on one arm. “Un moment,” he said, picking up a small kitchen torch and expertly caramelizing the tops of two of the puddings.
