Page 44 of Inherited by Her Enemy

‘Thank you,’ she returned swiftly. ‘But it’s really not necessary. You have work to do, and I have plenty to read, and Barney to take for walks. I’ll be fine.’

Monique Chaloux clapped her hands. ‘The perfect guest.’

But not Dominique Lavaux, thought Ginny. And wondered.

The meal, served by Gaston, began with consommé, moved on to some excellent smoked fish patties with a creamy sauce, followed by grilled steak, served with a gratin dauphinois and green beans.

‘Charolais beef,’ said Bertrand with satisfaction. ‘The best in the world.’

Ginny, helping herself to Dijon mustard, decided it would be impolitic to speak up for Aberdeen Angus. Too many undercurrents already, she thought.

Dinner concluded with crème brûlée and a selection of local cheeses. Ginny sat back in her chair with a little sigh. ‘That was a wonderful meal.’

‘No better than the one you served to me,’ Andre said lightly and smiled at her across the table.

And for once, she realised, there was no edge or mockery to his smile, just a warmth that seemed to reach out and touch her, spreading its tendrils over every inch of her body. Holding her transfixed and making it suddenly difficult to think or to breathe...

And heard some inner voice whisper with longing, Andre...

‘Do not let Gaston hear you, Andre.’ Monique’s brisk voice broke the spell. ‘Or he may tell his wife and she will make our stomachs suffer for it.’ She paused. ‘Shall we take coffee in the salon?’

‘We will join you later, if you please,’ said Bertrand, adding blandly, ‘I need to speak with my son on the boring topic of wine.’

* * *

The coffee, though strong and delicious, was served in tiny, fragile cups balancing awkwardly on their saucers, while Ginny, in turn, balanced on the edge of a spindly chair.

One false move, she thought wryly, and Baronne Laure’s satin upholstery will never be the same again.

For a while there was silence, except for the crackling of the logs in the grate and Barney’s faint snores from the exquisite pastel rug, then Mademoiselle leaned forward. ‘Tell me, mademoiselle, how long do you intend to stay at Terauze?’

‘I’m not really sure,’ she returned with guarded truth.

‘Then am I permitted to offer some advice?’

Apart from putting a hand over the woman’s mouth and wrestling her to the floor, Ginny could see no way of preventing it, so she murmured something non-committal and waited warily.

‘If you have any romantic dreams about Monsieur Andre, abandon them now.’ Mademoiselle’s voice was low, almost intense. ‘He can be charming, and women find him attractive.’ Her mouth twisted into a faint sneer. ‘Something of which he takes full advantage, believe me, although his preference is for beautiful blondes. But never seriously or for very long, as his lovers soon discover.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps, in this, he resembles his true father.’

Ginny swallowed back the hot denial rising to her lips, saying evenly, ‘Mr Charlton was a good man. I think he genuinely loved Andre’s mother. Besides which, one affair hardly makes him a serial seducer.’ She paused, her throat tightening painfully. ‘As for Andre, his private life is not my concern. Or perhaps I don’t take him seriously either.’

‘Vous avez raison. Marriage is a serious business, and Andre is not the material from which good husbands are made.’ She examined her immaculate nails. ‘His wife, you understand, will need to be a girl of discretion, someone from his own world who can also contribute to the domaine.’

Ginny said quietly, ‘Then it’s fortunate that I have no interest in being married.’ Which, she told herself defensively, was no more than the truth.

Mademoiselle’s brows lifted. ‘Then why, with Monsieur Charlton gone, did you accept such an invitation?’

The million-dollar question.

Ginny said carefully, ‘Perhaps I too needed to get away from the trauma of the last few weeks. And I admit I was curious about this part of my stepfather’s life, mademoiselle.’

‘And when your curiosity is satisfied?’

‘I intend to go back to England.’ And offered a silent prayer that there’d be nothing to prevent her. Or, at least, that she could convince Andre it was so.

Monique Chaloux’s nod suggested she too was satisfied. ‘You are wise. Whatever your beau-père may have hoped, mademoiselle, there is nothing for you here, except heartbreak perhaps.’ She paused. ‘Permit me to offer you more coffee.’

Ginny managed a polite refusal. She had just eaten a delicious meal, but she felt as hollow inside as if she’d fasted for a week. Shaken too.

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