Page 21 of Liaison with the Champagne Count
Hisonclesighed. ‘Maybe it is easy for you to care less because you live in the chateau every day, surrounded by our family’s artefacts—the art collection, the furniture that’s been acquired over the centuries. You can pretend it is yours. I have never lived there.’
‘It is not truly mine either. It has not been ours for seventy years.’ Julien gritted his teeth. He would not be made to feel guilty about not wanting to steal a woman’s inheritance from her. Nor would he allow himself to feel as if he were betraying a man who’d been like a second father to him. He and hisonclehad always been on the same side, always shared the same ambitions.
But today, he felt caught between hisoncleand Emma and it was not necessarily hisonclehe wanted to favour. The Archambeau dream seemed too expensive if it cost Emma her home. And yet, such a thought disconcerted him greatly. Was he really willing to protect Emma from hisoncleat the expense of not restoring Archambeau land? What end did that serve? What did he get from playing Emma’s hero? What would he be left with? An alienatedoncle, a lost family dream, and quite possibly hurt by a woman yet again if he let himself keep falling.
Hisonclesmiled. ‘Ah, to be young again,mon fils, and to feel spring running through my veins, blood pounding, and a woman to share it with. You think I don’t know how you feel, but I do. Take my advice, even though you are not in the mood to hear it. If she’s got your blood boiling, marry her, have it all—the woman, the land, the house.’
‘It’s not like that, Oncle.’ Julien prepared to make the old arguments about dishonesty and the morality of such a strategy, realising even as he did that he was making the arguments for different reasons than before. He had decided to defend Emma. His arguments now were not so much for him but for her—to protect her. Every lie he told hisonclewas told to protect what had happened between them last night. ‘As I said when you first suggested it, it is the dishonesty that I cannot countenance.’ This time, it was not the dishonesty of his feelings, but using those feelings to lead her down a dubious path. He cared for her; he did not want to use his caring to trap her.
‘But is it still dishonest? It is only dishonest if you feel nothing for her,ifyou lie to her about those feelings. I know in the beginning, that was your worry, but now it seems that perhaps thereisfeeling between the two of you.’ Hisonclehad a serpent’s own tongue.
Julien scoffed. ‘Ifthat were true, do you think she’d believe in those feelings once she found out all I stood to gain? She would never believe it was love alone that motivated me and I would have no way to prove to her otherwise.’ He shook his head. He was uncomfortable even naming that feeling.Wasit love that he felt? That seemed a rather strong, rather incautious word for a one-night affair. ‘You surprise me, Oncle. You of all people know that love is a fiction, simply a name we give to an emotion. It only exists because we call it out of thin air.’
‘I didn’t call it love. I called it “feelings”. I said only that now you have them, whereas before you didn’t. It solves your concern over duplicity. It doesn’t matter if you or I believe in love or not. It only matters ifshedoes. If she does, she will believe you.’ It was entirely obvious to hisoncle. But Julien did not think it was that simple.
‘I think you forget she has already had a great love in her life. She will be hesitant to believe she gets to have two.’ Last night had nothing to do with love. Other emotions perhaps, but not love. ‘She is not in love with me any more than I am with her. One night does not require marriage especially when one is a widow.’ And she was a smart widow. She knew how the world worked. She had lived in that world, been on the receiving end of its cruelty. She would not let her guard down easily. Shewouldquestion his motives. What would he say then? It was a deuce of a dilemma he was faced with. In the beginning, he’d been concerned because the strategy required false feelings. Now he was worried because it didn’t. His feelings had become very real, real enough to want to protect her at the expense of his own gain.
Hisonclelaughed when he might have been angry at his nephew’s stubbornness. ‘Ah, Julien. You don’t have to say anything about what happens at the chateau. I have eyes. You look like a stag in rut, worn, ragged, and hungry for more. I am a patient man,mon fils, and I believe in you. Go home, watch your grapes grow and sort it all out. Strike while the iron is hot because when it cools, she may not find you as attractive.’
There was a fearful wisdom in that, Julien thought as he swung up on his horse a few minutes later and set off for home. He’d not fooled hisoncle. He’d not even fooled himself into thinking one night with Emma wouldn’t lead to another. All he could think of on the way home was how quickly he wanted to reach her, to lose himself in the passion, to let the hunger obliterate his dilemma. She would not thank him for it if she knew his motivation in seeking her out was to drown his conflicting thoughts. If she discovered the truth of him and his connection to the land, she would think the worst even though it wasn’t true: that he’d manipulated her for the benefit of his own inheritance at the expense of her own. Love words, even spoken in truth, would not be compelling enough then. The question was, how would he convince her otherwise if she discovered the truth? Did he really think his secrets would keep for ever?
The moment she left the chateau, she would learn he was acomte. Whether or not the French governmentdu jourrecognised his title or not, his family’s nobility went back to the fifteenth century. If she learned about the title, it stood to reason she would learn about the land and that her inheritance only existed because his family had lost theirs. It was not a matter of if but how long he would have before she knew. Before she’d want to make herself known to the neighbourhood. Already she was asking questions about the consortium, already planning the June gala. But he didn’t think he had until June.
He ought to be the one to tell her, but he did not relish the idea of it. Still, if he didn’t tell her, there were plenty of people who would. Everyone around here knew the Archambeau story, knew about the tragic love story, the Archambeau-Anouilh feud that followed, and the broken-hearted, defeated death of his father. If he didn’t tell her, someone would let something slip in passing and pique her curiosity or tell her outright. That decided it—he couldn’t let her leave the chateau without him to gatekeep, to make sure no one let anything slip until he had his chance to tell her. But not yet. Not before the passion between them had its chance. He wanted a little more time before he had to risk what it was that lay between them with the truth. He spurred his horse as hard as he dared in the darkness and headed for home, for Emma.
Emma took a tray in the library for dinner with the intention of continuing her reading. She was trying to get through a brief overview of a history ofvigneronsin the Champagne region, written in English. She’d found it lurking on the shelves and wondered if it had been one of Garrett’s purchases in an attempt to learn more about the property and industry he’d bought into. Two pages in, she was ready to admit defeat. Not because the treatise was too difficult to follow, but because she’d chosen poorly. This had been a mistake, dining in the library without Julien, with no one to talk to, or argue with, with nothing to distract her from reliving last night in the room where it all happened, from reminders of exactly why her body was deliciously sore and her mind sorely exercised with the emotional implications.
Each ache reminded her of Julien and those reminders prompted questions: Where was he? What was he doing right now? Was he on his way home? Or was he immersed in business with people she hadn’t had the chance to meet yet, the passion of the previous night already taking a back seat to his precious grapes and the impending growing season? Surely not, and yet his absence was indicative of how much last night had disconcerted him, perhaps left him with the same questions it had left her. Had it also left him with the same wants as well? She might not have arrived at all the answers today, but she had come to a place where she would not let herself feel guilty about the passion, about the need to feel something with another.
These were not the only dilemmas on her mind. Another dilemma mingled with the interpersonal, reminding her that in bedding Julien, she’d conflated business and pleasure. In an attempt to distract herself from Julien’s absence and her tendency to overthink last night, she’d gone down to Julien’s office in the wine caves thinking to retrieve the accounts. After all, now that she had a basic grasp on the winemaking process, it was time for her to turn her attentions to the books.
It was something of a surprise to realise she’d been here several weeks and hadn’t once looked at the vineyard accounts. To be fair, she’d had a lot of other things to sort through: household accounts, the accounts of the home farm, and the various other budgets that supported the running of the chateau. But now, it was time. Only it wasn’t. When she’d reached Julien’s office, she found it locked and a key nowhere in sight. She’d made a mental note to ask Julien about getting the ledgers, adding it to the other mental note to ask Julien about meeting the members of the consortium. If she remembered correctly, they’d met at the beginning of March near the time of her arrival. If so, they’d be meeting again very soon. It would be the perfect time to introduce herself and take up her place among them.
So much to do, so much to talk to Julien about. But not tonight. Tonight, there were other things to think about. Emma sighed and curled into the deep seat of the chair. If indeed she had thought of taking a lover, this would have been rather sooner than she’d imagined it would be, but she was certain Garrett would not begrudge her. He’d want her to carry on, to claim her happiness. She closed her eyes and let the warmth of the fire bathe her, let the memories of what they’d done in front of that fire flood her mind and lull her to sleep.
‘Ma cherie, wake up and make love with me,’ Julien’s words, followed by the gentle, inviting buss of his lips against hers, woke her shortly before eleven. ‘What were you dreaming of,ma cherie?’
She smiled up at him, her body coming alive from its slumber. ‘You, what else would I be dreaming of?’
‘Let’s go upstairs and make some of those dreams come true.’ He kissed her, long and slow, making her wonder if going upstairs was really their best option. The fireplace wasn’t a terrible choice, as they’d proven last night.
‘Only some?’ she teased, her body warming to memories of the pleasure and wanting to repeat it more than her mind wanted to offer caution.
‘Well, if we made them all come true tonight, what would we do tomorrow?’ He reached for her then, scooping her up in his arms, and carried her to bed.
Chapter Fourteen
If she’d thought the prior night had been an anomaly brought on by the heat of a fight and the excitement of a challenge realised, or that such bone-shattering lovemaking only existed as a moment out of time, not to be repeated, tonight was proving otherwise. One did not need rough, ravenous sex to claim the luxury of a shuddering climax. One apparently only needed Julien to carry them to bed to put one on the path.
‘A proper bed and a proper night tonight,’ Julien murmured in muted tones that sent a delicious thrill of anticipation down her spine.
‘Not too proper, I hope.’ She felt the mattress take his weight as he sat beside her.
‘No, but perhaps gentler.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Tonight, I want to notice everything about you, everything that I missed last night.’
‘And if I want the same?’ she murmured, playing along with this rather sophisticated flirtation of his.
‘Then you shall have it.’ He stepped away from the bed, his gaze intent on her, a reminder she ought to take care with what she wished for. That gaze alone was burning her alive, raising her desire to a fever pitch, and this was just the beginning.
