Page 23 of Liaison with the Champagne Count
‘No, it’s the perfect place. This is our cocoon, our safe place,’ Julien assured her.
‘What about you? What are your dreams, Julien? Has there been anyone?’
No intruders. He didn’t want anyone here but the two of them. ‘There was someone, a long time ago. We did not have the same dreams. She needed more than I could give her.’ Let that be a warning to Emma. He had his limits. She couldn’t say he hadn’t said so.
‘She broke your heart?’ He could hear chagrin on his behalf rising in Emma’s voice and it touched him that she sought to be his champion. Then she quieted. ‘I’m sorry, Julien. I am sure you didn’t deserve it.’
‘Are you though? How do you know I didn’t deserve it?’ he teased lightly. ‘I’m argumentative, and stubborn, according to you.’
‘And don’t forget contradictory,’ Emma added. She rolled to her side and fumbled in the drawer of the bedside table.
‘What are you doing? Come back.’ He reached for her, not wanting the idyll to be over. There were hours yet before dawn and he wanted to spend every one of them right here.
‘I’m still here. I haven’t left. Now, roll over. You promised me I could touch you, later. Now it’s later.’ He watched, entranced, as she poured oil from a vial into the palm of her hand and blew on it, warming it. ‘I’ve wanted to give you a massage ever since you took your shirt off. Lie still and let me.’
It was the most decadent proposal he’d likely ever receive. He rolled onto his stomach and felt the weight of her across his buttocks as she straddled him, felt the warmth of the oil, then the competence of her hands as they rubbed the oil into his skin, into muscles he hadn’t realised were tired until she kneaded them into relaxed submission. This was heaven, to be here with her in the dark. Something deep in his soul cried out, wanting this for as long as it could last.
Over the next weeks, that one thought sprang constant in his mind. If spring could last for ever, he would be the happiest of men. Spring was the perfect season—a season of hope, a season full of potential, all things were possible. There was promise everywhere Julien looked—the land promised renewal after a long winter: trees with leaves, fields of green, flowers in bloom. Overhead, the skies were blue with the promise of mild weather, warmer weather, to come, the vineyards burgeoned with the buds of new grapes. It would be May soon, there would be leaves and flowers on the grape vines, the buds of April having blossomed.
He spent his days in anticipation of that. He showed Emma how to trim out unneeded growth, how to structure the buds so that they produced quality grapes. These were heady days, filled with walking the vineyards with Emma beside him, showing her the work of raising grapes. There were picnics aplenty, sitting on the south-facing slopes of the vineyards, making love in the afternoon sun, telling stories, learning one another. He told her stories of attending school in England. He loved listening to her talk of her family, of her brothers; he railed on her behalf when she talked of her miserable debut in London and how the other girls would have nothing to do with her because of her father’s ‘dirty’ money.
In the evenings, he loved to pull a stool up to the kitchen worktable and watch her as she cooked. Petit had acquired several nights off in order for them to have the kitchen to themselves. He treasured those meals prepared by Emma and eaten at the kitchen table. And always the lovemaking. No honeymoon could have been finer. But like with all honeymoons, he was acutely aware there would be an end. The gala was drawing closer and he could not keep her here at the chateau for ever. But out there, beyond the chateau walls, his secrets waited to destroy his happiness one more time. One more day, he told himself each morning, and then the next. One more day, before all of this unravelled and Emma learned the truth. One more day before it would all end. The only question was how and when.
Chapter Fifteen
When it ended, he was naked on a picnic blanket caught quite literally with his trousers down, Emma lying beside him drawing her circles on his chest while the early May sun beat down on them. ‘I’ve had a note,’ she began in drowsy tones. ‘From Widow Clicquot. She’s invited us to tea at Boursault.’ It was said so casually, Julien did not at first grasp the full import. ‘Well, she’s invited me, but I assumed it would be fine to have you come along.Wouldyou like to come? I didn’t stop to think that you might be too busy here with the grapes.’
He didn’t hear the last. His brain had finally caught up with the implications. Dear God, Emma was going to have tea with the Queen of Reims. The widow knew everyone and everything, and that boded ill for him. He levered up on his elbows, the sudden movement dislodging Emma rather abruptly. ‘Why did she invite you for tea?’ How had this connection come about? He certainly hadn’t prompted it.
Emma looked bewildered. ‘I wrote to her last week to introduce myself and to let her know we would be holding a gala in June. She is a living legend. I figured if I was going to run my own vineyard I needed to know her.’
Julien felt his gut clench. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice and only partially succeeded. ‘Is that what you told her, that you were running the vineyard?’ Good God, if the Widow told Edouard Werle, her business partner and currently the Mayor of Reims, and if he told any one of the consortium, it could lay waste to his plans. That was just the beginning of the damage, what one wrong word could do to business. That wasn’t counting what one wrong word could do to him, to them and the relationship they were starting to build. It would annihilate them.
‘Julien, what’s wrong? I just wrote to her and told her I was new to the chateau at Cumières, that I was newly widowed, that my husband had left the chateau to me, and that I was interested in learning about wine.’ Two little creases formed in the space between the slender arches of her brows. ‘Is it because she’s the competition? Is that why you’re upset? I can’t figure you French out sometimes. One moment the consortium is a council of your friends and the next it’s a cabal of competitors.’ She gave a light laugh. He had to be careful not to overreact.
‘It is a competitive business first and foremost,’ he reminded her. ‘Clicquot-Werle is so far above the rest of us, they aren’t really the competition. We just compete amongst ourselves. I once saw their cellars in Reims. They have cranes to lift the barrels up to the bottling rooms. We have three presses, but they have eight.’
‘Perhapsweshould have eight,’ Emma hypothesised.
‘We don’t dominate the Russian market,’ Julien pointed out, reaching for his trousers. ‘Her champagne does.’
Emma laid back down on the blanket and looked up at the sky. ‘We need to dominate a market. What about the British market? Surely with the Season and all the balls and parties there’s room to expand.’
Julien frowned. ‘Not even the big houses sell more than a few thousand bottles a year to Britain.’ He tried to tease, ‘The English are too busy drinking your father’s gin.’
‘Do you wonder why that is? It seems to me that you should do some research. Why is it that the Russian court consumes thousands upon thousands of bottles each year but the British do not? Is it the taste? If so, what about the taste? Can we cater to that taste with a particular blend? For instance, is it too sweet for the British? The Russians love sweet things, but the English are more of a savoury people, wouldn’t you say? They like their beef and gravies.’
She kept sayingwe. It was an intoxicating and dangerous little word. It conjured up all sorts of fantasies of what it would be like to build a champagne empire with her. To teach her all he knew about the grapes and the growing, the blending and the bottling. All she had to do was give him the land.Marry her.Hisoncle’s grand strategy echoed in his mind, taking on a different tone than when hisonclehad first floated the idea.
It was no less palatable than it had been the first time, but it was becoming shockingly more tempting and harder to resist. Perhaps because it was less dishonest than it had been in the beginning. To seduce her, to feign love for her in order to trick her into marriage all so that he could claim the property through her, had smacked of dishonesty—a dishonesty of feelings, and a dishonesty of agenda. He would not entertain such an idea. But now the idea wasn’t based entirely in dishonesty. His feelings would not be a lie.He cared for her. He wouldn’t be feigning his desire. That part of it was honest. Getting the vineyards back was a benefit by association. Would she ever believe though that that wasn’t his primary motivation?
You’re going to lose her in the end. She’ll hate you if she thought you married her for the vineyards. But she’s going to hate you anyway when she finds out you’ve been dishonest about who you are and what your purpose is here—that you want the chateau and the lands for yourself. You don’t have to lose the vineyard, too.
‘Julien, are you even listening to me?’ Emma punched him on the arm, a playful scold. ‘I’m rolling out a whole new marketing plan for us and you’re somewhere else. I’m going to write to my father and see if he can investigate reactions to champagne for us. I was also thinking, we could set my brother Gabriel up as an agent of sorts. He already travels for my father, selling gin. Why not have him travel with our champagne? We can send him cases for sampling and he can meet with all the hostesses in London, at least get their feedback about the taste. He could also go to restaurants. Why limit oneself to just private parties?’
Us. We.It was too much. ‘You are aware that Garrett was not turning a profit here. You act as if this place were a growing concern.’
‘Because he was not serious. This was a hobby to him. He loved having his vintage shipped to him, to tell everyone the wine on the table for the evening was from his own vineyards. That’s all he wanted it for. Now we could really make something of the place. You’ve kept everything in immaculate shape. You just need a marketer, and that’s me. I might not know as much about grapes as you do, but I do know how to sell things. With your guidance, I am sure I can put this place on the map, so to speak.’ She sat up and reached for his hand. ‘But Iwillneed your guidance. I can’t do it without you, you needn’t worry. I need you to introduce me to the consortium, to be my liaison with them until I’m more familiar.’
