At the Chateau for Christmas. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
half smile escaped Nic. “Maybe I’m using you so I can enjoy a little diversion before I call it a night.”
His wife had to have an awfully good reason to be away. If Laura were his wife...but she had to stop her thoughts right there. “Then I won’t say no to your chivalry.”
“I never expected to hear that particular word fall from your lips.”
Her brows lifted. “I never expected you would willingly accompany me anywhere.”
His chuckle followed her down the hall as she went to the bedroom for a sweater. He waited for her in the foyer and they walked out to his car.
Laura couldn’t believe it, but they actually rode in companionable silence to the famous beachfront. Laura loved seeing the Promenade des Anglais, with its Italianate buildings, as portrayed in the many paintings of Nice. It ran parallel to the water. There was a magical feel about it.
He found a parking spot on a side street and they walked about a block and a half to the Oiseau Jaune. She could hear the music on their approach.
By some miracle Nic found them an empty bistro table among the crowd on the walkway and signaled a waiter. He ordered them mint tea.
Laura sat back, soaking up the authentic French atmosphere. “When I was in the Tetons of Wyoming last year, I went to a French restaurant in the mountains where they featured a singer who sounded like Charles Aznavour. This singer reminds me of him. I didn’t understand the words, but I loved it. I have to admit, there’s no place on earth like this. I can’t believe I’m here.”
“My grandfather can’t believe you’ve come, either. I doubt he’ll sleep until he sees you again tomorrow.”
She fought tears. “To think I’ve missed this by staying away the whole time.”
He angled a glance at her. “You were a victim of circumstances. That’s what we’ve all been.”
Laura took a deep breath. “I appreciate you bringing to this particular brasserie. For as long as I can remember, I’ve adored the sound and feel of this kind of music. You know, an accordion, a violin. Maybe a clarinet. It’s so French. There’s something about the tunes in your language that bypass conscious thought and find the romantic in you. But I do wish I knew French to get the full effect.”
“You’re Irene’s granddaughter, all right. She had romance in her soul, too, and loved this place.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“I’ll translate for you.”
She glanced at him. “Please. I’d love to know what he’s saying.”
Nic’s eyes were veiled. “‘Let’s dance the old-fashioned way, my love. I want you to stay in my arms, skin against skin. Let me feel your heart, don’t let any air in. Come close where you belong. Let’s hear our secret song and dance in the old-fashioned way. Won’t you stay in my arms? We’ll discover higher highs we never knew before, if we just close our eyes and dance around the floor. It makes me love you more.’”
Oh...oh... Trembling, Laura looked away, spellbound by the words, by the way he said them, by his Gallic male beauty. She’d never known such a moment, such a night.
After twenty minutes the singer took a break. Laura smiled at Nic. “This was wonderful.” Her voice shook. “I feel I’m really in France now and think I can sleep. How about you?”
“You’ve given me a new appreciation for one of my country’s greatest assets. If your San Francisco legs are ready, I’ll take you on a walk up to Castle Hill before going home. We won’t go up all the way, but there’s a wonderful view of Port Lympia to the east that’s quite magical this time of night.”
“Tell me about this place,” she murmured. Anything to hear his deep voice speak English with that wonderful French accent.
“Castle Hill juts out a bit, like the Acropolis in Athens, but much greener, of course. It was named for a fortified castle and was redeveloped by King Charles-Felix of Savoy in the 1830s because of its amazing view. He added a landscaped park and an artificial waterfall.”
Laura decided she’d been whisked away to a different universe as they climbed a ways above Nice. The music and the words had seeped into her bloodstream, where they would stay. To be out walking in such spectacular surroundings with this man was her idea of heaven.
She looked out at the sea. The romantic night called to her. Maurice had said he and her grandmother had walked hundreds of miles together. Now that she was in the South of France, she longed to see its wonders and clear her head. To see it with Nic left her breathless.
Eventually they returned to his car, but inside she rebelled that any of this had to end.
Wrapped in the beauty of the night, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the window during the drive back to the villa. Laura couldn’t relate to the woman who’d flown to Nice earlier.
A change had come over her. Nothing was as she’d thought. Everything was different. The lines weren’t clear anymore. She was terrified of what was happening to her.
* * *
The next day Nic was sitting at the dining room table reading the newspaper without absorbing any of it. He was troubled that he’d offered to drive Laura down to the waterfront last night. What had possessed him to take her walking afterward?
He couldn’t understand himself. His family would never understand. If any of them had seen him with another woman while he was still waiting for word about his wife, it would shock them in a cruel way. But to know he’d been with the enemy when they didn’t know she’d even come to France...
Ciel. What was wrong with him? Why had he done it?
Nic put down his coffee, crushed by guilt. Apart from Arlette and Jean, who lived in the back, Laura was the only person to have slept in his house since Dorine had gone missing. He’d let her stay here because he knew it was what his grandfather wanted.
And because you were trying to uncover her true agenda. Look how that turned out for you, Valfort!
He heard footsteps and lifted his dark head. Every time he saw Irene’s granddaughter, she looked sensational. Yet beneath the surface he sensed her struggle over a situation that had plagued all of them for years. He discovered his own emotions churning. Today she’d dressed in chocolate-colored linen pants and a café au lait–toned blouse with a chic mandarin collar. She’d fastened her hair back with a tortoiseshell comb.
He got to his feet. “Bonjour, Laura.”
“Bonjour,” she mimicked him before putting up her hands. “Don’t laugh. I only took Spanish and never could get the hang of the accent to my teacher’s satisfaction.”
Nic chuckled as he pulled out a chair for her. “Join me for brunch.”
“Thank you. This looks delicious. I’m sorry I slept so late. The fabulous walk after the music last night lulled me into a deep sleep.”
“No apology needed after that long flight.” He saw signs she’d been crying.
She sat down and took a serving of quiche and fresh fruit. “How did my grandmother do in the accent department?”
“Exactly like you in the beginning. But she worked hard at it. Within two years she sounded French.”
“So it is possible.”
“Of course.”
“There is no ‘of course’ about it. I work with people who’ve been in the States for years and they still sound like they came from somewhere else.”
“An accent is something you have to cultivate. But in truth, your grandmother had an excellent ear.”
“Being married to Maurice, she was no doubt motivated,”