The French Aristocrat's Baby

‘Ask Eloise to check the guest list,’ she announced into the relative silence. ‘She can put a marker on the names of those men sitting beside the aquarium. In future we’re going to be fully booked whenever they ring for a reservation. I won’t have men who behave like that at Le Rossignol—we don’t need them,’ she stated, with more conviction than she felt. Right now her business was balanced on such a knife-edge she couldn’t afford to turn anyone down. She had to take so much care not to upset her rich clientele. They all knew each other, and word travelled around their clique at the speed of light. The rich stuck together in their own little world. People like her were expected to fetch and carry, and take all the flak. It was so unfair.

It was a relief for Gwen to retreat from the social whirl into the organised chaos backstage. This was the world she knew, and a place where she was in total control. Outside in the restaurant she was expected to be constantly charming and beautiful—something ornamental rather than useful. Here in the noise and movement of the kitchens, she could be herself. She could concentrate on producing the best and most beautiful meals her customers would ever experience. Until that evening, the satisfaction of a job well done had been enough for her. But now something threatened to come between Gwen and her work.

She had been introduced to something—or rather, someone—far more potent. Etienne Moreau was already affecting her behaviour. As she’d confronted that drunk she had known the handsome count was watching her. A situation that made her feel like running for the hills had had to be faced in a way she knew would impress him. She needed him to see her in action as the perfect hostess, and totally in control.

Because whenever she glanced in his direction, control was the last thing on her mind.

Etienne saw Gwen’s confrontation with her guests, and how she handled it. It was quite obvious Le Rossignol’s chef-patron was a woman who knew her own mind. He admired the cool way she managed to defuse the situation herself. Defuse but not disarm, he thought, making a mental note to mention the bad behaviour he had seen to some of his more influential friends. He recognised the villains, and they would find themselves excluded from society’s more discerning events from here on in. Not that it’s any of my business, he warned himself, annoyed that the little drama should have unsettled him so much.

For once, when his stepmother begged to parade him in front of a few more of her friends, he was glad of the distraction. While she was busy showing him off, she couldn’t return to her favourite subject of what a superb wife and countess her niece would make. That alone would have been a good enough reason to submit to a tour of the gathering, but Etienne had a darker motive. He wanted to keep an eye on the lovely Gwyneth Williams. A natural at moving through polite society, Etienne could appear perfectly charming while his mind was occupied with something else. Tonight, there was only one thing concerning him. Covertly, he watched Gwen as she went about her work. When the rowdy group of men summoned her again he stiffened, noticing a subtle change in her attitude. Her beautiful, heart-shaped face was a carefully managed mask of indifference, but tension was obvious in her rigid bearing and hesitant footsteps. The second she got close enough, one of the group reached out as though ready to paw the smooth curve of her rump. Gwen leapt away with a cry but before she could say anything more Etienne was there, confronting her attacker.

‘Leave her alone,’ he commanded.

‘Says who?’ The young man lumbered to his feet. It was obvious he had been drinking before he arrived at the restaurant, and was now well beyond the stage of either good manners or good sense.

‘I do.’ Etienne’s voice was as cold as a blade, and he felt no need to identify himself by the age-old title of Count of Malotte. Tonight, everyone who was anyone knew who he was.

‘Like I care about that!’ The drunk swayed, then without warning took a swing at Etienne. Gwen shouted a warning, desperate to save the handsome stranger who had stepped in on her behalf. It was the worst thing she could have done. Distracted by her cry, Etienne was a split second too slow to avoid catching a glancing blow to the side of his jaw.

The party erupted in a flurry. In one smooth movement Etienne seized the drunk and pinioned his arms behind his back.

‘Let this be a warning to anyone else with a taste for trouble,’ he announced to the crowd as he frogmarched his attacker out of the building. Everyone stared after him. Gwen could not move. If she took one step she knew she would fly straight to the door, desperate to know what was happening. That would make a bad situation worse for her sophisticated guests. Instead, she had to wait along with everyone else. Minutes passed in silence. Then suddenly Etienne was there among them again. Breathing quickly, his dark curls tousled, he acknowledged the spontaneous applause with a diffident smile.

‘Your cheek is bleeding,’ Gwen said faintly, transfixed by the sight of a thin seam of blood trickling over the otherwise perfect surface of his sun-bronzed skin.

He stopped adjusting his clothes and looked at her.

‘There’s no need to sound so worried, mademoiselle,’ he murmured, as though not quite able to believe what she had said.

The strange way he spoke made Gwen think this man wasn’t used to being worried about—not on a personal level, at least. People might bow and scrape before him, but she had a shrewd suspicion they were only out for what they could get, like the countess. A surge of empathy kicked her into action. She knew what it was like to put on a brave show, and she might never get a chance to see such a gorgeous guy at close quarters again.

‘Of course there is, monsieur. Health and safety would never forgive me for standing by while one of my clients bled all over the place!’ she rallied. With a smile, she gestured towards the back of the restaurant. ‘Would you mind stepping into my office?’

Her heart was thundering loudly as she spoke. She was amazed he couldn’t hear it, and still more amazed at the devastating way he smiled and said, ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, mademoiselle.’

And with that he headed straight for the door marked ‘Mlle G Williams—Private.’

CHAPTER TWO

GWEN was busy wondering what she was going to do, now she had persuaded one hundred and eighty pounds of handsome hunk into her office.

The sight of Etienne standing outside on the balcony almost robbed her of the courage to go in. Silhouetted against the setting sun, his broad shoulders and tall, erect frame looked magnificent.

‘Entrez,’ he commanded.

Etienne Moreau was unlike any man Gwen had encountered before, but hearing him speak to her like that came as a shock. Her reply was instant and instinctive. ‘I was going to, monsieur. It’s my name on the door, isn’t it?’

He whipped around, as fast as her retort. Gwen didn’t have time to be alarmed. Astonishment became amusement as he focused on her face, and laughed.

‘Of course. What was I thinking of?’ he said with a winning smile.

Gwen had no idea. He was filling her mind with so many disturbing thoughts. It was all she could do to stop her legs trembling as she walked through the room towards him.

‘I’ve retrieved your wine, monsieur. And can I thank you for dealing with that drunk? It was so brave. You didn’t deserve to get hurt,’ Gwen said as she stepped through the French doors and joined him on the balcony.

‘Ordinarily I wouldn’t have done. He was wearing one of those cameo rings idiot boys have taken to wearing. That’s what did the damage.’

As he took the glass of Bordeaux from her the town below exhaled a warm breath into the evening air. It lifted the curtains behind her. Light flooding out from the office illuminated the ragged cut to his cheek. Gwen was transfixed.

‘Merci’, he said softly.

‘What about that cut?’ she managed eventually, her mind whirling with the tiniest details of it. ‘I’ll fetch the first-aid kit—’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

The same commanding tone that had summoned her into her own office drew her hand up to his face.

‘Oh, but you must at least let me clean it up for you—’ Unable to resist, she touched the spot lightly. Her fingers came away dark with blood. With a little gasp of dismay she swayed, accidentally brushing against him. ‘I’m sorry, monsieur,’ she muttered.

Etienne Moreau knew an advantage when he saw one. A smile spread across his face with all the promise of a new day dawning.

‘Are you, mademoiselle? I’m not. It’s brought us together.’

‘H-has it?’

Her eyes were wide and very blue, he noticed. It occurred to him that shock must have thrown the sophisticated chef-patron off her stride. The delicate fragrance of roses shimmering around her aroused something primitive in him. There was only one thing to be done. He decided to make everything all right for her, in the way he knew best. After months of growing discontent, this evening was turning into something memorable for him. He glanced at the wine in his hand. The last thing he needed now was alcohol. It might bring him back to earth.

He put the glass down.

A furious tide had engulfed him when he saw that lecherous drunk hassling her. Seeing such a man getting so close to this lovely girl was an outrage. She deserved much better. And now he was alone with her. Desire flamed within his body, fuelled by the purity of her clear blue eyes and those soft, slightly glossed lips. He hungered for her with a raw, naked need that would not and could not be denied.

‘Is there anything else you need, monsieur?’

Her voice was a whisper, her eyes full of anticipation.

‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘You.’

She gazed up at him. Her eyes were large and full of questions Etienne could not wait to answer. His body took control, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly against him. Gwen was in the grip of feelings so powerful that she simply melted against him. His hands went to her hair, his fingers digging through its thick tumble of soft, caramel-coloured curls. Tipping her head back, he feasted his eyes on her face. Uncertainly, she mirrored his movements, raising her hands to the lush darkness of his hair. It was short and silky, tempting her fingers to explore him with the same overpowering need that fuelled his desire. When his beautiful mouth took possession of hers it was with a passion that powered straight through her body.

Gwen had never experienced anything like it. Etienne Moreau overwhelmed her with such fire and urgency that she felt like a leaf in a hurricane. Her heart pounded, while her mind became a perfect storm of images—his tongue penetrating her mouth, his hands luring her onwards until he withdrew, teasing her. Gwen was left quivering from head to foot, at the mercy of so many sensations her brain could hardly cope. Hungry for his kisses, she rose on tiptoe, desperate not to lose contact with his body for an instant. Teased into peaks of excitement, her nipples thrust against the lacy restraint of her bra until it hurt. He was filling her senses so totally she barely noticed. She no longer knew or cared what was right or wrong.

Suddenly the wail of a police siren tore through the streets below, startling them both, and they jerked apart. Once she was deprived of the hard temptation of him, arousal flooded Gwen’s brain until speech was almost beyond her.

She looked up at him, still dazed, as he allowed his hands to drop lightly onto her shoulders and gently eased her away from him. Then he stepped back and looked down at her. His lips were slightly parted. She could see from the quick rise and fall of his chest that he was breathing fast. The arms that had held her so tightly now hung loosely by his sides, his hands and their long, strong fingers slightly curved. Her eyes took in every detail of him, from his hawk-like profile and the glint of perfect white teeth against the pale gold of his skin, to his easy stance. Here was a man who took women in his stride. As she slowly returned to earth after their paradise of a kiss a sudden increase in the clatter of silver and china from inside the restaurant dealt the final blow to her dreams. Dinner was being served. She had abandoned her staff when they needed her most. Kissing a man when she should have been supervising them was bad enough. When that man was also a guest and probably a friend of her landlord, her guilt became a real wall of worries.

Gwen had brothers. She knew what men were like. The thought that this aloof man with the smouldering eyes might tell Nick, her landlord, about their kiss made her feel sick. Nick and his family had been good to her, letting her buy out the business for a good price. They had taken a loss on the deal, but it had still cost Gwen everything she’d had and hefty loans from her parents and the bank. Nick was still owner of the little gite in the hills where she was staying. His rich, influential friends were Le Rossignol’s best customers, so she needed to stay on the right side of them. This was not the way to do it.

A breeze sighed over the balcony, but this time it was chill. It reminded Gwen of the groans of ‘I told you so’ waiting for her back at home if her dream of running a top-class restaurant in France failed.