Count Toussaint's Pregnant Mistress

‘When I saw you,’ he said in a low voice, rotating the stem of his champagne flute between his long, lean fingers, ‘I felt something I have not felt in a long time.’

Abby’s breath hitched and her fingers tightened around her own glass. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What did you feel?’

Luc opened up, surprising Abby with the bleak, stark honesty of his gaze. ‘Hope.’ He reached out to brush a stilldamp tendril of hair from her cheek, his fingers barely touching her, yet still causing a wave of sensation to crash over her, dousing her to her core. ‘Didn’t you feel it, Abby? When you were at the piano and you saw me? I have never—’ He stopped, then started again. ‘It was like a current. Electric. Magical.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, the word catching in her throat. ‘I felt it too.’

‘I am glad.’ Luc’s mouth quirked upwards in a tiny smile, although there was a curious bleakness to his words. ‘It would be a sad thing if only one of us had felt it.’ He reached for the champagne bottle and topped up both of their glasses, although Abby had hardly had a sip. ‘Were you pleased with your performance tonight?’

‘I don’t know.’ She took a tiny sip of champagne. ‘I can’t remember much of it.’

Luc laughed softly. ‘Neither can I, to tell you the truth. When you came on stage and I saw you, the rest fell away. I was simply waiting for the moment when I could speak to you. I never thought it would be granted to me.’

‘Why didn’t you—?’ Abby stopped, biting her lip to keep the words, the revealing question, from coming. Luc arched an eyebrow.

‘Why didn’t I…?’ he prompted, and Abby shook her head. It didn’t matter; he filled in the rest. ‘Why didn’t I come to see you after the performance?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, the word no more than a whisper.

Luc stared into his glass for a moment, before lifting his head and giving her that direct gaze that seemed to reach right inside her and seize her soul. ‘I didn’t think I should.’

‘But…’ Abby couldn’t think of what to say or ask, how to articulate that she’d wanted him to see her, had almost been expecting it. It sounded desperate, ridiculous. All they’d shared was one look—and now a glass of champagne. She set her half-empty glass down on the table. ‘This doesn’t seem—’

‘Real? No. Perhaps not.’ Luc glanced away for a moment, his mouth tightening, his jaw tensing. Abby felt as if she’d said the wrong thing and wished she could take it back. Then he turned back to her, smiling faintly, although she still sensed a certain sorrow in him, saw it in his eyes. ‘Perhaps now is the time to be prosaic. Tell me about yourself.’

Abby shrugged, discomfited. ‘If you read my bio in the program—’

‘That might give me facts, but surely not the true essence of who you are?’

‘I’m not sure I know what the true essence of myself is.’ She made a face, eliciting a chuckle from him. ‘That sounds rather mysterious.’

‘And I meant to be prosaic. Tell me some other things, then,’ he said as he gestured to the bartender, who hurried over. He glanced back at Abby. ‘Have you eaten? Champagne on an empty stomach is not wise.’

As if on cue, Abby’s stomach growled. She gave a little laugh. ‘I haven’t,’ she confessed, and, flicking open the menu the bartender had provided, Luc quickly ordered. ‘Is that all right?’ he asked as he handed the menu back. ‘I do not wish us to be bothered by such details as what food to order.’ Abby gave a little shrug of assent, although she thought she’d heard him order escargots and she really wasn’t fond of them. Somehow it didn’t matter.

‘So.’ Luc propped his elbows on the table, his eyes seeming to glint and sparkle in the dim light. ‘Tell me something. Tell me what your favorite colour is, or if you’re scared of spiders or snakes. Did you have a dog growing up? Or a cat?’ He took a sip of champagne, smiling at her over the rim of the glass. ‘Or perhaps a fish?’

‘None.’ Abby reached for her own glass. ‘And both.’

‘Pardon?’

‘No pets, and I’m scared of both spiders and snakes. At least, I don’t like them very much. I haven’t had much firsthand experience.’

‘I suppose that’s a good thing, then.’

‘I never really thought about it.’ Abby took a sip of champagne. ‘And what about you?’

‘Am I scared of snakes or spiders?’

‘No, I’ll pick different questions.’ She paused, thinking. What did she want to know about him? Everything; the answer sprang unbidden into her mind. She wanted to know him, to have the chance to know him. To go to sleep and wake up at his side…‘Do you snore?’ she blurted, then blushed.

‘Do I snore?’ Luc repeated in mock outrage, one eyebrow arched. ‘What a question. How should I know such a thing?’ His lips curved into a smile that did curious things to Abby’s insides, so that her stomach felt as quivery as a bowl of jelly.

‘No one has ever told me I snore, at any rate.’

‘Ah. Um…good.’ She fiddled with her napkin, blushing, and wishing she wasn’t. She stilled in shock when she felt Luc’s hand cover her own, heavy and warm.

‘Abby. You are nervous.’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. She forced herself to look at him. ‘I’m not—I don’t—’ She swallowed. ‘I don’t usually accept invitations from strange men.’

‘That is probably just as well,’ Luc replied. ‘But I promise you, you are safe with me.’ He spoke with a raw, heartfelt sincerity that Abby could only believe. There was no question of doubt.

‘I know.’

A black-jacketed waiter swept in silently with a tray. He didn’t speak or even look at them, simply served the food while maintaining the aura of complete privacy they had been enjoying in the empty bar. When he left, Luc gestured down to their plates, to the delicate fan of asparagus amidst paperthin slices of beef. ‘Is this all right?’

‘It looks delicious.’ Abby picked up her fork and toyed with a piece of asparagus. ‘Were you surprised to see me here?’ she asked after a moment. ‘In the bar?’

‘You were like an apparition,’ Luc told her. ‘And yet, at the same time…’ He paused, contemplating. ‘It was as if I knew you would come, and I hadn’t realized it until I saw you.’

‘That’s how I felt too,’ Abby whispered, and Luc smiled.

‘Perhaps,’ he said slowly, almost regretfully, ‘some things are meant to be.’

‘Yes,’ Abby agreed, and then added with an uncertain laugh, ‘Except, as I said before, it hardly seems real.’

‘Nothing good ever does,’ Luc replied, and Abby glanced up, startled. It was a cynical statement, a belief born of suffering, and she wondered what had happened in Luc’s life to make him say and believe such a thing. ‘But tonight is as real as anything is.’

Abby nodded, wanting to lighten the mood. ‘So I know you don’t snore,’ she said, popping a piece of asparagus into her mouth, ‘but I don’t know much else.’ She paused, thinking. ‘You’re French.’

‘Yes.’

‘But you speak English almost perfectly.’

‘As you do French.’

She accepted the compliment with a graceful nod. ‘You’ve never heard me play before.’

‘No.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘You’re quite the detective.’

‘You don’t live in Paris?’

‘No.’

Feeling relaxed and yet also a little bold, she added, ‘You’re rich.’

Luc gave a shrug of assent as only the rich could do. ‘I have enough. As do you, I suppose?’