Having the Frenchman's Baby

Don’t add anything artificial to the process. Leave the wine to do what it is meant to do.

Translated, let Paulette’s family decide to shut off the machines and then see what happens.

Tears filled her eyes. “You’re not meant to live a monk’s life. At this rate you’re going to have a breakdown.”

Breakdown.

An interesting choice of words his guilt hadn’t allowed him to contemplate since last evening, when he’d first laid eyes on Rachel Valentine. A woman like her didn’t need a man with his kind of baggage.

“I have to go.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

Giselle was in pain for him, but right now he was too fragmented by opposing forces to think. At this point it felt as if all his energy was focused on the beautiful wine buyer from the UK who was less than an hour away from here.

“Tell the children I’ll be over soon to take them to the park.”

Luc pressed a kiss to her cheek, and another one to his mother’s. Then he strode out of the house to his car and drove away. But when he reached the crossroads where he would normally turn left into town, he yanked the wheel to the right and took off for Thann as if unseen hands were driving the car for him.

Rachel pulled into the courtyard of the convent. There were no other cars in the parking area. She was being given exclusive treatment by Luc Chartier’s right hand and ought to be thrilled about it.

A trim man with thinning brown hair came out the door to greet her. He looked to be about her grandfather’s age, but, unlike him, this man was in excellent health.

When she commented that he moved like a person twenty years younger, he said, “Blame it on the fruit of the vine.”

Rachel knew better. Giles had been blessed with good genes. So had her grandfather. But two years ago he’d gone into the hospital with blood clots in his legs, and had been bothered by them on and off ever since.

“I feel guilty that you’re spending your day off to show me around, Monsieur Lambert.”

“Call me Giles. There’s no reason to feel guilty. With my wife gone, I need to keep busy. This is a pleasure for me, and Luc knows it. Come along and we’ll get started.”

“Thank you.”

She followed him inside and through the door to the cave.

It was a marvelous room with a vaulted ceiling. There was a long bar and a fabulous stock of wines behind it she was dying to inspect. But what caught her interest was the huge, ancient-looking armoire on the wall opposite the counter. The doors remained open to display wine-making artifacts placed behind glass.

Next to it hung a massive chart that walked the layman through an understandable explanation of wine-making. The text was in French, English, German and Spanish.

“This is absolutely fascinating,” Rachel declared. “I’ve never seen anything like it on any of my buying trips.”

While she snapped pictures, Giles busied himself putting wine bottles on the counter for her to sample.

“It was Luc’s idea so it would cut down on the time the staff spends explaining everything to our customers. As a result, we can handle more clients at a time.”

“Genius innovation.”

She read everything, then moved in front of the armoire where the items were labeled.

“What a wonderful treasure!”

She took more pictures, but her gaze lingered on an old jade-green flagon. The placard read, “The Chartier family nuptial wine jug. Fourteenth Century.”

A cry of delight escaped her throat. “Tell me about this!”

“Which item are you referring to?”

Suddenly the blood pounded in her ears because it wasn’t Giles who’d asked the question.

She would know Luc Chartier’s heavily accented voice anywhere.

She spun around trying to catch her breath because he’d entered the room without her being aware of it.

“G-good morning,” she stammered, attempting to gather her wits. “I thought this was your day off.”

He looked fantastic in a gray turtleneck and white cargo pants. She couldn’t prevent her eyes from traveling over his hard, fit body before their gazes fused.

“I decided the things I needed to do today could wait.”

His words sent curling warmth through her body.

“What about Giles?”

“He likes to potter around here.”

The old man winked at her.

“To borrow your metaphor,” Luc said in a low aside, “he’s like a mother with a new baby. His work is never done.”

“I heard that,” Giles muttered. Rachel couldn’t help smiling.

Luc studied her as if he enjoyed looking at what he saw. “Now tell me which item in the cupboard fascinates you so much.”

As he moved closer she could smell the soap he’d used in the shower. Her senses seemed to have come alive around him.

She turned toward the glass. “The nuptial jug. I’d love to hear the story behind it.”

He stood near enough that she could feel his warmth in the cool room whose walls were several feet thick.

“When a Chartier man has found his heart’s desire, he pours his favorite wine in that special jug from which he and his beloved both drink, whereupon he declares his undying devotion.

“It’s called the marriage ritual of the vine. My father, like his forebears, proposed to my mother in the time-honored Chartier way. They both drank from this jug before they were married in the convent chapel.”

Rachel trembled at the evocative image his words had conjured.

She’d been a lover of fairy tales all her life. What he’d just told her was a real-life fairy tale.

How would it be to marry a man like Luc and share in such a thrilling ritual?