Having the Frenchman's Baby

She adored her Grandfather William, who’d called her his Black Beauty from the time she was a little girl.

Though she’d grown up tall and slender, her thick hair had some brown mixed in with the black, but he didn’t worry about small technicalities.

He’d given her the book of the same name before her mother had taken her and Rebecca to live in New York when they were ten.

His present for Rebecca had been a magnificently illustrated book of Sleeping Beauty.

“These are so that neither of my little beauties will forget me,” he’d whispered in a loving voice.

“I don’t want to leave you and Daddy,” Rachel cried between sobs. The divorce between his son Robert and their American mother, Diana, had taken a traumatic toll on the entire family.

His gray eyes moistened. “I know. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to do. But I’ll come to visit you, and when you and Rebecca fly to London to stay with your father, you’ll have sleepovers with your grandmother and me.”

True to his word, there were sleepovers, and her grandparents did make trips back and forth from the UK to Long Island when they could get away from the restaurant business long enough.

On those occasions he would say, “You’re the thoroughbred of the Valentine family, Rachel. Of course, you inherited your mother’s famous Crawford smile and her large blue eyes. On you their tinge of gray gives them a wistful quality.

“Now that you’re becoming such a lovely woman, you’re going to have to protect yourself from the many men who will want a relationship with you.”

Rachel had taken everything her beloved grandfather had told her so much to heart, she’d reached the ripe old age of thirty-three and was still single.

Over the course of the years she’d met a lot of appealing men in her position as wine buyer for her grandfather’s restaurants. However none of them was the right kind of man to marry because none of them measured up to him. Not in character or kindness.

But a little while ago something of significance had transpired, though surely not the coup de foudre her grandfather had always warned her about.

“Love at first sight. When I was in Italy during the Second World War, that’s what Lucia and I experienced. Fortunately for me, she was the right kind of woman to marry.

“Your grandmother and I were completely happy together. I want that same happiness for you when you meet your beloved. You’ll know when it happens.”

Rachel scoffed at the romantic notion that such a thing could happen.

Still, she couldn’t ignore certain emotions Monsieur Chartier had evoked. When she’d opened her eyes and had seen him standing there eyeing her so…intimately, she’d felt an explosion inside her that had never happened to her before.

“Rachel? Are you still there?”

Her grandfather seemed to have recovered from his coughing episode.

“Where else would I be? I want to know what Dr Lloyd had to say today.”

“To quote him, I’m ‘coming along’.”

“That’s wonderful news. Now I can enjoy my business trip without worrying too much.”

“What I’d have given to come with you.”

“We’ll do it when you’re all better. But since you have to rest right now, I’ll think of something to make up for it.

“I’d bring you home a bottle of your favorite Châteauneuf du Pape, but with those blood clots in your lungs, I know alcohol is verboten, so I’ll bring you a box of chocolate truffles instead.”

“Always my thoughtful girl. How much longer will you be gone?”

“A week.”

Because of this detour to Thann she needed two. But considering he’d been in and out of hospital several times for pain and shortness of breath, she would have to take this a day at a time.

“Did you say hello to Vincent for me when you visited the Rolland vineyards in St Emilion?”

“Of course. He sent his regards and has extended you an invitation to visit as soon as you’re better.”

“That’s nice.”

“His father also told me to say hello to you. He’s looking forward to another game of chess with you the next time you come.”

“He likes to win.”

Rachel chuckled. “I’m afraid chess isn’t my best suit either.”

“Where are yo—?” But before he could finish, another bout of coughing had started up.

“In Thann.” Anticipating his next question, she said, “I haven’t located Louis Delacroix yet, but I will. Right now you need to stop talking and drink some water. I’m going to say goodnight. I’ll call you tomorrow evening.”

“Bl-bless you, Rachel. GoodNIGHT.” The second part came out with another loud cough.

Supposedly the coughing meant he was getting rid of the dead cells off his lungs, which was a good thing.

She hung up, put the phone back in her purse and hurried down the hall, nodding to some of the guests coming up the stairs.

When she emerged from the lobby doors, she discovered Monsieur Chartier lounging against the body of the Wagoneer parked directly in front.

The sight of him pushed the worry over her grandfather to the back of her mind.

He’d changed into a soft yellow sport shirt and blue jeans that hugged his long, rock-hard legs.

She lost the battle not to stare at the strong column of his throat and the smattering of dark body hair.

Their eyes met for a stunning moment. Though she might be a mature businesswoman, this striking man had the power to reduce her to a moonstruck teen without doing one thing to entice her—except to exist.

But, as Rachel had just found out, existence was more than enough to keep her from concentrating with any degree of coherence.

The moment he saw her, he unfolded his suntanned arms and opened the passenger door for her.

As she moved past him to climb inside she felt a disturbing awareness of him she didn’t want to feel because he was a new business acquaintance. He wasn’t supposed to mean anything more to her.

If being in his presence was going to cause her to forget why she’d come to Thann, she’d better start interacting with him on a professional basis.

Once they’d left the town she said, “I drove past your vineyard on the way to the convent. It looked a lot larger than the ones I passed on my drive from Colmar.”

“You’re very observant. There are less than six thousand vineyards in Alsace. Of that amount four thousand of them are only five acres or less each.”