Having the Frenchman's Baby Read online

“I prefer to be spontaneous too,” he came back. “What are your plans after dinner?”

  “Surely that’s not any of your business.”

  He examined the shape of her oval face until her cheeks grew warm.

  “The last thing I meant to do was frighten you on the road today. I’ll admit I had serious matters on my mind. Forgive me.”

  Forgive him?

  Where had that apology come from? It sounded a hundred percent genuine.

  She could feel the ice cracking.

  “Whether you do any business with me or not, I’d like to make it up to you, Ms Valentine.

  “If you’ll give me half an hour, I’ll come back for you. While we talk wine, we’ll take a ride through the vineyard. Now that it’s in flower, it’s especially beautiful at dusk.”

  Rachel sat back. “You’re making this very difficult for me. If I refuse to accept your apology, then I come off being the lesser person.” After a slight hesitation, “I suppose it’s possible I was so enthralled with the view, I forgot I wasn’t the only driver on the road.”

  “An honest woman,” he murmured.

  “A man who can say he’s sorry. I guess we’re even.”

  “Pax?”

  Rachel nodded. “Pax. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit I’d enjoy seeing your vineyard. But only if you’re sure it’s all right with your wife.”

  There was a distinct pause before he said, “If I weren’t divorced, my wife would be the one showing you around. As it is, you’re stuck with me.”

  “Since you’re the owner of Chartier et Fils, I have no complaints,” she quipped to hide a myriad feelings she didn’t dare examine too closely.

  Some unnamed emotion produced a glimmer in the dark recesses of his eyes. It caused her pulse to race for no good reason.

  “In that case, I suggest you change into something casual. Lovely as your outfit is, you won’t find it suitable if you want to get out and do a little walking.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Until you’re surrounded by the vines, you can’t fully appreciate what a miracle they are.”

  He’d just expressed the thoughts she’d always held.

  Whatever else went on inside him, she sensed he was a man who was in love with his work. Apology aside, not many vintners she’d met cared enough to go out of their way to this extent for a buyer.

  “What color is your Wagoneer?

  “Blue.”

  “I’ll watch for you.”

  “Bon. Enjoy the rest of your meal. A bientôt.”

  As he walked away Rachel noticed that quite a few interested female eyes followed his progress from the room.

  After eating a little more of the delicious vegetable entrée, she charged the bill to her room, then went upstairs to change. She took the wine bottle with her for a souvenir of her first day in Alsace.

  Once she’d slipped into jeans and a plum-colored knit top, she put on a pair of well-used walking shoes she’d packed in her suitcase.

  With twenty more minutes to wait until he returned, she decided to do something productive in order not to think too much.

  Before she’d agreed to go with him, she’d been so furious, she’d actually shouted names at him. That was something she’d never done to anyone in her life.

  Not wanting to think about how badly she’d lost control, or, worse, how easily he’d won her around, she decided now would be a good time to make a call to the UK.

  Pulling out her cell phone, she punched in the digits. After three rings a familiar male voice answered.

  “Grandfather? It’s Rachel.”

  “How’s my Black Beauty this even—”

  But before he could even finish the question, a coughing spell ensued. The doctor explained it was to be expected with a pulmonary embolism, yet it still alarmed her.

  “Just a minute,” he said in a croaky voice.

  “Take all the time you need.”

  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.”

  “So small?”

  He nodded. “After Alsace fell back into French hands from the Germans, we had to build up our wine industry all over again.

  “My grandfather went from village to village, buying up a few acres here, a few there.

  “Today we have a total of five hundred acres located in seven villages. This vineyard of three hundred acres is an exception.”

  “That means a lot of little babies to nurture.”

  He turned his dark head toward her.

  “Babies?” The way his native tongue caused him to pronounce the English word charmed her in ways she couldn’t describe.

  “Yes. Fragile under certain circumstances, strong under others. Always needing love and care.”

  “An interesting analogy, one I’ll have to pass on to my staff.”

  He sounded genuinely amused, as if his thoughts had been far away, yet somehow her comment had managed to penetrate his consciousness.

  When they reached the convent, he kept on going. In a few minutes he made a left onto a dirt road that bisected part of the vineyard.

  Twilight had descended over Thann. She lowered the window. A gentle breeze filled the interior with warm air still rising from the sun-soaked soil.

  He brought their vehicle to a stop and turned off the motor.

  “We’ll go on foot from here. Maybe if we listen closely, we’ll hear growing pains.”

  Rachel let out a gentle laugh before climbing down without his help. She didn’t want to risk an accidental touch. Already her thoughts about him had grown out of proportion to the occasion.

  She followed his lead as they worked their way down two rows of vines in flower on either side of them.

  Like her father and grandfather, he was tall, yet he moved with a certain masculine litheness. In fact he seemed part of this fusion of man to nature, as if neither could be separated from the other.

  While she reflected on how in tune he was with his ancestral roots, he stopped long enough to scoop up a handful of earth.

  Turning to her, he held out his hand.

  “Like the seed a man plants in a woman’s womb that brings life from God, so the seed of the Riesling grape lies cocooned in this particular blend of soil found nowhere else on earth.”

  The analogy shook her to the core.

  “What are the components?”

  “You really want to know?” His question was straightforward, yet tinged with a hint of mockery.

  She couldn’t blame him if he thought she was a typical female buyer whose attraction to him was strong enough that she would say or do anything to prolong their time together.

  Rachel was guilty of having feelings that had nothing to do with grapes or wine-making. In truth, now that she’d gotten over being angry, she found herself intrigued by him, not just his life’s work.

  “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she came back, striving for a steady voice. “The more I learn, the more I find out I don’t know, but I want to learn as much as I can.”

  “Then you’re a rare species.”

  She held his enigmatic gaze. “Since I’m fortunate enough to be in the presence of a master vintner, I realize my good fortune. So let me warn you that I’m prepared to pick your brains for as long as you’re willing to indulge me.”

  The second those words came out of her mouth, she couldn’t believe she’d said them. He probably thought she was flirting with him. Maybe subconsciously she was. What on earth was wrong with her?

  In the fading light she couldn’t see the expression in his eyes, but she felt them studying her intently before he answered her question.

  “Limestone, granite, clay, marl—”

  “Marl?”

  “A crumbly mixture of clays, carbonates, shells and magnesium. Each vineyard’s soil is different and suitable for a certain kind of grape.

  “Did you know, for instance, that wild grape vines grew here before the Romans domesticated them?”

  “How fascinating! Even then the conditions were perfect,” she said in awe.

  “Yes. The aroma you enjoyed from the Tokay grape earlier this evening came from the soil at St Hippolyte.”

  “It was wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I detected woodsmoke, a touch of honey and something else I still can’t identify.”

  “Licorice?”

  “Yes!” she cried softly.

  His eyes gleamed. “I have to admit I’m impressed, mademoiselle.”

  Evidently she’d passed some sort of initial test or he wouldn’t have said anything.

  He shifted his weight. It threw his profile into relief, drawing her attention to the lines bracketing his mouth.

  Whatever his experiences of life, which included the grief of divorce, they lent him a brooding demeanor. Yet his sensual appeal was so compelling, she had to tear her eyes away.

  “It would take more than a lifetime to learn everything you know, monsieur, so don’t mind me if I hang on to every word.”

  His eyes smiled. “In that case I’ll tell you the most important thing to remember. You won’t ever detect that same aroma again if it comes from a different terroir.”

  A wry smile broke out on her face. “I’m going to hold you to that claim and sample every type of wine from your various vineyards.”

  After a slight pause, “That could take some time.”

  “How many wines do you produce?”

  “Sixteen.”

  A higher figure than she’d presumed. He’d just provided her with an excuse to linger in his kingdom a little longer.
But if she were wise, she wouldn’t give in to that temptation or he would know she’d lost sight of her professional objective because of her growing attraction to him.

  “Now I’m the one impressed,” she declared. “What days are your wine cellars open? I know tomorrow you’re closed.”

  He let the soil fall from his hand. “Nevertheless I’ll ask my manager, Giles Lambert, to phone you and make himself available in the morning.

  “The old man’s a walking encyclopedia of information. He’ll be delighted to brainwash you into making Domaine Chartier your exclusive white wine source.”

  With those words, Monsieur Chartier had just brought this unexpected interlude to a close. Knowing he wouldn’t be around tomorrow should have eased her mind, yet she felt a strong sense of disappointment, which was ridiculous.

  Hopefully her expression didn’t give her away. “If it won’t be an imposition for him.”

  “He lives to talk about our precious vines.”

  Her mouth curved upward. “Then I assure you I’ll be a captive audience. The Tokay I was served at dinner convinced me I don’t need to look elsewhere this trip.

  “One thing I’ve learned about wine—I don’t like being overwhelmed by too many choices. I’d rather concentrate on your Pinot Gris and Riesling while I’m here.”

  “You’re very wise,” he muttered, sounding as if her comment had surprised him. “If you’re ready, I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

  Unable to help it, she found herself examining his firm jaw and the slight cleft in his chin. Her gaze wandered higher to his straight nose. He had well-shaped brows. All in all the arrangement in such a patently masculine face made him irresistible.

  Rachel didn’t want to leave the vineyard yet, but he’d given her no choice. He had some place else to go.

  Walking ahead of him, she reached the Wagoneer first and got inside before he could assist her.

  He didn’t seem inclined to talk. When she thought about it, she realized he hadn’t asked her one personal question. There’d been no show of curiosity on his part, not even about the kind of restaurants she represented.

  Rachel on the other hand was the one guilty of so many unanswered personal questions about him, she was ready to burst.

  Yet she realized that a man like him didn’t come along often. To imagine he might be available to her, let alone interested, was absurd.