Count Toussaint’s Pregnant Mistress (14 page)

He stopped, swallowing, and Abby felt again the rush of tears, of emotion. ‘But I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t drag you into my problems, my pain. I couldn’t. So I left. I know it seemed like a selfish act, but it wasn’t meant to be one.’ He paused, his gaze fastened on her, his eyes steady, yet also pleading for understanding. For absolution. ‘And I’m so sorry for the hurt it caused you.’

Abby nodded, accepting Luc’s apology, granting him atonement. Her mind whirled with Luc’s revelations. ‘And now?’ she finally managed, holding her breath, waiting,
hoping
for Luc’s answer…

He took a long time—too long—to reply. ‘I don’t know,’ he finally said. ‘I thought I’d never marry again. I didn’t think I was capable of loving anyone the way they needed to be loved. I failed Suzanne in so many ways.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to fail anyone like that again.’

‘Then what?’ Abby asked, her voice hoarse with suppressed longing and fear. ‘You’re going to close yourself off from everything, everyone, for the rest of your life? Never take a chance again?’

‘I didn’t think it was even a possibility,’ Luc confessed. ‘I’ve been so numb, so blank all the time. Like there was nothing inside me. And then I met you.’ He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and reached out to skim the tips of his
fingers across her cheek. Abby closed her eyes. ‘And I felt. I felt so much, wonderful, terrifying, and I’m not sure of anything any more.’

‘I am.’ It was so easy, surprisingly easy, to open her eyes, to smile at him as she reached out and drew him slowly to her, their bodies colliding, her bump between them. Her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing his face towards her so their lips brushed in the barest of kisses.

She felt Luc’s hesitation, felt them both teeter on the precipice, knew he wanted to kiss her and yet felt he should pull back. But she wouldn’t let him. She deepened the kiss, drawing him to her even more, so she fell back against the piano, her backside landing on the keys, creating a wonderful, dissonant melody.

Luc’s resistance melted away and he responded to the kiss, deepening it so their tongues met and met again; Abby felt as if they were communicating, pouring their souls and hearts into one another. It was an endless kiss, a kiss made all the more sweet by the knowledge that there was no more they could do now. This kiss was it, everything, healing, hope and joy all poured into one as their bodies picked out a new melody on the piano and the sunlight streamed in, golden, mellow and pure.

T
HINGS
changed after that. The farmhouse lost its atmosphere of silent tension, and the spring days slid towards summer, warm and golden.

They didn’t talk about the future, and Abby made herself not care. Surely this was enough, this time together, eating, laughing, loving? Surely this was love? Luc had never said the words. Yet Abby felt it, felt something good had happened that day at the chateau, even though they remained at the farmhouse and the chateau stayed draped in dust sheets, a new lock on the iron gates.

Surely it was all only a matter of time?

She spent the days learning to cook, scouring the nearby markets with Luc for bunches of basil and fat cloves of garlic, glass bottles of cloudy olive-oil and balsamic vinegar. She loved the sensual nature of food: the fuzzy skin of a peach, the earthy smell of a potato. Not all of her experiments in the kitchen were a success, but Luc gamely tried them all anyway.

As the evenings grew warmer they ate out on the little terrace at the back, Chateau Mirabeau no more than two dark towers on the horizon amidst the trees. Yet the estate, and all of its implications, was ever-present in Abby’s mind, for she wondered how Luc could move on as long as it remained shuttered and empty. Begin again, with her. The shadows and
ghosts of the past had been banished, but they were not gone completely. They lurked in the dark corners of Abby’s mind, tormented her at night as she lay alone, aching for Luc’s touch, for his body next to hers, warm and solid.

Although they now spent every evening together, eating and talking, sharing all the things Abby had wanted to know and tell, Luc was still distant. The brush of his cool lips against her skin made her ache and yearn for more. She wanted to grab him by the lapels, drag him into her room and kiss him senseless. Yet even now she feared rejection. He might not physically leave her here, she acknowledged, but emotionally he was certainly capable of vacating the premises. Their emotional connection was fragile and tenuous, and Abby was not yet ready to test its new strength.

One afternoon Luc took her for a walk along the hills behind the farmhouse.

‘Just where are we going?’ Abby asked, tilting her head to the sun that poured over them like a benediction.

‘You’ll see.’ Luc reached for the bag slung over his shoulder.

‘What are you doing?’

He fumbled in the bag and then withdrew what looked like some sticks and fabric. It took Abby a second to realize what it was—a kite. ‘It’s a perfect day for flying a kite,’ he said, and grinned. Abby had never seen him smile quite so much before. It lightened his countenance, brightened his already very blue eyes and softened the hard, chiselled planes of his cheeks and jaw. It made the breath catch in her throat and thoughts fly clean out of her head.

‘A kite,’ she repeated slowly, and in her mind’s eye she could see herself sitting in the bar at Hotel Le Bristol across from Luc, her feet tucked up under her, starry-eyed, on her way to being seduced.

If you could do anything…what would it be?

She watched now as Luc assembled the kite, hooking the flimsy fabric over the wooden sticks, a diamond of bright-green nylon. She felt a ball of emotion lodge in her throat at the thought that Luc had remembered, that he wanted to give this to her.

‘Shall we?’ Luc gestured to the kite already flapping restlessly in the wind.

‘All right.’

Luc took the kite’s spool and began to unwind the string. He tossed the kite away from him, up into the sky, and Abby couldn’t keep a bubble of laughter rising from within her as the kite caught the wind and began to rise. ‘Oh, look!’ she cried, clapping her hands, as giddy as a child.

Luc began to run backwards, unwinding more string as the kite started to soar. Abby tilted her head back, amazed at the simple yet glorious sight of the bright-green diamond bobbing among the clouds, high and free.

‘You want to try?’ Luc called to her after they’d watched the kite zigzag high above them for a few minutes. He’d moved several-hundred feet away in his attempt to keep the kite high in the sky.

‘I couldn’t,’ Abby protested, even though she knew she was itching to take the spool in her hands. ‘I’ve never—’

‘I know.’ Luc grinned again. ‘Now’s your chance.’

Laughing again—she couldn’t help it—Abby jogged over to where he was. ‘What should I…’

‘Just take it.’ Luc handed her the spool, and the string unwound a few more feet before Abby could stop it.

‘Oh, no!’

‘Walk backwards.’

Carefully she moved backwards amid the long grass, keeping the string taut by instinct as well as memory; she’d watched those happy children on the Heath many times.

‘Good. See? You’re doing it.’

‘I am,’ she called back, elated, triumphant, and she laughed aloud, the wind whipping around her, blowing her hair from its ponytail. At that moment the whole world suddenly seemed wide open, all things possible, everything free and light. Then the kite dipped. Abby’s fingers tightened reflexively around the spool of string. ‘Oh no!’

‘Here.’ Luc stood behind her, his arms reaching around to take in the slack string. The kite weaved and bobbed for a few seconds before it straightened, soaring once more. Luc remained behind Abby, his hands over hers as together they held the string and made the kite fly again.

Abby was achingly conscious of his hard chest behind her; another inch and she could lean her head against him, as she knew she wanted to. She worked to rest in his embrace now and for ever.

‘Careful,’ Luc murmured in her ear, and Abby realized the kite had started to dip once more. He pulled the string taut to save the swooping kite, but they’d left it too late, and in a long, graceful arc the kite plunged to earth. Abby stepped away from Luc and the shelter of his body.

‘I think that’s the end of the kite,’ she said, moving closer to inspect the ripped fabric and snapped sticks.

‘So it would seem,’ Luc returned wryly. He folded up the wrecked kite and slipped it back into his bag. ‘Still, it was worth it, don’t you think?’

Was it? Abby wondered. Was any of this worth it? Things had changed since that afternoon in the chateau; things were wonderful, in a way. But were they real? They’d never talked about the future. They’d never told each other how they felt. Love was a word that hadn’t been spoken. Whatever they had now, was it worth it, if it was all they were ever going to have?

Luc’s eyes met hers, as blue, as intense and knowing as ever. The moment stretched and spiralled between them as the
wind whipped around them, tangling Abby’s hair and making her shove her hands deeper into the pockets of her jeans.

‘We should go back,’ he said after a moment, and Abby nodded. She was glad they’d flown the kite, but she knew neither of them had expected this uneasy tension to stretch between them, filled with all the things neither of them seemed ready to face or say.

A month had gone by since that day in the chateau when Luc told her over breakfast, ‘We go to Paris in two days. You have a scan booked to check your condition.’

Abby crumbled a piece of roll onto her plate. ‘Shall we take the train?’

‘Jet,’ Luc replied succinctly, reminding her just who and what he was. He paused. ‘Perhaps we should make a weekend of it.’ His voice was light, yet Abby tensed anyway. ‘You need some new maternity clothes, don’t you? We can go shopping.’

Abby made a face. ‘For maternity clothes?’

‘Bien sûr.
Even pregnant women can be fashionable these days, can’t they?’

‘I suppose…’ Her fashionable days were long behind her, along with piano, concerts and that jet-setting lifestyle. Yet the prospect of new clothes was, she’d realized, a little bit enticing. Even more so was the thought of being in Paris with him again. They’d be back where it had all started—yet would things be different this time?

It was a perfect, cloudless afternoon as they landed in Paris, the air warm and redolent of summer, even though it had just turned April.

They took a hired car to the private consultant Luc had booked, and soon Abby was lying on an examining-table, the cold, clear jelly squeezed onto her noticeably bigger bump as the consultant took the electric wand and began the scan.

The image of her baby squirming and filling the screen brought a smile to both her and Luc’s faces.

‘Quite an active little one you have in there,’ the consultant said with a smile. ‘And it looks as if your placenta previa has cleared considerably. Let me get a closer look…’ He prodded Abby’s bump a bit more, and she held her breath, hoping, praying for good news.

‘Yes, it’s completely gone,’ he confirmed. ‘Congratulations. All normal activities can be resumed.’ He gave Luc a humorous glance. ‘Which I’m sure you’re happy about.’

Luc didn’t reply, but Abby felt awareness fizz through every nerve of her body. Sex. The consultant was talking about sex. Now there was no reason for Luc to stay away at night, no reason for them not to consummate their relationship once more.

What relationship?
an inner voice mocked.
You’re only in France, only with Luc, because of the baby. He’s never said any different, and you’re too scared to ask him. Some relationship!

She tried to silence that sly, mocking whisper, but it continued anyway.
You’re afraid he’ll reject you…again. Afraid he’ll creep away, close himself off…again.

She closed her eyes and felt Luc’s hand on her arm, warm and reassuring. ‘Abby? Is everything all right?’

‘Yes.’ She opened her eyes and glanced up at Luc; his own eyes were shadowed with concern. She smiled. ‘I’m just so relieved.’

‘As am I. This is good news indeed.’

After leaving the consultant’s they had lunch at an elegant, expensive bistro before heading to the Champs Elysées for the promised shopping. Abby hadn’t expected to enjoy shopping for maternity clothes, and she hadn’t reckoned on Luc finding the sort of luxury boutique she didn’t even know existed.

From the moment she entered the store she was pampered,
seated on a plush, suede sofa while models paraded the latest maternity styles: beautiful wrap-dresses and flowing tunictops, comfy trousers and skirts, and not a bow or bobble in sight.

She tried on a few of the outfits herself, liking the way the material flowed over her bump. It made her feel surprisingly confident, sensual, in a way she hadn’t expected.

‘They’re gorgeous,’ Abby admitted, and Luc smiled.

‘They’ll look gorgeous on you.’ With a flick of his wrist, he indicated the growing pile of clothes that Abby had tried on. ‘We’ll take them all.’

‘All! I don’t need—’

‘This isn’t about need,’ Luc told her as the assistant began to box the clothes up. ‘It’s about want.’ He gave her a wolfish smile that made Abby’s insides curl up, her stomach diving in a way that was altogether too pleasant. ‘What I want. Now.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll arrange for these to be sent to our hotel. You have another appointment upstairs.’

‘I do?’

An assistant materialized by her elbow. ‘Miss Summers, if you’ll come with me?’ Curious as well as a little nervous, Abby followed the svelte young woman upstairs to a maternity spa. ‘Monsieur le Comte has booked an afternoon of treatments for you,’ the assistant told her. ‘Starting with a full-body massage.’

‘A full-body massage?’ Abby repeated, and felt herself begin to relax already.

For the next few hours Abby was plied with lotions, oils and aromatherapies, pummelled and pampered, so that when she finally left the spa she practically floated on air, drowsy and relaxed from all the treatments.

Luc was waiting for her in the lobby. He smiled when he saw her, a genuine smile that lit his eyes and softened his features; Abby found herself grinning back.

‘You look relaxed.’

‘So relaxed I could fall asleep,’ Abby admitted.

‘Don’t fall asleep just yet. I have dinner reservations at Le Cinq.’

‘You do?’ Abby felt a new tingle spread over her that had little to do with the massage and therapies she’d received and everything to do with the way Luc smiled, his eyes glinting, turning them a deep azure.

‘Of course. And your clothes have been delivered to our suite, so you can wear something new if you like.’

Abby’s mind buzzed with these revelations as Luc ushered her into their private-hire car, a luxury sedan with tinted windows and plush leather seats.

Within minutes they’d navigated through Parisian traffic, cars facing a dozen different directions around L’Arc de Triomphe, before the sedan sleekly pulled up to the front arches of the George V hotel. A bellboy opened the door and Abby practically floated into the marble foyer, Luc by her side.

Luc had booked the royal suite, and as Abby stepped into the luxurious living-room, with its gilt tables and marble floor, ornate paintings and antiques filling every inch of the exquisite space, she was reminded with sudden, stinging force of the last time she’d been in a hotel such as this. A hotel just a mile or two away. Her heart had been beating in her throat; she’d been as young, hopeful and naïve as any girl could be.

She was different now, older, wiser, more confident. Yet also more afraid for, just as before, she didn’t know what would happen tonight, what
could
happen.

As she turned to Luc who stood in the doorway with a smile flickering across his mouth and lurking in his eyes, she felt a new, heady hope that this night could be different. That this night could repair the first night, heal and fulfil it. It
could be the happy ending, she thought almost incredulously, to the fairy tale.

If Luc would allow it.

He walked towards her, smiling openly now. ‘You look surprised to be here.’ He stopped in front of her, his hands coming up to slide down her shoulders, holding her in a half-embrace.

‘I am,’ Abby admitted. ‘Surprised and happy. It’s been a wonderful day.’

‘Good.’ Luc leaned down and slowly, achingly, brushed his lips with hers. Abby closed her eyes as she leaned into the kiss and gave herself to it fully, as if with that simple, little kiss she could communicate all she felt to Luc, all she hoped and wanted, and even needed.