Royally Seduced (14 page)

“Sarah told me how to subscribe to your blog, so I’ve been reading all your posts. You met a man named Pierre in Paris?”

“Yes, well, that’s not his real name. I don’t mind the publicity, but he works for a government agency and doesn’t want his name splashed around the internet.”

“Oh, my.” Mother sounded amused. “Is he a French secret agent?”

Lily laughed. “No, he does relief work overseas and they go into dangerous regions sometimes. Publicity would put them at risk.”

“Well, as long as you know his real name. I assume he is with you in Provence?”

Lily squirmed. Her mother didn’t need to know all the details of her traveling—and sleeping—arrangements, so she settled for a bare-bones outline. “He comes from here, so we’re staying at a guesthouse that belongs to his friends. The housekeeper fixed us several kinds of spreads and crackers and then we had this Provençal version of pesto sauce and spaghetti.”

“Be sure to write down the recipes,” Mother reminded her. “Although the ingredients somehow taste different when they are grown somewhere else. Much like the homemade
foie gras
—I enjoyed your post about that.”

“Holy cow, was that good.”

“I think you mean ‘holy goose,’” her mother teased.

Lily was taken aback for a second but then joined in the laughter. Mother had never laughed or shown much of a sense of humor in years past. Stan the Chef (Stan her Stepdad, she reminded herself) was a jolly guy, and maybe he was helping her mother lighten up. “And how is Stan?” she asked.

“Fine, thank you for asking.” Her mother sounded pleased at her interest. “He’s at the market right now shopping for a dinner party tonight. Mrs. Wyndham is hosting one of the U.S. senators—he’s up for reelection next year and is working on his fundraising.”

Lily made a terrible grimace. “Good grief, Mother, those dinners are even more deadly than her usual parties.”

“That’s right, dear, you never did like that part of the job.”

“But, Mother, how can you stand doing that stuff after all these years?” Lily burst out. “Don’t you want to do something else before—?” she broke off her sentence.

“Before I get too old and feeble to work?” her mother replied. Fortunately she seemed more amused than offended. “Unfortunately I’m not even fifty yet, so retirement is a bit away.”

Lily winced. She always forgot how young her mother was, only twenty when Lily was born.

“Besides, I’m not like you, Lily. I don’t get bored easily and I enjoy routines and organization. For me, life is better when I know what’s happening next.”

“Gee, you sound like Jack. He’s very organized and a real homebody, too.”

“So your mystery Frenchman is named Jack?”

“Jacques, actually.”

“I assume he’s treating you well?” Mother’s voice took on a steely tone she reserved for rich, drunken letches and lazy housemaids.

“Very well, Mother. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Good.” Her tone softened. “I wish I had seen things differently when you were younger. I didn’t understand your situation at school.”

“Well, rich guys are pigs.”

“Lily!” her mother scolded her. “Those particular young men were pigs, but don’t be a reverse snob.”

She shifted on the desk chair, remembering how she had accused Jack of snobbery, and that had proven so untrue as to be laughable. “Sorry.” But he was just a regular guy anyway.

Mother was never one to harp on an admonishment. “When do you come back, dear?”

“My ticket is up in four days.” Unless she extended her stay. Maybe there would be a general strike and they’d close the airports. That grim thought cheered her up.

“Please call when you get back. And come see us here in Philly. We’ve finished remodeling the carriage house kitchen and it’s Stan’s pride and joy.”

“He cooks at home?” Why would he want to, after a long day in the kitchen at the main house?

Mother giggled like a teenager. Lily’s jaw fell open—she’d never heard that sound before. “Sure, he does. He takes good care of me.” That simple statement, filled with pride and love, made Lily’s heart flip and her eyes tear.

“He’d better,” she blustered, sniffing discreetly. “Or else I’ll hide his favorite knives and sharpening stone.” She’d grown up in a kitchen and knew how to punish a chef.

“Oh, my, how fierce.” Her mother laughed again but cleared her throat. “And Lily, be careful with this man. I would hate to see you hurt.”

“Mother, he’s very nice.”

“A nice man can break your heart as easily as a bad man. Sometimes worse, because you’re not expecting it.” Her tone had the ring of past experience.

Lily hesitated, but didn’t know how to reply. “I understand,” she finally said.

“I hope you won’t have to,” she said simply. “But keep up the good work and get those recipes for Stan and me,” she emphasized with a chuckle.

Lily agreed and blew a kiss into her phone before hanging up.

Mother had found happiness after heartbreak and many long, hard years alone. Lily knew she wasn’t ready to settle down herself, but couldn’t help wondering what the future would bring.

Hopefully not heartbreak, but like Mother had said, it was unexpected. Lily just hoped Jack wouldn’t be the one to bring it.

13

L
ILY SAT CROSS-LEGGED
on the stone patio behind the guesthouse kitchen, her camera aimed at an industrious bee buzzing around a purple sage plant. Not being a fan of bee stings, she moved slowly to frame her shots. One set had the golden-and-black insect in front of a solid wall of purple blooms, and for the second set, she lay down on her back and aimed upward. That angle showed the bee more in profile against the blue, blue sky.

She took a few pictures of the sky to capture the color. No wonder painting legends like Cézanne and Van Gogh, Picasso and Matisse had immortalized Provence in their art. She only wished she had the talent to do the same.

Ah, well. Her talent was with words, and maybe her photos would illustrate the land in some small way.

A shadow fell over her and, still looking through the viewfinder, she rotated to see Jack looking down at her. She fired off a couple shots of him silhouetted against the sky.

He looked startled. “That’s an odd angle for a photo. Wouldn’t you like my regal profile instead?” He turned his head to the right and put his finger under his chin, staring haughtily into the distance.

“I’m aiming for the artsy look. Don’t worry, I won’t put that one on my blog. But you do have that snooty expression just right.”

He chuckled and extended a hand to her, the bee buzzing around him for a second until it decided to find greener pastures.

“You must not be scared of bees,” she told him, standing and shutting down her camera.

He grinned. “Working on a flower farm knocks that out of you pretty fast. I don’t
bug
them and they don’t
bug
me.”

She groaned at his pun.

“Bee-sides,” he continued, “you have probably never had lavender honey. It is a local delicacy and Marthe-Louise has a wonderful recipe of duck glazed with lavender honey.”

“Oh, yum. Do you think she would give me the recipe?”

He shrugged. “Sure, but she’ll cook it for us if we ask.”

“We could bring her the ingredients.”

Jack rubbed his chin. “Let me talk with her and see what she would prefer. I know she has a little understanding with the butcher and likes to pick out her own fowl.”

“The sign of a true artist,” she told him. “Stan would never let anyone else pick the giant beef roasts that Mrs. Wyndham likes to serve at her dinner parties.”

“Fortunately for us today, we will benefit from Marthe-Louise’s culinary generosity. You can’t come to Provence in the summer and not have a picnic. She fixed us a basket full of food and we’re going up into the hills for the afternoon.”

“Great.” Lily tightened the laces on her sturdy hiking boots and socks. Bees and bare feet were a bad combination. “We’ve been staying close to home for the past several days.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints.” He nuzzled her neck. “On the other hand, we could eat here. Later.” She shivered as he nibbled her ear. “Much later.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” She pushed him away, though gently.

“Rejected.” He pressed a hand to his heart.

“Hardly.” Jack laughed and Lily realized her unintended pun. “Oh, you.” She started to blush and his grin widened.

“Yes, me indeed. But alas, it is picnic time.” He locked the back door of the guesthouse and they went around to the driveway. The picnic basket was already waiting in the car’s backseat, and they drove up a dusty road deeper in the hills.

They stopped at a field full of workers. “Would you like to see how they harvest the lavender?”

“Absolutely.”

A couple dozen harvesters, mostly young men and a few women, straightened as they approached. An older man started to chastise them for pausing but caught sight of Jack. He shouted a greeting. “Eh, M’sieu le…Jacques!”

He rapidly picked his way across the lavender field like a plump but nimble ballerina, not trampling or bruising a single plant. He wore a button-down shirt that had seen better days, a vest with several pockets, work boots and a round, flat-topped hat that she had seen on several of the older men. His face was round as well, bisected by a luxurious black mustache. “Jacques,
mon brave.
” He slapped Jack on the back. “And who is this?” he asked in heavily accented English.

“Lily, this is Monsieur Jean-Claude Chailan, husband of Marthe-Louise. Jean-Claude, this is Mademoiselle Lily Adams from America.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Lily extended her hand.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Lily, I am sorry we have not met before. I have been supervising the farm workers and Jacques has been keeping you all to himself.” Jean-Claude swept off his hat and actually bowed to her. He replaced his hat and clasped both of her hands, gazing at her with such a fond expression that she was momentarily taken aback. She saw the cheek-kiss routine coming, though and was prepared for it, although the third and fourth kisses were a surprise. Jack had told her that a fourth kiss was basically reserved for special occasions.

Jean-Claude drew back, still holding her hands in his work-hardened ones. “Ah, Mademoiselle, my good wife said you were beautiful, and I can see she was not exaggerating.”

Lily reddened and Jean-Claude shook his head. “Ah, the touch of the rose on your cheeks. Jacques, you old dog, what did you ever do to deserve such a pretty girl?”

“Nothing,
mon ami,
nothing.”

“Too true.” The older man barked out a loud laugh. “Eh, but I should not tell all of your secrets today, no?”

“No,” Jack said firmly.

“Oh, you’ve known each other a long time, then?” Lily asked.

“A lifetime,
chérie,
” Jack answered. “Jean-Claude came to Provence with the Roman legions and liked it so much he stayed.”

Jean-Claude gave him a narrow stare. “Are you calling me an old man?”

“Just joking,” Jack said hastily. “You are a man of experience, seasoned like an expensive red wine.”

“That is better, you young punk.” Jean-Claude let go of Lily’s hands and slapped Jack on the back again. He bent and broke off a lavender sprig. “
Voilà,
Mademoiselle. This is the best lavender in France.” He offered it to her.

Lily inhaled deeply. The perfume spiraled up into her nose, making her almost dizzy with the ripe scent.

Jack steadied her. She smiled at the men. “Powerful. But it doesn’t smell like what I’m used to.”

“You are used to the scent of the lavandin plant, a sterile hybrid that has more of a woodsy, camphor smell,” Jack told her.

“Good for soap and clothes washing, but perfume—bah!” Jean-Claude waved his hands dismissively. “No good unless you want to smell like laundry.” He puffed out his chest. “In fact, we are providing the lavender oil for an upcoming royal wedding. The bride is creating a perfume to be sold for her children’s charity.”

“Fascinating.” Lily turned to Jack. “Did you know about this?”

“Many of the details are hush-hush, right, Jean-Claude?”

The older man put a finger to his mustache in a shushing gesture. “But of course.”

Lily was disappointed not to have a big scoop like this but she wasn’t some tabloid journalist to snoop around. “Tell me all the details as soon as you can.”

Jean-Claude spread his hands wide. “I promise, you will be the first to know.” His stomach growled loudly. “Lunch!” he called to the crew, who cheered and straightened. “I would invite you to eat with us, but Marthe-Louise told me you are going on a picnic.”

“I thought we’d go to the northeast field. It has a great view and some shade.”

“Ah,
oui,
that field will be ready for harvest next week. But not yet—there will be no one around.” Jean-Claude didn’t quite wink or waggle his eyebrows, but Lily got the gist of it.

“
Merci,
Jean-Claude. We’ll see you later.” Jack put his arm around Lily’s shoulders and they strolled back to the car.

The northeast field was as beautiful as the lower field, overlooking the valley. A large oak tree stood nearby, and Jack spread out their picnic blanket underneath it.

“What did Marthe-Louise pack for lunch?” Lily asked eagerly.

He opened the big cooler and handed her a plate from the smaller bag of supplies. “Cold roasted chicken, ham on baguettes, a wheel of goat cheese, crackers, fruit and her special potato–green bean salad with an oil-and-vinegar dressing.”

Lily’s mouth watered as he served her a heaping plateful. “Any dessert?”

“But of course.” He grinned at her, lifting a container. “Cherry tarts, made fresh from our own trees.”

She moaned in anticipation, and he laughed. “I’ve heard you make that sound before.”

She swatted at him with her fork. “I enjoy the basics of life.”

“And that is why you fit in so well here.” He gestured to the beautiful farmland and perfect weather. “The basics of life are the best things in life.” He pulled out a bottle of white wine and deftly decanted it into two goblets. Marthe-Louise had thought of everything.

Lily raised hers. “A toast to the most beautiful day in the most beautiful place on earth.”

“To the most beautiful woman on earth.” He raised his in return.

“Where?” Lily looked around, half in jest, but subsided when he gave her a stern look. “Well, um, thank you.”

“To the most beautiful woman on earth,” he repeated, and they touched rims.

“A votre santé.”
She remembered the traditional French toast to his health.

Jack smiled approvingly. “Very good.” They drank some wine and did their best to do justice to Marthe-Louise’s picnic.

Between the wine, the sun and the hypnotic buzzing of the cicadas, Lily’s eyes started to droop by the end of the meal.

“Come lie down,
chérie,
we will have dessert later.” He cleared the remnants of their meal and beckoned to her.

“Only for a little,” she insisted. He nodded and she rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

It seemed like only a few minutes later, but the angle of the sun had dropped when she opened her eyes to find Jack watching her, an indescribable expression of tenderness on his face.

Without saying a word, she reached for him. Their clothes quickly disappeared and he was inside her, their gazes still locked. She didn’t close her eyes until her senses were overwhelmed with the touch of his body, the scent of the lavender, the heat of the day and the blue of the sky.

They came simultaneously, and stayed in each other’s arms for another eternity. Lily wondered at the perfection of it all, knowing she was at least half in love with Jack, if not totally. And remembering the expression on his face as she’d awoken, she thought he might feel the same way.

L
ILY SHUT DOWN
her laptop after webchatting with Sarah. Her cousin was predictably over the moon with her pregnancy, which was continuing well, but not so engrossed that she forgot to warn Lily about the dangers of strange men, particularly strange Frenchmen.

Sarah had lowered her voice, presumably not to have her husband, Carl, overhear, and said, “Lily, believe me, I spent a whole year and several summers there. I know how sexy and charming they can be. There was this one chef in Lyon who could do the most amazing things with chocolate…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes got dreamy for a second as Lily watched in amusement. “But that’s not the point.”

“The point is that I am being careful and having as much fun with Jack as you did with your pastry chef.”

“That much, huh?” Sarah had sighed in nostalgia. “Oh, well, all of that is off my plate, so to speak, until I hear the all-clear from the doc. I’ll get the details from you at some point, but not now.”

Lily smiled as she remembered all the so-called details of last night. She stretched and stood up from the desk. Jack was up in the lavender fields with Marthe-Louise’s husband Jean-Claude. Lily worried about him overexerting himself, but Jean-Claude seemed to look after Jack like a kindly old uncle.

The morning sun and sky were too nice to waste indoors. She ran upstairs and pulled on her swimsuit, a lime-green string bikini. Only old ladies wore one-piece suits in France. Even then, they rolled down the top and went topless like everyone else at the beach.

No issues like that at their private pool, however. Thanks to
Oncle
Pierre’s privacy issues, a high limestone wall surrounded the pool area.

She went downstairs with a towel and grabbed a bottle of sparking water and a bowl of plump red grapes.

She carried her snack outside and decided to get some color, lying down on the large chaise lounge. With her round-framed sunglasses and pricey French water, she felt positively decadent. All she needed was a pool boy.

She closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sun. She drifted in and out of sleep, enjoying the lavender-and-rosemary scented breeze.

“A good idea on such a hot afternoon.”

Ah, there was the pool boy. She opened her eyes to see Jack wearing a tiny competitive-swimmer type suit.

“Ack, what is that?” She still wasn’t used to European-style men’s swimsuits.

“Oh, is this the clothing-optional pool? I should have realized.” He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and calmly pulled them off, kicking them away.

“Jack!” Sure, she’d been naked with him, and in daylight, too, but that time in the lavender field had seemed like a dream.

“Come on, sunbathe topless. You’re in France, you know.”

“Oh, fine.” She rolled onto her stomach, untying the bottom string so her back was bare. She rested her face on her arms, ignoring his laughter. “If you want to get sunburned on your…well, that’s up to you.”

He laughed even harder and sat next to her. “Maybe you could put some sun lotion on my…well…”

Lily rolled onto her side. “Oh, yeah? And why should I do that?”

“I’d do the same for you.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She looked down and saw her top had shifted to the side, baring her breasts. “Hmmph.” She unknotted the tie at her neck and tossed the two triangles aside.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said in appreciation. “We’ll make a Frenchwoman out of you yet.”

She sniffed. “Somehow I can’t imagine your Provence ladies wanting to sunbathe topless.” The image of Marthe-Louise getting a lineless tan was a bit much to imagine.