by Risk, Mona
“I will assist you.” Yves waved to Mary-Beth to move away. She understood his need to help his old servant and stepped back to watch the delicate procedure.
If they were in the U.S., the cardiologist would have asked Yves to leave the OR during surgery on a patient he personally knew. In this hospital Dr. Malroux was next to God. No one dared question him as she’d discovered in the last four weeks.
His face etched with tense lines, he didn’t interfere but closely followed Dr. Julien’s careful moves. “Hubert, do you feel any discomfort?”
“Non.” He smiled weakly. “Glad you are here.”
“Done,” Dr. Julien said a moment later. “I wish all our patients were as good as you, Hubert.”
“Thank you, Julien, for acting so swiftly.” All the while, Yves kept rubbing Hubert’s shoulder with as much tenderness as if the old butler was his father.
“I will have him admitted. We will keep him under observation for a couple of days,” Dr. Julien told the nurse who waited next to the gurney.
Yves frowned. “I will play it safe and keep him here until we are sure he is completely recovered.”
“As you wish.” Even the eminent cardiologist didn’t question Dr. Malroux’s orders.
The nurse wheeled Hubert out. Yves walked beside the gurney and Mary-Beth followed to see how she could help. When Hubert was settled in a room in the Cardiac Unit and hooked to a heart monitor, she approached the bed. “You’re in good hands. I’ll go home now and come back first thing tomorrow.”
“Dr. Mary-Beth, thank you. Without you driving so fast, I could have died.”
“What do you mean?” Yves spun toward her, his eyebrows arched. “Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”
“I was about to. Hubert said we’d go faster if we cut through the fields in his Jeep.”
“Oh, mon Dieu. I can’t believe my ears. You drove that old piece of junk without doors? Through the fallow fields? At night?”
“Yves,” Hubert said, forgetting his usual decorum. “She was superbe. She drove even faster than me.”
Yves paled. “I think I am the one having a heart attack now. Mary-Beth—”
“Don’t say a word. I had to get Hubert to the hospital within ten minutes. The ambulance would have taken at least fifteen minutes to reach us through the normal roads and fifteen more to come back to the hospital.”
“She saved my life.” The look the butler gave her overflowed with gratitude.
“It was the least I could do. Good night, Hubert.” She bent and kissed his cheek. When she raised her head, she was surprised by the intense look Yves fixed on her.
As she stepped out of the room, he followed and walked beside her. She stopped. “Yes? Do you need something?”
“No. I am just taking you home.”
“Yves, don’t start—”
“You have already given me my quota of angst for the day. I’m not going to worry about you while you careened through the fields at 11 pm. Hubert’s Jeep is as old as he is and breaks down ten times a month. I’m thirty-six, a ripe age for heart attacks.” He gave her a devilish smile. “Do you want to have mine on your conscience?”
She burst out laughing. “You’re impossible, you know.”
“Come. Don’t waste time. I need to be back soon to stay with Hubert overnight. Go change. We’ll meet in the lobby in five minutes.” He firmly pushed her toward the elevator. When she arrived in the lobby dressed in the maroon pantsuit she wore at the start of the day, she found him in a white shirt and striped tie, as conservative as he always looked when not in scrubs. He led her to his Ferrari. “We will use my car. I am not taking chances with Nascar.”
“With who?”
“Hubert didn’t tell you he calls his Jeep Nascar?”
She chuckled. “I didn’t know. What an appropriate name.” She slid into the passenger seat and sent him a sidelong glance. “You’re very fond of him.”
“He’s been more of a father to me than my real father.”
She sobered. “Excuse me?”
Yves started his car and proceeded at a leisurely speed. “Hubert raised me. When I was born, he had already lost his only son to typhoid. His wife became my nanny. By the time I was four, Hubert decided I needed a manly influence to keep me on track. He taught me to ride and fence, swim and play football, your American soccer. He encouraged me to go to medical school.” Yves chuckled at his own reminiscences. “You can’t imagine the number of times he spanked me to teach me to be a noble comte as he said.”
“Spanked you? I can’t believe it. He’s always so formal.”
“When I turned eighteen and went to the Sorbonne, he started calling me Monsieur le Viscomte, and after my father died, Monsieur le Comte. Without Hubert and his wife I would have been a very lonely child, deprived of parental love and guidance.”
Lonely and emotionally deprived as she’d been after her parents’ plane accident.
A wave of sympathy swelled in Mary-Beth’s heart. Amazing, she’d never imagined she and Yves had anything in common except their medical profession.
Was it because he’d been neglected by his parents that he’d avoided making any lasting commitments to women?
She looked at him as if she had begun to discover the real Yves—nurturing and warm-hearted—under the charming heartbreaker’s façade. The one who cared for his villagers and treated his butler like a father, the one who’d worried about her because she’d been out in the night alone. The few loving bonds he’d developed were as solid as gold.
She liked that man and wanted his friendship with every fiber in her body. Not only for the two more months of training left, but for much longer, if possible.
How? In two months, she’d be married to Steve and would have to forget Yves and her residency program in France. Too busy attending a conference on a cruise ship, Steve hadn’t called for several days.
And she hadn’t missed him.
What was happening to her feelings for her fiancé?
“What feelings?” a voice whispered from deep in her heart. A voice she’d so often ignored.
Her heart pinched and nausea roiled in her stomach. Why was she marrying Steve? She had mulled over Yves’s question at length and hadn’t come up with an acceptable answer. Suddenly, the idea of getting married to her old mentor terrified her more than the loneliness she had endured after Yves left her.
How could she marry Steve when the impending wedding loomed over her like a storm of anxiety and apprehension?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A short while later, Yves pulled his car along the sidewalk lining the Cher River and turned off the ignition. Tonight, he’d finally managed to take Mary-Beth out to dinner and he hoped to improve her opinion of him.
Before exiting the car, she looked right and left. “We’re not at Marancourt?”
“No. We are going to my favorite restaurant. We both deserve some relaxation and a good meal. I’m famished.”
“What about Hubert?”
“I gave orders for Hubert to be monitored until I get back to the hospital. We can dine without worry.”
“I’m sure he must be asleep by now.”
What, no argument? No protest? He wanted to punch the air victoriously. He got out of the car and circled to open the door for her. She accepted his hand to get out of the low seat and immediately shook from his grasp.
“Lovely place,” she said when she entered the cozy yet stylish dining room.
“It used to be an old country-style canteen that was renovated a few years ago.”
“Really?” She surveyed the place with an admiring gaze. “Country-style with all these paintings and statues? I feel like I’m in a little museum. Look at these stained-glass windows.”
Delighted with her enthusiasm, Yves smiled. “A table for two, Sylvie,” he told the beaming hostess who greeted him at the reservations desk.
“Monsieur le Comte, you didn’t go to Paris this weekend? What a pleasure to have you here for the ev
ening.” The corners of Sylvie’s eyes crinkled with curiosity as she flicked intermittent glances toward Mary-Beth.
Couldn’t the woman keep her mouth shut? Marancourt was even worse than the hospital when it came to spreading gossip. Yves guessed that every member of his community had learned to share stories about the chateau’s owners the moment they learned to spell their own names. At least their hostess seated them in a discreet booth in the small annex to the main dining room.
“A bottle of Château Marancourt as usual?” She sent furtive glances at his lovely companion.
“Of course. We don’t want to help the competition. This wine comes from our own vineyards,” he added after the hostess came back with a bottle of red wine.
Yves rotated the bottle between his hands, tilted it to examine the label and uncorked it himself. He poured a small glass and brought it to his nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled. “Dry, fruity, sublime.” He savored slowly. “A wine unique in texture, created for the discriminating palate. Mary-Beth, you must taste this.” He handed her a glass and raised his in a toast. “I hope you will continue to enjoy your stay in our Vallée de la Loire.”
She took a sip. “Hmm, it’s good. I’m not a wine expert, but I love the smooth taste. ”
“Château Marancourt is one of the best reds of la Touraine, the finest cabernet in France.” Gazing at his drink, Yves rolled the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. “This wine was the pride of my grandfather and father.”
“You produce your own wine?”
“We have one hundred acres of vineyards in Marancourt. I moved back to the chateau after my father’s death to take over the business.”
“Is that a big business?” Her eyes rounded with an admiration that pleased him immensely.
“It is now. We meet the local consumption and have started exporting to other European countries. Soon I hope we can target the U.S. markets and compete with the Napa Valley brands.” He lifted his palms in a wishful gesture.
“You’re involved in so many different endeavors. When do you find the time to deal with all this work?”
“I have several managers in charge of the vineyards. Others supervise the wine production, the marketing and sales. I don’t get involved unless there is a problem.” He smiled delighted by her interest. “Another glass perhaps?”
“Sure.” She chuckled, a crystalline laughter that chimed like music. “I’m developing a taste for it.”
“Magnifique. How about steaks for dinner with Sylvie’s famous sauce and potatoes?”
“I’d love to try Sylvie’s menu.” He arched his eyebrows. Mary-Beth was so easy-going tonight, he should pinch his arm to make sure her laid-back attitude wasn’t a product of his imagination.
“Were you supposed to be in Paris today?”
It would have been too much to hope she hadn’t heard the comment about his weekends in Paris. He shrugged. “I haven’t been to Paris since last month.”
She tilted her head. “Why not?”
“There’s nothing for me in Paris. The Vallée de la Loire is by far more pleasant at the moment.” His meaningless Parisian escapades had lost their appeal since Mary-Beth had arrived at his chateau.
His thoughts in chaos, he relished the glimmer of her violet-blue eyes and the lusciousness of her sensual lips. He could rhapsodize about her beauty forever, although at the moment he’d rather listen to her easy chat and bubbly laughter.
“I’m not in the habit of paying attention to gossip.” She chewed on her lip and paused. “But I have to warn you that the hospital and village are rampant with stories about the Parisian weekends of Monsieur le Comte.” She chuckled, merriment dancing in her huge eyes.
“Did you believe them?”
“Every one of them,” she said with an adorable smile.
He’d never blushed in his life, but to hear Mary-Beth tease him without batting an eye was rather disturbing. Sylvie helped him recover by bringing another bottle of wine for him to test. Yves filled two wineglasses, inhaled its aroma, and swallowed a large sip.
“It’s good. A ta santé.” He clinked his glass against hers.
“Cheers.” She sipped slowly and glanced at him above the rim of her glass. “About your stories, wanna hear my favorite?”
Mon Dieu, he wanna kiss the mouth bubbling with laughter.
He burst out laughing. “Tell me your favorite one.” Apparently the wine had loosened her tongue. He couldn’t wait to hear her special story.
She smoothed her napkin on her lap and primly crossed her hands on the table. “It’s about a certain…” She paused, looked right and left, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “A certain Amélie who had locked you stark naked in her closet, because she thought her father was coming, and it turned out it was her fiancé who—”
“Enough.” Sacrebleu, he couldn’t believe that story had gotten out. If he ever saw Amélie again, he’d wring her pretty neck. And then it hit him. He didn’t care about Amélie, or Chantal or anyone.
He just wanted to share a good time with the lovely woman sitting in front of him. “You’re right. Now I find it hilarious. I stayed half an hour in there and tried not to listen to the poor guy’s effort to seduce his unfaithful fiancée. When she finally pushed him to the door and opened the damned closet, I left without a word and never talked to her again.” He covered both of Mary-Beth’s hands with his. “Would it be possible for you to forget the stories of my unsavory past?”
“Why?” Her gaze tangled with his as if she wanted to study and assess him before passing final judgment.
“Because…” Still lost in the blue depths of her eyes, he paused. He was more than ready to give up his mistresses and his past life-style, and taste monogamy with her. His Adam’s apple jolted. “Because the present is always more fun than old gossip.”
“The present?” Mary-Beth wasn’t helping him one bit, but she wasn’t laughing anymore.
How could he forget? Her present was a fiancé he wanted to kick out of the way.
She shrugged. “My present is my training here. Then I’m going back to Boston, to Steve and a successful career,” she continued in a weaker voice.
Yves raised his hand and reached for her cheek. “About Steve—”
“Please, I’d rather not discuss my fiancé with you.” Her tone suddenly frosty, she lowered her eyes and crumbled a piece of bread.
He clenched his fist and dropped his arm.
After dinner, he drove her home. A heavy silence settled in the car as if Steve’s ghost haunted them. Unfortunately, Steve Galt was no ghost but a major pain in his ass.
In the foyer of the chateau, Yves bowed over her hand and kissed the tip of her fingers. “Thank you for taking care of Hubert. I’ll be forever grateful.”
“Don’t even mention it.”
“I have to return to see him now. Bonne nuit.” He pulled her against him, kissed her on the cheeks three times, then steeled himself and held her at arm’s length, holding her gaze.
“Yves,” she murmured his name as if she returned his caress.
They still had two months of the allotted three together. Only two months for him to convince her that Steve Galt was not the right man for her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alone in her room, Mary-Beth grabbed her cell phone and clicked on Steve’s picture. Her eyebrows gathered in a scowl as she studied the features of the man she had to marry in two months. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”
A knock on the door interrupted her musing. “Come in.”
“I came to say goodbye. I’m leaving tomorrow.” Jennifer entered and closed the door behind her. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I can’t do it. I can’t marry Steve.”
“Oh, sweetie, it was obvious all along.”
Mary-Beth extended her hand, showing Steve’s picture on her cell phone.
“He’s still a handsome man.” Jennifer frowned as she carefully examined the picture. “In spite of
the puffiness under his eyes, the lines curving around his mouth.”
“What? Where?” Her finger trailed over the picture. “Oh, I guess I never noticed. He’s kind and protective. Maybe too protective at times, but I felt so secure at his side. And he pampered me and showered me with gifts and advice. I thought he was the right one for me.”
“Sweetie, he’s your fiancé, not your dad.” Her friend cupped her shoulders and shook her. “Wake up. A woman needs more from her man. What about kisses and caresses? Greg makes me scream with pleasure. Don’t you need that too?”
Warmth crept over Mary-Beth’s cheeks. “I slept with him for three months.”
“And? How was it?”
Mary-Beth lowered her eyes and twiddled her thumbs.
“Look at me. I’m your friend. Did you sleep the whole night in his arms?”
“At the beginning,” she said with a sigh that spoke volumes.
“And then later, you went to the kitchen for a glass of milk or you read a book in the living room or watched a late movie.”
Mary-Beth spun toward her friend. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been in a boring relationship. A wrong relationship. I left after a few months.”
“How did he cope with the break?”
“He married another woman a year later.”
She squirmed under Jennifer’s sympathetic gaze then stared back at Steve’s picture.
“Is that why you came here before the wedding? To avoid him?” Jennifer said with a gentle voice.
“No.”
“So why you did come to France?”
A sheepish smile escaped her and she sighed. Jennifer would not betray her secret. “Because I mumbled another man’s name during our lovemaking.”
“Oh my.”
“Thank God he didn’t hear me but it triggered an alarm in my mind about…about getting married to Steve while still carrying a torch for another.”
“My poor Mary-Beth.” Jennifer shook her head with understanding and then arched an eyebrow. “If I were you, instead of flying all the way to France to get distracted, I would have arranged to meet the man I loved and check my feelings.”