by Risk, Mona
Mary-Beth evaluated the information. “But later, when Yves grew up, things improved with his parents, no?”
Hubert made a scornful gesture with his hand. “Nothing improved. My wife and I, we did our best when he was growing up, but we are servants.”
“You did a wonderful job.” Mary-Beth patted his hands, sincerely grateful to the old man who loved his young master so much. “Yves told me you were like a father to him.”
“Yves needed a substitute for the affection he never had from his parents. He tried to find it with the girls. He loved a pretty one while at the university.” Hubert shook his head. “Poor Yves, he was not lucky.”
“Why? What happened?” Did she dump him or had he left her? Enthralled by each word the butler uttered, Mary-Beth bit her lips.
“They dated for two years. His parents didn’t want the wedding because she wasn’t from an aristocratic family and she wasn’t rich. Two conditions that the count and countess insisted upon. Yves left home and married her anyway. And then Rose-Anne became very ill. She had leukemia. Yves spent days and nights at her bedside. He did everything he could for her but…” Sadness overshadowed Hubert’s face.
“Oh God, he must have loved her so much.”
“Yes, very much. He called the Rose Clinic after her.”
To receive such love and then die. Her chest tightened for the young woman. “It’s so sad.” And yet, a tinge of envy invaded her heart.
“Yes, very sad. That is why he remained a bachelor.”
“Oh.” Now, she understood why he left her after that crazy night together, why he ran away when she said she loved him. It was the only decent thing to do.
“To cope with the tragedy, he dedicated himself to his patients, got involved in the winery and kept very busy.”
Busy dating pretty women. Mary-Beth stifled her exclamation in time.
“Now his mother wants him to marry, and me, too, by the way. We want Yves to give us some babies to love.”
Mary-Beth shrugged. Considering Yves’s flirtatious streak, why would he burden himself with a wife? “He doesn’t want to marry, right?”
Hubert chuckled. “A butler is not supposed to divulge family secrets. But I can tell you because you saved my life. Yves said he’ll get married. Eventually when he reaches forty or forty-five, or even fifty.”
“Forty or fifty?” She pursed her lips, not sure if she was amused or distraught at such evidence of Yves’s aversion to commitment.
“He keeps postponing, but his mother is trying to locate a bride.”
Mary-Beth stood. She had one last crucial question, and then she’d stop quizzing her patient and let him rest.
“Considering his parents’ example, wouldn’t it be better if he first finds a woman he wants, and then marries her?”
“You are right, but I think Yves suffered so much after Rose-Anne’s death he won’t put his heart at risk again.”
Good thing, Mary-Beth had rid herself of any romantic notion concerning her charming boss, even if she appreciated his professional compliments, even if she was tickled by his failed attempt at flirtation. Now she saw him as an excellent surgeon and a great mentor, and maybe a friend for the next two months.
“I think the best he can give his life partner is friendship and respect.” Hubert shrugged. “I can’t blame him, although I wish he could change.”
She snorted. Hadn’t she believed in that theory too? “Friendship and respect aren’t enough for a good marriage.”
Hubert nodded. “I completely agree with you. Besides, as far as I know, Yves never had friends. Hey, don’t chew on your nails, Dr. Mary-Beth. It’s not healthy. ”
She pulled her hand away from her mouth, looked at her damaged nail and rubbed it. “Okay, I’d better ring your nurse to bring your medicine. You need to rest. I’ll go on rounds and be back in an hour.”
“Dr. Mary-Beth, I wish you were free, and French. You would be so good for my boy.”
“Why, thank you, for your generous compliment.”
She was free, but not French, and completely opposed to marriage, especially to his boy. Yves’s heart still belonged to his wife.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mary-Beth straightened her back and rolled her shoulders. She was exhausted. What a long day. After her usual rounds, she’d checked on Hubert again at two o’clock, then left to visit Sophie.
As Mary-Beth strode across the parking lot toward the hospital, Yves waved from the sidewalk. “You’re back again?” He came to her and kissed her on the cheeks three times. Taken by surprise, she jolted back and tried to ignore his heart-stopping smile.
“What’s wrong? Friends greet each other with three kisses in France. Don’t you know this by now?”
“Yes, of course.” So what if he gave her a peck on the cheek? Right, left and right again. Everyone in France welcomed her in the same way. Except that Yves’s pecks were…ahem…definitely not like Sophie’s or Brigitte’s, or even Roberto’s or Carlos’s.
They were not light, or swift, or impersonal. They were gentle, insistent, lingering, delicious. Was she supposed to ignore the incandescent heat that lit her cheeks the minute his lips touched them?
“I…I want to check on Hubert again.” Oh dear, she could become addicted to Yves’s friendly kisses. They were more invigorating than a shot of adrenaline, more uplifting than a glass of bubbly Champagne.
“Hubert is fine, but you don’t look well. Tired?” He gave her a professional once-over.
“Just out of breath. I’ve been at Sophie Marin’s to check on the progress of her recovery.”
“And?” he asked as he led her down a corridor to the elevator.
“She’s doing great with the diet I recommended. I also took Béatrice, Hubert’s friend, with me.”
“Hubert’s friend?” Yves burst out laughing. “More like his oppressor. One day she will suffocate him with her attentions,” he said as they entered the elevator.
“Hubert asked me to help her lose weight before he takes her to the wine festival.”
“Really? Hubert with a date. The heart attack has definitely changed his philosophy on women. So, did you help Béatrice?”
Yves pressed the button for the fourth floor. Too late Mary-Beth remembered she’d sworn off these asphyxiating machines. His after-shave and minty breath wafted in the confined space and his lips twitched as he devoured her with his eyes. She frowned and pressed herself against the wall. Would she ever get used to these tiny elevators? Too narrow, too slow, too old.
What did he say? Oh, yes, Sophie and Béatrice. “I ended up examining both women. Then I baked a healthy snack for us and low calorie cookies. I left them with a brochure I’d printed from the Mayo Clinic website about obesity and the need to eat the right food and walk an hour every day.”
“I can never say it enough. Your patients are lucky to have you for their doctor.”
Mary-Beth blushed at the admiration she read in his eyes. “I enjoy cooking and baking the healthy way.”
“I see that. Would you like to establish an official support group for the people of Marancourt who want to lose weight? I can let you use a room at the free clinic.”
“That would be wonderful. I’d save so much time if I could gather them twice a week at the clinic. Can we give this support group a name?” The elevator finally lurched and stopped. Alleluia.
“How about ‘Santé et Beauté Clinique’ for ‘Health and Beauty Clinic’?”
“Perfect name. Thank you for your thoughtful gesture,” she said with a big smile.
Before they entered Hubert’s room, Yves held her arm. “Do you have a previous engagement for tonight?”
“Not anymore. Roberto and Carlos offered to take me to Paris for the weekend. Can you imagine I haven’t been there yet? But I canceled. I can’t leave Hubert until he recovers.”
“Good.” His lashes covered the burning flame in his eyes.
Was it only gratitude, friendship, or part of a flirtatious g
ame, something she’d rather ignore?
“To thank you for taking such good care of Hubert, I would like to take you to Paris. Maybe next Saturday? We can leave early morning and be back late at night. What do you say?”
“It’d be wonderful. I’ll definitely wait for you to give me the grand tour.”
“So tonight you’re available,” he said with a crooked smile.
“Excuse me?” Incorrigible playboy. “What do you mean?”
He chuckled. “Just checking if you will have dinner with me at the chateau. I would also like to show you the different clinic rooms and let you choose one for your new group.”
“Oh, sure.”
How embarrassing. He only meant dinner, while she imagined a fiery kiss, maybe more. Oh dear, she was the one with the lusty mind. That should teach her to jump to the wrong conclusion regarding Yves.
****
Suppressing a smile, Yves knocked on Hubert’s door and let Mary-Beth pass in front of him. She trusted him now and he’d have her to himself tonight for a cozy dinner, then next Saturday for a sight-seeing tour of Paris and hopefully the week after for the wine festival. By then, he’d hope he could convince her of the big mistake she’d be making if she married her fiancé.
“Bonsoir, Hubert.” Yves gently squeezed his butler’s hand.
“Hi, feeling better?” Mary-Beth asked
Hubert groaned. “I would be much better if that woman stopped sucking my blood all day long. Do I have any red fluid left in my veins? I think she’s making excuses to come here and nag me.”
“You’re talking about Béatrice?” Mary-Beth twitched her lips at Hubert’s blatant aggravation. “I just left her at my friend’s house an hour ago,”
“Well, she is back. She was here a minute ago, and she rattled on about how beautiful she will be for the wine festival. Just for me.”
Mary-Beth chuckled. “You’ve given her a terrific incentive to improve her health. And she’s put in a lot of effort to lose weight.”
“Talking about the wine festival,” Yves said as he turned toward Mary-Beth. “It’s something you’ve never seen before. I would like to take you.”
“Carlos and Roberto have already asked me and Sophie, to go with them. Sophie will be fine by then.”
“I’m not worried about her. She should be completely recovered. And there will be enough doctors around her, though one of the residents will have to be on call that night. I better tell Carlos ahead of time not to make plans.”
Her eyes narrowed, Mary-Beth considered him for a moment. “I guess one of them has to stay behind. I’m glad you’re letting Roberto come, because Sophie is interested in him.”
“I’m delighted it’s working well. Now why don’t you examine Hubert?”
Back in his professional skin, Yves observed Mary-Beth as she listened to their patient’s breathing through her stethoscope.
“His lungs are clear.” She uncovered his chest, raised his arm, and examined the incision site where the catheter had been inserted. “He’s healing well.”
Yves studied the heart monitor. “BP 120 over 60. Not bad at all. Dr. Julien may let you out soon.”
“The cardiologist said that I should begin to walk around. I can be out of this place the day after tomorrow. I can’t wait to be home and away from Béatrice’s claws.”
Yves burst out laughing and then tsked. “You taught me to always be courteous with the ladies.”
“I also taught you to have good taste, my boy. And not to interfere in other people’s business.”
Shaking his head, Yves snorted. “He’s recovering quickly, all right. He’s getting his strength back and his argumentative mind.”
An aide brought Hubert’s dinner. Yves helped him sit up, and Mary-Beth rearranged the pillows behind his back.
“We are going to let you have dinner. I will be back to spend the night at your bedside.”
“No, it’s my turn,” Mary-Beth said. “You haven’t slept all night.”
“Thank you for the offer. I have to be with Hubert. He’s my closest… He’s my responsibility. Let’s go home now and have dinner.”
He’d almost left the room, when Hubert called him. “I need a word with you.”
“Sure. Excuse me, Mary-Beth.”
He strolled back to the bed. Hubert beckoned him to come closer. Yves bent toward him. “Yes? What is it?”
“Too bad she’s not French and rich. She would make a perfect countess.”
“Hubert, are you out of your mind?”
“I mean it, Yves. She could be the one—”
“First, I will never marry a woman for her money. I’m escalating the wine production. Hopefully, the next cuvée will win the Napa contest.”
“I don’t want you to kill yourself working.”
“And second, how about not interfering in other people’s business, as you reminded me a few minutes ago?”
“I still believe she would be the best for you, my boy,” the stubborn man insisted with a hopeful glance toward the door.
“For your information, she’s engaged, and I’m not ready to marry yet.”
“I know she’s engaged, but you can change any woman’s mind if you want. Mary-Beth is worth it, and she’s leaving in a month and a half.”
Yves stiffened. Less than two months with Mary-Beth? He’d better make the most of this time. “Au revoir, Hubert. I don’t have time to argue.”
At the chateau, Yves was faced with the annoying news that his cook had left for the evening, thinking that Monsieur le Comte would dine in town. “We will have to turn around and go to a restaurant.”
“No, please. I’m not in the mood to eat out tonight. Would you mind if I fix us something?” Mary-Beth suggested.
“Not at all.” She’d cook for him? How sweet. He couldn’t ask for more. “Look in the freezer. We have various packages of meat and vegetables.” Not that he’d ever looked at these packages before, but if Cook had put them there, they were probably edible, and if Mary-Beth cooked them they’d be delicious.
“I’ll grill us some veal, sauté artichokes and mushrooms with a sauce béarnaise, and I’ll fix a spinach soufflé.”
He’d be damned if he could differentiate raw veal, from raw beef or lamb. Wine he could discuss all day long. “These are French recipes, right?”
She mesmerized him with her smile. “Just because they have French names doesn’t mean they’re restricted to France. I love to cook. Next time, I can make you something Italian.”
“Whatever you like. I trust you to eat healthily.” As long as there’d be a next time, he’d eat anything out of her hands. He wouldn’t mind eating out of her mouth too. Those pretty lips would cause his downfall if he kept staring at them.
“Can you drink while you cook?”
“Of course.”
He poured her a glass. “It looks like you are accustomed to our wine now.”
“Unfortunately, yes. It adds a lot of calories.”
“Oh, please. Save the lecture for Béatrice and Sophie.”
Mary-Beth defrosted the meat in the microwave, shook it in a plastic bag with some herbs, and added half a glass of wine. Any food cooked with wine got his stamp of approval. He never expected her to find her way around a kitchen as easily as the OR. “Can I help?”
“Set the oven to bake and adjust the timer to thirty minutes.”
He obeyed, happy to share in the work, and remained close, enjoying the sight of her, all flushed from the oven heat and her effort, while she cooked the vegetables and mushrooms.
The smell of garlic and spices floated in the kitchen. He licked his lips, ready to savor every morsel she prepared. He wished he could taste the cook as well. Inching closer to her, he inhaled deeply. A scent of vanilla and mandarin invaded his nostrils and the fragrance of her perfume spread to his lungs and numbed his brain. If only he could hold her for a minute. His blood roared with impatience and his whole body grew harder.
“Yves, the timer is buzzi
ng. Turn off the oven.”
“Yes, yes.” He did as she asked and went to sit at the opposite end of the kitchen, away from temptation. His gaze swung in cadence with her backside as she bent to open the oven, turned toward the sink, twisted to reach for a plate, stretched to pull a measuring cup from the cabinet. He dabbed beads of perspiration from his forehead. It was too warm in the big kitchen with the heat generated by the oven and the enticing view of her derriere.
“Yves, please, over here. I know you’re hungry. It’ll be ready in a minute.”
He groaned and dragged himself next to her. “What can I do?” There was so much he wanted to do.
“Can you set the table?”
“Sure.” Where the hell did Hubert keep the china and the silver he used when they had guests? Yves shrugged. He’d never cooked an egg or set a table in his life. Hubert didn’t deem it necessary for the future count to learn such trivialities.
“Why are you opening all the cabinets? The plates are in this one, up here.” She pointed to a particular cabinet. “And the silver is in the drawer on the extreme right. There.” She shook her head with disbelief at his ignorance and opened the drawer for him.
“Obviously the kitchen is not my domain.” But the bedroom is. This was turning into an obsession. Think of something else. Fast. “Another drink?”
“No, I haven’t finished this one. We can eat right away.” She pulled the soufflé out of the oven. Yves couldn’t recall if he’d seen her prepare it.
“Should I take the china to the dining room?”
“The formal dining room? Of course not. We’ll eat in here. It’s more cozy.”
He wasn’t sure she’d like to hear his definition of coziness in a kitchen. A picture of Mary-Beth sitting on his lap, feeding him with her lips, popped into his mind. He loosened his tie, sucked in a deep breath, and gulped his wine.
“Bon appetite, Yves.”
“Bon appetit, chérie.” Too late he realized he used the wrong endearment. Her eyes widened and then lowered to her plate. He had to distract her, quickly. “It’s very, very good. Succulent.” He savored his veal and took a bite of soufflé. “I never knew you were such a good cook.”