Search for Love

by Nora Roberts

  It meant nothing, she insisted silently and applied herself to the succulent lobster on her plate. She’d been kissed before and she would be kissed again. She would not allow any moody tyrant to give her one more moment’s concern. Deciding to resume her role in the game of casual formality, she sipped from her glass and made a comment on the character of the wine.

  “You find it agreeable?” Christophe picked up the trend of conversation in an equally light tone. “It is the château’s own Muscadet. We produce a small quantity each year for our own enjoyment and for the immediate vicinity.”

  “I find it very agreeable,” Serenity commented. “How exciting to enjoy wine made from your own vineyards. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”

  “The Muscadet is the only wine produced in Brittany,” the countess informed Serenity with a smile. “We are primarily a province of the sea and lace.”

  Serenity ran a finger over the snowy-white cloth that adorned the oak table. “Brittany lace, it’s exquisite. It looks so fragile, yet years only increase the beauty.”

  “Like a woman,” Christophe murmured, and Serenity lifted her eyes to meet his dark regard.

  “But then, there are also the cattle.” She grabbed at the topic to cover momentary confusion.

  “Ah, the cattle.” His lips curved, and Serenity had the uncomfortable impression that he was well aware of his effect on her.

  “Having lived in the city all my life, I’m totally ignorant when it comes to cattle.” She floundered on, more and more disconcerted by the directness of his eyes. “I’m sure they make quite a picture grazing in the fields.”

  “We must introduce you to the Breton countryside,” the countess declared, drawing Serenity’s attention. “Perhaps you would care to ride out tomorrow and view the estate?”

  “I would enjoy that, Madame. I’m sure it will be a pleasant change from sidewalks and government buildings.”

  “I would be pleased to escort you, Serenity,” Christophe offered, surprising her. Turning back to him, her expression mirrored her thoughts. He smiled and inclined his head. “Do you have the suitable attire?”

  “Suitable attire?” she repeated, surprise melting into confusion.

  “But yes.” He appeared to be enjoying her changing expressions, and his smile spread. “Your taste in clothing is impeccable, but you would find it difficult to ride a horse in a gown like that.”

  Her gaze lowered to the gently flowing lines of her willow-green dress before rising to his amused glance. “Horse?” she said, frowning.

  “You cannot tour the estate in an automobile, ma petite. The horse is more adaptable.”

  At his laughing eyes, she straightened and drew out her dignity. “I’m afraid I don’t ride.”

  “C’est impossible!” the countess exclaimed in disbelief. “Gaelle was a marvelous horsewoman.”

  “Perhaps equestrian abilities are not genetic, Madame,” Serenity suggested, amused by her grandmother’s incredulous expression. “I am no horsewoman at all. I can’t control a merry-go-round pony.”

  “I will teach you.” Christophe’s words were a statement rather than a request, and she turned to him, amusement fading into hauteur.

  “How kind of you to offer, Monsieur, but I have no desire to learn. Do not trouble yourself.”

  “Nevertheless,” he stated and lifted his wineglass, “you shall. You will be ready at nine o’clock, n’est-ce pas? You will have your first lesson.”

  She glared at him, astonished by his arbitrary dismissal of her refusal. “I just told you …”

  “Try to be punctual, chérie,” he warned with deceptive laziness as he rose from the table. “You will find it more comfortable to walk to the stables than to be dragged by your golden hair.” He smiled as if the latter prospect held great appeal for him. “Bonne nuit, Grandmère,” he added with affection before he disappeared from the room, leaving Serenity fuming, and his grandmother unashamedly pleased.

  “Of all the insufferable nerve!” she sputtered when she located her voice. Turning angry eyes on the other woman, she added defiantly, “If he thinks I’m going to meekly obey and …”

  “You would be wise to obey, meekly or otherwise,” the dowager interrupted. “Once Christophe has set his mind …” With a small, meaningful shrug, she left the rest of the sentence to Serenity’s imagination. “You have slacks, I presume. Bridget will bring you a pair of your mother’s riding boots in the morning.”

  “Madame,” Serenity began slowly, as if attempting to make each word understood, “I have no intention of getting on a horse in the morning.”

  “Do not be foolish child.” A slender, ringed hand reached negligently for a wineglass. “He is more than capable of carrying out his threat. Christophe is a very stubborn man.” She smiled, and for the first time Serenity felt genuine warmth. “Perhaps even more stubborn than you.”

  Muttering strong oaths, Serenity pulled on the sturdy boots that had been her mother’s. They had been cleaned and polished to a glossy black shine and fit her small feet as if custom-made for them.

  It seems even you are conspiring against me, Maman, she silently chided her mother in despair. Then she called out a casual “Entrez” as a knock sounded on her door. It was not the little maid, Bridget, who opened the door, however, but Christophe, dressed with insouciant elegance in fawn riding breeches and a white linen shirt.

  “What do you want?” she asked with a scowl, pulling on the second boot with a firm tug.

  “Merely to see if you are indeed punctual, Serenity,” he returned with an easy smile, his eyes roaming over her mutinous face and the slim, supple body clad in a silkscreen-printed T-shirt and French tailored jeans.

  Wishing he would not always look at her as if memorizing each feature, she rose in defense. “I’m ready, Captain Bligh, but I’m afraid you won’t find me a very apt pupil.”

  “That remains to be seen, ma chérie.” His eyes swept over her again, as if considering. “You seem to be quite capable of following a few simple instructions.”

  Her eyes narrowed into jeweled slits, and she struggled with the temper he had a habit of provoking. “I am reasonably intelligent, thank you, but I don’t like being bulldozed.”

  “Pardon?” His blank expression brought out a smug smile.

  “I shall have to recall a great many colloquialisms, Cousin. Perhaps I can slowly drive you mad.”

  Serenity accompanied Christophe to the stables in haughty silence, determinedly lengthening her strides to match his gait and preventing the necessity of trailing after him like an obedient puppy. When they reached the outbuilding, a groom emerged leading two horses, bridled and saddled in anticipation. One was full black and gleaming, the other a creamy buckskin, and to Serenity’s apprehensive eyes, both were impossibly large.

  She halted suddenly and eyed the pair with a dubious frown. He wouldn’t really drag me by the hair, she thought carefully. “If I just turned around and walked away, what would you do about it?” Serenity inquired aloud.

  “I would only bring you back, ma petite.” The dark brow rose at her deepening frown, revealing he had already anticipated her question.

  “The black is obviously yours, Comte,” she concluded in a light voice, struggling to control a mounting panic. “I can already picture you galloping over the countryside in the light of a full moon, the gleam of a saber at your hip.”

  “You are very astute, Mademoiselle.” He nodded, and taking the buckskin’s reins from the groom, he walked the mount toward her. She took an involuntary step back and swallowed.

  “I suppose you want me to get on him.”

  “Her,” he corrected, mouth curving.

  She flashed at him, angry and nervous and disgusted with her own apprehension. “I’m not really concerned about its sex.” Looking over the quiet horse, she swallowed again. “She’s … she’s very large.” Her voice was fathoms weaker than she had hoped.

  “Babette is as gentle as Korrigan,” Christophe a
ssured her in unexpectedly patient tones. “You like dogs, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “She is soft, no?” He took her hand and lifted it to Babette’s smooth cheek. “She has a good heart and wishes only to please.”

  Her hand was captured between the smooth flesh of the horse and the hard insistence of Christophe’s palm, and she found the combination oddly enjoyable. Relaxing, she allowed him to guide her hand over the mare and twisted her head, smiling over her shoulder.

  “She feels nice,” she began, but as the mare blew from wide nostrils, she jumped nervously and stumbled back against Christophe’s chest.

  “Relax, chérie.” He chuckled softly, his arms encircling her waist to steady her. “She is only telling you that she likes you.”

  “It just startled me,” Serenity returned in defense, disgusted with herself, and decided it was now or never. She turned to tell him she was ready to begin, but found herself staring wordlessly into dark, enigmatic eyes as his arms remained around her.

  She felt her heart stop its steady rhythm, remaining motionless for a stifling moment, then race sporadically at a wild pace. For an instant, she believed he would kiss her again, and to her own astonishment and confusion, she realized she wanted to feel his lips on hers above all else. A frown creased his brow suddenly, and he released her in a sharp gesture.

  “We will begin.” Cool and controlled, he stepped effortlessly into the role of instructor.

  Pride took over, and Serenity became determined to be a star pupil. Swallowing her anxiety, she allowed Christophe to assist her in mounting. With some surprise, she noted that the ground was not as far away as she had anticipated, and she gave her full attention to Christophe’s instructions. She did as he bade, concentrating on following his directions precisely, determined not to make a fool of herself again.

  Serenity watched Christophe mount his stallion with a fluid grace and economy of movement she envied. The spirited black suited the dark, haughty man to perfection, and she reflected, with some distress, that not even Tony at his most ardent had ever affected her the way this strange, remote man did with his enveloping stares.

  She couldn’t be attracted to him, she argued fiercely. He was much too unpredictable, and she realized, with a flash of insight, that he could hurt her as no man had been able to hurt her before. Besides, she thought, frowning at the buckskin’s mane, I don’t like his superior, dominating attitude.

  “Have you decided to take a short nap, Serenity?” Christophe’s mocking voice brought her back with a snap, and meeting his laughing eyes, she felt herself flush to her undying consternation. “Allons-y, chérie.” Her deepening color was noted with a curve of his lips, as he directed his horse away from the stables and proceeded at a slow walk.

  They moved side by side, and after several moments Serenity found herself relaxing in the saddle. She passed Christophe’s instructions on to the mare, which responded with smooth obedience. Confidence grew, and she allowed herself to view the scenery, enjoying the caress of the sun on her face and the gentle rhythm of the horse under her.

  “Maintenant, we trot,” Christophe commanded suddenly, and Serenity twisted her head to regard him seriously.

  “Perhaps my French is not as good as I supposed. Did you say trot?”

  “Your French is fine, Serenity.”

  “I’m quite content to amble along,” she returned with a careless shrug. “I’m in no hurry at all.”

  “You must move with the jogging of the horse,” he instructed, ignoring her statement. “Rise with every other jog. Press gently with your heels.”

  “Now, listen …”

  “Afraid?” he taunted, his brow lifting high in mockery. Before common sense could overtake pride, Serenity tossed her head and pressed her heels against the horse’s side.

  This must be what it feels like to operate one of those damnable jackhammers they’re forever tearing up the streets with, she thought breathlessly, bouncing without grace on the trotting mare.

  “Rise with every other jog,” Christophe reminded her, and she was too preoccupied with her own predicament to observe the wide grin which accompanied his words. After a few more awkward moments, she caught onto the timing.

  “Comment ça va?” he inquired as they moved side by side along the dirt path.

  “Well, now that my bones have stopped rattling, it’s not so bad. Actually”—she turned and smiled at him—“it’s fun.”

  “Bon. Now we canter,” he said simply, and she sent him a withering glance.

  “Really, Christophe, if you want to murder me, why not try something simpler like poison, or a nice clean stab in the back?”

  He threw back his head and laughed, a full, rich sound that filled the quiet morning, echoing on the breeze. When he turned his head and smiled at her, Serenity felt the world tilt, and her heart, ignoring the warnings of her brain, was lost.

  “Allons, ma brave.” His voice was light, carefree, and contagious. “Press in your heels, and I will teach you to fly.”

  Her feet obeyed automatically, and the mare responded, quickening her gate to a smooth, easy canter. The wind played with Serenity’s hair and brushed her cheeks with cool fingers. She felt as though she were riding on a cloud, unsure whether the lightness was a result of the rush of wind or the dizziness of love. Enthralled with the novelty of both, she did not care.

  At Christophe’s command, she drew back on the reins, slowing the mare from a canter to a trot to a walk before finally coming to a halt. Lifting her face to the sky, she gave a deep sigh of pleasure before turning to her companion. The wind and excitement had whipped a rose blush onto her cheeks, her eyes were wide, golden, and bright, and her hair was tousled, an unruly halo around her happiness.

  “You enjoyed yourself, Mademoiselle?”

  She flashed him a brilliant smile, still intoxicated with love’s potent wine. “Go ahead; say ‘I told you so.’ It’s perfectly all right.”

  “Mais non, chérie, it is merely a pleasure to see one’s pupil progress with such speed and ability.” He returned her smile, the invisible barrier between them vanishing.“You move naturally in the saddle; perhaps the talent is genetic, after all.”

  “Oh, Monsieur.” She fluttered her lashes over a gleam of mischief. “I must give the credit to my teacher.”

  “Your French blood is showing, Serenity, but your technique needs practice.”

  “Not so good, huh?” Pushing back disheveled hair, she gave a deep sigh. “I suppose I’ll never get it right. Too much American Puritan from my father’s ancestors.”

  “Puritan?” Christophe’s full laugh once more disturbed the quiet morning. “Chérie, no Puritan was ever so full of fire.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment, though I sincerely doubt it was intended as one.” Turning her head, she looked down from the hilltop to the spreading valley below. “Oh, how beautiful.”

  A scene from a postcard slumbered in the distance, gentle hills dotted with grazing cattle against a backdrop of neat cottages. Farther in the distance, she observed a tiny village, a small toy town set down by a giant hand, dominated by a white church, its spire reaching heavenward.

  “It’s perfect,” she decided. “Like slipping back in time.” Her eyes roamed back to the grazing cattle. “Those are yours?” she asked, gesturing with her hand.

  “Oui,” he asserted.

  “This is all your property, then?” she asked again, feeling a sudden sinking sensation.

  “This is part of the estates.” He answered with a careless movement of his shoulders.

  We’ve been riding for so long, she thought with a frown, and we’re still on his land. Lord knows how far it spreads in other directions. Why can’t he be an ordinary man? Turning her head, she studied his hawklike profile. But he is not an ordinary man, she reminded herself. He is the Comte de Kergallen, master of all he surveys, and I must remember that. Her gaze moved back to the valley, her frown deepening. I don’t want to b
e in love with him. Swallowing the sudden dryness of her throat, she used her words as a defense against her heart.

  “How wonderful to possess so much beauty.”

  He turned to her, brow raising at her tone. “One cannot possess beauty, Serenity, merely care for and cherish it.”

  She fought against the warmth his soft words aroused, keeping her eyes glued to the valley. “Really? I was under the impression that young aristocrats took such things for granted.” She made a wide, sweeping gesture. “After all, this is only your due.”

  “You have no liking for aristocracy, Serenity, but you have aristocratic blood, as well.” Her blank look brought a slow smile to his chiseled features, and his tone was cool. “Yes, your mother’s father was a count, though his estates were ravaged during the war. The Raphael was one of the few treasures your grandmother salvaged when she escaped.”

  The damnable Raphael again! Serenity thought dismally. He was angry; she determined this from the hard light in his eyes, and she found herself oddly pleased. It would be easier to control her feelings for him if they remained at odds with each other.

  “So, that makes me half-peasant, half-aristocrat,” she retorted, moving her slim shoulders in dismissal. “Well, mon cher cousin, I much prefer the peasant half myself. I’ll leave the blue blood in the family to you.”

  “You would do well to remember there is no blood between us, Mademoiselle.” Christophe’s voice was low, and meeting his narrowed eyes, Serenity felt a trickle of fear. “The de Kergallens are notorious for taking what they want, and I am no exception. Take care how you use your brandy eyes.”

  “The warning is unnecessary, Monsieur. I can take care of myself.”