by Nora Roberts
“It is possible,” the countess murmured.
“I know it’s there; it says so in the letter. He says he concealed it, covered by something infinitely more precious. Nothing was more precious to him than Maman.”
“Oui,” the countess agreed, studying the painting of her daughter. “There could be no safer hiding place.”
“I have some solution,” Serenity began. “I could uncover a corner; then you could be sure.”
“Non.” She shook her head. “Non, there is no need. I would not have you mar one inch of your father’s work if the true Raphael were under it.” She turned to Serenity and lifted a hand to her cheek. “This painting, Christophe, and you, mon enfant, are my treasures now. Let it rest. It is where it belongs.” She turned back to her grandchildren with a smile. “I will leave you now. Lovers should have their privacy.”
She left the room with the air of a queen, and Serenity watched her in admiration. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”
“Oui,” Christophe agreed easily, taking Serenity into his arms. “And very wise. I have not kissed you for more than an hour.”
After he had remedied the discrepancy to their mutual satisfaction, he looked down at her with his habitual air of confidence. “After we are married, mon amour, I will have your portrait painted, and we will add still another treasure to the château.”
“Married?” Serenity repeated with a frown. “I never agreed to marry you.” She pushed away as though reluctant. “You can’t just order me to do so; a woman likes to be asked.” He pulled her against him and kissed her thoroughly, his lips hard and insistent.
“You were saying, cousine?” he asked when he freed her.
She regarded him seriously, but allowed her arms to twine around his neck. “I shall never be an aristocrat.”
“Heaven forbid,” he agreed with sincerity.
“We shall fight often, and I will constantly infuriate you.”
“I shall look forward to it.”
“Very well,” she said, managing to keep a smile from her lips. “I will marry you—on one condition.”
“And that is?” His brow raised in question.
“That you walk in the garden with me tonight.” She drew her arms around him tighter. “I’m so tired of walking in the moonlight with other men and wishing they were you.”
* * * * *
Search For Love
© 1982 Nora Roberts
ISBN: 067157163X
SILHOUETTE
Ed♥n