“Don’t push it.”
Bernard had lived at Valroux longer than François’ father and never missed an opportunity to voice his opinion. “What are you waiting for, Monsieur le Comte? Mademoiselle Edith would be the perfect comtesse for our chateau.”
“Bernard!”
“Oui, Monsieur le Comte, I hear you.”
François’ suppressed a grin, unconvinced by his butler’s resigned tone. Bernard’s stiff hand had often landed on his buttocks years ago, when he was an overactive little boy and drove the butler over the edge. But as soon as François had reached eighteen, the ceremonious butler had reverted to a formal attitude that equaled the protocol of the former king’s court.
Bernard scampered to the door, then paused. “And the American girl, Monsieur? How long would she be staying?”
With a disquieting feeling nagging at him, François followed his butler out of the office.
“Ah, the American girl? She will stay for a month, I guess.”
An entire month in his chateau, in the room next to his.
~*~
The phone call to Boston had depressed Cheryl beyond imagining. How could Doc suffer a heart attack without any warning signs in the past few days? Shaking her head, she acknowledged he’d never really made any effort to take care of himself while often repeating he was made of sturdy material, not easy to crack.
When she’d return to Boston, Cheryl would insist he walk with her an hour every day and they would soon forget the unforeseen heart attack. Right now, her mentor was in expert hands and would soon recover. And she’d better start following his orders rather than indulging in useless lamentation.
A rush of adrenaline prompted Cheryl to open her tote bag. Pushing aside the clothes, she carefully unfolded the two pairs of jeans wrapped around Professor Howard’s laptop and sat her mentor’s computer on the desk—a very elegant desk, to say the least—matching the luxurious furnishing of the room. With a distracted look, she glided her fingers on the polished surface as she quickly surveyed her new accommodation.
When she’d entered her room an hour ago, she’d been so anxious about Doc she hadn’t even noticed her surroundings. Her artistic mind appreciated the elegance and match of colors, walls covered in light green silk, cherry wood furniture trimmed in gold, draperies and bedspread imprinted with red poppies on a green background. With the hand-painted headboard of the bed showing a signature in the corner and the dresser surmounted with a gold framed mirror, this room suited a titled lady, not a grad in Architecture. Cheryl cringed at the idea of hanging her jeans and t-shirts in the sumptuous armoire that must have harbored beaded evening dresses and fur-lined jackets.
Her head ached from the turmoil of the last two days and the jetlag. For a moment she stared at the laptop. To work or not to work?
She shrugged, convinced she was in no shape to produce any useful intellectual work. Ignoring the laptop, she quickly hung her clothes in the armoire and organized her belongings in the various drawers of the bedroom and bathroom.
Her mundane chores completed, she pulled the drapes, slid open the glass door and stepped on the balcony. The heady scent of roses wafted toward her as she bent to admire the decorative shrubs of red and white roses separated by the green patterns of well-trimmed bushes. In the backyard, a forest extended on one side and endless fields spotted with hues of violet, blue and purple on the other.
A yawn reminded her she hadn’t stretched out on a bed in more than twenty-four hours, although she was used to surviving on less than five hours of sleep, her nose buried in a book, or her eyes fixated on a computer screen until they burned and closed. After dozing for four hours in the plane and two in the train, she couldn’t complain but she removed the flowery bedspread and sprawled on the white sheet.
Behind her closed eyelids, the handsome face of the count smiled back at her. Green flecks twinkled like a hundred little stars in his whisky colored eyes. She smiled in the dark, wondering if his eyes were greenish-brown or brownish-green.
~*~
Later that evening, Cheryl stepped out on the back terrace. A long nap and invigorating shower had restored her usual optimism.
Loud laughter and the masculine voices of the dinner guests wafted toward her. She spotted François with three men, enjoying a drink. A table had been set at the end of the terrace overlooking a rose garden. Cheryl hesitated before crossing the twenty-foot wide terrace.
As if sensing her presence, her host glanced in her direction. His gaze held hers for a moment, paused on her cleavage, lingered on her waist and skated all the way to her toes bared by the sandals. The cool breeze caressed her naked arms and a strand of hair flew out of the unruly mane curling down her back. She brushed it away with a quick flip of her head, suddenly aware of her lack of sophistication. Pressing nervous fingers against the leg of her white jeans, she wished she’d taken the time to pack better for her trip. At least her flower-printed blouse with a deep V-neck enhanced the simplicity of her outfit.
No one had told her that searching for a missing statue and digging under the ruins of a chapel necessitated an elegant wardrobe. Not that she cared about her appearance. Still. She stifled a groan as she studied her host.
François strode toward her exuding a rakish charm she couldn’t miss and a self-confidence that screamed power. Navy slacks wrapped his rugged, lean figure and contrasted with the white cotton shirt fitting over his muscled torso.
He smiled. A devastating smile that sent waves of heat to her face and down her neck. “Bonsoir. Good evening. I hope you had a chance to rest,” he said in a throaty French accent. He took her outstretched hand and kept it between his. Tingles skittered across her skin.
She stiffened, hoping her face lost its blush as fast as it gained it. Damn her inexperience. Why hadn’t she learned to flirt and have fun like her best friend Barb? Under the protective wing of her mentor, she’d been too busy studying. Granted, she’d dated a few boyfriends. Cute and clumsy. Certainly, none aristocrat or French, with an aura of power about them. François released her hand but remained next to her, so close, his breath warming her cheeks.
“I’m feeling much better, thank you,” she lied as she freed her hand and clenched the strap of her purse.
“Come. Let me introduce you to your new colleagues.”
The students? She’d completely forgotten about them. He led her to the round table set at the end of the terrace.
A young man with olive skin and narrow shoulders shook hands with her. His long black hair brushed the collar of his red shirt as he gave her a slight bow. “Enchanté, Senorita,” he said. “Juan-Pablo Rodriguez, from the Universidad de Madrid. I am preparing a doctorate in the history of Romanesque churches.” The Spanish student spoke in fluent French, accented with a trailing drawl.
She smiled, meeting his warm, appreciative gaze. “Nice meeting you. I’m Cheryl Stewart, graduate student at Harvard University. I’ve almost completed my Ph.D. dissertation in architecture.”
“Adriaan Van Deem from Amsterdam,” said the red-haired, lanky student standing next to her, with a heavy burr. “I’m studying archeology and I can’t resist the appeal of old stones.”
Beside them, a stocky man acknowledged her presence with a nod of his head. “Karl Boderman, from the University of Berlin. I’m studying art, painting and sculpting.” He pronounced the “R”s deep from his throat with a distinct German emphasis.
Bernard circulated, carrying a tray with long stemmed glasses of wine. She took a glass, counting on the alcoholic beverage to help her forget her worries and lighten her mood.
François invited his guests to sit around the table and took the chair beside hers. He raised his glass in a toast. They followed suit. “Welcome to Valroux. I hope you will enjoy both your stay and research in la Vallée de la Loire.”
The Spanish student gulped his drink. “Excellent, delicious.”
“Chateau Valroux is one of the best red wines of la Touraine, the finest cabernet in F
rance.” Gazing at his drink, François rolled the stem of his wineglass between his fingers.
“You produce your own wine?” Adriaan asked as they all stared at their host.
“Of course. We have hundreds of acres of vineyards in Valroux. I moved back to the chateau five years ago and took over the business when my father was diagnosed with cancer.” François’ arm stretched behind the back of her chair. “I’ve tried to modernize the wineries. Would you like to visit them?”
“Of course.”
“Definitely.”
“Ya, ya.”
Boisterous agreements echoed from around the table. Men. A glass of wine in France or a beer in the U.S. created an immediate male bonding.
“I will be happy to give you the grand tour,” François said and turned toward her. “How about you, Cheryl?” His hand moved to rest on her shoulder, branding her linen-covered flesh with a fiery print.
What was happening to her? It must be the French breeze or the heady fragrance of the flowers. She eased out of his touch. “I don’t know much about wine,” she muttered.
His head tilted and his mouth widened in a grin. “There is a lot to be learned in the Vallée de la Loire.”
Cheryl heard the double meaning and almost choked on her wine. Was he proposing to teach her? She fixed her gaze on his laughing eyes. No doubt he’d be an excellent mentor. She struggled to relax and summoned a smile. “I’m impatient to start working on the chapel’s ruins and to discover the surrounding area.”
“I’ve already visited the Loire Valley several times. I can take you around,” Adriaan proposed with unconcealed eagerness, as his hazel eyes sparkled. “And I brought my guitar. I’ll be able to entertain you in the evening.”
Cheryl chuckled. “How wonderful. Thank you.”
François frowned. “With all the work to be done on the ruins, I don’t think you’ll find enough time, Adriaan.”
“Dinner is served, Monsieur.” Bernard rolled a cart toward them. Silence followed while they watched the butler deposit the platter of steak, potatoes and glazed carrots on the table. The smell of garlic and herbs stirred her appetite.
“So, what brought you here, Cheryl?” Karl’s deep voice cut into her thoughts. He focused inquisitive, pale blue eyes on her flushed face. With sandy hair sparingly covering a beginning of baldness and a continuous scowl creasing his forehead, the German student seemed a bit older than the rest of them. The assessing look made her blink. Three pairs of curious eyes waited for her answer.
Cheryl speared a bite of potato with her fork, while quickly pondering how much to reveal. “For the past two years, I’ve been studying the architecture and history of French chateaux. When my professor couldn’t come, I offered to replace him. I know I can help here. And I need the hands-on experience to complete my degree and get a good position.”
François patted her hand and smiled. His gaze locked with hers, then caressed her face, dispatching warm flashes to her throat and chest. “I don’t doubt you will soon get a fantastic position.”
Cheryl winced, unable to believe that his hand, a glass of wine and the heady fragrance of the roses could combine to create such a raging fire deep inside her. Good grief, the man could make a woman forget her name, let alone her paper, with his heart-stopping smile.
She frowned, upset at her body’s reaction, when she knew she didn’t care at all about the gorgeous count. Not at all. Honestly.
Swallowing a sip of wine to extinguish the invisible flames, Cheryl spun toward Karl. “What about you, Karl? Why did you come here?”
Karl shrugged. “My story resembles the others’. This region is prolific in chapels, castles, statues and ruins. Like all of you here, I like ancient ruins and have read a lot about Valroux and the Loire Valley.”
“What’s wrong with Professor Howard?” Juan-Pablo asked. “Count François told us that the professor would direct the planning of the chapel’s restoration.”
“He had a mild heart attack, nothing serious but he needed to rest.” Cheryl kept a blank face and avoided any mention of the suspicions gnawing at her heart.
“I hope he’ll feel better soon,” Adriaan said with a soft voice and a kind smile.
“We certainly need him around here.” Karl arched an eyebrow. “Even if you think you can replace him.”
“I know I can help. Professor Howard has briefed me on what to do.” The German was seriously getting on her nerves. After François’ dubious acceptance of her services, she didn’t need Karl to stir more doubt in the count’s mind or even his students’.
“Really?” Adriaan sent her an interested look. “It’s good to know that the professor shared his plans with you.”
“We’ll work with you, Cheryl, until the professor recovers,” Juan-Pablo said.
Cheryl breathed with relief, appreciating Adriaan and Juan-Pablo’s understanding.
“We don’t have much choice.” Karl’s scowl deepened. “I hope the professor gave you detailed instructions. There’s so much more to be done than just drawing plans for the chapel.”
“Now that you mention it,” Juan-Pablo interrupted, “I remember reading an article about a missing statue that was buried during World War II to protect it from vandalism. Apparently, it has never been recovered.”
“Interesting. Where did you read about this?” François inquired in a cool voice.
The Spaniard fidgeted with his knife. “A German archeological magazine published it a few months ago.”
Cheryl had referenced a couple of similar articles in her thesis but wouldn’t mention it at the moment. “Karl, have you seen this article?”
“I did. Actually, I hope we can look for the statue while we work on the chapel’s ruins.”
With a nervous gesture, Cheryl smoothed the napkin on her lap. Her natural curiosity on alert, she blurted, “François, tell us what you know about this statue.”
François downed his wine and stood. “Valroux has belonged to my family since the seventeenth century.” A proud smile stretched his lips as he stood and gestured to the gardens surrounding them. He paced around the table and they swiveled their heads to follow him.
“During the French revolution, both the original chateau and chapel were destroyed. Under Napoleon, they were rebuilt in a grandiose way and became the permanent residence of the Comte de Valroux.”
Through her thesis research, Cheryl knew the castle’s history but hearing it from the count was a unique experience. Her gaze glued on his sensual lips, she listened to the music of the words as her mind spun reflective images. Lords and ladies whirling on a dance floor. Knights riding back from a battlefield.
François’ fingers brushing across her naked arm snapped her out of her dream. Confused and embarrassed by her inappropriate fantasy, she felt her cheeks and neck burning as he took his seat beside her. His elbows resting on the table, his fingers tented under his chin, François leaned forward and resumed his story. “When Lourdes became the site of the miraculous apparition, the same artist who built the Virgin statue adorning the grotto of Lourdes, sculpted three smaller ones.”
Cheryl followed his gaze as it rested on each one of the students, Adriaan’s eager expression, Karl’s narrowed eyes, Juan-Pablo’s indifferent posture. She wondered if he could read her face as openly.
“Three statues?” Adriaan asked, his eyes squinting. “What became of them?”
“According to a villagers’ legend, one of the statues was offered to my great-grandmother. It was placed on the altar in the chapel. I don’t know anything about the other two. The same legend states that the statue was removed to protect it from destruction during World War II. What became of it?” François shrugged. “No one knows. I am not even sure the statue existed.”
“It’s a nice story,” Cheryl said, enchanted by the web his voice had woven in her fertile imagination.
“Exactly. It’s a story, only a story. The reality is more somber. The chapel was destroyed. Now I want it rebuilt,” he said in
a firm tone.
Cheryl stared at him in awe. François looked only a few years older than Adriaan or Juan-Pablo. Yet he seemed to dwarf them with his background, self-confidence and authority.
François caught her gaze. His eyes sparkled with an amused glint. Her pulse on overdrive, Cheryl hastened to turn her head away and finished her dessert. She was too tired to fend off the assault of his gaze and his smile on her senses and too sensitive to cope with his rakish charm. She pushed out her chair. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I’m quite tired from my long trip.”
François immediately stood, looming over her. “I’ll walk you inside.” He turned toward the students. “Please, stay. Enjoy the balmy night and good wine. Tomorrow we’ll meet at nine.”
Cheryl swallowed. It had been a long day but with François’ palm scorching her back, she thought the night wasn’t over yet.
~*~
Anxious to be alone with her, François led Cheryl to a glass door and slid it open. He allowed her to pass in front of him, trying to digest her incredible transformation from bookworm to a sophisticated young woman.
Only a few details had changed since he last saw her in Boston but they made such a difference. The reddish-brown waves rippling at her nape and curling on her back. The huge violet eyes framed by long lashes and free from the barrier of glasses that constricted them to half their size. The flimsy blouse molded to generous breasts. Throughout the entire evening, he’d striven to divert his gaze from the magnetic attraction of the curves concealed—or partly revealed—by the transparent material. He wouldn’t mind having her in his arms—or even better, in his bed.
Her head high, her step sure, she strode into the parlor. A crooked smile curved his lips as his gaze flickered over her swaying hips.
“François, can we call the hospital now?”
The anxiety in her voice doused his fantasy more efficiently than a cold shower. “I was going to suggest it,” he said, leading her to his office.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 76