“I know the area pretty well. I will be able to see if there is something unusual.”
He probably meant if someone was watching her balcony and her room. Without further comments, she did as asked. The room turned pitch black and she heard him move. When her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she realized he had slipped his head behind the curtain to peer at the backyard and beyond.
A couple of minutes later, he reappeared and said, “Don’t turn the switch on. I will light the bathroom for you.” He padded across the carpet and switched on the bathroom’s light. “You have enough light to get undressed and go to bed.”
“Did you see anything unusual?”
“No but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”
“Really?” She arched her eyebrows. He was obviously lying, afraid to worry her. “What happened to being a team? Friends?”
He burst out laughing, a devastating laughter that sprouted goose bumps over her arms and a rill of heat down to her belly. “Are you sure you want to be my friend?”
Her jaw sagged. What was she expected to answer? “I share my information with you. You’re supposed to share what you just saw outside.”
“Well answer my question first. Are we friends?” He came toward her, his hand outstretched.
“Yes,” she said as she stared at his open palm and debated if she should touch it.
“I don’t bite. Especially not my friends.”
She sneaked a look at him and put her hand in his. His fingers immediately wrapped around hers.
“I don’t bite my friends,” he repeated with a soft voice. “Far from it. I’d rather kiss them,” he said as he brought her fingers to his lips.
Warmth seeped through her skin and her bones. “Yes, friends if you want,” she murmured with conviction, hoping she wouldn’t regret her foolishness tomorrow.
His lips lingered again on the back of her hand and her wrist. “Thank you for your trust.” He backed up and held her shoulders at arm’s length. “I looked outside to see if anything was different from usual.” His hold tightened. “There was someone smoking a cigarette in the fields. Definitely unusual.”
“You think he was watching my room?”
“I’m not going to speculate. But I don’t like it. Please don’t leave my side tomorrow.” She frowned. “A team and friends, remember?” he insisted.
“Okay. We’ll work together.”
“Goodnight, Cheryl. I’m so sorry about Professor Howard. I will miss him too. And I will be here for you.” He hugged her and kept his arms wrapped around her back. She leaned her forehead onto his shoulder and breathed the lemon scent of his cologne and his masculine presence. Strangely enough, she relaxed and felt protected for the first time in years.
She raised her head, met his gaze and forgot the whole world. He had the most beautiful eyes, hazel dusted with green and gold. Kindness, almost tenderness, swirled in their depths. He didn’t move, didn’t release his hold on her back. What was she doing staring for so long? She lowered her lashes just enough to shift her focal point. His lips, luscious and full, stretched in a hint of a smile and came close. Closer, invading her field of vision.
Mesmerized, she swallowed and licked her lower lip, her fingers clutching his shoulders. His smile faded as he raised her chin with a fingertip and tugged her forward against his solid chest. Heat seeped into her body when he claimed her lips and darted his tongue into her mouth to tease and taste.
His kiss ended too quickly. And too late. Her heart still hammering in her chest, she splayed her hands on his chest and pushed him away, afraid to remain in his embrace another second.
He let her go, walked to the door and opened it.
“I’m here for you, Cheryl. My room is next to yours. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on my door.”
She nodded and kept staring at the door long after he left.
Doc was gone. But François was here.
Danger floated in the air. But François is here.
Would he still be here when she needed him? When his latest girlfriend summoned his presence and invaded his bed?
Chapter 4
“Mademoiselle Cheryl, it is Simone, the maid.” The voice, faint but clear reached Cheryl’s little cloud. She leaped up from the bed, grabbed her watch and wailed, “Oh my God, I’m late. I’m coming, Simone.”
The maid stood at the door, her hands cluttered with a breakfast tray and a plastic bag dangling from her arm. “Since we didn’t see you at breakfast, I brought you a cup of coffee and something to eat.” She deposited the tray on the dresser. “And I took the liberty to shine your boots.”
“Why, you’re my guardian angel. Thank you so much, Simone.” Cheryl grabbed her clothes and rushed to the bathroom. “What a way to start my assignment.”
Simone shrugged, her lips puckered. “Oh, no, Mademoiselle. Don’t worry. This is not Paris or a big city. People take their time in the French countryside.” She removed the silver lid from a plate.
The aroma of coffee and freshly baked croissants wafted in the room and Cheryl pressed her hand on the stomach to stop the embarrassing gurgling. “I’ll shower in a minute.”
“Can I spread butter and marmalade on one of these for you, Mademoiselle?”
“I’ll do it myself.” She wouldn’t take advantage of the maid even if Simone seemed determined to pamper her. Smoothing Cheryl’s clothes on the green satin chair near the bed, the young maid compulsively ironed them with her flat palm. “By the way, can you stop being so formal and call me by my name?” Cheryl said as she stepped in the bathroom.
Simone clapped her hand on her mouth. “Oh, Mademoiselle. I cannot do such a thing. You are a guest of Monsieur le Comte. Bernard would fire me on the spot.”
Cheryl retreated to the bedroom her towel in hand. “Fire you? Just because I ask you to use my name? You can’t be serious. Does the man have so much authority here?”
The maid’s mouth puckered in its characteristic way. “Oh yes. Bernard controls everything, the whole staff.” She spread her arms and waved her hands encompassing the room. “He grew up here. The count’s grandfather hired Bernard’s Papa before our count François’ father was born.”
“I wonder… We’ll talk more about Bernard.” She’d have to think about a way to mellow out the austere butler. If his family had been living for so long in the chateau, he might prove a useful source of information.
A few minutes later, Cheryl emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt, her damp hair wrapped and tucked into a bun on top her head, her glasses perched on her nose. She reached for a croissant, buttered it and savored it, her eyes closed in delight. Chateau life came with fringe benefits she’d never experienced, deluxe accommodation, room service and a striking count she’d better not ogle while working. She drank her coffee and finished her croissant, wondering if she’d have time for a second.
“Do you always dress this fast? Mademoiselle Marilène spends at least an hour at her toilette.”
“Mademoiselle Marilène?” Was she another of François’ paramours?” Geez, how did he keep count? Scrunching her nose, she bit into another croissant.
“Monsieur le Comte’s sister.”
“I didn’t know he has a sister.”
“She lives in Paris. She’s a fashion designer and such a beautiful young woman,” Simone said with a dreamy gaze as she picked up the breakfast tray.
The count’s sister a fashion designer? He must think I’m a real slob, with my jeans and casual shirts. Tough. She didn’t come to France to impress him but to pursue an important mission.
Speaking of mission, Simone was a well of information and so eager to chat she’d come in handy when Cheryl needed more facts about the chateau’s inhabitants. Cheryl slid on her boots and zipped them. “Wow, they’re so well-polished I can see my reflection in them. Are you sure they’re mine?”
The maid’s cheeks turned beet-red and a pleased smile stretched her lips. “Thank yo
u, Mademoiselle. I do my best.”
Ready to work, Cheryl hung her camera straps around her neck and a fanny-pack at her waist belt. If only her temples didn’t throb so much. Jetlag and escalating stress. She took the bottle of aspirin she’d brought with her from her suitcase and swallowed a pill with a glass of water. Knowing her headache would heal soon, she grabbed her notepad and marched to the door. “I’d better go now,” she said as she stepped out in the corridor. Trying to orient herself, she surveyed her surroundings and counted the doors in the hallway leading to the stairs, while distractedly admiring the gallery of portraits adorning the walls.
The maid volunteered, “This big room across the hall belongs to Madame la Comtesse, Monsieur François’ mother. The one next to yours is Monsieur François’ room.”
“Yeah.” Cheryl had pondered that bit of information a good part of the night. Thinking about her next door neighbor hadn’t helped her sleep.
“There are four guest rooms on this floor and the nursery is at the end of this corridor,” Simone supplied. “Mademoiselle Edith uses the one next to the room of Monsieur le Comte,” Simone said in a hushed tone, a smile lingering on her lips.
“Really?” How convenient for François to have his lawyer—his mother’s friend to use his words—in a room next to his. And he’d given Cheryl the room on the other side.
“Yes, your room is on his right and Mademoiselle Edith’s is on his left,” Simone said, confirming the nasty suspicion Cheryl felt.
She narrowed her eyes to prevent them from shooting daggers at the portrait of the latest Comte de Valroux. Oh no, my dear count, I don’t fancy a ménage à trois. “The three students probably use some of the guests’ rooms, correct?” Cheryl asked as they reached the top of the main stairs.
“No, they are housed in the South Tower of the chateau. Only family or friends of the Valroux are received in the main apartments.”
“I see. No, I don’t see, why…”
Cheryl forgot the rest of her sentence as she glimpsed a group of men talking in boisterous voices downstairs in the Grand Hall. She strolled down the steps, one hand gliding on the banister and the other clutching her pad. The count raised his head and locked his gaze on her. Leaving his guests, he came forward to meet her.
“Sorry, I’m late,” she said, with an effort to straighten her back. How could he look rested and drop-dead gorgeous at this ungodly hour? True, it was nine thirty a.m. in France but only three thirty a.m. for her exhausted body still geared to Boston time. François hadn’t suffered the jetlag and stress she’d met recently.
“No problem at all. We just finished our breakfast a few minutes ago. I’m even surprised you’re not taking any time off to rest. Are you feeling better?” he asked in a kind voice.
“Much better, thank you. Your maid Simone brought me coffee and croissants.”
“Good morning, Cheryl.” Adriaan came toward her, his hand extended. She shook hands with him and the four other men while François introduced the two newcomers.
“Cheryl, please meet Roberto Cantari who drove from Milan, last night and Chuck Minho, who flew in from London this morning.”
With his dramatic coloring, dark hair, chocolate eyes and fair skin, Roberto was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen—after François of course—and he obviously knew it. He gave her a charming smile and looked thoroughly disappointed when she didn’t fall in his arms or at least smile back and hyperventilate. Keeping her fingers in his hand, he squeezed them. “Cheryl, it is such a pleasure to have a bellissima signorina on our team. I am much honored.”
Raising her eyebrow at the outrageous greeting, Cheryl gave him an indulgent smile. “Thank you.” Typical Italian.
“Good morning, Cheryl,” Chuck Minho said with a perfect British accent. Shorter than his companions, he craned his neck to participate in the conversation.
“Nice meeting you.” Her pulse ran a little faster as she threw a second glance at Chuck. Same height and frame as the intruder in Doc’s office. Same hair and eyes. Could it be possible?
Everything was possible.
Her brain immediately recalled a picture of the intruder to Doc’s office, but she shouldn’t generalize. Chuck was not the only Chinese person interested in the statue.
Karl’s heavy accent interrupted her musing. “Do you still feel sleepy, or can we start our meeting, Miss Stewart?”
Embarrassment constricted her throat. “Let’s start, please. I’m sorry I delayed our work.” She threw an apologetic glance to François who answered with a glare at the German student.
“Follow me to my office, gentlemen,” the count said with an intimidating edge to his voice that reminded her of the François de Valroux she’d met three years ago, impatient and arrogant.
Cheryl hurried behind him. Like Karl, she was eager to start the official work on the chapel and even more impatient to plunge into the unofficial search for the statue.
~*~
Sleepiness and embarrassment receded the moment she stepped into François’ office. The same dream office she’d called the hospital from. They sat across from his desk and waited. François pulled a rolled map from the lower cabinet of the bookcase and spread it on the desk. Using two marble blotters, bronze statues of a horse and an eagle, he secured the corners of the map.
“Professor Howard was supposed to lecture us on the history and background of Romanesque churches in France and Europe. But…”
Karl interrupted with a sarcastic humph. “A pity, we’ll miss the useful theory. How about moving on to today’s schedule and your plans about the chapel?”
The man seriously grated on her nerves. Cheryl could handle the professor’s presentation without even looking at her notes. After all, she had gathered the information, written the paper and handed it to her professor. François’ cold gaze rested on each one of them, assessing and freezing her goodwill to volunteer any explanations. He swiped the map with the back of his hand in a large gesture. “La Vallée de la Loire is cluttered with more castles than you can count. This river shaped the history of France.”
Cheryl leaped from her chair and hunched over the desk, adjusting her eyeglasses. Adriaan and Juan-Pablo bent forward and imitated her gesture. Sympathy and bonding filled her heart. Normal behavior. Not suspicious so far. They were typical bookish grads while Karl…
She threw him a lopsided glance. The German moved next to the count, his forehead etched with belligerent lines. Definitely suspicious. Roberto and Chuck remained seated, calm, almost indifferent.
With a marker François drew an “X” surrounded with a big circle. “Valroux is right here. The chapel used to stand at the end of this alley behind the chateau. The forest and wild bushes invaded the north side.”
Roberto’s brow furrowed under his midnight black hair and Chuck’s slanted eyes narrowed to a thin line, their interest suddenly evident. Suspicious.
“Why the circle?” Cheryl asked.
“The circle encompasses the surrounding churches and castles you need to visit before you start working on the chapel’s ruins.” François pointed to various spots on the map and distributed printed sheets to the students. “Studying the architecture of similar churches will help your work at Valroux. Here is a list of the chateaux and chapels in our area.”
Adriaan sighed, his impatience visible. “Count François, what exactly are you expecting from us?”
“You guys will clear the ground of the chapel. While doing so, you will remove the stones, sort them and categorize them. Then you’ll measure the sides, surface and columns. Cheryl will take notes. Together you will draw maps, some blueprints to be used for the reconstruction. She will review them.”
Cheryl suppressed an ecstatic smile. The count had finally recognized her capability and even counted on her in a specific way. “Are we digging, excavating and searching for the missing statue?” Juan-Pablo insisted.
“You may have to dig and excavate as part of the study.” The count shoved his han
d through his hair as he shrugged. “I don’t know if there are statues to be found.”
Juan-Pablo’s disappointment was mirrored in his colleagues’ expressions.
François would continue to deny the statue’s existence until they discovered some concrete evidence. Doc’s death had prompted him to beware of the students although nothing incriminated them so far.
Her eyes followed his fingers as they swept through his hair. So smooth and soft and streaked with gold. She mentally caressed its silkiness and sighed.
“Don’t be frustrated, Cheryl. Good preparation produces good results.”
Cheryl bit her lip. Good thing he misunderstood her sigh. What was wrong with her? She’d never cared about the texture of people’s hair before this trip, certainly not a man’s hair. With effort, she lowered her gaze toward the map and muttered, “Of course.”
“We will take one day at a time and see how we progress. Right now, let’s walk to the chapel site. I will give you a quick-to-the-point orientation.”
An impatient shuffle of chairs followed as they collected their papers and padded on the plush Oriental rug to the Grand Hall. The count led the way to the front door and terrace. Cheryl squinted at the bright sunshine but her painter’s soul delighted in the symphony of colors surrounding the castle and she breathed in the fragrant air.
“We’ll walk around the chateau to the back terrace where we had dinner last night. Then we’ll continue toward the north,” the count instructed.
She paused and clicked her first pictures of the chateau—the heavy stone façade, the four round towers, the suspended terrace and in the background always a carpet of flowers, a multitude of colors. They left the well-tended landscape to tread on a dusty trail and strolled for almost twenty minutes.
“When you visit the other castles and churches, you’ll notice that chapels often adjoin the main building. Valroux is an exception. My great-grandmother wanted it built away from the castle, in a quiet and secluded area, where silence invited prayer and meditation.”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 79