Lynne Graham's Brides of L'Amour Bundle

by Lynne Graham

  ‘I was mad with grief and it twisted me. But perhaps I was also afraid that I was on the brink of losing my son to a young woman when I was least willing to part with him,’ Matilde breathed shakily. ‘But that is not an excuse. When I saw how very young you were yesterday, I was surprised, but I was shocked when I met your little boy.’

  Christien’s mother removed a photograph from her bag and extended it. Tabby studied the snap of Christien as a child of about five or six with a fascination she could not hide.

  ‘Jake is the living image of his father,’ Matilde commented.

  Thinking of the gift that Matilde Laroche had brought and the acceptance of Jake that that telling gesture conveyed, Tabby just smiled. ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘I am so ashamed of the way I have behaved. I felt my punishment when I recognised my grandson, who is a stranger to me,’ Matilde admitted with deep regret. ‘For how long has Christien known about Jake?’

  Tabby winced. ‘I’m afraid that I only told him last night.’

  ‘A long time ago, my aunt, Solange, tried to talk to me about you and Christien and how accidents happen and how we must forgive and go on with our lives, but I was too stubborn and full of self-pity to listen.’ Matilde Laroche’s guilt was etched in her troubled face.

  Tabby urged the older woman to sit down.

  ‘Henri always drove very fast,’ she confided. ‘Far too fast to stop in the event of an accident.’

  As the silence stretched Tabby gathered her courage and began talking too. ‘That night my father had a dreadful argument with my stepmother over dinner. She stormed out of the restaurant and caught a taxi back to the farmhouse.’

  ‘So that was why your father’s wife wasn’t in his car when it crashed.’ Slowly, Matilde shook her head. ‘I always wondered about that.’

  ‘I’m not making any excuses for Dad but I would like you to know that, until that holiday, I had never seen him drinking to excess,’ Tabby said in a quiet voice. ‘Dad had remarried very soon after my own mother’s death. That summer he was very unhappy. He and my stepmother weren’t getting on and I think he turned to alcohol because he realised that his second marriage had been a terrible mistake.’

  ‘Was he happy with your mother?’

  ‘Very…’ Tabby’s eyes watered. ‘They were always talking and teasing each other. He went to pieces when she died. I think he rushed into marriage with Lisa because he was lonely and he couldn’t cope—’

  ‘I was like that after Henri went,’ Matilde muttered unsteadily and she patted Tabby’s hand as if in gratitude for her honesty. ‘I couldn’t cope either, and since then my grief has been my life. When I saw Jake, I understood that life had gone on without me and that I had caused those closest to me a lot of unhappiness that they did not deserve.’

  ‘You really don’t mind about Jake, do you?’

  Matilde Laroche studied her in amazement. ‘Why would I mind? He is a wonderful child and I am overjoyed that he has been born.’

  ‘Christien has taken Jake out this morning,’ Tabby revealed.

  The older woman stood up. ‘I would not like to intrude by being here when they return. But I am sure you have already guessed that, if you are generous enough to allow it, I would be very happy to have the opportunity to become better acquainted with you and my grandson.’

  Tabby grinned. ‘We’d be happy too.’

  ‘Will you tell my son about what happened yesterday?’

  ‘No. I think it’s bad for Christien to know absolutely everything,’ Tabby heard herself admitting, before it occurred to her that such facetiousness might not go down well with his parent.

  But Matilde’s gaze had taken on a surprised but appreciative gleam of answering amusement and she chuckled as she took her leave of Tabby.

  As the morning wore on, and there was still no sign of Christien and Jake reappearing, Tabby became more and more jumpy. She told herself that it was a nonsense to imagine that Christien would have taken off with their son just to teach her a hard lesson, but her imagination was lively and her conscience too uneasy to give her peace. It was noon before she heard a car pulling up and she rushed to the door.

  Sheathed in black denim jeans that fitted him like a second skin and a trendy shirt, Christien swung out of a scarlet Aston Martin V8 and scooped Jake out of the car seat fixed in the rear. Tabby’s jaw dropped. Last seen, her three-year-old son had been the possessor of a cute mop of black curls. Since then he had had a severe run-in with a barber and not a curl was to be seen.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ Tabby heard herself yelp accusingly.

  Christien angled a look of pure challenge at her. ‘I trashed the girlie hairstyle…you might not have noticed but boys aren’t wearing pretty curls this season.’

  ‘It looked girlie,’ Jake told his mother slowly but carefully, and he even pronounced it just as his father must have done complete with French accent. Her little boy then carefully arranged himself in the exact same posture as his unrepentant father.

  ‘Girlie is in the eye of the beholder,’ Tabby remarked.

  ‘Girlie is girlie,’ Christien contradicted.

  Christien, she understood, was staking possession on his son and ready, even eager, to fight any attempt to suggest that he might have overreached his new parental boundaries. But, grateful for their return and blessed with great tolerance, Tabby was willing to overlook Christien’s current aggressive aura for the sake of peace. She surveyed the two males who owned her heart with helpless appreciation. She missed her son’s curls but had to admit that the cropped style was much more boyish. Christien? Christien looked irresistibly sexy and fanciable. Her mouth ran dry. Her breathing quickened. Involuntarily she remembered how she had felt on that sofa and her knees quivered and her face burned with mortification over her own weakness.

  ‘What time did you get up this morning?’ Tabby enquired, dredging her attention from him.

  ‘Jake woke up at seven and I took him out for breakfast. Lock up,’ Christien urged. ‘I want to take you for a drive.’

  Tabby did as she was asked and climbed into the passenger seat of the powerful car. ‘Where else did you go this morning?’

  ‘Daddy showed me his cars. I got little cars and he’s got big cars,’ Jake volunteered chirpily.

  Jake was already calling Christien Daddy and he said it with such pronounced pride. From the corner of her eye, Tabby watched Christien’s handsome mouth curve with eloquent satisfaction. Evidently the morning had been spent in a male bonding session composed of laddish haircuts and car talk. Tabby did not begrudge them their mutual appreciation. She was delighted that they had got on so well.

  When Christien drove through a colossal and imposing turreted entrance, Tabby tensed and dragged herself from her preoccupation. ‘Where are we?’ she questioned even though she already knew, for at the end of a very long, arrow-straight drive lined by trees sat a château.

  ‘We’re home!’ Jake announced.

  ‘Sorry?’ Tabby gasped.

  ‘Duvernay. I needed a change of clothes earlier and I brought Jake back here before we went out for breakfast,’ Christien advanced with the utmost casualness.

  She had a delightful image of Christien playing it cool over breakfast in some café while Jake attempted to mirror his every action and expression.

  ‘It’s very big…’ Tabby went on to remark because, the closer the car got to the ancient building at the end of the drive, the more enormous the château seemed to get.

  ‘Where will I sleep?’ Jake asked.

  ‘I’ll show you later,’ his father responded.

  Tabby froze at that casual assurance. Christien brought the car to a halt and sprang out. He lifted out Jake. A rather rotund lady with a big, friendly smile was approaching them. Christien introduced Tabby to Fanchon, who had been his nurse when he was a boy. Jake planted a confident hand in the older woman’s and, beneath Tabby’s disconcerted gaze, woman and child headed off into the gardens.

  ‘I w
anted to speak to you without Jake present,’ Christien explained.

  Her oval face flushed and set, Tabby came to a halt in the vast marble entrance hall and fixed angry green eyes on Christien. ‘Why is my son asking where he is going to sleep? And why did he refer to your home as his home?’

  ‘It is a challenge to keep a secret with a chatty three-year-old around.’ Christien pressed open a door and stepped back in invitation.

  ‘Well, what I heard was more of a fantasy than a secret!’ Tabby retorted sharply, entering a terrifyingly elegant reception room furnished with loads of antiques.

  ‘Is it? Duvernay is where my son belongs.’

  Tabby collided with the cold glitter of Christien’s challenging appraisal and her tummy gave a frightened lurch. ‘At present, our son belongs with me—’

  ‘Long may that arrangement last,’ Christien remarked softly, and there was something in his intonation that made goose-bumps rise at the nape of her neck. ‘Children need their mothers as much as they need their fathers.’

  ‘Thank you for that vote of confidence.’ Tabby tilted her chin but her heart was starting to thump very fast and her chest felt tight. ‘Although I have to admit that I haven’t a clue why you should take the trouble to tell me that.’

  Christien was very still. ‘I’m prepared to be generous and make you an offer—’

  ‘I’m not very fussed about the kind of offers you make,’ Tabby declared with complete truth.

  ‘Either you hear me out or my lawyers deal with this situation. Your choice,’ Christien traded, smooth as silk.

  ‘We don’t have a situation here.’ Tabby’s hands closed so tight in on themselves that her nails carved dents into her palms. ‘I was the one who told you that Jake was your son and you can see him as often as you like. I’m pleased that you want to spend time with him and I can’t see why you need to talk about bringing lawyers in.’

  ‘Naturally not. However, I want Jake and you to live with me—’

  A disconcerted laugh fell from her dry lips. ‘You can’t always have what you want—’

  ‘You think not?’ A winged ebony brow quirked in open defiance of that statement. Hard dark golden eyes surveyed her. ‘If you can’t even accept that I have the right to make terms that will enable me to see more of my son, you will leave me with no choice but to challenge you for legal custody.’

  This time, Tabby could not have laughed had her life depended on it for she was shattered by that warning assurance.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TABBY imagined trying to fight Christien for custody of Jake and almost winced for she only had love to offer. She struggled to stay calm and make allowances for Christien’s anger with her while curiosity prompted her to say, ‘What exactly are your terms?’

  Christien sent her a slashing smile as if she had already lain down at his feet and awarded him victory. She wanted to slap him so badly that her palm tingled with longing.

  ‘You and Jake move in with me—’

  ‘Move in?’ Tabby repeated. ‘Quantify “moving in” from my point of view.’

  ‘I get to buy you boxes of sexy lingerie and you get all the sex you can handle…as well as a lifestyle most women would envy.’

  The tingle in Tabby’s palm had become almost unbearable. ‘What happens when you get bored?’

  ‘We remain civilised.’

  ‘I’m not civilised. Right now I just want to kill you for having the sheer nerve to suggest I would agree to a casual arrangement of that nature—’

  ‘Even though it is what you want too?’ Christien chided. ‘Why else did you choose to come to Brittany?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You could’ve sold the cottage and never set foot here with our son. Instead you brought him to a property within three kilometres of Duvernay. Your choice of location speaks for itself, ma belle.’ Christien sent Tabby a knowing look that sent a tide of chagrined colour up into her cheeks at the same time as it made her want to scream at him in a very unladylike fashion. ‘It’s obvious that you were as eager to see me again as I was to see you—’

  ‘That is untrue!’ Tabby slung at him shrilly.

  ‘The first chance you got, you went to bed with me again.’

  ‘Drop dead, Christien.’ Tabby stalked past him.

  ‘Zut alors…the first chance I got, I went to bed with you too,’ Christien drawled. ‘Even being furious with you doesn’t stop me lusting after you every hour of the day!’

  ‘Every hour?’ Tabby queried involuntarily.

  ‘I even dream about you,’ he growled.

  Tabby concealed the grin that had come at her out of nowhere. If lust was all he could feel, she was happy that it should be a source of hourly torment for him. But on that same thought, the desire to grin ebbed fast. Was it possible that she had cherished a subconscious hope that she could be with Christien again in Brittany? Did he know her better than she knew herself?

  Whatever, she was in no position to consider an uncommitted relationship with Christien. Everything she did affected Jake and her son was already coping with big changes. In bringing him to France, she had taken him away from all that was familiar. However, she had made the decision to do that with a clear head and the belief that a fresh start would benefit both of them. All right, getting involved with Christien again had been foolish, but at least she could own up to her mistake and guard against repeating it. Jake would be terribly hurt if he got used to his parents being together and they broke up again. He would be damaged by yet another change of home and lifestyle. Their son needed to feel secure.

  ‘Us rushing into a relationship that might turn uncivilised within a few months would be very hard on Jake—’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll make a special effort to tell the truth at all times and avoid snogging guys on motorbikes,’ Christien murmured with sardonic cool.

  ‘I’d rather be with a bloke who didn’t think that he was so perfect that it was my job to make all the effort to make things work!’ Her green eyes were bright with defiance at his hurtful reminders of her own mistakes, for she was furious that he took no account of his own less than perfect record. ‘There’s nothing left to discuss, is there? Roll out your lawyers.’

  Luxuriant black lashes semi-veiled the simmering golden eyes flaming over her feverishly flushed face. His lithe, well-built body rigid as he reacted to the rebellious challenge she provided, Christien snapped his hands over hers and pulled her close. Bemused by that sudden move in the midst of a serious discussion, Tabby looked up at him in disbelieving bewilderment. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘You need telling, ma belle?’ Christien chided huskily.

  Clamped to his powerful muscular frame, Tabby was insanely aware of the hard male heat of his erection. She knew she ought to push him away but she could not muster the will-power. Hot, melting longing was pooling at the very heart of her. He sank possessive fingers into her caramel-coloured hair and took her soft, ripe mouth by storm. He dragged her down so deep and fast into the passion that she moaned out loud in mingled hunger and fear. She wanted to shimmy down his lean, powerful physique, tantalise him to the edge of desperation and then arrange herself on the nearest horizontal surface like a wanton, willing reward. If anything, the very strength of her need for him scared her enough to make her yank herself back from him.

  ‘D’accord…OK,’ Christien grated as though the novelty of her new ability to resist him were the equivalent of having a loaded gun put to his head. ‘Moving in includes a wedding ring.’

  Shock made Tabby blink in slow motion and left her dizzy. ‘I don’t know much about proposals but I think you ought to have mentioned that about ten minutes sooner. It was a proposal of marriage…wasn’t it?’

  Christien raked brown fingers through his black hair, his molten gaze pinned to her with seething intensity. ‘What else?’

  Face burning, Tabby endeavoured to dredge her eyes from his riveting dark good looks. Well, at least he wasn’t p
utting up any pretences. Evidently lust was well up to the challenge of getting him to the altar. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘If we marry, we’ll be providing a proper family environment for Jake…’ Christien emerged from a deeply satisfying fantasy of having Tabby on call twenty-four hours a day. He saw her reclining across his gilded four-poster bed upstairs, rushing to Paris for sexy lunch break meetings at his apartment, accompanying him on long, boring business trips to enliven the hours he spent airborne and those spent between the sheets.

  Tabby was still in a daze and afraid to believe that he meant what he was saying. ‘Yes but—’

  ‘Our son needs both of us.’ He would also need a nanny, Christien conceded, permitting a small glimmer of reality to tinge what was fast becoming an erotic daydream.

  A wedding ring would be a true commitment on his part, Tabby thought. A little glow of happiness started to expand inside her. Why had Christien not made it clear that he was talking about marriage from the outset? Her embryo glow dimmed a little. She had a shrinking suspicion that he might only have come up with the marriage idea as a last resort. A last resort to get her into bed and keep her there until familiarity bred contempt?

  Paling, Tabby could not bring herself to meet Christien’s eyes. He would be furious, and excusably so, if he knew what she was thinking. At the same time, she found it hard to credit that he was willing to give up his freedom solely for Jake’s benefit. And even if he was, it would take more than sex and a praiseworthy wish to be a good parent to hold a marriage together. But then wasn’t it also possible that she was misjudging Christien? He might not be in love with her, but that did not mean that he did not have warm feelings for her.

  ‘What about us?’ Tabby asked abruptly.

  ‘Us?’ Christien looked blank.

  ‘You and me…how you feel about me,’ Tabby muttered awkwardly.

  Christien vented a husky laugh and treated her to a downright lascivious appraisal that radiated sexual heat. ‘Hungry,’ he growled without hesitation.