by Chloé Duval
His shoulders bent lower and lower, his head hung down and the air seemed to fill with sadness. In this instant, the emotion emanating from him was so pure, so raw and intense that my throat tightened. My conversation with Marine came rushing back, and the pang I had felt upon hearing his story ran through me again.
Instinctively, I flipped to a blank page in my sketchbook and drew the moment—his lowered head, the curve of his shoulders, his messy hair, his hand on the dog’s head as though to draw comfort.… With every line, my heart clenched tighter, as though I absorbed part of his emotion.
Éric brushed a hand over his face. I knew I should have looked away, but I couldn’t. I was…hypnotized. My fingers had paused, pencil poised over the paper, and I had almost stopped breathing. The emotion was that strong.
But the moment suddenly shattered as Éric got to his feet and walked straight toward me, signaling for Max to follow.
Panic rose in me. I suddenly felt guilty for spying on him, albeit unintentionally. I had an inkling he would not appreciate being caught in a moment of weakness. So, of course, instead of doing what any normal and sane person would do—move one step to the left and stand in front of the Saint-Armand mausoleum—I did the only thing that could possibly look even more suspicious than staring at him. I dove behind the nearest gravestone and hid there.
Raging at my own stupidity, I folded my meter fifty-one body behind the gravestone into the smallest pretzel I could and hugged my sketchbook. I crossed my fingers, hoping he would walk straight by.
My plan would have been perfect, if not for Max’s reliable nose. Ideal hiding spot or not, the dog soon sniffed me out and alerted everyone within a range of 150 kilometers to my presence, leaping at me with his usual enthusiasm. If my back hadn’t been against the gravestone, he probably would have knocked me over.
And what had to happen, happened. Éric appeared behind his dog and found me unsuccessfully fending off Max’s affectionate attack. The surprise on his face quickly gave way to suspicion.
“I don’t believe it! Were you spying on me?”
Pushing Max back, I stood up and tried to gather the tattered remains of my dignity under his master’s hostile eye. Éric, of course, made no move to help me. I smoothed my white blouse, now with added pawprints, tugged at my A-line flower skirt and met his gaze dead on.
He had the red eyes of someone who hadn’t slept in three weeks, or who had recently cried. There was an immense world-weariness in his blue gaze. Mindful of the emotions he was probably trying to mask behind his aggressiveness, I choked back the withering comeback rising in me. Instead, I summoned my most radiant smile and declared with just a touch of mischievousness:
“Why, good morning to you too, Mr. Lagnel! How do you do? What a lovely day, isn’t it? Such perfect weather! Ideal for drawing,” I added, brandishing my sketchbook.
I kept it shut, naturally. I could only imagine his reaction if he saw what I had just been sketching.
“Oh. You…came to draw?” He seemed slightly embarrassed.
“I came to visit my ancestor’s graves, actually,” I explained. “And I took the opportunity to sketch a little. I love drawing; it’s my hobby.”
“I thought genealogy was your hobby?”
“That too. But I can’t remember a time when I didn’t draw, whereas I can very much remember having a life before getting interested in genealogy. It’s fascinating, but boy is it time consuming.”
“I can guess.”
“But really, you can’t imagine how much you can discover when you start looking up your past.”
I had somehow become a real chatterbox and couldn’t stop.
“Look at me, for instance. I never would have guessed that my ancestors were noblemen when I started researching! Have you never wanted to find out who you descended from?”
“No. I’d rather focus on the present and future. You can’t change the past.”
“But studying the past is the only way to understand the present and avoid making the same mistakes all over again,” I insisted.
“I don’t know what kind of world you live in, princess, but I think very few people give a damn about the past, and most are rushing to make the same mistakes all over again, the same people forgotten, the same sins committed. This world is corrupt, and rotten from the inside. It’s every man for himself, and to hell with the others!”
I didn’t know how to answer such a rant. It gave me a glimpse into how dark his view of life was. Was this man unable to see any form of kindness around him? He appeared to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Was it Africa that made you this cynical?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Who told you I went to Africa?”
“Marine did.”
“Marine should know when to keep her mouth shut.”
“It must have been an amazing experience.”
“It was an eye-opener for sure.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t. Nobody can imagine it, and that’s the problem. It’s beyond imagining.”
Silence fell, and I wondered how we had drifted from talking about my drawings to poverty in Africa. The air around us was oppressive.
“I’m sorry.” Éric sighed. “I’m a little on edge.”
“It’s okay. I know things are hard for you right now.”
“That’s no reason to snap at you.”
He sighed again.
We started walking toward the gate. Heedless of the respect due to the dead, Max bounded merrily around us. I caught sight of a stick by the side of the alley and picked it up, waving it at Max then throwing it away.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Éric commented.
“Why? Are you going to tell me playing isn’t allowed in graveyards?”
“It probably isn’t. But I actually meant that Max will never leave you alone now.”
“That’s all right, I don’t have anything planned after this outing.”
“I do.”
I glanced sideways at him, eyebrows raised.
“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot you had a busy schedule,” I teased, grabbing the stick Max had just returned to me.
“I actually have an appointment set up.” I turned my attention back to Éric. “I’m meeting with an architect specializing in restoring ancient buildings. For the castle.”
“I thought you had given up?” I threw the stick again, and Max ran to fetch it with endless enthusiasm.
“The meeting was set up a long time ago, so I didn’t cancel it. Don’t expect any miracles, though. I’ll never find the funds to restore the castle without help. He might have some suggestions to raise money, but I’m under no illusions.”
“I’m sure there are solutions.”
He shrugged.
“We’ll see.”
We’d reached the cemetery gates. I threw the stick one last time, and Max galloped away as fast as he had the previous times.
“How did you come?” I asked. I couldn’t see any other car.
“I rode my bike.” He jerked his head toward a bicycle rack next to the wall.
“What about Max? Did he ride in the little pink basket in front?” I joked, pointing to a cute little-girl bike.
“Very funny. He runs beside me, he needs the exercise. There’s a shortcut through the forest not far away. We can avoid the road and there’s no risk of him being run over by a car.”
“I see.”
“What about y—”
I never knew what he wanted to ask me, because just then, Max came straight at me, stick in his mouth, and rammed right into me, knocking me clear off my feet. Pain spiked through my ankle as I fell flat on my back in the gravel.
“Ouch! Oh fudge, that hurts!” I swore between gritted teeth, instinctively reverting to English.
“
Down, Max!” Éric growled. “You know you’re not allowed to jump at people like that!” He rushed toward me. “Are you all right?” he asked, extending a hand.
I grasped it and pulled myself up.
“I think I’ll live.”
But the instant I shifted my weight onto my foot, the pain in my ankle blazed up my leg. I dropped back down heavily, grimacing.
“Ouch!” I moaned.
I barely had time to look up before Éric knelt in front of me.
“Let me see,” he ordered, summarily taking hold of my foot.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a sprain,” I assured him.
“So you’re a doctor too?” He raised an eyebrow, examining my foot.
His hands were startlingly gentle as he slowly rotated my foot, checking my reactions. In spite of myself, feeling his hands on my skin made my heart race and my cheeks flush. Marine’s words came back to me—“He’s very good with children.” I’d been skeptical, but I no longer had any trouble imagining it.
“You sprained it,” he announced, releasing my foot. “You need to bandage it and keep your weight off it for a while. I can prescribe painkillers if you want some.”
“It’s okay, I’ll be fine. But I’ll have to put some weight on it. I’m going to Angers tomorrow, remember?”
“Out of the question. You have to let your ankle rest.”
“It’s nonnegotiable. Tomorrow’s the only day I can go to the bookstore before it closes.”
“You can’t drive with your left ankle sprained,” he protested.
“I’ll figure something out.”
“You’re really stubborn, you know that?”
“It’s pronounced ‘determined,’ mister,” I told him.
He blinked as he processed the callback to our last conversation, and then he almost smiled.
“You’re going to make it worse if you walk on it.”
“I told you, I’ll figure something out.”
“Oh, hell.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, rising to his feet and lifting me in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you onto the bench. I think you’ll be more comfortable there than on the ground.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled ungraciously.
“Wait here. I’ll take Max back to the castle and return for you.”
“Don’t bother. I can find my own way back.”
“How did you get here?”
“On foot.” I grimaced.
It had seemed like such a good idea earlier. The cemetery was thirty minutes’ walk from the inn, and I’d thought it would be a pleasant stroll along the Vienne River. I’d planned to buy lunch on the way back and have a picnic by the riverside.
The idea of walking back was no longer quite so appealing. Yet I got to my feet and bravely limped a few steps under Éric’s sarcastic gaze, trying not to wince at the pain.
I was going to need all day to get back at that rate.
“Come on, you know you can’t walk. Just sit down and wait for me. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
I sighed and gave up, sitting back on the bench.
“Come on Max, you’ve done enough for today. Let’s go home!”
He mounted his bike and rode off into the forest.
* * * *
I was sketching again when I heard a low thrum. I didn’t pay much attention, focused on my drawing. The sound grew louder and louder, until I looked up to see a big black motorbike stop in front of me. The rider wore a full black bodysuit. He kicked down the stand and turned to me, pulling off his helmet.
My breath caught in my throat, and my heart missed a beat.
Éric.
I can say this about Éric, he filled a motorcycle outfit very nicely. He exuded a rugged, almost dangerous aura. Heck, I wasn’t expecting him to be so…sexy.
I pulled myself together—more or less—and raised an eyebrow.
“Showing off, Mr. Lagnel?”
“Absolutely not,” he retorted, smiling slightly. “I don’t own a car. Here, I brought you a helmet.” He held out an old-fashioned round helmet. “Hop on. I’m taking you back to the inn.”
I limped across the fifty centimeters to the motorbike and fastened the helmet on, grumbling internally. Who the hell looked sexy with this kind of helmet? Clearly not me. Not that I was trying to be, let’s be honest, but I did have a little self-esteem and this helmet would make even the most gorgeous model look ridiculous. Or at least it made me look ridiculous, as far as I could tell from the amused gleam in Éric’s eyes. He’d probably done it on purpose, I realized.
I took the bait. I posed like a pinup girl, pouting and batting my eyelashes at him, determined not to let him get away with it.
“So, Mr. Life-isn’t-a-fairy-tale, do I look ridiculous enough?”
“You’re stunning. Come on. Do you need help to climb on?” he added, eyeing my skirt.
I fired my most dazzling smile at him, and with a sultry look, lifted my skirt high up on my thighs to straddle the bike as gracefully and provocatively as I could, wrapping my arms around him.
I pushed down a satisfied smile when he swallowed and quickly pulled his helmet back on before kicking the bike into life.
“Hang on, princess, this is going to be a rough ride.”
* * * *
When Éric halted in front of the inn some ten minutes later, my heart was still beating wildly.
He hadn’t lied about the rough ride. I had been rattled and shaken, and I had no doubt he had done it on purpose. I felt as though I had just stepped off a roller coaster.
And yet I had not felt endangered for even a second. I had never been afraid he would lose control of his ride. I had never doubted him.
I didn’t know why he’d decided to put me through the wringer. Maybe out of spite. But the truth was…I had loved every minute of it. For ten glorious minutes, I had felt more alive than ever before. I had only one thing in mind—go for another round as soon as possible.
But I would never admit it to him, of course.
Éric kicked out the stand, leaned the bike against it and pulled off his helmet. To my great surprise, as I did the same, Marine exited the inn holding a pair of crutches.
“Look what I just found!” she called out.
“Perfect,” Éric replied.
How did Marine already know about my ankle?
I was so surprised I didn’t even protest when Éric took my helmet out of my hands and carried me into the inn. He put me down on a chair next to a table where Marine had spread out a medical kit.
“Éric called me to say you had a little accident with Max,” she explained, seeing my surprise. “So I took out my first aid supplies.” She smiled.
“You shouldn’t have, it’s really nothing.”
“Maybe not,” Éric cut in, “but you still need to take care of it.”
He didn’t leave me any time to reply, kneeling in front of me to undo the straps of my sandal and bandage my ankle. Again, his hands were both firm and extremely gentle. An uncontrollable shiver ran over me, and I prayed to God he didn’t notice.
“You shouldn’t move too much,” he said as he pinned the end of the bandage. “Be ready at eight a.m. tomorrow. I’ll come get you.”
“Get me?” I repeated, taken aback.
“You’re still going to Angers, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I’m driving you. There’s no way you can take the wheel with a sprained ankle. I’ll drive your car.”
I was about to protest when he added, his voice final: “It’s nonnegotiable.”
Chapter 14
Gabrielle
Castle of Ferté-Chandeniers
November 1899
“We’re here,” Thomas announ
ced a few minutes later when they walked into a snowy clearing.
A low gray stone building rose in front of them. She could hear horses whinnying inside.
Gabrielle raised her eyebrows and said, mock seriously: “It’s very kind of you to give me the tour of the estate, Mr. D’Arcy, but should I remind you that my father and I do not have a penny to our names with which to buy it?”
“You are in error, Mademoiselle Villeneuve, what I wish to show you is inside the stables.”
“I am sure Tornade would be right at home in the middle of our bookstore,” she went on, “but I do not think I have the means to ship him back to Angers, either.”
“That’s not it, either. Come in, you’ll see.”
“Should I close my eyes again?”
“No need.” He smiled.
She followed him toward the building.
“Why is the architecture here so different from the rest of the castle?” she asked.
“This used to be a hunting lodge, back when the first castle was built. It was made into a stable in the early eighteenth century. It’s all that is left of that period, since the castle was destroyed during the Revolution. Just this and a vast barn a few kilometers away.”
“This is the second time you mentioned the castle being destroyed. What happened?”
“Nothing extraordinary for the time. The castle belonged to a marquis who was in Paris when the Revolution started. He and his wife were imprisoned and guillotined a few days later, and the castle was looted and torn down.”
Gabrielle’s eyes were wide and horrified.
“Dear Lord… What about your family? Did they also suffer through the Revolution?”
“Nobody was beheaded, if that’s what you mean. The Saint-Armand family fled overseas as soon as the Revolution was ignited.” Thomas recited the facts dispassionately, as though he were reading from a history book. “Their belongings and title were seized while they were in exile. Henri, the eldest son and heir, returned to France as soon as he could and managed to be appointed equerry to Napoleon, who returned his title as thanks for good and loyal services. He bought the castle for a steal—or the ruins, at least—in 1812. And since he was a humble and modest man, he rebuilt it twice as large and dug the moat deeper, as well as buying a few acres more of land and woods.”