Royally Seduced - By Marie Donovan Page 0,36
both, considering what she’d read about the wild mistral winds that funneled south from the mountains.
Fruit trees lined the courtyard—always practical, those Provence farmers. Almond, apple, cherry and dark plum. Ooh, and a fig tree. You didn’t see those outdoors in Philly, and this was a big fig, its grayish trunk a mass of columns as if it were many tree trunks woven and grown together.
The still, warm air buzzed with the sound of cicadas. It was as if she had fallen back one century, even two, as she sat in the quiet courtyard.
And this was Jack’s country. No wonder he had looked ill at ease in noisy, gray Paris. He thrived on warmth. Warm sun, warm people and warm colors.
She was flowering as well in Provence, enjoying the beautiful scenery and kind people. But Jack was the biggest reason she was enjoying herself.
Lily leaned her head back against the thick plastered wall and closed her eyes. Yep, she could get to like this too much. She must have dozed off because the next thing she realized, Jack slid next to her on the bench and kissed her awake.
“Hello, Sleeping Beauty.”
“I’m no beauty.”
He laughed and then grew serious when she lifted an eyebrow at him. “And you think you are not?”
She shrugged, uncomfortable at this serious turn of conversation. “I’m not particularly blonde, particularly tall or particularly, um, well-built.”
“You have hair like honey.” He cupped her jaw and lifted several strands. “It shines golden-brown in the sun. You are the right height to fit against me. And if you were any more shapely, I would be an even bigger gibbering idiot when you are near me.”
“You don’t seem like an idiot now.”
“I hide it well.” He brushed her hair to the side and kissed her cheek. “All I want to do is stare at you—and try not to drool down my chin.”
She gave a startled laugh at the image of sophisticated, urbane Jack with drool down his chin because of her.
“And you are even more beautiful when you laugh.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now come see the house. I talked with Jean-Claude and he was happy to let us stay here.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Positive.” He selected a key from his ring and unlocked the front door. “Come see. I think you will like it.”
Jack pushed open the door and ushered her in. She stood there enjoying the sunny, two-story entryway while he carried in their bags. “Voilà, the foyer.” It was a wide, modern-size space with a sweeping staircase going up into the second floor, but the bones of the house were definitely not modern. The exposed walls were old limestone like the outside, and the ceiling was white plaster with dark timbered crossbeams that were obviously not only decorative but still structural.
“How old is this place?” It looked even older than Mrs. Wyndham’s house, and Ben Franklin had actually dined there with a Wyndham ancestor.
“It was an ancient farmhouse that Oncle Pierre renovated, adding all the modern comforts, of course. This main level used to be the stable, and the heat of the animals would rise to the rather meager living quarters upstairs. It is of course several times larger than it used to be.”
“Oncle Pierre?”
“Yes, he was the younger brother of the family. Wanted his privacy.” Jack shrugged matter-of-factly. “His mistress was not only a very famous actress, but a married one, no less. They needed much privacy for their rendezvous.”
Lily pursed her lips and Jack laughed. “Do not worry about that lady’s husband, chérie. He had a boyfriend of his own. Everyone was very civilized, and I believe they used to exchange Christmas presents.”
“Hmmph.”
“Ah.” He carried their luggage up the front staircase, framed by an elegant wrought iron railing decorated with bronze medallions of bundles of lavender.
“What do you mean, ‘ah’?” Lily narrowed her eyes at his back.
He pushed open the door to a wide, airy bedroom. It had a large bed with four dark wooden posts rising to a canopy frame. Gauzy white fabric draped artfully from one side to the next. “You are worried that I am very civilized, that I have a wife or mistress—or both, and they are all very French and unconcerned about my doings. Is that right?”
“Madame Finch said you didn’t,” she muttered.
“Madame Finch?” His eyebrows shot up. “When did you ask her about my sex life?”
“I called her after you kissed me in the car. She says you are single.”
“And did she ask why you wanted to know?”
“I told her you’d just stuck your tongue