Royally Seduced - By Marie Donovan Page 0,7

of those three things in Paris, and many more, of course.”

“So since I have already visited all those places, tell me where I should go next to get a sense of the real France.”

Jack made a split-second decision. His other belongings were safely stashed in a locker at the hostel for the day and he hadn’t made any firm plans to leave for Provence. What was one more day? The trains were always running to the south of France. “Why don’t I show you?”

Her pretty brow wrinkled again. “Show me what?”

“One of the most beautiful parks in Paris that only the locals know about. You like to hike?”

“I love it,” she promptly replied. “The Appalachian Trail runs through Pennsylvania, and I’ve hiked several parts of it.”

“Good, this will be easy for you. Do you have a Métro card?”

“All set.” She stood and dumped her empty cup into a nearby trash can. “Allons! Let’s go.”

Jack smiled. Her dreadful accent was starting to seem rather cute. He immediately put the brakes on that idea. Lily was a tourist, and he was going back to Provence to sit in the sun, eat and regain his strength.

He grimaced. Kind of like the mangy stray cat his Provençal housekeeper Marthe-Louise had taken in and fattened up last winter. Ah, well, she’d be happy to do the same for him.

3

“I CAN’T believe this is in the middle of the city.” Lily gazed around the park in rapture. Fashionable young mothers in silk T-shirts and slim Capri cargo pants pushed babies in strollers, their gladiator sandals slapping the pavement. Older men strolled along the paths, conversing with enough upper body movement to qualify for a cardiovascular workout. She was the only tourist in sight. “How do you say the name again? The sign says Butts, but that can’t be right.”

“No, we have no ‘butts’ here.”

Lily sneaked a look at his, but those baggy shorts made it impossible to tell. Probably as lean as the rest of him. Rats! He caught her peeking. She fought a blush, and she hadn’t even seen anything. He was kind of cute with his warm brown eyes.

“You would pronounce it ‘Boot show-mon.’”

Lily never would have guessed that from the sign that read Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. “What does it mean?”

“Buttes are hills and Chaumont probably means ‘bald mountain.’ And parc means—”

She elbowed him, interrupting his chuckle. “Yes, thank you, I figured that out for myself.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a brief squeeze and then dropped it. “I am just teasing you, Lily. I admire your courage in coming by yourself to a country where you do not speak the language.”

“I wouldn’t have been on my own if my cousin hadn’t had wonderful news.” She found herself telling him about Sarah’s past problems having a baby, and he nodded as if he knew what she was talking about.

“Yes, yes, it was wise for her to stay at home. Pregnancy can be difficult in the first trimester, especially with a history of complications.” He cleared his throat. “But of course I am not an obstetrician.”

She laughed. He looked as little like any ob-gyn she’d ever met. She pulled out her camera and took a few shots of Parisians enjoying the fine summer day. “Come on, let’s walk.” She followed the path into the park and was surprised to find herself in almost a forest. “Wow, Jack, look at all these trees.”

“Yes, the park was commissioned by Napoleon III in the mid-1800s. Many of the trees were planted then.” Jack pointed to a curve. “Ah, turn here.”

All the noise of Paris had fallen away as they passed a red brick mansion in the park and crossed a terra-cotta-tiled bridge. “Down the steps?” Lily peered down a dark, cool tunnel.

“Exactement.” Jack went down a couple steep steps and extended his hand. “Watch your step. The rock can be slippery.”

Lily took his strong, warm hand. As they descended, she was grateful for his steady grip and her sturdy hiking boots. “How on earth did they ever make this park?”

“They shaped it from an old quarry and it took several years to finish.”

She concentrated on keeping her footing and only looked up when they emerged onto a long, narrow suspension bridge. It was as if they were in a misty watercolor illustration of a fantasy novel heavy with wizards and princesses. She couldn’t resist taking more photos, this time one-handed.

The bridge towered over a serene lake that reflected up the greens, yellows and reds of the