recipe.”
He was teasing. She knew it, for there was a smile lurking at the edges of his mouth and creasing the corners of his eyes. In retaliation, she kicked him under the table, and they both laughed.
How long, she wondered, looking into his black eyes, had it been since she’d laughed with a man? How long since she’d felt like this? Happy and relaxed, unafraid? A long time. Her laughter faded to silence. Too long.
“Mademoiselle?” Alexandre’s voice broke into her thoughts, and she blinked.
“Hmm?”
“Is something wrong? You look quite grave all of a sudden.”
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I was woolgathering, I’m afraid.”
“What about?”
She was saved from answering by Augustus, who let out a loud wail of indignation from the floor below, reminding them of who did not yet have anything to eat. He began to circle the base of the table by their feet, voicing his displeasure with a series of plaintive meows.
Alexandre paused, leaning sideways to frown at the kitten below. “Augustus, lie down and be quiet. The mademoiselle will feed you when we are finished.”
Tess peered beneath the table as well, watching as the kitten changed tactics by rubbing his head against Alexandre’s leg and purring mightily.
Tess straightened, grinning at the man opposite her. “You have made a friend, I think.”
He sighed. “It would seem so.”
Wisely, she decided to change the subject. Glancing around the studio, her gaze moved past the stack of linen-wrapped portraits that leaned against the wall, suspecting he would not like to be asked about the woman whose portrait was amongst them. She chose a more innocuous topic. “Is this your ancestral home?” she asked, tearing a piece from the loaf of bread.
He nodded. “The Dumond family has held this land for five centuries.”
“How did you manage to keep it during the Revolution?”
“I didn't.” He paused a long moment, and Tess thought he was not going to say any more. “Robespierre accused my father of treason,” he said after a moment. “The Jacobins executed both my parents in Paris in 1792. I was five years old.”
Tess drew in a sharp breath. She, too, knew how painful it was to lose one's parents, but that must have been especially difficult for a five-year-old boy. ‘I’m so sorry.”
“I was here when it happened,” he went on. “Lucien, my father's wine master, adopted me, and I lived with his family. Our lands were taken over by a member of the Robespierre government. He only came here once a year, and the rest of the time, Lucien managed the estates for him.”
“How did you get the land back?”
“Later, when Napoleon was in power and began his Egyptian campaign, he took possession of my home for military purposes. Being situated right on the Mediterranean Sea, this land made an excellent military outpost.”
He gestured to their surroundings. “This tower was originally one of four, but in the sixteenth century Provence law had declared that towers were too ostentatious, and all four towers torn down, but Napoleon rebuilt this one as a watchtower to the sea. While I was in Italy, Lucien continued to manage the lands for Napoleon until 1814, making brandy and other wines for the army. When the Corsican fell and Louis came to power, I returned from Florence and petitioned the king to restore to me my lands and title. He agreed, and I have lived here ever since.”
“Title?”
“I can see I have been remiss.” He bowed his head to her. “Allow me to formally introduce myself, mademoiselle. I am the Comte de Junot.”
But who is the girl in the portrait ? Tess looked down at the blue dress she wore. Who did this dress belong to ?
She did not ask him that, however. After all, she could not expect him to share his secrets if she was unwilling to share hers.
***
The Earl of Aubry was not a happy man. He stared down at the letter that had come in the morning post, scanning the lines of Martin Trevalyn's
He was teasing. She knew it, for there was a smile lurking at the edges of his mouth and creasing the corners of his eyes. In retaliation, she kicked him under the table, and they both laughed.
How long, she wondered, looking into his black eyes, had it been since she’d laughed with a man? How long since she’d felt like this? Happy and relaxed, unafraid? A long time. Her laughter faded to silence. Too long.
“Mademoiselle?” Alexandre’s voice broke into her thoughts, and she blinked.
“Hmm?”
“Is something wrong? You look quite grave all of a sudden.”
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I was woolgathering, I’m afraid.”
“What about?”
She was saved from answering by Augustus, who let out a loud wail of indignation from the floor below, reminding them of who did not yet have anything to eat. He began to circle the base of the table by their feet, voicing his displeasure with a series of plaintive meows.
Alexandre paused, leaning sideways to frown at the kitten below. “Augustus, lie down and be quiet. The mademoiselle will feed you when we are finished.”
Tess peered beneath the table as well, watching as the kitten changed tactics by rubbing his head against Alexandre’s leg and purring mightily.
Tess straightened, grinning at the man opposite her. “You have made a friend, I think.”
He sighed. “It would seem so.”
Wisely, she decided to change the subject. Glancing around the studio, her gaze moved past the stack of linen-wrapped portraits that leaned against the wall, suspecting he would not like to be asked about the woman whose portrait was amongst them. She chose a more innocuous topic. “Is this your ancestral home?” she asked, tearing a piece from the loaf of bread.
He nodded. “The Dumond family has held this land for five centuries.”
“How did you manage to keep it during the Revolution?”
“I didn't.” He paused a long moment, and Tess thought he was not going to say any more. “Robespierre accused my father of treason,” he said after a moment. “The Jacobins executed both my parents in Paris in 1792. I was five years old.”
Tess drew in a sharp breath. She, too, knew how painful it was to lose one's parents, but that must have been especially difficult for a five-year-old boy. ‘I’m so sorry.”
“I was here when it happened,” he went on. “Lucien, my father's wine master, adopted me, and I lived with his family. Our lands were taken over by a member of the Robespierre government. He only came here once a year, and the rest of the time, Lucien managed the estates for him.”
“How did you get the land back?”
“Later, when Napoleon was in power and began his Egyptian campaign, he took possession of my home for military purposes. Being situated right on the Mediterranean Sea, this land made an excellent military outpost.”
He gestured to their surroundings. “This tower was originally one of four, but in the sixteenth century Provence law had declared that towers were too ostentatious, and all four towers torn down, but Napoleon rebuilt this one as a watchtower to the sea. While I was in Italy, Lucien continued to manage the lands for Napoleon until 1814, making brandy and other wines for the army. When the Corsican fell and Louis came to power, I returned from Florence and petitioned the king to restore to me my lands and title. He agreed, and I have lived here ever since.”
“Title?”
“I can see I have been remiss.” He bowed his head to her. “Allow me to formally introduce myself, mademoiselle. I am the Comte de Junot.”
But who is the girl in the portrait ? Tess looked down at the blue dress she wore. Who did this dress belong to ?
She did not ask him that, however. After all, she could not expect him to share his secrets if she was unwilling to share hers.
***
The Earl of Aubry was not a happy man. He stared down at the letter that had come in the morning post, scanning the lines of Martin Trevalyn's
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