PHILIPPE WENT INSIDE and through the bedchamber to the corridor beyond, thinking of his uninvited guest. She was beautiful, clever, and full of lively curiosity. All three qualities made her dangerous to him, but for very different reasons.
The first was his strong attraction to her. The feelings of pity and protectiveness he’d experienced on the mountainside were resolving themselves into a deeper interest. Jenna D’Arcy reminded him that he was a man, with a man’s needs for companionship—and more.
When she’d spoken of winter at the château, he’d had a sudden image of her curled up in a chair by the fire in the salon with a book upon her lap. For that split second he’d imagined himself in the chair beside hers, a snifter of cognac in his hand, watching the light dance over her lovely face.
He’d rather liked that vision of her curled up near him by the fire. In his bed, nestled against his chest, within the circle of his arm. How could he not think of such things, when he still remembered the feeling of her slender body curved into his as the rescuers worked their way up the mountain?
He banished it as quickly as it came. His interest in her could, he knew, never amount to more than a passing thought, an idle daydream of what might have come to pass if circumstances were not as they were. Since he couldn’t alter them, he must adapt himself instead.
But if Jenna D’Arcy stayed too long, there would be no way he could hide his other secrets. There were bound to be slipups—and that was the second danger.
The third, and most volatile, was the quest that had brought her to Beaumont Foret. He would have to find a way to satisfy her curiosity about the village’s past history, while convincing her that there was no use in digging further into it.
Fortunate indeed that the old church burned to the ground.
The most urgent need was to hide the truth from Mademoiselle Jenna D’Arcy’s lovely eyes until she was safely away from the valley. And that would be only a matter of a day or two. Then she would be gone from Beaumont Foret, and life would slip back into its daily rhythms.
The thought should have filled him with relief. Instead it left him feeling bleak. If he had been free to indulge his likes and dislikes, he would have wanted to get to know his pretty guest much better, to see if there was as much wit and cleverness behind that lovely face as he imagined. To discover if the tension that shivered in the air between them might develop into something more interesting.
Philippe shrugged. What he wanted made no difference at all. He had no choice, must be rid of her as soon as possible. Then he could go back to being not a man but a stone, with no emotions to stir him other than love for his son—and the desperation that fueled his long hours of isolation surrounded by crumbling manuscripts.
Gaston stepped out of the shadows. “Monsieur LeFevre has arrived. He is in the estate room.”
“Thank you.” Philippe crossed the wide hall and went down a side corridor to the estate room. It was a masculine room of paneled wood and leather, where records of business were kept.
Armand LeFevre, his cousin and right-hand man, was standing at the window with his back to the room. He was thin and dark, with a quality of barely restrained energy even when he was at rest.
“We found the mademoiselle’s automobile.”
Philippe raised his eyebrows. “And—?”
“The old road out of the valley is gone in a massive rockslide. And her vehicle with it. It is a miracle we found it at all. The driver’s side and rear of the vehicle were crushed beyond hope.” He shook his head. “Had she been inside it, the mademoiselle would be dead.”
“A lucky escape for her.” Philippe said, picking up the crystal decanter on the desk. The thought that Jenna might have been killed upset him, but his hand and voice were steady. “What of her luggage?”
Armand gestured toward the table, where he’d placed a square leather box with a carrying handle, a laptop computer in its protective leather case, and a trendy handbag. Nearby a garment bag was laid over the seat of a tapestry chair. “This is all we could salvage from the wreck.”
Philippe poured the amber liquid into two glasses and handed one to his cousin. “Is there anything of the vehicle that can be seen on the road from Haute Beaumont?”
“No. The overhang and the pile of rubble make it impossible to be seen from above.”
“Good. At least we won’t have to worry about anyone coming to retrieve it.” Philippe sipped his brandy.
“Gaston tells me she has made a rapid recovery. You could take her across the valley and up the hidden road to St. Anne this afternoon.”
“She is not recovered enough as yet. Perhaps by Friday.”
Armand frowned. “But you said you meant to be rid of her as soon as possible.”
“The matter is more complicated than I first imagined.” Philippe swirled the liquid in his glass. “Mademoiselle D’Arcy did not come to Beaumont Foret by accident, but by design.”
“What?” Armand’s jaw dropped. “This is a joke, no? You cannot be serious!”
“I assure you that I am.” Philippe leaned against the mantelpiece. “Her family was among those who left the valley before the barrier went up—perhaps that’s why she was able to penetrate it. She told me she came here to research her family’s roots.”
Armand was visibly shaken. He took a healthy swallow of brandy. “What are we to do?”
“String her along just enough to satisfy her curiosity. I told her that the records were destroyed along with the church.” Philippe watched as relief flooded the other man’s face. “But she won’t go happily until she sees the ruins and has a chance to wander among the headstones, looking for her ancestors.”
“The longer she stays, the more dangerous she becomes!”
“I don’t need you to remind me of that, Armand.” Philippe tossed off the rest of his brandy. “Leave it to me. I will escort her about the village—that way she will see only what I wish her to see. I hope it will be enough.”
“I hope so too—for all our sakes.” His cousin eyed him shrewdly. “Berthe and Gaston say she is very beautiful.”
Philippe refilled their glasses. “She is.”
“In that case, I could set aside my pressing business affairs long enough to take her back,” Armand offered. A twinkle lit his eyes.
“How good it is of you to offer,” Philippe replied wryly. “However, you needn’t make the sacrifice. As soon as she is well enough to travel, I’ll drive Mademoiselle D’Arcy back down to the coast—and vanish the moment she is safely inside her hotel.”
Something in his voice alerted his cousin. “Ah. So you are interested in her, are you? My dear cousin, is that wise?”
Philippe felt a quick flash of anger. Was it wrong of him to wish to enjoy an afternoon’s drive with a beautiful woman? To create the illusion, for a few pleasurable hours, that life was the same for him as for other men?
“Spare your breath.” Philippe set down his glass with more force than he intended. “I am too old for your lectures. And you know I have no choice. Am I not sworn to do everything in my power to rid Beaumont Foret of its affliction?”
Armand acknowledged that was true. “I do not envy you your position. It cannot be an easy one.”
“There will be no trouble, I assure you. I’ll see to that.”
“I hope you may be right.” He shrugged. “Meanwhile, there is another problem at hand. I rode down to the old mill this morning to help old Louis oil the turbines for the hydropower. I found fresh wolf tracks. I followed them all the way to the river, where they vanished.”
Philippe turned to stare at him. “How many?”
“Just a single wolf. Not fully grown, from the size and depth of its marks. But it is a bold one.”
“Indeed.” Philippe rubbed his jaw. “One of ours?”
“I don’t think so. We would surely have known if one appeared near the village.”
“That is so.” Philippe knew there were small pockets in the most remote mountains where wolves still thrived, but they rarely ventured in close to Beaumont Foret except in times of famine.
“It had to come over the mountains and down from the higher elevations,” Philippe said. “There was a dynamite crew blasting rock last week for the planned resort on the other side of Haute Beaumont. Perhaps the noise disoriented the creature, and it became separated from its pack. Were there any signs that it was ill or injured?”
“None that I could see. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing yet, except to send out a warning. My guess is that it’s a young wolf and merely curious. If it returns, we’ll have to frighten it back up into the mountains, where it belongs. I would prefer not to take stronger action unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Good. Will you stay to dine with me?”
“Thank you, but I promised Marie that I would be home early.” Armand fixed him with a sharp glance. “Do you feel the need for a chaperon?”
Philippe laughed. “Not at this stage of my life. Tell me, would it be convenient for you to take my son to stay with you for a few days? I am afraid that in his innocence he might say the wrong thing in front of our unexpected guest.”
“I have been meaning to ask if I might have Claude come to stay again. I promised him I would do it soon. Shall I take him back with me today?”
“Tomorrow morning will be soon enough.” He hesitated. “Marie does not mind?”
“She dotes on the boy.”
The same thoughts crossed their minds. Marie would have been a wonderful mother, if circumstances were otherwise. Philippe put his hand on Armand’s arm. “You are both young enough. If I can find the cure . . .”
“If, if, if!” The older man said with a crooked smile. “I do not hold my breath, hoping. But if you should succeed—ah, how different all our lives would be.”
When his cousin left, Philippe gathered up Jenna’s belongings. He saw that the leather case wasn’t closed tightly, and lifted the lid so he could shut it properly.
“What the devil?”
Instead of the cosmetics he’d expected to find, the inside of the case was carefully fitted with brushes, tweezers, magnifying glasses, several pairs of white cotton gloves, and vials of powders and fixatives. He looked at the labels more closely. Each one bore the same legend in gold letters: “D’Arcy Industries.”
Curious, Philippe extracted the glossy pamphlet tucked into one side of the case. It wasn’t the manufacturer’s brochure that he expected, but a program for a seminar that had been held in Fontine, by the International Society of Museum Conservators.
He turned it over, and his gaze was immediately arrested by the photograph of the keynote speaker. Her hair was longer in the photo and slicked back, the rioting chestnut curls subdued at her nape—but it was definitely Jenna D’Arcy.
There was no personal information about her beneath the photo, only a list of credentials and a short blurb.
Mademoiselle D’Arcy is Curator of the Archives of Ancient Texts at the Avery Library Museum in Sacramento. Her seminar will introduce the innovative D’Arcy Method, which has been successfully tested on manuscripts previously considered to be damaged beyond hope of restoration.
He stared at the words, unable to take them in until he read them over again. So, Jenna D’Arcy is an expert in restoration. The irony of the situation struck him. His unwanted guest was in a position to help him. The price of it was risking the safety of all those he held most dear.
Still . . .
After a moment Philippe closed the case and rang for his butler. “Gaston, please see that these items are taken to Mademoiselle D’Arcy’s room.”
“Very good, monsieur.”
Philippe walked to the window. He stood there, staring out over the green lawns toward the moat, considering events from every angle. The temptation was almost overwhelming.
He shook his head. But no . . . I cannot do it. I am a Beaumont. A man of honor. And, setting that aside, there is still far too much at risk. Too many people depend upon me. I must tread carefully.
But then his son came into view, all gangling arms and legs and boyish energy. Claude flung himself down in the shade of a tree and took out a pocketknife. As the boy sat whittling a stick, Philippe’s priorities fell into their proper order.
Philippe frowned and turned away from the window, brooding. He would have to consider all options and then make a choice. One based on clear logic, untinged by sentiment.
In bringing Jenna D’Arcy to Beaumont Foret, Fate had handed him a gift on a silver platter. He would be a fool if he didn’t take it.