Count Toussaint’s Pregnant Mistress (16 page)

The tinny trill of Luc’s mobile cut through the still air of the conference room in Paris. A sheaf of documents lay spread across the table, detailing the sale of Chateau Mirabeau. Luc stilled, pen in hand.

‘Pardonnez-moi.’

He flipped open his mobile and spoke tersely into it. ‘Luc Toussaint.
Oui?
’

‘Luc. It’s Mireille.’ He tensed at the sound of the older woman’s voice, shock and a growing sense of dread spreading through him. He hadn’t spoken to Mireille in months. There had been grief and fear in those three little words, and it brought back the last time she’d rung, when she’d also told him, ‘There’s been an accident.’

For a moment he couldn’t actually credit that she’d said it, the same words as before, nearly two years ago, when he’d sat in a similar conference room, the phone pressed to his ear as his world had dissolved into numbness, nothingness.

It was happening again.

‘Abby.’ The word was forced out through his throat, which had shut, as his whole body seemed to have, every nerve and fibre shutting down as he struggled to retain focus. Composure. ‘Why are—
How
can you be calling about Abby?’

‘We met this morning. We spoke.’

‘No.’ He closed his eyes, choked on a sob. He couldn’t bear to hear it, to have his world fall apart again—and so much worse this time, so much
more. ‘No.’

‘Luc, no! It’s not that. She’s alive. But the baby—she’s been taken to hospital.’

Grim resolve replaced the agonizing fear, and once again he clamped down on the emotion. ‘I’ll be there in two hours.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Mireille choked, but Luc had already snapped his phone shut. He rose from the table, tossing the pen aside.

‘Monsieur Le Comte?’

He blinked, bringing the room—and what he’d been about to do—into focus, realizing with sudden, sharp clarity how misguided he’d been. How stupid.
‘Pardonnez-moi,’
he murmured, and strode out, the business deal completely forgotten. All he could think about, hope for, was Abby.

Abby.
The woman he loved. The woman he couldn’t lose.

She woke slowly, blinking the hospital room into view, everything still feeling muted and surreal. Unnatural. Her hands flew to her bump and she gasped aloud, a cry of shock and fear—for, where once there had been a hard, round baby squirming and kicking her way to life, now there was nothing. Nothing but the soft, pillowy flesh of an empty womb.

‘My baby…’ Her words came out in a desperate croak, and she heard someone stir next to her before Luc’s face came into view. His hand reached for hers, gently squeezing strength and warmth into them.

‘She’s all right, Abby. She’s safe.’

‘Where…?’

‘You had an emergency C-section. Your placenta had detached—it’s called a placenta abruption—and you were in grave danger. Fortunately, Mireille realized that, and took
you directly to Accident and Emergency in Pont-Saint-Esprit. They operated immediately, and our daughter is fine. Small, but fine.’ Luc spoke steadily, but even in her state Abby could hear the ragged edge of emotion underneath.

‘You came back.’

‘Mireille called me on my mobile. I never should have left.’ The ragged edge became more pronounced, fraying his tone and composure. ‘I thought for
one
day.’ He shook his head. ‘Thank God you’re safe. You’re both safe.’

Abby nodded, relief pouring through her. ‘Can I see her?’

‘She’s in the special-care unit at the moment, simply because she was so early, but I’ll have a nurse bring her to you as soon as possible.’

Abby nodded. She felt perilously close to tears, full of emotion, of delayed fear, hope and love. She turned to Luc, reaching again for his hand. His fingers closed over hers, strong and reassuring. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

‘I only wish I could have been here sooner. I never should have left you alone.’

‘Who could have guessed this would happen, after the scan? You can’t be with me always.’

‘No.’

They both lapsed into silence, and Abby wished she could say more. Ask more. She desperately needed to know what Luc wanted now that the baby was born. She knew he would expect her to return to the farmhouse at least until she was recovered, but what then? The last thing she wanted to be was a liability, loving Luc more than he could love her back, to be unhappy, unsatisfied.

Just like Suzanne had been.

Better to get on with her life now, recover and heal both her body and heart…alone. ‘Luc…’ she started, her voice scratchy. She wasn’t even sure what she dared to say.

‘Shh.’ Luc patted her hand. ‘I should let you rest. They’ll
bring the baby up soon.’ He got up, smiling briefly, but even in her hazy state Abby saw how distracted he was, how distant, and her heart felt leaden within her. She turned her face away so he wouldn’t see the tears glittering in her eyes, dampening her cheeks.

‘All right.’

He didn’t answer, and in the silence Abby knew he had gone.

L
UC
pulled the car to a stop in front of the gates, now washed in moonlight. He’d come directly from the hospital, from Abby’s room, where she’d sat up in bed, cradling their little girl. They’d decided on Emilie Charlotte. She was as pink and delicate as a rosebud, everything about her, from her pouty lips to her little fists tightly and perfectly furled. His heart ached with the memory of that precious sight, and it wasn’t an altogether pleasant feeling. It hurt more than he thought it would: the knowledge of how much he’d been given, and how much he still might stand to lose.

He sat in the car for a moment, listening to the wind rattle the padlock, the sound echoing and lonely. After a moment he finally got out of the car, the key heavy in his pocket.

It turned easily—it was new, after all—and soon he was walking down the familiar, sweeping lane, his shoes crunching on the gravel. Chateau Mirabeau was no more than a silhouette against the night sky, yet he knew its shape so well, so intimately, that he didn’t even hesitate as he crossed the front lawn and made his way up the steps to the main entrance.

He let himself in quietly; the door creaking was the only sound. Once in the foyer he simply stood and breathed in the scent of the place, of dust, must and over a year of neglect, but with a faint hint of lavender-polish and
home.

This was home.

He breathed in deeply, the night air still and sultry as he moved through the rooms. The last time he’d been here, when Abby had found her way in, he’d been in such a rush to find her he hadn’t really taken note of his surroundings. Perhaps he’d blinded himself on purpose, unable to bear the sight of his beloved home shrouded in dust sheets—forgotten because he’d chosen to forget it, because remembering had been too painful.

The day he’d realized his attachment to this place, his obsession, and that all it meant might have cost a life—his wife’s life—had been one of the worst he’d ever known. He’d felt guilt, shame, grief and pain all course through him in hot, unrelenting rivers, so deep, wide and all-consuming that he’d simply shut them off—shut himself off—and allowed himself to feel nothing at all.

He’d decided to be numb, blank, because feeling nothing was easier. It had been a choice, he saw now, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time. It had always been a choice, perhaps even back when his father had died so suddenly, leaving a gaping hole where a family had been. He’d decided to love the chateau rather than people because buildings didn’t die. They didn’t hurt you, and you couldn’t disappoint them.

Except, he thought now as he looked at one of his favourite salons decked out in dust sheets—at the gilded woodwork his mother had loved so well, now chipped and peeling—perhaps you could disappoint buildings after all.

He was tired of disappointment, weary of guilt, exhausted by fear. He’d never,
never
, been so afraid as when Mireille had rung him to tell him Abby was in the hospital, that her life and their child’s life was in danger. Luc shuddered even now in memory. He’d felt his whole life tilt and slide; everything he’d believed to be true had blown away like so much insubstantial ash.

He’d thought loving Abby would be hard, that the risk of hurting her, failing her, was too great. He’d shut himself off from the possibility of a future with her because of those risks. Yet in that moment, when he’d realized Abby might be lost to him so utterly, he’d realized the truth: losing her would be worse.

And now he was left with a choice. He could choose to return to safety, to his numb, emotionless state where he hurt nobody and nobody hurt him. He could keep the chateau as locked and lifeless as a tomb. Or he could sell it, as he’d been planning to that afternoon, thinking that the only way ahead was to pretend the past didn’t exist.

Or he could take a risk. He could choose love rather than safety, life over numbness. He could choose to feel, even if feeling held its own pain with the rush of emotions, which were terrifying in their strength.

He needed to choose.

The house creaked and settled around him, the sound like a sigh. Slowly Luc reached out and touched a nearby sheet, clenching the cool cloth under his fingers. He pulled slowly at first, and then harder, until the sheet fell away completely—and the living began.

Abby moved slowly through the farmhouse, Emilie cradled in her arms. It was a week since her daughter’s birth, and everything still felt new and fragile.

Uncertain.

She glanced down at her daughter’s sleeping face, her lips pursed as though in concentration, and knew that at least one thing was certain. One thing—her daughter’s life—was shining, pure, absolute.

‘I’ll put her in the cradle,’ she told Luc, who hovered in the doorway, his expression both distracted and strained.

‘I moved all her things to the study,’ he told her. ‘Since you’re not meant to climb stairs.’

Abby made a wry face. ‘What things?’

Luc smiled sheepishly. ‘I ordered things from Paris. One of everything I could think of.’

Abby nodded and headed towards the study. She stopped in the doorway, amazed at the room’s transformation. It was bedecked in white-and-pink tulle, with a huge cot, a dresser, a glider, and at least two-dozen different baby toys. ‘You really went to town.’

‘We should have bought things before.’

Abby nodded again. ‘We weren’t really prepared, were we?’ They’d both been hiding from reality, from the future and all of its uncertainty. Yet now, drawing in a breath, she knew it needed to be faced. She laid Emilie in the huge cot, tucking the pretty white blankets around her. When she was sure the baby was settled, she turned back to Luc.

Time to face the truth. The future.

Luc stood in the doorway of the study-cum-nursery, a look of rapt wonder on his face as he watched Abby settle Emilie. It gave her a treacherous flicker of hope. Then she squared her shoulders and clung to her resolution. A single look was not enough.

‘Luc…’ she began, but he held a finger to his lips and shook his head.

‘You’ll wake Emilie.’

‘Then let’s go outside,’ Abby said firmly, and led the way through the living room to the terrace. The air was dry and warm and fell over Abby like a comforting blanket. She’d miss this place, she thought with a pang of sorrow. She’d miss these months she and Luc had shared—but most of all she’d just miss Luc.

She’d miss the smile he gave her over the rim of his newspaper, the way his eyes glinted so knowingly, the way he held her, cradled in his arms like a treasure, after they’d made love. She’d miss it all. But mostly she’d miss what they hadn’t
yet shared—the possibility of living and loving together, of becoming closer and closer as they watched their daughter blossom and grow.

She swallowed, forcing the regrets away, and turned to Luc.
‘I’ll
need to stay here for a few weeks to recover, but then I think I should go.’ The words came out with far more determination than she felt; all she could feel was the ache of misery and loss like a molten lump in her chest.

For one glorious second Luc looked shocked, horrified, and hope leapt within Abby. Then his face blanked, any emotion wiped clean away, and he gave a little shrug that felt like a dagger to the heart, inserted and twisted.

‘If that is what you want.’

What an indifferent little phrase, Abby thought with a spurt of anger. What a horrible
nothing
thing to say after all they’d shared. She’d just had his
child.
‘Is that all you can say?’ she demanded in a raw voice, and Luc stiffened, surprise etched on his features.

‘Isn’t it what you want me to say?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘What I want?’ Abby repeated, choking on the words. ‘What
I want?
’ Luc shrugged, his expression now taut, trapped, becoming remote. Abby sagged, her anger replaced by weary despair. ‘What have we been doing these last few months, Luc—having a good time? Neither of us has ever mentioned the future, or what’s going to happen. We’ve never…’

She took a breath and forced herself to continue. ‘We’ve never even said what we feel for each other, if anything.’ When Luc didn’t even respond, the last little hope that he loved her and wanted her to stay flickered out to ash. She took another deep breath. ‘We’ve both buried our heads in the sand, and we can’t any more.’ His expression, so blank and ominous, didn’t change.
‘I
can’t,’ she amended quietly. ‘I want more. And I realize I’m not going to get it from you.’

Luc didn’t speak, didn’t blink, didn’t do anything, and something in Abby needed a reaction. ‘So?’ she demanded harshly. ‘Are you going to say anything—like goodbye, at least?’

‘I should,’ Luc replied after a long moment. ‘I should let you go. I’ve been telling myself that for days, weeks—that you’d be better off without me.’

‘Are you sure you don’t mean
you’d
be better off without
me?
’ Abby retorted sharply. ‘I’m not going to let you hide behind your fear any longer, Luc. You’ve told me before that you walked away because you didn’t want to hurt me. Well, that won’t wash this time.’ She threw her shoulders back, met his trapped gaze with her own glittering challenge. ‘If you’re going to walk away this time, then let’s be honest about it. It’s not because you’re afraid of hurting me. It’s because you’re afraid of getting hurt
yourself.
’

‘What—?’ The single word was a hiss of disbelief and denial.

‘Because love hurts, doesn’t it? Feelings can hurt. Caring opens you up to pain, to the
possibility
of pain, which can be so utterly terrifying. You know, after you left that night and my career went to pieces, I felt numb. I know how comforting that can be. Sometimes it’s necessary, for a time. It’s part of grieving. But eventually you’ve got to rejoin the living. You’ve got to move on. You’ve got to choose. Choose life, choose love.’ She paused then ploughed on. ‘Choose me.’

Luc let out a long, ragged breath. ‘I want to choose you,’ he said in a voice so low Abby strained to hear. ‘But…’ He bowed his head, his shoulders hunched, one hand rising of its own accord to cover his face. ‘I’ve been so
afraid.
’

‘Oh, Luc—’ Abby’s voice broke along with her resolve, and she crossed to wrap her arms around him. He submitted to her embrace, his shoulder silently shaking. They stood that way for a long moment, neither of them speaking. Finally Luc drew in a shuddering breath and lifted his head, pressing his forehead to Abby’s.

‘The other night,’ he began haltingly, ‘after I first left you in hospital, I began to wonder if maybe all these things I’d been telling myself, all these things I believed…Maybe they weren’t true after all. Just what you said, Abby. You know me so well.’ She felt rather than saw him smile, and reached up to touch his cheek. ‘I believed you’d be better off without me. I believed I’d disappoint or hurt you, and so I thought I was doing the right thing.’ He pressed her fingers to his lips. ‘Then I realized, when I went to Chateau Mirabeau—’

‘You went to Chateau Mirabeau?’ Abby whispered, not quite understanding why this gave her hope.

‘Yes. I was going to sell it, you know, that day in Paris. I thought—I thought that might help me to forget everything that has gone before. But you can’t run from your past, you can only try to heal it.’ His hands slid up under the heavy mass of her hair to cup her face. ‘Abby, I thought I was being noble. I thought I was protecting you. But you were right—I was really protecting myself.’

Abby waited, holding her breath,
hoping.
‘I’ve been afraid to feel…to love.’ He drew in a breath, as if he were a drowning man gasping for air. ‘Afraid of hurting you, but also of being hurt.’ Abby knew how much it must be costing him to make such a confession, to be so vulnerable. Yet still he continued, finally needing to say it all.

‘I acted selfishly, leaving you, telling you I couldn’t give you what you needed. It was out of fear and self-preservation, not the altruistic motives I attributed to my actions.’ He shook his head. ‘The heart is ever-deceitful, I suppose.’

‘But you’re being honest now,’ Abby whispered. ‘Why?’

‘Because when I saw you in the hospital, so pale, so
lifeless—
’ Luc choked, and Abby saw a sheen of tears in his eyes. ‘I realized I could lose you…really lose you. It terrified me, Abby.’ He tried to smile and almost succeeded. ‘All this time I’ve been telling myself I should let you go, and then,
when it was actually a possibility and not by choice…I drove away from the hospital that first night in a near-trance of fear. I was running away, I suppose, because these feelings—feeling so much—scared me. I’d been numb, blessedly numb, for so long. And then I came to Chateau Mirabeau. I walked through the rooms and realized I couldn’t sell it. I
shouldn’t.
It’s a part of me, and selling it wouldn’t accomplish what I wanted it to. Only loving you could do that.’

‘Luc, you know what Mireille told me—about the accident?’

‘She told me too,’ Luc said quietly. ‘While you were in hospital. And, while I’m glad to know Suzanne didn’t take her own life, I realize this was about me, not her. It’s about me taking a risk and choosing love. Choosing you.’ He took another breath. ‘So, the question is, do you choose me?’

‘Do I choose you?’ Abby repeated, smiling, a hint of laughter, of incredulous hope and joy, in her voice. That night in Paris hadn’t really been a choice, she saw now. It had been a fairy tale, the first awakening. Even in Cornwall, she’d simply reacted to the overwhelming attraction she felt for Luc; she’d been powerless in its pull. She still felt that now, but she also felt something deeper. Stronger. And she knew, absolutely knew, what choice to make.

‘I choose you,’ she said simply, and walked towards him. His arms came around her, pulling her gently yet firmly into an embrace that felt more like home than anything Abby had ever known.

A shrill, plaintive cry rent the air, and Luc smiled against her hair. ‘And someone else is choosing too,’ he murmured. ‘To wake up, that is.’

Laughing, her fingers still threaded with Luc’s, Abby went to care for their daughter.