Vintage Pride (9 page)

“So,” he said, running caressing fingers along his lover’s arm, “that thing you were you going to tell me about earlier. Does it have something to do with Benoît?”

Jean-Luc’s body went rigid and he glared at Ethan. The fierceness in those strange, golden eyes seemed to freeze the marrow in his bones. “What do you know about Benoît?” he roared.

“Nothing, honestly. It’s just—Thér
è
se mentioned his name earlier but as soon as she realized she’d let his name slip, she just clammed up, like she wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Did he hurt you in some way? Walk out on you?”

“Oh, Ethan, it’s nothing like that…”

Jean-Luc had relaxed a little but Ethan was still all too aware of the space between them. “Then explain to me. I won’t understand until you do.”

“Benoît and I were together for a long time. The instant I met him, I knew there would never be anyone else for me. He was my lover, my best friend, my soulmate.”

“So…what went wrong?” Ethan almost didn’t want to ask but he had to know the source of Jean-Luc’s torment.

“He was on his way back to the château one night, nearly two years ago. The weather was foul and he was speeding. He always drove too fast, no matter what the conditions. The car spun off the road and crashed. According to the police, Benoît died instantly. I’d be lying if I said that was any kind of consolation.” Pain dripped from every word and tears had welled in Jean-Luc’s eyes. “I didn’t want to live without him in my life but I knew I had responsibilities to Thérèse and Marcus. Though my brother-in-law seems to be running the business admirably without me…”

That’s not how Marcus tells it.
“But why do you keep yourself shut away up here? Surely Benoît wouldn’t want to see you like this, living such a solitary, unfulfilling existence.”

“It suited me this way. After all, I knew I wasn’t going to find anyone who could hope to replace Benoît—until you arrived.”

“So you felt it too…”

Whoa, slow down here,
muttered the rational part of Ethan’s mind.
You’re not the kind of guy who falls head over heels for a man he doesn’t even know.
But he couldn’t deny he and Jean-Luc had made a connection like nothing he’d experienced before. It was just his luck that he seemed to have met the right man at the wrong time.

Chapter Nine

Jean-Luc propped himself up on one elbow to gaze at Ethan as he slept. The American appeared so untroubled, his breathing even and regular. Though what did Ethan have to worry about? His conscience was clear. He wasn’t the one lying in the darkness feeling as though he’d betrayed the love of his life.

Benoît, believe me. I was compelled to do this. Everything I ever felt for you I feel for this human. I know it shouldn’t be possible but it is. His scent, his taste, those soft groans he makes when he comes—they drive me wild, just as you did. And I wanted to remain true to you, but if this is to be my destiny…

He shook his head, trying to clear it of unwanted thoughts. He wouldn’t sleep for a while yet, not while his mind still raced. Maybe a mug of warm milk would help to soothe him, just as it had when he’d been a child and bad dreams had woken him.

Careful not to disturb Ethan, he slipped from under the covers. He hunted round for his robe, eventually finding it on the floor where it had dropped after he’d stripped it off. Jean-Luc put it on before easing his feet into fleece-lined slippers. He might have a hardy constitution but sometimes he drew the line at walking barefoot on chilly stone floors.

From what Ethan had told him, the investigation team would begin their work in earnest tomorrow. For now, he was free to pass through the corridors unnoticed. Nothing broke the silence of the night. No lights shone from beneath bedroom doors. Jean-Luc had the run of the château to himself.

Since Benoît’s death he’d become accustomed to popping down to the kitchen at odd hours. Eating in the grand dining room, even in the company of Marcus and Thérèse, no longer held any pleasure for him. He was much happier if he could take a bowl of stew or just a hunk of good bread and some strong cheese back up to his room and eat it there. Thomas, the chef Marcus had recruited from a Michelin-starred restaurant in Reims, had grown used to accommodating Jean-Luc’s whims and would sometimes prepare him a plate of cold cuts and pickles and leave it in the larder in case he fancied a midnight snack. Maybe one day Jean-Luc would feel able to keep normal hours and take an active role in the running of the vineyard once more, but he’d grown used to his solitary way of life. And now Ethan Wayne had arrived on his doorstep, shaking up all the beliefs he’d clung to in the wake of Benoît’s death.

Jean-Luc pushed open the kitchen door. It creaked softly on its hinges. He flicked the light switch, filling the room with a cold fluorescent glow. When he looked in the refrigerator, he spotted the remains of one of his favorite desserts—a ring of almond-studded choux pastry filled with chocolate cream and praline, known as a Paris-Brest. He’d always had a sweet tooth and the rich confection was too much to resist. Once he’d put a pan of milk on the stove to heat, he cut himself a slice of the gateaux then took it over to the table.

As he reached to retrieve a mug from the glass-fronted cabinet where all the crockery was kept, he became aware of a sound—footsteps, faint at first but coming closer. His back stiffened and his hackles rose. For the briefest instant, he wondered whether the stories were true and some lost soul did stalk the lower levels of the château after dark. Then a familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

“
Eh bien
, Thérèse, you couldn’t sleep either?” He smiled at his sister.

She stood cradling her belly with both hands. Her corn-colored hair was mussed and the skin beneath her eyes was a dark shade of purple. The modest, long-sleeved
broderie anglaise
nightdress she wore had been one of Jean-Luc’s presents to her the previous Christmas.

“The baby’s kicking.” She gave a rueful laugh, as if the novelty of carrying a new life within her was already wearing off. “There’s still three months to go but already the little one’s impatient to be out. And I didn’t want to disturb Marcus so I came to make myself a drink. What’s your excuse? Dreaming about Benoît again?”

He’d long since confessed to her about the nightmares that had plagued him on an almost nightly basis in the immediate aftermath of the car crash. Even now, he still relived that night in his dreams, tormented by images of Benoît’s broken body and the moment he’d received the visit from the police to inform him his lover was dead.

He shook his head. On the stove, the milk rose, coming to the boil. He lifted the pan off the burner then poured its contents into the mug. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Don’t worry. I have plenty of time to listen.”

He stirred a spoonful of honey into the drink. He handed it to Thérèse then went to fetch more milk.

“Oh, Jean-Luc, you don’t have to…”

“Please. It won’t take long to heat more. But if you so much as eat a forkful of that cake, I will never speak to you again.”

She sighed and went to sit at the table. “How long has it been since we last spent time together like this?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she went on. “Too long. I know you believe Marcus and I fuss around you but we’re worried, Jean-Luc. I want my brother back the way he used to be.”

Her words echoed the conversation he’d had when Marcus had first dropped the bombshell about inviting the
Spirit Seekers
crew to the château. He didn’t doubt Thérèse’s sincerity, but she didn’t need to concern herself with his wellbeing—nor did Marcus. He’d be okay, given time to grieve, time to heal. Or so he’d thought until Ethan had arrived and turned his world on its head.

“So tell me,” Thérèse said once he’d made a fresh drink for himself, “what’s this thorny problem that’s causing you a sleepless night?”

He avoided answering for a minute, forking up some of the Paris-Brest and reveling in the taste of the almond-topped pastry and velvety cream. At last, he said, “If anything ever happened to Marcus, what would you do?”

“Jean-Luc, how do you expect me to answer that question?”

“Come on, you must have thought about it. Particularly after Benoît…”

Thérèse stared into the depths of her mug, clearly seeking to avoid eye contact with Jean-Luc. “I’d be distraught, of course. Marcus is my mate, and you know the strength of the bond between us, but soon I’ll have a new life to take care of. Someone who’ll demand just as much of my time as Marcus does, if not more. That will change everything. It can’t fail to. And if I lost Marcus, I know I’d have to do whatever it took to ensure my child was loved and cared for. I couldn’t afford to spend my time moping and thinking of what might have been.”

The rebuke was obvious and it stung.

“What if you went on to find another person? Someone with whom you made that same special connection?”

“Well, that’s not my decision, is it? Who we take as our mate is in the lap of the gods.” She raised her gaze, and now it was Jean-Luc who turned his head away. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve met someone? But…how? When were you last in the company of any shifters apart from me or Marcus?”

He sidestepped the question. “What do you think of the Americans?”

She sipped her milk, clearly working out how best to phrase her reply. “Honestly? When I first found out that Marcus had invited them here, like you I was hostile to the idea. But just to see what we were letting ourselves in for I watched a couple of episodes of the show. Oh, don’t look at me like that.” She shrugged. “They get shown on one of the satellite channels late at night. I thought they would turn out to be cheap and sensationalist but they were very entertaining. Ethan, Dex and Kim go into these places and they’re more scared of what they think they’re going to find than anything they actually do. Though there’s this one moment when they’re in an old prison and the lights in the execution chamber start coming on by themselves…” Thérèse shivered.

“You know such moments can be faked, don’t you?” Jean-Luc said dryly.

Thérèse ignored the remark. “More than that, I like them as people. They’re behaving as perfect guests and they all seem very interested in the history of the château. Marcus is going to show them round the vineyard and the cellars tomorrow and tell them more than they could ever need to know about how Champagne is made.” She grinned. “And Kim’s so lovely. It’s nice to have another woman to talk to for once. I mean, there’s always Agathe but I’ve never been able to have a girly chat with her. There’s something distant about her, and I don’t think it’s just because she’s an employee rather than a friend.”

“And what about Ethan?” Jean-Luc tried to make the remark sound offhand but something in his tone must have given him away.

Thérèse pounced on his words. “It’s him, isn’t it? Ethan. He’s the one you’ve made the connection with.” Her expression changed from one of curiosity to shock. “Jean-Luc, how is that possible? He— He’s human.”

“You think I don’t know that? Everything I’ve ever been taught has convinced me that humans are not to be trusted. We have to hide what we really are so we can live among them, for fear of what they’d do to us if they knew. Yet as soon as I scented Ethan, I…knew. It was like meeting Benoît all over again.”

“I didn’t realize you’d met him. You’ve done a pretty good job of hiding away from everyone else.”

“I didn’t intend to. But I was drawn to him. Marcus inviting a group of paranormal investigators to our home when there are so many other châteaux across the country that are rumored to be haunted. That was fate. I’m convinced of it.”

“So what else aren’t you telling me?”

Jean-Luc put down his fork. He wanted to cut himself another slice of the delicious dessert but resisted the temptation. “And why would you ask that?”

“You’re my brother. I know you better than anyone else. And you’ve never been able to hide anything from me.”

“I—” Spilling his secret would surely change everything but he had to share it with someone. “I had sex with Ethan and it was incredible. But I can’t help feeling I’ve betrayed Benoît in some way.”

Thérèse got up to take her empty mug to the sink. “Don’t ever think that. Wherever Benoît is now, I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life like a monk. You need to move on. That doesn’t mean you have to forget him but honoring his memory doesn’t mean denying yourself all contact with others.” She let out a little groan. “I’m sorry. That was a particularly hard kick.”

“May I—?” Jean-Luc gestured to his sister’s stomach.

When she nodded, he went over and gently put a hand on it. In response, he felt something jerk and knew it to be the baby moving. His eyes widened in wonderment. “Marcus must think you’re bringing a little rugby player into the world.”

“Please, don’t encourage him. He hasn’t said as much but I know he’s really hoping it’s a boy.”

“And what about you?”

“A daughter would be nice, but I’ll be happy either way. I only wish Mama and Papa were still alive to see it happen. I know they always wanted to be grandparents.” She put her hand on top of Jean-Luc’s. “And as for you and Ethan, do you seriously think he could be your mate?”

“I know it,” Jean-Luc replied emphatically. “Being with him feels right.”

“He and his team are only here for a few days. Perhaps it would be better for you to ignore that feeling.”

“I can’t.” He slapped his palm against the metal draining board in frustration. “Don’t forget that when Marcus first arrived here, he was only looking for casual work. A couple of weeks, just helping to pick the grapes, that’s all. Then the two of you bonded.”

“That was different.” Thérèse sounded defensive.

“How so?”

“Marcus is one of our kind. He comes from a different pride, not a different species. He understood what it means to find your mate, to make that total commitment to the one you’re meant to be with. I can’t believe Ethan does.” She yawned. “I don’t know about you, but I really need to try to get some sleep. Goodnight, Jean-Luc.”