proud. A light breeze danced against her skin, threatening her sideswept updo. Fingers instinctively flew to the white-crusted sapphire pin that, at the nape of her neck, not only held her hair together but also had been in her family for centuries.
Smoothing her blond hair that cascaded over one of her shoulders, she took in the Reynaud family compound in the meeting of sunset with the moon, the stars just beginning to sparkle in the Louisiana sky. Though she had to admit, the flood of lights leading up to the door diminished the starlight.
She lifted her gaze to the massive structure ahead of her. Greek Revival with white arches and columns—no other word than massive, and a girl who grew up in a palace wasn’t impressed easily.
As she walked up the stairs to the home, the sureness from touching her family heirloom began to wane. But before she could lose her nerve and turn back, the limo pulled away and the grand door opened in front of her. This was officially happening.
Though the lights outside had been clinical and bright, the foyer was illuminated by bulbs of yellow. The warmth of these lights reflected on what appeared to be hand-painted murals depicting a fox hunt. American royalty.
A servant gestured for her to walk through the room on the left. Gathering the skirt of her dress, Erika crossed the threshold, leaving behind the foyer and its elaborate staircase and murals.
This room was made for entertainment. She had been in plenty of grand dining halls, and this one felt familiar and impersonal, with wisps of silk that told their secrets to the glass and windows.
Erika had always hated dinners in rooms like this.
Quickly scanning the room, she noted the elaborately carved wooden chair and the huge arrangements of flowers and the tall marble vases. But Gervais wasn’t here, either.
She pressed on through the next threshold and found herself in a simpler room. It was clear that this was a family room. The opulent colors of the grand dining room softened, giving way to a creamy palette. The kind of colors that made Erika want to curl up on the plush leather sofa with a good book and some strong tea with milk.
The family room sported an entertainment bar with Palladian windows overlooking the pool and grounds. But if she turned ever so slightly she could also see an alcove that appeared to lead to a more private section.
The master bedroom and bath? She could envision that space having doors out to the pool, a hot tub, perhaps. She bit her lip and spun away.
It was not as if she was here to gawk at furniture. She had to tell a man she barely knew that they were having a baby. And that the press would have a field day if she and Gervais didn’t get a handle on this now.
And there. She saw him. Chiseled. Dark hair, ruffled ever so slightly. His lips parted into a smile as he met her gaze.
Nerves and something else jolted her to life. Pushed her forward. Toward him and that wolfish smile.
She looked around and saw housekeeping staff, but no one else. Erika waved an elegant hand to the expansive room they stood in and the ones she’d already passed through. “Where’s the rest of your family?”
“Dempsey owns the other home on the compound grounds, next door. My younger brothers Jean-Pierre and Henri share the rights to the house to the northwest on the lake. Gramps has quarters here with me, since this house has been in our family the longest. It’s familiar. He has servants on call round the clock. He’s getting older and more forgetful. But we’re hoping to hold back time as long as we can for him.”
“I am so sorry.”
“They make great meds these days. He’s still got lots of life and light left in him.” A practiced smile pressed against his lips. It was apparent he was hopeful. And used to defending his grandfather’s position.
“And where does the rest of your family live?”
“Are you worried they’ll walk in on us?” He angled a brow upward, and she felt the heat of his eyes graze across her body. A flush crept along her face, heating her from the inside out. Threatening to set her nerves bounding out of control. She needed to stay calm.
“Perhaps.”
“My father’s in Texas and doesn’t return often. Jean-Pierre is in New York with his team for the season and Henri lives in the Garden District most of the time, so their house here is vacant for a while.”
Stepping out onto the patio, he nodded for her to follow. She hastened behind him. Intrigued. He had that way about him. A quality of danger that masked itself as safe. That quality that made him undeniably sexy.
And that, she reminded herself, was how she’d ended up in this situation.
Gervais surveyed the patio. She followed his gaze, noting the presence of a hot tub and an elaborate fountain that pumped water into the pool. The fountain, like the house, was descended from a Greek aesthetic. Apollo and Daphne were intertwined, water flowing from the statues into the pool.
Over the poolside sound system, the din of steel drums competed with the gentle echo of rolling waves on the lakeshore.
“You arranged dinner outside.” Erika breathed in the air on this rare night of low humidity. She looked around at the elaborate patio table that was dressed for dinner with lights, fresh flowers, silver and china. Ceiling fans circled a delicious breeze from the slight overhang of the porch.
“I promised you gumbo—” he gestured broadly, before holding the seat out for her “—and I delivered.”
She settled into the chair, intensely aware of his hands close to her shoulders. The heat of his chest close to her back. Blinking away the awareness, she focused on the table settings, surprised to realize he planned to serve her himself from the silver chafing dishes. “Your home is lovely.”
“The old plantation homes have a lot of character.” He slid into the seat across from hers. “I know our history here doesn’t compete with the hundreds of years, castles and Viking lore of your country, but the place has stories in the walls all the same.”
“The architecture and details are stunning. I can see why you were drawn to live here.” When Americans talked about their colonial towns, they always spoke of the old-world charm they’d possessed. But that was selling it short. Cities like New Orleans were the distillation of cultures haphazardly pressed against each other. And that distillation yielded beauty that was so different from the actual Old World.
“If you would prefer a restaurant...” He paused, tongs grasping freshly baked bread.
“This is better. More private.” She held up a hand. “Don’t take that the wrong way.”
“Understood. You made your point earlier.”
Seafood gumbo, red beans and rice, thick black coffee and powdery doughnuts—beignets. It was a spread that sent her taste buds jumping.
“Did you have a nice ride from the Four Winds Resort?”
“I did. The trees heavy with Spanish moss are beautiful. And the water laps at the roads as if the sea could wash over the land at any moment.” The languid landscape was so different than her country’s rugged and fierce Viking past. She’d liked learning about New Orleans so far.
“You
