All the women within sight were drooling openly. The object of their desires barely acknowledged them. Gwen tried to behave in an equally offhand manner. She smiled pleasantly at her stellar guest. No one could complain if she was only serving the man. It was her job, after all.
‘Excuse me, monsieur, what would you like?’
Etienne Moreau had paused to question a nearby guest about a recent business deal. His attention instantly swung back to Gwen. He focused his gaze on her as though she was the very last thing he expected to find at a family party. With warm concentration, his pensive brown eyes took in every detail from her tumble of honey-blonde hair to the curves sculpted by her beautiful blue evening dress. After due deliberation, his inspection returned to her eyes. Then he smiled, and Gwen’s world stood still.
‘I’d like something you could not possibly offer me over a crowded bar.’
The gentle lilt of his accent should have been relaxing. It had quite the opposite effect on Gwen. The wicked smile lighting his face turned her insides to jelly. She was used to fending off all kinds of trouble from men, but for the first time in her life she felt like meeting it head-on. The sensation made her smile right back at him. Her professional approach might hide the effect he was having on her, but it couldn’t steady her voice.
‘I—I mean, what would you like to drink, monsieur? Le Rossignol has a large selection of fine wines and spirits,’ she said, trying to disguise her uncertainty by casually leaning forward against her side of the bar. His dark eyebrows rose in appreciation. Gwen’s unspoken reply was to lean back again. He smiled.
‘I’ll have a léger Colombien, s’il vous plaît.’
Coffee was the very last thing Gwen served the sort of people who partied at Le Rossignol, not the first. Despite that, she was ready for anything. At one end of the bar was the best hot drink console she could afford. While she busied herself creating Etienne’s coffee, Gwen was aware of him chatting idly with others at the bar, but she didn’t hear a word. She was too busy enjoying the sensation of his interest running over her. Although she had her back to him, it was as tangible as a touch. When she turned around, his eyes were warm with possibilities. As she passed him the cup his glance flicked down to her left hand.
‘Merci, mademoiselle. Won’t you have one with me?’
‘No, monsieur. I’m working.’
His beautiful white teeth flashed in a wicked smile. ‘I suppose that means Sophie got to you first. She must have threatened to lay a curse on you, if you distracted me for too long.’
One look and those few words almost made Gwen forget everything she had ever known. Only thoughts of her overdraft stopped her melting into a quivering heap, right there in front of him.
‘Not at all, monsieur. I’m on duty. To linger with one guest, however charming, would be unprofessional,’ she said with an ease that felt anything but natural. ‘And now, if you would excuse me, I must circulate.’
The smile Gwen gave him faltered as she saw the warmth in his eyes. Unable to meet the silent laughter dancing there, she left him with as much slow dignity as she could muster.
Etienne sipped his coffee. Darkening with thought, his eyes glittered as he watched her walk away. His companions at the bar were still talking, but he took only a polite interest.
‘It didn’t take you long to get over Angela, did it, Etienne?’ One of the guests laughed, tracking his gaze.
The question brought Etienne back to the present with a jolt. His lip curled with a sneer of disdain. ‘Sentiment is for women and children. I don’t waste time on it.’ Shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, he pushed the empty coffee cup aside. ‘Excuse me. I should go and have a word with the countess Sophie.’
Leaving the bar, Etienne strode away through the reception area without a backward glance. He wished the past could be ignored as easily as he could sideline people. Work sometimes dulled the edge of his pain, but never for long. It was so much easier to skim over the surface of life, moving on to the next sensation before he had too much time to think about it. He spent his days crowding his troubled mind with other people’s money worries. When he was able to use his power and influence to help them, it gave him a sense of satisfaction but left his body restless. For hundreds of years the Moreau family had been warriors. Intellectually gifted, Etienne found balance sheets and bank reports easier to read than people—and far more honest. He preferred to use his mind for work and keep his body for more civilised things than warfare.
Right now he was wondering how quickly Miss Gwyneth Williams would surrender to his charm.
As usual, everyone wanted to talk to Etienne. It took him quite a while to track Gwen across the room. A little glance over her shoulder and a half-smile told him she knew he was watching her. That pleased him. It made up for the fact that his stepmother’s niece Emilie was in attendance tonight. A plump, pretty girl dressed in a tight sheath of pink satin, she was standing a respectful distance behind the countess. As Sophie Moreau realised Etienne was on his way over, she eased Gwen aside and jostled the astonished Emilie forward. Etienne didn’t need to wonder why. He shot a conspiratorial look at Gwen. There was a little crease between her brows as she spoke to the countess, but it disappeared as he caught her eye. Her beautiful face lit up with a mischievous smile, but she was playing hard to get. As he drew closer she disappeared into the kitchens. Etienne was left to corner his stepmother alone.
‘Are you having trouble with the staff, Sophie? Would you like me to hunt that woman down and have a word with her?’ he offered innocently.
The countess scowled. ‘Certainly not. You aren’t here to work, Etienne. You’re here to tell your cousin Emilie what you think of her. Hasn’t she grown?’
There were only two things in Sophie Moreau’s favour: Etienne could read her like a book, and she always came straight to the point. Arching one dark eyebrow, he hid his distaste behind a pleasant smile. Lifting the young girl’s hand to his lips, he gave it a formal kiss.
‘You have, Emilie. How old are you now? It must be all of—sixteen, is it?’
‘Eighteen! That’s why you’ve agreed to be guest of honour at her birthday party, next month!’ his stepmother hissed.
‘I would never let a step-relative down.’ Etienne inclined his head graciously at Emilie. The girl simpered, the restaurant’s discreet lighting bouncing off her orthodontic scaffolding.
‘Emilie will be leaving her boarding school at the end of next term. Unless you can think of a good reason to free her from the dreadful place before then, Etienne?’ Sophie leered at him.
Feigning ignorance, Etienne waited.
‘Unless…’ The countess leaned forward, prompting him. Tiny beads of perspiration were visible on her faint moustache. She stopped squinting and started frowning. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t be difficult, Etienne! You need a son and heir to carry on the Moreau family line, and inherit all those beautiful houses of yours!’
Etienne sliced off Sophie’s words with a fearsome glare. After a moment’s alarm, she surged back with added venom. ‘It must be two years since you got your fingers burned by that awful woman—you must think of the future, Etienne.’
‘Why? You seem to be doing enough of that for both of us, stepmother.’ Etienne answered with crushing emphasis.
Out
