The Duke’s Baby
Rebecca Winters

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

…LANCELOT possesses all he wants, when the queen voluntarily seeks his company and love, and when he holds her in his arms, and she holds him in hers. Their sport is so agreeable and sweet, as they kiss and fondle each other, that in truth such a marvelous joy comes over them as was never heard or known.

With an aching groan, Andrea Fallon closed the book she was reading, unable to see any more words in the fading light. It was just as well since she couldn’t bear to go on reading the hauntingly beautiful story.

Maybe never again.

Though the French poet Chrétien de Troyes might have written the story of Lancelot in 1171, his description of the famous knight’s love for Guinevere was as stirring now as then.

What woman wasn’t envious of the queen who inspired such love in the first Knight of the Round Table?

Wouldn’t any woman wish to be loved with a love so all-consuming and powerful.

Cross at herself over her preoccupation with the greatest Knight in Christendom, Andrea’s thoughts returned to Richard, the husband she’d buried three months ago.

“Would you have loved me more if I’d been able to give you a child?” her heart cried.

Since the funeral she’d gone over and over their troubled marriage in her mind, wondering if her unexpected barren condition had been so painful for him, some of his feelings for her had simply turned off.

Only twenty-one to his thirty-one when they’d exchanged vows, who would have dreamed she would develop a child-bearing problem so early in their married life?

Her aunt’s cousin hadn’t been able to have children, but that didn’t seem to have affected the love between her and her husband. They went on to adopt two children. But Richard refused to talk about adoption. He wanted a child from his own body, not someone else’s.

Knowing he felt that way, Andrea hadn’t pressed him about it. But from then on their relationship underwent subtle changes. He grew more distant and threw himself into his work, either unaware of Andrea’s pain, or unwilling to deal with it because his own was too great.

Their lovemaking seemed to have become an afterthought for him. In the last year he’d behaved more like a friend than a lover with only an occasional coming together she’d been forced to initiate.

She’d hoped they would get past their sorrow, that it was temporary. Surely in time he would ache for a child and be willing to consider adoption.

Andrea was convinced that if they’d taken the steps to start adoption proceedings right away, the anticipation of becoming parents would have brought joy and helped the physical side of their marriage get back on track. But that time never came. Now it was too late.

Oh, Richard…

Hot tears formed rivulets down her cheeks.

Her aunt had promised her this period of mourning would pass. “One day you’ll meet that special someone who will want to marry you and adopt children.”

Andrea didn’t believe it, not when she remembered the other things in their marriage that hadn’t happened. With ten years difference between them, she suffered over the possibility that she simply hadn’t measured up.

Richard’s academic world had been filled with brilliant men and women. What had she been able to offer if she couldn’t give him a child they both wanted?

Why had he even married her?

The second she asked the question she realized grief was causing her to lose her perspective. She’d lost her appetite weeks ago.

Thirty-seven years of age was too young for him to die. Devastated by his early passing, which cut off all hope of their making a family, Andrea got up wearily from her resting place against a tree trunk.

A good night’s sleep was what she needed to restore her long enough to finish her husband’s latest project on Arthurian legend. Another couple of days to capture a stag or a wild boar on film—the kind you saw woven in tapestries—and her collection of pictures would be complete. Unfortunately she would have to return to New Haven without any sightings of the damsel of the lake.

Andrea had been in Brittany close to a week. Already she’d discovered that the Forêt de Broceliande became an enchanted world after the sun went down. In awe of the forest’s almost seven-hundred-foot high canopy, she found the place secretive and quiet except for the forest creatures ambling among birch and chestnut trees.

Any minute now she expected the characters from Camelot to steal from their hiding places in this magical setting and whisper their stories.

As Andrea put the strap of her camera case over her shoulder, she thought she heard the rustle of underbrush caused by the breeze. Or possibly it was a forest creature, but her imagination had been playing overtime for the last few hours.

A little spooked she looked around, causing her hair to swish around her face.

“Oh—” she cried out.

From behind the fir trees at the end of the pear-shaped lake, simply called Le Lac, a lean, solitary figure in military camouflage emerged. He almost startled her out of her skin with his raw male, twenty-first century presence.

Every inch of this modern man’s rip cord strong body radiated an animal-like energy. It wouldn’t surprise her if he carried a knife and a gun, but she sensed his tall body was a lethal weapon. No doubt when he slept, one eye remained open.

If he’d been tracking her, he moved with a built-in radar. Andrea shivered. His enemy wouldn’t be aware of him until it was too late.

The skin stretched over his hard-boned aquiline features had been burnished to teak by an equatorial sun you didn’t feel in France. In the twilight she made out burning-blue eyes. They were scrutinizing her beneath black brows and a head of short-cropped black hair.

She’d never met a more fiercely handsome man.

For an insane moment she could visualize him in shining armor as he knelt before Guinevere with the heavens shining down on him. Then he spoke in a deep, grating voice, shattering the illusion into a thousand pieces.

“You’re trespassing,” he said, first in French then in heavily accented English.

His underlying note of hostility caught Andrea off guard. This was no young disguised prince who’d mastered the art of chivalry. There was no “Bonsoir,” or “Je m’excuse,” or “Je regrette,” that he’d frightened her.

This dangerous man, probably in his mid-thirties and aggressively male, glared at her as if he had something personal against her.

Unless he’d been able to make out the title on the front of her book, she couldn’t understand how he knew to speak English to her. She gripped it tighter. “Actually I have permission to be here,” she explained in a low tone.

His eyes narrowed to slits before he relieved her of her camera case. The action had been too lightning quick for her to prevent it. He wound the strap around one masculine wrist with its sprinkling of dark hair, making it impossible for her to take it from him. Not that she would have tried. Instinct told her he knew moves she’d never dreamed of.

“No one has permission to be here. Whoever you are, I suggest you be on your way.”

“The groundskeeper told me where I could take pictures of the wildlife.”

His jaw hardened. “You can redeem your camera from the security guard at the gate in the morning. If you’re lying, then I wouldn’t come around here again if I were you.”

He raked a brazen gaze over the mold of her face and body one more time, reminding her she was a woman, with feminine curves. But unlike other men, he seemed to find no pleasure in the fact. Indeed, quite the opposite.

“Remember you’ve been warned,” he added before moving with stealthlike grace until he’d disappeared in the foliage.

Still trembling from the combination of his chilling tone and intimate appraisal that missed nothing, it took a minute for her to find her legs before heading back to the Château Du Lac. She shouldn’t have stayed out here so long. Night was fast closing in, making it difficult to see her way through the dense undergrowth.

The groundskeeper of the château who’d provided her with a quickly drawn layout of the vast Du Lac estate, hadn’t indicated he’d hired another man to patrol the area at night. In fairness to him, he probably wouldn’t have imagined her staying out after sunset to take photographs.

But of course that wasn’t what she’d been doing just now. There was something about reading Lancelot’s story in the very forest where he’d grown up that had appealed to the fanciful side of her nature. That is until the poet’s words had struck a chord, disturbing her at her deepest level where she hated to admit her marriage wasn’t all it should have been.

Adrenaline from her unexpected encounter with the forbidding stranger kept her heart rate accelerated. By the time she reached the gravel driveway leading up to the front entrance of the early thirteenth century château, weakness had attacked her. She’d been forced to stop to catch her breath.

After running through the thick forest in her haste to return, the imposing three-story structure with its rounded towers came as an enchanting surprise. The lights from inside brought out the deep red of the garnets embedded in the schist rock from which it had been constructed. It was like stumbling upon a rare treasure glowing in the heart of a dark wood.

A large, well-trained staff kept the château and gardens immaculate, yet she saw no cars. If it weren’t for the gleam radiating from the windows you wouldn’t know anyone was about.

Tonight nothing seemed real. Maybe her head was too full of Lancelot and broken dreams. It was possible she’d only imagined her confrontation with the audacious man whose unforgettable looks had managed to jolt her body to react.

His unexpected presence had jerked her senses awake from their frozen prison where a plethora of emotions had lain dormant these past few months. Andrea didn’t appreciate being forced to deal with her feelings yet. In fact she resented him for intruding on her already precarious state of mind.

Before this incident she’d been able to remain in her temporary comfort zone, carried along by the plan that had brought her back to this mystical province. Taking pictures didn’t require thinking, only doing.

After letting herself inside the ornate entrance hall, she hurried up the grand staircase to her apartment on the third floor. Henri, the head of the house staff, had told her the front door would remain unlocked until 10:00 p.m. every night. Till then she could come and go as she pleased by orders of Geoffroi Malbois, the Duc Du Lac, who’d been born and raised in this château.

At present the trim, distinguished looking owner was battling pneumonia. He’d come down with it following a nasty case of the flu, yet he’d been kind enough to insist she stay on.

Through his housekeeper Brigitte, Andrea learned he’d instructed his guest be put in the rarely used green room. The second the older woman unlocked the door, its special significance became apparent.

Against the light green background of the ceiling and walls, the life-size figures of Lancelot and Guinevere had been immortalized. A fourteenth century artist had depicted their secret trysts for each month of the year. The glorious colors were still vibrant, as if he’d just painted them.

The first night Andrea lay down on the massive round bed, she kept moving in different positions to study the two beautiful lovers. She remembered thinking no living man could match Lancelot’s splendor.

But as she walked in the bedroom tonight, she carried the image of the intrusive stranger with her. It was an image she couldn’t seem to get out of her head despite the epitome of manhood staring her in the face everywhere she looked.

First she would change, then go downstairs for a roll or something. The thought of a meal didn’t appeal. If the Duc’s condition hadn’t worsened, she’d check in on him to say good-night. He’d urged her to visit him in the evenings, but she’d have done it anyway.

Andrea had never met a kinder, more accommodating person. Miserable as he felt, he exuded exceptional warmth. To an extent that particular quality had been missing from her marriage, but she hadn’t realized it so much until she’d spent a little time in the presence of her host.

He didn’t stand on ceremony and had insisted Andrea call him Geoff. Having taken particular interest in her husband’s project at Easter, he’d wanted to help her any way he could. Even though the Duc was ill right now, he’d told her to make herself at home for as long as she wanted.

From their talks she’d learned he led a busy social life and was active in civic and ecological affairs. He had a son from his first marriage who lived away. The stepdaughter from his second marriage, which had failed, lived with him when she wasn’t traveling. Evidently he didn’t suffer from lack of company. According to Henri there were always visitors coming and going, proof of how well he was regarded by his friends.

In return for his generosity of spirit, not to mention everything else, Andrea couldn’t help but gravitate to him and was worried about his physical condition. Since her arrival at the château he’d been forced to remain in bed. The last three days his symptoms had grown worse. There’d been nurses around the clock and the doctor had come by twice.

If there was anything she could do to help, she would. After losing her husband to a blood clot in his prime, she would always take another person’s illness seriously.

It felt good to get out of the clothes she’d been wearing all day, especially her jeans, which felt tight. While reading earlier, she’d undone the metal button to make herself more comfortable. Since she’d only worn them once before packing them for this trip, she decided they must have shrunk a little bit too much in the wash.

Once she’d picked out a cream colored blouse and brown wraparound skirt to wear, she grabbed fresh underwear and hurried into the modernized en-suite bathroom to shower and wash the pine needles out of her hair.

Later, on her way down to the Duc’s suite on the second floor, she would find Henri and tell him what happened in the forest. He would take care of the problem and arrange for the return of her camera.

For the next few days she would confine her picture taking to the mornings in order to avoid another confrontation with the rough, unfeeling man who’d warned her off.

Lance Malbois gave his father’s dog Percy a good scratch behind the ears before approaching the bed. “Papa? Are you awake?”

His father’s eyelids opened, revealing dull gray eyes. This illness had drained them of their normal sparkle. As he stared at his son in disbelief, they took on life. “Mon fils—”

Lance’s heart lurched. His father’s voice was weak. Without the oxygen helping him breathe—

He fought not to show his concern in front of him. The father he loved was too young a man to be this sick. His pallor alarmed Lance.

“When did you arrive?” the older man asked with effort.

“A little while ago. You were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I took a walk.”

After suffering one shock that his father’s flu had turned into something worse, he hadn’t been prepared for another one—that of coming across anyone on their private property.

“Father?” he squeezed his hand. “Why didn’t you let me know your illness was this serious? How come I had to hear it from Henri? You know I would have flown home sooner.”

“The pneumonia barely came on. It took me by surprise, but I’m better than I was last night.” After a coughing spell he asked, “How long will you be here this time?”

Lance sucked in his breath. “I’m home for good.”

At that unexpected news, joy illuminated his father’s face. “You mean it?” He tried to raise his head off the pillow, but Lance restrained him gently.

“I’ve left the service. It’s over.”

“I’ve hoped for this day, Lance.” He struggled through another coughing spasm. “I’ve prayed you would return healthy in mind and body. Le bon Dieu heard me.”

What his parent saw was a shell of the man he once was. Lance wouldn’t want him to know what lay beneath.

“Now that I’m back, we’re going to work on your getting well. Anything you’re worrying about, I’ll take care of.”

His father smiled through his tears. “Am I dreaming?”

Lance had trouble clearing the lump in his throat. “Non, mon père.”

It was long past time he started helping his remarkable father who needed Lance to shoulder more of the responsibilities. His parent had not only raised him from birth, ten years ago he’d been wise enough to give Lance his freedom without making him feel guilty. In the end, that freedom had brought Lance back home of his own free will.

The reason that had driven him away in the first place no longer mattered. Since that time life had delivered him a blow from which he would never recover whether he lived at the far ends of the earth or at home. At least here he could be of use to his father.

“The nurse is making signs you need to rest. She says you’ve had too many friends come by and they’ve worn you out, so I’m going to let you sleep now.”

“Don’t go.”

“I just want to have a word with the staff, but I promise I’ll be back to stay in here with you tonight. Percy will stand guard, won’t you.”

The dog moaned in response.

“Do you know he won’t leave me? Henri has to force him to go out when it’s necessary.”

Percy’s love for his master was touching. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

A couple of years before Lance had joined the military, his father had found a stray puppy of mixed breed near to death in the forest. Some cruel person must have dropped it off to die, but his father brought him back to the château to nurse him. They’d been inseparable ever since.

“Are you settled in your suite down the hall?”

“Oui.”

“We—” He stopped long enough to cough again. “We have a visitor.”

A frown marred Lance’s features. “Someone’s staying at the château?”

“Yes.” He would have said more, but another coughing spell took over.

As far as Lance was concerned, whoever it was needed to leave. His gracious father didn’t know how to say no to anyone. His second marriage was proof in point. Right now he was too ill to realize what was good for him. Lance hadn’t come home any too soon to take charge.

Kissing his father on either cheek, he nodded to the nurse then left his father’s suite to go in search of Henri who was devoted to his parent. He found him in the foyer closing up the château for the night.

Lance approached him from the right since the head of the staff couldn’t hear out of his left ear. Years earlier Henri had been a young groomsman at the stable when a hunting accident had occurred. After being released from the hospital, Lance’s father had brought him into the château to take care of him. He’d been in his household employ ever since.

“I understand there’s a guest staying at the château, Henri.”

The older man turned and nodded. “Oui. A Madame Fallon.”

His shuttered gaze searched Henri’s. “Someone ‘special’?”

“Your father insisted I put her in la chambre verte.”

Lance was stunned. The green room had always been off-limits to guests in order to preserve its treasures. This meant his sixty-seven-year-old father could have become romantically involved.

Even if this woman was worthy of him, which Lance knew wasn’t possible, his father had gone too far. Lance had to admit to being surprised his parent hadn’t mentioned her before now. But after the disaster of his second marriage, maybe he was too worried over his son’s reaction to tell him anything on that score.

“Has he known her long?”

“He met her at Easter, but she’s only been at the château a week.”

Lance had come home for that holiday on a chance twelve-hour leave, but there’d been no mention of her then.

A week was long enough for his parent to have become infatuated. He ground his teeth. What hold did this woman have over his father? He’d buried his heart with Lance’s mother and had waited until his mid-forties before marrying a second time.

That travesty of a union had lasted less than a year. Long enough to scar his father, or so Lance had thought…

A blackness swept through him. “What’s your opinion of her, Henri?”

“She’s been good for your father.”

Such praise coming from Henri, the soul of discretion, was unprecedented. Evidently she’d deceived Henri, too.

“When was the last time Corinne was home?”

“Last month. She’s on holiday in Australia right now.”

That meant she wasn’t privy to this latest information about his father’s interest in another woman. He could only imagine her reaction when she found out. As for her knowing Lance had returned…

He patted Henri’s shoulder. “Thanks for all your care of him. Now that I’m home on a permanent basis, bring any concerns to me.”

The other man smiled. “It’s good to have you back. Your father has been living for the day.”

If Brigitte hadn’t already gone to bed, she’d volunteer certain details about his father’s relationship with this latest predator. Unlike her husband, Henri, the housekeeper had no qualms when it came to expressing her opinions.

Any feelings of guilt Lance suffered for having been away this long were overshadowed by anger that another toxic female was already sleeping under their roof, counting the seconds until his father made her his third wife.

In need of a drink, he went to the kitchen for coffee first. Much as he’d like something stronger, he would opt for pain-killers in lieu of alcohol to tamp down the pain of a recent injury. However there was no medicine, no drink to wipe out the agony of shattered dreams.

From the first day of her arrival, Andrea had been told she could help herself to anything from the modernized kitchen no matter the hour. Brigitte insisted the cook wouldn’t mind.

Taking her at her word, Andrea found some fresh brioche under a glass cover and ate one over the sink so she wouldn’t spill crumbs on the stone floor. Since neither coffee nor fruit juice sounded good, she ended up drinking potable water from the faucet.

As she was standing on tiptoe to put the glass back on the baker’s rack, someone pushed open the kitchen door and came in. She assumed it was Brigitte about to make hot tea with honey for the Duc.

“I hope Geoff’s better tonight,” she called over her shoulder.

“We’re all hoping for that miracle.”

Andrea stilled for a moment.

That deep voice with the heavy French accent—she’d heard it before. Just a little while ago in fact.

Her heart began to thud before she spun around to face the man she’d met in the forest. The quick motion caused her golden-brown hair to float about her shoulders before settling.

His searching gaze watched her, taking in every inch of curves before it looked into the dark velvety-brown of her eyes. Like scorching blue flames, his flared in recognition.

He needed a shave and was still dressed in fatigues. The collar couldn’t hide a thin white scar that ran up the side of his bronzed neck. She hadn’t noticed it in the semidark of the forest. At the mere thought of how he came by it, a shudder ran through her body.

If her instincts didn’t deceive her, he was not pleased to discover that the trespasser he’d confronted earlier was inside this château, helping herself to the food.

“Who are you?” he asked in a grating voice that managed to disturb her already sensitized nerves.

“Andrea Fallon. It appears the groundskeeper neglected to let you know Geoff had a guest.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the cafetière and drank part of it, studying her over the rim. His gaze was insolent as well as bold. He had no shame.

She averted her eyes. A man who lived a life-and-death existence as he must have done, had dispensed with civilized pretense a long time ago.

“Did you give my camera to the guard at the gate?”

“No,” came the unequivocal answer. “I’ll return it to you later.” He swallowed the rest of his coffee and put the cup in the sink.

“Morning will be fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to look in on Geoff.”

“Not yet,” he muttered. The next thing she knew he’d placed his body between her and the door. His hand grasped her wrist so she couldn’t leave.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” she cried, trying to pull away from him. But his grip was far too strong. At five foot six and only a hundred and twenty pounds, she was no match for his steel-like strength.

“My question to you exactly,” he bit out, drawing her nearer until she felt the warmth from his rock-hard body. The male scent of him was as erotic as it was unexpected. “What are you? All of twenty-two compared to his almost seventy years?”

When Andrea figured out what he was implying, she couldn’t prevent the incredulous laugh that escaped. “Not that it’s any business of the hired help, but Geoff and I are friends!”

“No doubt you’d like it to be more.” He pulled her against him until she was crushed against every line and sinew of his body, sending fire through hers. She moaned in disbelief this was happening.

“Who made you his personal watchdog?” she cried, far too aware of their breath mingling, let alone his long, sooty lashes and the lines of experience bracketing his sensual mouth. No man had a right to be this attractive, yet so utterly offensive at the same time.

“Since his second marriage never took.” She thought she saw pain interspersed with anger flashing from his eyes. “If you think I’m about to let him enter into a third with someone young enough to be his granddaughter, you’re deluding yourself.”

He’d pushed her too far. She couldn’t refrain from baiting him. “Sometimes age isn’t as important as kindness and love.”

His lips twisted unpleasantly. “Especially when you’re looking at a fortune after he’s dead.”

“Is that why you stay in his employ?” She flashed him a mocking smile. “Are you hoping there’ll be something in it for you?”

The minute the question was out, she regretted her lapse of control and tried to jerk away from him without success.

“Why not…if you’re offering,” he drawled.

A thrill of fear raced through her body. Too late for escape, she couldn’t avoid the hard mouth that descended on hers.

Caught off guard, her gasp of surprise enabled him to drive deeper in a kiss so intimate and all-consuming, she was shaken to the foundations. For a dizzying moment the sensations he aroused caused her legs to lose their strength.

At the very second she found herself clinging to him so she wouldn’t fall, he gripped her upper arms and propelled her away from him.

It infuriated her that while she was out of breath and disheveled, he stood there mocking her with a devilish smile, seemingly unfazed by the encounter.

When she tore herself from his grasp, the force of it almost caused her to trip on her flight from the kitchen. She dashed through the hall and up the stairs of the château, needing to reach the safety of Geoff’s suite.

CHAPTER TWO

A NEW nurse had come on duty. She smiled and nodded to Andrea, indicating her patient was up to a nocturnal visitor.

Approaching his bed, Andrea could see he was doing better. His oxygen tube had been taken away. Since last night he had more color and the slight wheeze in his chest didn’t seem as noticeable.

Still trembling from her experience in the kitchen, she pulled up a chair next to him and put a hand on his arm, willing her heart to stop slamming against her ribs.

Whether in the Duc’s employ or not, the stranger had crossed a line tonight with his primitive behavior. To manhandle a woman the way he’d just done was grounds for dismissal and a lot worse if Andrea had anything to say about it.

Without upsetting Geoff, she would learn what she could about the other man from Henri. He would know what should be done and would be discreet in handling the situation so she wasn’t bothered further.

“Geoff? It’s Andrea.”

His eyes opened. They had more life than before. He really was improving. Nothing could have pleased her more.

“You sound out of breath, ma chérie.”

Under the circumstances a little white lie wouldn’t hurt. “I just returned to the château and wanted to see you first.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” He patted her hand. “I have the most wonderful news.”

“The doctor must have told you you’re on the mend at last!” she interjected.

“It’s a fact I’m feeling better, but this is something else. My son has come home for good. I couldn’t speak about him or his work before tonight because it was classified. But now I can tell you. For the last ten years he’s been serving in various regions of the world as part of our military’s elite force.”

A slight gasp escaped her throat. With those words Andrea realized she’d already met his only offspring. No wonder he’d appeared in the kitchen as if he owned the place. It explained his presence on the grounds.

Wasn’t France’s elite force even more deadly than its special forces?

The moment he’d emerged so noiselessly from the pines, she’d sensed the difference about him. She had living proof he was even better trained and more dangerous than she’d first supposed.

His uncivilized behavior downstairs appeared to be the result of too much time spent doing unspeakable things for far too long.

“Earlier tonight while I was wondering when I would see him again, and hopefully in one piece, he appeared in my room and told me he’d performed his final service for the country. It’s over. Grâce à Dieu. Now he and Corinne can be married.”

“Corinne?”

“The daughter of my second wife.”

Andrea blinked. She supposed some stepbrothers and sisters did marry, but she couldn’t imagine it.

“Corinne’s had her eye on my son from the beginning. Now that he’s retired from the service, I’m going to get the grandchildren I’ve been waiting for. She’ll be home from her latest trip any day now.”

Would marriage be able to tame a man as out of control as his son? Andrea doubted it.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said before getting to her feet, unable to sit there calmly while she digested all the revelations of this night. If Geoff could have seen her being thoroughly kissed against her will by his only offspring, he’d be horrified.

“I want the two of you to meet.”

“We already have, Papa,” sounded an irascible voice that could only have come from one man. He’d just entered the bedroom. Andrea tried to smother her cry of surprise. “I discovered her by the lac.”

“Then you probably know how much this poor child has suffered, Lance.”

Lance was his real name?

Lancelot Du Lac?

“I’m afraid we didn’t do much talking,” Andrea broke in, not wanting to think about what had gone on during both private confrontations. Worse, she didn’t want Geoff hurt. Like any father, he had great hopes for his son’s future. Andrea had no desire to do anything that could bring him sadness.

“It’s obvious he’s anxious to spend time with you. Since you both have so much catching up to do, I’ll say good-night and visit you tomorrow.”

“Do you promise?”

“Of course. Keep getting better now.”

She squeezed his arm, then darted away feeling a pair of accusing blue eyes leveled on her back. As she raced to the door they seemed to say, “You can keep running from me, but I know what you’re up to. Be warned I’ll drive you out.”

By the time Andrea reached the safety of her bedroom, she’d made up her mind that tonight would be the last time she slept in this château.

Not because of Lance Du Lac’s treatment of her, which was unconscionable. Not even because of his faulty assumption that she had designs on his father. An extraordinary man like the Duc probably drew the interest of many women. One or two unscrupulous types might even be after his money and title. Naturally his son would be protective of him. But that wasn’t it.

Her need to leave stemmed from guilt.

She pulled the suitcase from the wardrobe and started to pack. In the morning she would slip down to Geoff’s room to thank him for everything and say goodbye. It was for the best.

To have become physically aware of his world-weary son—a cynical man scarred in both a physical and figurative sense from experiences she didn’t want to know about, a man who’d chosen to live life on the edge on purpose, and had probably left a trail of willing women around the globe before coming home to marry, seemed a total betrayal of Richard’s memory.

He’d barely been gone three months, yet twice this evening she’d found herself unwillingly attracted to a stranger who’d shown her nothing but primitive behavior.

She could still feel his hands on her body, could still feel his mouth devouring hers. All of it a violation, though she couldn’t say he’d hurt her. It was the brazen unexpectedness of his action that had surprised her.

And of course her involuntary response to his male appeal…That was the part that was so unforgivable.

When she’d first met her dark blond husband, she’d been working at a photography studio. She’d found it flattering that a university professor would be interested in her artwork suggestions for the current book he was writing.

He’d allowed her to see into his world. She’d been a good listener, eager to assist him any way she could. Not having had a college education herself, Andrea had put him on a pedestal, admiring the poet within. Their association had led to marriage. He’d been a gentle lover.

To fill the emptiness left by his death, she’d come back to France to finish up the artwork for his latest book. Work was all she knew. So what could explain her reaction to a forbidding ex-military man, the antithesis of Richard?

Maybe it was a case of the hormone therapy regimen she was on being out of whack.

What if all the clichés about a widow’s needs were true? If so, how embarrassing. How appalling!

The tip of Lance’s boot caught the foot of the chair Andrea Fallon had just vacated in her haste to avoid him. Guilt at being found out had been written in every move and expression of her body.

A beautiful body and face to match he acknowledged to himself with grudging honesty.

There was nothing wrong with his father’s eyesight, only with his lack of good judgment where she or any woman was concerned. They couldn’t be trusted.

He nudged the chair closer to the bed before sitting down next to his parent.

“Tell me about your guest’s suffering, Papa,” he asked without preamble.

His father looked at him with loving eyes. “When you came home on that quick trip at Easter, did you happen to meet the American professor who was working in my library?”

Lance’s thoughts flew back to those few hours when he’d stolen home to check on his father without anyone else knowing about it. “Henri mentioned you had a visitor. I recall getting a glimpse of him, but I admit I didn’t pay much attention.”

After another bout of coughing, his father continued. “Dr. Fallon taught medieval literature at Yale University in Connecticut, and came to La Bretagne over the Easter break to do research. He and his wife Andrea were staying at the Hotel Excalibur.”

The woman whose luscious mouth he could still taste on his lips was someone’s wife? Lance hadn’t seen her wearing any rings.

“Maurice rang me and asked if I wouldn’t allow his hotel guests to examine some of the manuscripts in our family’s collection. Dr. Fallon was already published and a reputed expert on Arthurian legend.”

“So of course you said yes,” Lance interjected with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The news that his father was involved with a married woman caused his stomach to clench for a variety of unpalatable reasons.

“How could I refuse when I learned he was writing a book entitled The Definitive Lancelot Du Lac?”

Lance had heard it all before. Every would-be writer was attempting to pen a definitive book on the subject of the famous knight.

“About a month after they returned to the States, Andrea sent me a note telling me that following their flight home from Paris, her husband had died suddenly of a blood clot to the brain.”

What?

“She thanked me for letting them come to the château to see the library. Her husband had said it was the highlight of his trip. Naturally I was grieved for her sake and sent flowers. I told her that if she ever wanted to come for a visit, she was welcome.

“To my delight she wrote back two weeks ago and asked if she could come and take pictures of the forest. She wants to include some extra photographs in the book her husband had written.

“I have to tell you, Lance, if I could have had a daughter, I would have wanted one exactly like Andrea.”

A daughter—

Lance’s mind had to do a complete thought reversal. Suddenly certain things seemed clear, like his father allowing her to stay in the green room. He’d never offered it to anyone else, not even Corinne.

“She has your mother’s kindness,” his father continued, unaware of Lance’s shock. “It’s a very rare trait.”

So rare in fact that Lance hadn’t seen any evidence of it during their fiery exchange in the kitchen before his baser instincts had taken over to punish her for something she hadn’t done.

In any case he’d had no right in behaving like a brute.

“As soon as she flies back, she’s going to have it published as a special tribute to him. Now that you’re home, maybe you would show her some significant spots only you and I know about? Since her arrival, I’ve been too sick to accompany her.”

Lance lowered his head, massaging the knotted muscles at the back of his neck. Considering the reprehensible way he’d treated his father’s guest up to this point, he doubted she’d speak to him again, let alone be amenable to spending any time with him.

What in the hell had caused him to react so violently to Andrea Fallon? He’d met plenty of women in his life more beautiful and exotic. Bile rose in his throat when he remembered one in particular…

Mrs. Fallon had said she’d been given permission to be on the property. When she’d first looked at him with that haunted expression as if she were miles away, why hadn’t he recognized it as grief and believed her?

How in the devil could he explain his behavior in the kitchen when he didn’t understand it himself?

He didn’t really think his father would get involved with a woman that young, so what was the underlying emotion driving Lance’s cruelty toward an innocent guest? It seemed he’d completely misread Henri’s comment.

Obviously he’d become so hardened with life, he was more out of touch with civilized society than he realized. Apparently he was no longer fit to rejoin the world his father inhabited.

He got up from the chair. “Papa? I’ve got some things to do, but I’ll be back.”

Lance needed to speak to Andrea before she went to bed. It was time to pick up the pieces if it wasn’t already too late. Something told him if he didn’t, she might well be gone from the premises before morning. That was one thing he didn’t want on his conscience.

“Go ahead, mon fils. I’ll wait for you.”

“Try to sleep.”

“I think I can now that I know you’re going to be a permanent fixture around here. Corinne will be overjoyed when she returns from her trip and realizes you’re home for good.”

Lance looked down at his father who was too ill to deal with anything unpleasant. But the moment he improved, the truth would have to come out.

Percy followed Lance as far as the door but no further. The dog didn’t appear to have much use for him. Lance didn’t blame him for preferring his father’s company to Lance whose nature seemed to have been inexplicably vile in the face of innocent provocation.

After going to his suite for the camera, he took the steps two at a time to the third floor and listened outside Andrea’s room for signs of life. Even if she were in bed, he couldn’t let any more time go by without attempting to repair some of the damage.

He rapped on the heavy door with the back of his knuckles. “Andrea? It’s Lance. I have to talk to you. If you need to get dressed first, I’ll wait.”

In a minute he heard, “Should I decide not to open it, will you take a battering ram to the door?”

No one deserved that remark more than he did.

“You’re someone my father cares for very much. I’ve come to apologize.”

After a long silence, “Apology accepted.”

That was too easy. “Enough to open the door?”

“Surely it isn’t necessary.”

He folded his arms. “I presume you don’t want me to see the suitcase you’re packing. If your departure is too precipitous, my father will never forgive me. Since I’m already in the doghouse, as you Americans say, you wouldn’t wish to add to my punishment, would you?”

“The doghouse would be too good for you.”

His lips twitched. Kind as his father made her out to be, she had spirit. “You’re right. I don’t suppose you’d believe I’m suffering from posttraumatic shock syndrome—”

“I believe it, but you’ve taken it to new depths. You’re more like your alter ego than I’d realized.”

“You mean one day I’ll join Lancelot in Hell?”

“If the armor fits.”

“How do you know I haven’t already been there?”

“I surmised as much. Only someone who’s been in hell would treat me the way you have.”

Her arrow found its mark dead center. His amusement vanished. “Is there no redemption?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

He drew in a ragged breath. “I’m leaving your camera outside this door. If you choose to stay a little longer, I swear on my mother’s grave no harm will come to you from me.”

After a short silence, “Since I know how much your father loved her, I’ll take that into consideration.”

She knew how to deliver the coup de grâce. There were many sides to Andrea Fallon. She was the most dangerous kind of female.

“I’m sorry about your husband. I didn’t know.”

“I thought Lancelot was given special powers.”

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. “I’ve done too many dark deeds and have forfeited most of them.”

“How sad.”

She sounded as if she meant it. It was then he realized he’d given too much away, a position he loathed to be in.

“I’m leaving now to spend the night with Papa. Don’t let my uncourteous behavior prevent you from making him happy. Should you disappear without explanation, I can’t promise he won’t go downhill.”

Much as he was hoping she’d relent enough to open the door so they could talk face-to-face, he had a gut feeling it wasn’t going to happen. He’d behaved like a bastard and was reaping the consequences.

“Dors bien, Andrea,” his voice rasped before he turned away and made a swift return to the second floor.

Disturbed by the memory of the way she’d felt in his arms when he’d kissed her, he realized it was going to be a long night…

Delighted by the morning sun that pierced the clouds and filtered down through the cathedral of trees, Andrea made her way to the opposite end of the lake from where she’d been reading the previous evening.

Maybe she would get lucky and one of the forest animals following an ancient game trail to the water’s edge would enter the site where she planned to take pictures.

After a good night’s sleep, which came as a surprise considering her tormented state of mind last evening, she realized the worst thing she could do was run away. Geoff wouldn’t understand. Since she couldn’t explain it herself, she’d decided to put yesterday’s experience behind her and behave like an adult.

Lance had proved to be a man with a scarred soul. Using the most elemental of ways, he’d set out to expose her for the loose, conniving female he believed her to be.

Where his father was concerned, his protective instincts were over the top. Combined with his innate distrust of women, he must have choked on that apology for his rough treatment of her. It was probably a first for him.

But coming from a family with a title and great wealth, he no doubt had reasons for his suspicions. Which he’d carried to the extreme.

Still, he’d returned her camera and had promised she would have nothing more to fear from him. She believed him.

As for her reaction to his virility, that wasn’t his fault. It was her own unchecked response to him Andrea feared.

She should have known there’d come a day of awakening when she’d realize she was alone again and vulnerable. Somehow she hadn’t expected it to happen here, or that it would be Geoff’s son who made her aware of her womanhood in a way no man had ever done.

Richard was the only man she’d ever slept with and he’d taken his time to get to know her before they’d become intimate.

Troubled by her thoughts that seemed to swirl toward one inescapable vortex, she looked for a fallen tree where she could sit while she waited for a deer or some such thing to appear.

In truth she was tired even though she’d slept well. Since eating part of an omelet earlier, she’d felt a trifle nauseous. These were signs of pregnancy, but that wasn’t possible. Since she’d had these symptoms before coming in contact with Geoff, she didn’t think it was flu.

What could it be except the result of her grief?

As soon as she returned to the States, she would need to find meaningful work and get on with her life. But right now the thought of making any decisions seemed too much for her.

She looked around. A few rabbits and squirrels scurried about, but the bigger animals were nowhere in sight. Maybe they’d ventured out at first light and were resting while they digested breakfast.

A short nap sounded like a good idea to her, too. Maybe she should go back to the château and come here later in the day. Even as the thought entered her head, she happened to notice something moving in the water toward her with the speed of a torpedo. Something long and sleek.

By the time she’d jumped to her feet in alarm, a dark head had risen from a cluster of lily pads in flower.

Her hand went to her throat. Lance!

While treading water he flashed her a white smile. “Good morning,” came that low voice in the heavy French accent she found so seductive.

Surrounded by the heads of pink and white water lilies, he made a picture of impossible male beauty. Appearing like this made him seem part of the enchantment of the place.

“I thought swimming across the lake would be the best way to announce I was coming. After our first meeting, the last thing I wanted to do was startle you again.”

Everything about him pulled the ground out from under her, but that was her problem, not his.

“You move like an animal and swim like a fish. If I see you fly, then I’m going to know Merlin haunts these woods.”

His blue eyes darkened with some emotion she didn’t understand. “Why not join me? I’ll show you one of the château’s secrets no one else knows about. You have to swim to it, but don’t worry. The lake’s not deep.”

Her heart lurched at the thought of being alone with him like this. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring a suit.”

“You have one now. Corinne, my father’s stepdaughter, keeps extras around for her girlfriends.” He tossed her a small plastic bag he’d been holding in his hand. It landed at her feet.

Andrea leaned over and opened it. Inside was a cherry-red bikini. She found it odd Lance hadn’t referred to Corinne as the woman he planned to marry. But since his personal life was none of her business, she kept quiet about it.

“There’s plenty of cover. Hurry and put it on. I’ll wait for you,” he said before vanishing beneath the lily pads.

However much he might not like it, she realized Lance was endeavoring to extend the olive branch. Geoff had wanted to show her around and must have put his son up to this. To refuse would be churlish of her.

If she said no, it would only prove she hadn’t forgiven him. In truth, considering his scathing view of women, he might think she’d read more into that angry kiss than punishment.

Forgetting her lethargy for the moment, she moved behind a pine tree and changed into the two-piece suit. It fit, but just barely.

Lured by the sense of adventure surrounding him despite his brooding air of cynicism, Andrea removed her sneakers and put them in a pile with her things, then walked down to the water’s edge. He waved to her from a short distance away.

With her heart pounding hard, she waded into the cold, still water and pushed off toward him. After a few strokes she recovered from the initial shock and discovered the temperature was invigorating.

His intent gaze beckoned her closer. “Follow me,” was all he said before swimming to the middle of the lake where he did an expert somersault into the depths.

With less grace Andrea imitated him, glad for her ponytail that prevented the hair from getting in her eyes. As soon as she reached him, he pointed to an object lying on the floor of the lake. She looked down.

Partially hidden among the plants lay a knight’s sword and shield. Fingers of sunlight illuminated their metallic outlines. In this underworld, anything seemed possible. Andrea wanted to stay longer and inspect them, but she was too out of shape and breath. She began to feel a little panicky.

Lance must have picked up on her alarm because he put his arms around her and they ascended to the surface together. Their swift rise made her somewhat dizzy. This time she clung to his powerful body in order to drink in air.

Unlike last time he didn’t thrust her away as if she’d been the one to initiate the contact.

“Are you all right?”

She felt his husky tone resonate throughout her body.

“Yes. Just a little winded for some reason.” Their bodies brushed against each other in a tangle of limbs. “Where did that sword and shield come from?”

“Years ago my father planted those to give me and my friends a thrill. We decided to leave them there.”

She smiled. “That sounds like Geoff. You were lucky to have such a wonderful father.”

As she’d spoken, her lips happened to graze the scar at the side of his neck. It ran from his collarbone into the black hair behind his ear. The bronze of his skin made it stand out a pinkish white.

“I hope the man who gave this to you isn’t in a position to hurt anyone again,” she whispered, afraid to touch it with her fingers in case it was sensitive.

His lids veiled his eyes. “What if I told you it was a woman?”

A female soldier?

The picture of Lance in mortal combat with a woman managed to disturb her in a whole slew of new and different ways. Any other thoughts went out of her head.

“It looks like a recent wound. D-does it hurt?” she stammered.

“No.”

“I’m glad.”

“Are you?” came the voice of skepticism.

“That you’re not in pain?” she blurted in exasperation. “Of course!”

Embarrassed by the intimate exchange and proximity of their bodies, she pushed away from him and began treading water on her own.

He moved closer. “After the way I treated you last night, you have every reason to despise me.”

“You’re right, but that was last night, and you said you were sorry. Let’s forget it, shall we? Your father is overjoyed you’ve come home. Some men and women don’t return from war, or if they do, they’ve lost limbs or—”

“Or other unspeakable things?” he mocked. “That’s true.” His shuttered eyes continued to search hers. “Unfortunately war isn’t the only place for losses to occur. How long were you married to your husband?”

“Six years.”

“You’re still so young.”

“Almost twenty-eight. Not quite the child you assumed was ingratiating herself to your father,” she reminded him.

He studied her in the dappled light. “No man would ever mistake you for a child. But I did think you were younger.”

“So I gathered earlier.”

“I guess you know you’ve made a conquest of my father.”

Lance didn’t believe in mincing words. He’d followed her to the lac for a definite reason.

Andrea decided to be blunt, too. “I take it you’re not happy about it.”

“No,” he answered in a morose tone.

One thing she could count on with him was his brutal honesty. “Give me through to tomorrow afternoon, then you’ll have him all to yourself.”

He trod water opposite her. “You know as well as I do he doesn’t want you to leave.”

“Geoff has his son back. That’s all he cares about.”

“Not all,” Lance muttered cryptically.

She shook her head to avoid a bee buzzing around her. “I’m aware he has great plans for you.”

Maybe it was a cloud blotting out the sun that threw his features into shadow.

“Do you know, you have the softest skin I’ve ever felt.”

The unexpected change in conversation had been spoken with such stark candor, white-hot heat spread through her body. She started to swim away from him, but he made a lazy circle around her.

“I’m the first man to kiss you since your husband, aren’t I?”

The heat of anger filled her cheeks. “Don’t worry. I’m not waiting for a repeat performance.”

Of course he didn’t believe her, but the slight hint of mockery etched in his expression was the last straw.

“Not every recent widow is desperate to jump into bed with the next available male. Not even when he’s as attractive as you are. Especially not with the emotional baggage you wear like a dark mantle.”

Without hesitation she struck out for the shore where she’d left her clothes. He matched her strokes though she knew he could have reached the edge long before she did.

Scrambling out of the water, she darted for the pine tree, anxious to cover herself. His eyes and personal remarks left her feeling exposed to the bone. Though he’d done nothing wrong, he’d touched a nerve. She was much too aware of him to be comfortable and he knew it!

Andrea hadn’t ever met a man like Lance. In her experience she’d only associated with her husband and his colleagues—teachers caught up in the pedantic world of legend and prose, far from the killing fields of war.

While her husband spent his life searching for stories of a famous knight’s adventures in times long past, Lance had been living one dangerous adventure after another in the present.

What was it like to fight hand to hand, let alone with someone of the opposite sex? Andrea couldn’t imagine it, yet Lance had returned from the battlefield with scars to prove he’d survived its atrocities by sheer guts and an indomitable will.

A life that could be snuffed out at any second had to change a man. Though she admired the heroic service Lance had rendered his country, Andrea’s instinct for self-preservation told her to keep her distance from him, even if he was Geoff’s son.

Or because of it…

After changing into trousers and a cotton top, she put the wet swimsuit in the bag. Once she’d reached for the camera, she left her hiding place, determined to avoid him until she left for the airport tomorrow afternoon. Geoff had assured her one of the staff would drive her when she was ready.

But she needn’t have been concerned. One glance at the lake and she realized Lance had disappeared. Now that he’d done his good deed by providing her a moment’s excitement where the famed Lancelot was concerned, he had more important things to accomplish.

All the way back to the château she told herself she was glad he’d gone. Besides being tired, it saved her from having to sidestep any more discussions about her vulnerability, never mind personal remarks about her skin. Those subjects were way out of bounds.

What she craved was sleep. During those unconscious hours she would be free of certain thoughts plaguing her since last evening.

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