While the thought of seeing him again wasn’t doing anything to alleviate the knots in her belly, it felt better than the wave of foreboding that hit her as she opened the door and saw Marcel’s expression.
This was no formality.
‘Madame de la Mare, there is a problem with the will,’ he said. ‘This morning Maxim Durand’s legal team have made some outrageous claims which we must dispute immediately. May I come in?’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She held the door open. But her mind couldn’t seem to engage with what this all meant as she followed Marcel into the kitchen. It was almost like being in a bad dream as she poured the lawyer a cup of coffee and he set his briefcase down on the kitchen table.
‘What claims?’ she murmured, but the horrifying reality of what Maxim might have done was already making her stomach hurt.
‘Durand has sworn an affidavit that you and he had sexual relations last night and in the process he discovered you were a virgin.’ Colour stained the usually staid lawyer’s cheeks, the outrage in his voice making the knots in Cara’s belly tighten, her mind struggling to comprehend what Marcel was saying.
Maxim had told his legal team she was a virgin, but why would he do that?
She didn’t have to wait long to get the answer as Marcel continued in a furious rush.
‘Durand’s team are looking to have the marriage annulled on the grounds it was never consummated. Of course, this is not a precedent in French law, the marriage does not have to be consummated for it to be legal, but as he is trying to assert that you were never in an intimate relationship with your husband, even before your marriage, this might have some weight with the court. But what is more outrageous, his legal team have released a press statement detailing Durand’s claims against you, no doubt to force your hand and get us to withdraw to avoid further scandal. It is only a matter of time before the press turn up here. Maxim Durand is a...’ The usually congenial Marcel bit off the swear word she suspected was about to come out of his mouth. ‘Our path is clear, we must counter the man’s lies immediately with a written affidavit from you disputing these claims which we will also release to the press, showing the whole region what... How do you say it in English? What trash he really is.’
Marcel finished with a flourish, his hazelnut-brown eyes full of fighting spirit.
Cara’s knees gave way and the coffee cup dropped to the floor, but the crash of breaking porcelain was muffled by the deafening punches of her heartbeat.
The harsh reality of what Maxim had done began to seep into her bones like a virus, both debilitating and unbearably painful. This was all her own fault, for thinking she could take on a wolf, and survive.
She hadn’t just been foolish and naïve, she’d been a fantasist. She’d realised last night how much Maxim hated his father, but she hadn’t believed he would be this cruel, this callous. That he would be prepared to destroy her reputation as well as her home, simply to exact his revenge.
She sniffed as the tears she’d refused to shed last night slipped over her lids.
‘Madame, do not despair,’ Marcel said, sitting next to her and resting a paternal hand over hers on the table. ‘We will dispute his claims. In truth, he may have given us a tactical advantage; telling such lies means we can make a counterclaim for defamation.’
‘But we can’t,’ she murmured, scrubbing the pointless tears off her cheeks and forcing herself to meet the lawyer’s trusting gaze. ‘Because everything he said is true.’
‘Maxim, is that your communications guy?’ Victor Dupont, Maxim’s estate manager, said in French, clearly amused. ‘What is he doing here, where the real work takes place?’
Maxim glanced up from tying off the twine on the new vines he and Victor had been inspecting all day—well used to Victor’s scathing opinion of the marketing end of winemaking.
He squinted into the sun, wiping the sweat off his forehead. ‘I think so,’ he murmured. Victor was right to be amused, Rick Carson looked incongruous in his designer suit, picking his way through the rows of vines.
Spending the day out in the fields had seemed like a good way to sweat away his concerns over the Cara Evans situation—and the lingering desire that would not die—not to mention his discomfort at the move he’d been forced to make this morning.
He’d rung his legal team early, after spending the night figuring out a solution to Cara’s stubborn refusal to even consider his offer.
The affidavit he’d signed about their night together had made him uncomfortable; it was ruthless, but he’d done ruthless things before to get what he wanted, and she had left him with no choice. He needed to break her misguided loyalty to de la Mare. And because of the problem of a possible pregnancy, he did not have time to do this gently. He wanted her safely installed at Château Durand and the purchase of de la Mare’s estate set in motion before he left France next week for his vineyards in California. By the time he returned, she would be over her stubbornness and ready to see the benefits of becoming his mistress.
The truth was he had lost his temper last night when she had mentioned his father. Blindsided by a surge of possessiveness... And, yes, dammit, jealousy. Which didn’t make a lot of sense. But then very little about his reactions to Cara made sense.
After spending a sleepless night thinking about the way she had come apart in his arms, he had come to several important conclusions, however. He had no need to be jealous of his father. Not only was the man dead, but Cara had never given herself to him, only to Maxim. Perhaps he had also been too hasty insisting that La Maison be demolished. He had made that threat to de la Mare because he had been furious when the man had dared to ask him for his help, attempting to play on Maxim’s sentiment for a place he had never been allowed to even step inside. But his goal when returning to Burgundy had always been to create his own legacy and make wines that were better than de la Mare’s had ever been. Owning the vines he had sweated over as a child was enough. If Cara was willing to come and live at Château Durand, perhaps he could be magnanimous about the house?
By the time Carson reached him and Victor, he was sweating profusely. ‘Maxim, why don’t you ever answer your cell phone?’ he said in his broad Californian accent.
Maxim shrugged. ‘I don’t have it with me,’ he replied. He’d left his phone in the car. The whole purpose had been to get back to basics today. And get away from the endless thoughts of Cara.
‘What is the problem?’ he asked, because there was obviously a problem or Carson wouldn’t have risked ruining his two-thousand-dollar shoes.
‘We need you back at headquarters. The internet has blown up. We’ve got local news reporters doorstepping the office and the story’s threatening to spread to the nationals.’
‘What story?’ Maxim snapped, annoyed now as well as confused. He did not appreciate getting dressed down by a subordinate.
‘The one your legal team broke at nine thirty this morning...’ Carson paused to take a breath. ‘The one in which you question the validity of Pierre de la Mare’s recent marriage, thanks to your seduction of Madame de la Mare last night.’