‘We did not expect you to be up so early. I am so sorry I didn’t attend you immediately.’
‘That’s quite all right, Antoinette, really,’ Cara said, feeling a blush work up her neck on cue. Did everyone know what they’d been doing last night? ‘Do you know where Monsieur Durand is?’ she asked, feeling a little foolish.
Antoinette nodded enthusiastically. ‘Monsieur Durand is in the breakfast room.’
The maid led her through the house, leaving her at the entrance to a huge glass conservatory. The lush planting inside the room contrasted with the bare wintery gardens shrouded in an early morning mist outside. She walked through the foliage, and spied Maxim seated at an ornate iron table in a picturesque alcove, sipping coffee and reading something on his phone.
Her husband. Her lover.
The emotions she’d worked so hard to control during the night rushed towards her again like a tidal wave, threatening to knock her off her feet.
How could they be even stronger now and more volatile? And what was she supposed to do to make them stop?
Dressed in a cris
p white shirt, his jaw clean-shaven and his hair recently brushed, his gaze was locked on the screen. With the flaky remnants of his breakfast on the plate in front of him, Maxim looked focused, alert, confident and every inch the captain of industry.
She cleared her throat and his gaze rose from his phone. Passion flared in his eyes but, before she could respond to it, he frowned.
‘Cara, why are you awake so early?’ he said, not sounding pleased to see her. ‘After last night, you need your sleep.’
All her questions about what time he’d left her and where he planned to sleep in the future died on her tongue. It wasn’t exactly a reprimand, but it was close enough. Heat flushed through her at the mention of ‘last night’ but she forced herself to walk towards him.
‘It’s not that early,’ she said in her defence.
He stood and pulled out a chair. ‘Sit,’ he said, placing a perfunctory kiss on her cheek as he tucked the chair in. He seemed distracted but the buzz of his lips still set off a shiver of reaction. She tried not to dwell on it. Her response to him was physical not emotional. Why couldn’t she remember that?
‘What would you like to eat? I will have the chef prepare it for you,’ he said, sitting down.
‘I’m... I’m not that hungry,’ she said.
‘Cara—’ his brows furrowed ‘—you must eat.’
She nodded, remembering his obsession with her health and where it came from. ‘A croissant then, I guess.’
‘That is not enough,’ he said, then lifted the phone and barked an order for an array of breakfast dishes.
‘I’m not sure I can eat all that,’ she said when he ended the call to the kitchen.
He didn’t seem too pleased with that response, but simply nodded. ‘There is an app on the phone Jean-Claude supplied you with. It has a direct link to the staff. If there is anything you require, just let them know. I have hired a nutritionist to suggest meals suitable for pregnant women, you can consult with her, also through the app.’
‘Okay.’ She wanted to be pleased with his thoughtfulness, but instead she felt overwhelmed again. And a little frustrated. Where was the man who had made such passionate and provocative love to her last night? And where was the woman who had made that commanding, confident man moan?
She didn’t feel powerful any more, she felt inadequate and out of place—the way she had so many times before when she’d arrived at a new foster home, desperate to fit in, to find a place for herself. Only to discover there wasn’t one.
‘It is good you are here,’ he said, surprising her, but, just as her heart lifted at the encouraging statement, he added, ‘I am about to head to the winery for the day.’
‘But it’s Sunday!’ she heard herself say. And it’s our honeymoon, she almost added, but managed to stop herself—after all, this wasn’t a real marriage.
But, even so, his imminent departure made her feel strangely bereft. She’d hoped to have a chance to talk to him this morning, to get to know him better and maybe discuss her role at the château. Was there anything he needed her to do as his wife? She wanted to be useful.
He smiled indulgently. ‘Yes, but unfortunately the vines do not respect weekends.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘This evening. Do not wait up for me, I may be late.’
‘Okay,’ Cara replied, trying hard not to feel abandoned.