Even now, hours after the short civil ceremony, she had trouble believing she’d actually married Thierry.
‘Are you disappointed? Would you rather live in a cottage?’
Slowly, she shook her head, drinking in his profile as he turned back to the road. A castle. Maybe that explained that air of assurance she’d noticed in him from the first. It was more than just the insouciance that came from looking staggeringly handsome in bespoke formal wear, or the comfortable-in-his-skin athleticism of his magnificent body. It was something bred in the bone. And then there were his strongly sculpted features. Were they the result of generations of aristocratic breeding?
‘Imogen? You don’t like it?’
She turned her head. The walls rose several stories and were punctuated, not with tiny arrow slits, but with large windows that must let in a lot of light. Yet at the corners of the building were sturdy round towers topped with conical roofs, like an illustration of Rapunzel’s story.
‘I don’t know. I can’t imagine actually living in a castle.’
‘We call it a château.’
‘Okay, then. I can’t imagine living in a château.’ Imogen half expected to wake up and find she’d dreamt it. A château! The word conjured images of royal courts and lavish indulgence. Could anything be more different from the two-bedroom flat she’d shared in suburban Sydney?
‘It’s like living anywhere else except it costs a lot more to heat and the maintenance bills are a nightmare. But don’t worry.’ Imogen heard the current of amusement in Thierry’s voice. ‘It’s been modernised through the years. It’s even got hot-and cold-running water.’
‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’ She recalled Thierry’s Paris apartment where her bathroom had been expensively modern bordering on sybaritic decadence. He might have restless energy and a hard body sculpted into muscle, but he was a man with a strongly sensuous streak.
Imogen gave a little shiver and clasped her hands together, trying to evict memories of his sensuality and how he’d uncovered a purely hedonistic side to her she’d never known.
‘Has your family owned it long?’ Her gaze drifted from the fairy-tale towers across the impressive façade.
‘A couple of hundred years.’
Tension clamped her shoulders. She’d realised she was marrying into money, but the aristocracy as well? She was going to be totally out of her depth.
Not for long, reminded that persistent inner voice. The reminder dampened her momentary sense of rising panic.
The car slowed and pulled to a halt in front of the imposing building, gravel crunching under the wheels. ‘Welcome to your new home, Imogen.’
Her throat clenched. He really was a man in a million. He’d taken her news with something close to equanimity, only the occasional flicker of emotion in his dark eyes betraying his shock. More, he’d not only agreed to take care of their child, he’d taken it upon himself to provide for her too.
‘You didn’t need to do all this.’ She waved futilely. She could have been back in Sydney by now, alone. Instead, he’d brought her to his family home. That meant so much.
‘Of course I do. You’re carrying my child.’
Of course. His child. She had to keep remembering this was about their baby. She was just along for the ride.
Imogen bit her lip, swallowing a laugh that held no humour.
‘Are you okay?’ His touch on her arm was light, but she felt the imprint of his fingers in each riotously sensitive nerve ending.
‘Perfect.’ She turned and gave him her best smile. The one she’d practised so often before heading out to some large social event. She must be slipping, for Thierry didn’t look convinced, just sat, watching, as if he read the unease and dismay she tried to hide.
‘What’s wrong?’ Those espresso-dark eyes saw too much.
A litany of worries ran through her head. Her baby’s health, her own illness, staying in France for these final months instead of Australia, where at least she spoke the language. Being a burden to Thierry and an unwelcome surprise to his family. If she wasn’t careful all those concerns would submerge her just when she needed her strength.
‘Neither of us really wants this marriage.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not what you’d planned for yourself.’
Thierry’s scrutiny sharpened and his eyes narrowed. She couldn’t read his expression.
‘Things don’t always work out the way we expect but I’m a firm believer in making the best of any situation.’ His hand closed on hers, long fingers threading through hers. ‘This is the right thing, Imogen. Trust me.’