Chapter One

Bordeaux countryside 1826

What little was left of Jenna Bonnet’s luck ran out at the bottom of Colline du Cimaron, the hill leading to a past she’d rather forget. Nonetheless, the Cimaron vineyard along with the chateau sitting at the top was a place of demons she had to confront for the sake of her son, the heir to the vast land. The holdings, now that Jacques was gone from this world, should be in the will with Brice’s name at the very top. When she shielded her eyes from the hot rays of the sun, she clearly saw the chateau she lived in two years ago with her husband, the Count of Cimaron.

Once a very long time ago, she’d been a countess. Supposed she still was since they never divorced.

For herself she didn’t mind the walk up the mile long road to the front entrance. Both her son Brice as well as the aged horse that stopped pulling the small cart containing all her belongings exactly in front of the gatehouse would not be able to make the distance to the place she once called home. The ancient mare balked at taking one more step. Now the old lady was contentedly munching grass.

Jenna wasn’t at all positive why she returned. All along, she understood her reappearance could be foolhardy with nothing to gain added to the fact she had so very much to lose. There were valid reasons though. None of which made sense at the moment when she wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run in the other direction. She let out a long slow breath of air deciphering the facts in front of her as she tried to put reality in the front of her befuddled mind.

One could call this attempt to regain what had been lost a disaster. It wasn’t, not truly. She had such convoluted emotions. Somehow, she would find a way to get her belongings to the chateau. It was, after all, hers now that her husband passed away. Well, legally, as the only heir to the Bonnet fortune it was Brice who inherited. In any case, she had rights simply because she was his mother.

Fortune, she mused, if there was anything of monetary value except the jewels she left behind when she fled. The money was in the grapes then the wine. She didn’t have the means to take care of the vineyard, to hire the hands needed for harvest along with making the wine. After more than a year of neglect, much would have to be done to make a profit.

“Maman?”

Her son’s tiny voice shook her from her reverie. Brice was the reason she was reminiscing. “What my petit rayon de soleil?”

She had used up the last of her spare francs in a shabby hotel in the town of Bordeaux. At the moment she possessed enough for a couple days of food but naught else.

“Do we have to walk up that road? It looks so far. I’m tired.”

Brice was always so well-behaved. He never complained even when she knew he was hungry or tired. To get here she pushed them too hard. Even the horse protested.

“Not today, mon petit chere. We’ll stay in the gate house tonight or in the cart as we have before if the door is locked.”

She did pray the old cottage would be open to them, as she wasn’t looking forward to spending another night sleeping in the wagon. A soft bed would certainly be nice.

“I don’t like sleeping in the cart,” Brice said with his little boy voice that always managed to make Jenna feel guilty about the life she forced on him.

If she hadn’t run from his father, if said father wasn’t abusive to both of them. While he never hit her, he made them both feel as if they were useless as well as inadequate. He treated her as if she possessed no brain. After she gave him his heir, he ignored her. She was thankful for that small fact. She could not believe how a woman would ever want to be with that man in his bed.

Staying with her husband along with his family who moved unannounced into the chateau a year after Brice was born had not been a choice she could live with. Every moment she spent in their midst she feared for Brice as well as herself. Her aged husband was unable to defend them even if he’d wanted to. Jenna had never been certain the man cared. His brother was after the land, resented the fact he was the second son and would never inherit.

Jacque Bonnet was a selfish man, a greedy man who had feelings for no one other than himself. The night she fled, she took her son along with a few meager possessions, vowing to never return. She sewed coin into her cloak. The money was gone now. To feed them she worked wherever she could find a job. In the threadbare pocket of her frock, she had twenty-five silver francs. Before she left the village below the chateau, she bought bread and cheese. They had food tonight. If she rationed the meager fare, Brice would be able to eat in the morning. She didn’t know what awaited them. Her luck had to change sometime. Now would be nice.

“We should go on up the hill to the house up there.” Brice stared up the long drive pointing a tiny finger in that direction. He was saying the words she wanted to hear. “Did I used to live there?”

“Yes, you did. Maybe tomorrow we will have enough energy to walk the distance.”

She patted her son on the head, wishing she could give him everything his little heart desired. She was afraid for the boy. He’d been terribly sick a few months ago. Even now, he still showed signs of the ailment. He was weak and thin. He coughed too much. Of course, he’d never been a large boy, never actually strong as many others his age.

“Are we going to die?”

At the question Jenna’s heart lurched. Too many times to count she asked herself that same question. Day-in and day-out, life for them had been precarious. “Non mon petit chou.” Not today.

“Maman! Don’t call me a little cabbage. I’m a boy.” He stared at her with his deep blue eyes, a tiny, little boy frown creasing his forehead. “I don’t like it when you do.”

No, now that they were back at the chateau, their lives would be different, better. At least she prayed their lives would improve. She smiled, supposing he’d outgrown the endearment.

“We just have to find a way to change our luck, that’s all. Why don’t you get down from the cart, perhaps run around a bit, stretch your legs? Don’t go very far. Make sure you can see me and I can see you.” With a half-hearted sigh, she watched him leave.

While he struck off in the direction of the gatehouse, she rummaged through their limited belongings. After that, she saw to the horse hoping the old girl would be up to the trek to the chateau in the morning. One more night in the cart would be survivable.

She cringed.

A carriage whipped by her on the road behind them much too fast in her estimation. The horses would be winded; exhausted by the time the people reached their destination. Jenna looked down at her dress, smoothed the worn skirt. It seemed to hang shapeless from her bony shoulders. Her hair was lank. Once she had clothes that fit, a body that was not all skin and bones. Her hair had been shiny and thick. While she’d never been considered a beauty, she was passable fair.

Jenna fought back the tear that wanted to slide down her cheek. She sniffed a few times pushing all thoughts of self-pity behind her where they should be. She didn’t have time to wade around in the depth of despair. At least she’d not been forced to sell her body to put food in Brice’s stomach along with clothes on his back. Drawing in a long drink of air, she held it inside until her lungs burned. She let it go with a startled gasp when she heard the deep rumble of a man’s voice from behind her.

As she turned, thinking she needed to check on her son, she saw Brice held fast by the collar of his shirt. A large man, hair as dark as midnight, eyes cold as the inside of a tomb, carried him along, his toes barely touching as he tried to walk. Anger flared inside her. At her sides her fists tightened. The urge to swing her knuckles at this man simmered deep in her gut. How dare that man misuse her boy? Only prudence stopped her from her foolishness.

“Get him out of here.” The voice emanating toward her was gravely and harsh with bitterness. “Don’t want to see either of you again. You’re trespassing.”

“Why? What has he done that could possibly merit this anger toward a little boy?” Her back stiffened as all motherly instincts to protect her child rallied inside her. “I’m sure he’s done nothing wrong.”

“He peed on my vines,” the man seemed to grit out as he let go of Brice.

He peed on his vines? They were her vines.

Brice scampered away. Jenna wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her boy move so quickly.

When he stumbled toward her, she met him half way pulling him protectively into the shelter of her arms then positioning him behind her as if the feeble gesture would protect him. “Relieving one’s self on vines can’t possibly be a crime that would cause a grown man to treat a little boy so scathingly. Haven’t you ever peed on a plant?” she shot out without thinking, her body shaking with the anger simmering deep inside.

She wanted to lash out. Give that boorish man something to think about besides harming children. She blushed slightly, realizing she never before talked so boldly.

He didn’t blink. Kept coming. With a slash of his large hand, he spoke again, “Get out of here! Both of you! Don’t want you on my land. Don’t want anyone especially not little boys anywhere near me.”

His eyes glistened with the anger that seemed to be boiling over as he strode closer. His brows were drawn tight together, frown lines marring what could have been a handsome face with eyes nearly as dark as his hair. His forearms were thickly corded with muscle, his legs long as his loose-limbed strides seemed to eat up the ground.

Well, she would leave if she could, however, she couldn’t. This wasn’t his land. The little boy he terrorized owned this little piece of Bordeaux. “It’s my land. You get off! You leave!” She was sure he meant to dispute her claim.

His grin turned feral, “My land. Bought this piece of paradise at auction two weeks ago. What makes you think the vineyard is yours? If it was before I purchased it, you’ve a sizeable number of francs in your pocket from the sale. You can go anywhere.”

The shiver erupting within swept cold waves into her belly. No, oh god, no… no. What was she to do now? He was wrong. She didn’t have anywhere. “Whoever sold the land to you had no right. It wasn’t theirs to sell. You will have to give it back. In this, the law will be on my side.”

Foolishly a small measure of courage erupted. This was Brice’s inheritance, his legacy left to him by his father. For her, she didn’t care about the chateau, the grapes or the wine. All the memories she had of this place left a sour taste in her mouth, curdled in her belly. She needed the income though. Wished to find the jewels that were hers by right. To find the gems, she had to get inside the chateau. Wasn’t going to give it up for this arrogant man. She tilted her chin.

“All the papers were in order.” His broad shoulders stiffened as he spoke while his voice deepened. “Nothing you can do about this person who sold it. Wasn’t truly a sale though. Man lost it because of back taxes due. So, suppose you wouldn’t have francs in your pocket, now would you?”

“That can’t be.” At the moment, she was all bluster and no thoughts. It wasn’t a winning combination. “My husband would never let his land…”

“Rumor has it the old Count Bonnet was bankrupt. Owed back taxes from several years. When I paid them, the land was mine. No one actually knew how the family was able to maintain this little piece of paradise after the revolution. The count should have lost his head to Madam Guillotine. Somehow, he managed to elude the madam. Kept the land for a while. Now it’s mine.”

His relatives, the same ones who succeeded in chasing her away caused this. Nevertheless, she meant to stand firm, fight for what was rightfully her son’s. “I’ll pay you back.” She found she was holding her breath, waiting, nerves stretched taut.

Haughtily, he sauntered around the tiny cart, ran a hand over the weary ancient horse. He pulled out the small basket holding all their possession. He looked inside then to her, as he seemed to peruse everything. The odious man even allowed his gaze to travel the length of her then back up to settle on her bosom. Instinctively, she placed a hand where he was staring.

His grin didn’t reach his eyes, eyes that were cold, frigid.

“Stop that! You’ve no right to go through my things. To look at me as you just did.” She grabbed at his thick forearms understanding she would not be able to deter him from his quest. He would choose what he was about.

“You’re trespassing, Madam. Seems I don’t need permission to toss you off my property on your scrawny arse. Don’t need consent to go through this bundle of nothing.”

If his eyes were indeed frigid, they didn’t come close to the coldness seeping from his dark, despairing words.

She choked back the not-so-subtle contemptuous retort she had for this man. Jenna didn’t mean to let him get the better of her patience. Tried to think of some way to soothe the icy fury that was so evident in his eyes. Eyes that seemed to turn from dark brown to black the farther the conversation proceeded. She did nothing to be the recipient of this hatred.

“Maman?” Brice tugged on her gown, fabric slipping. With more insistence, “Maman!”

She pulled the gown back onto her shoulder. His steely-eyed glare followed her movements. He found her lacking. She didn’t care. She found him equally as lacking.

“Oui, mon chere?” She pulled Brice’s hand into hers hoping the gesture would give some measure of reassurance to her boy. He was so small, so young.

“Is the bad man going to make us leave? He’s not nice. You tell me to always be nice to people.”

His little boy voice melted her heart. He had such a tiny hand. His limbs were so thin and frail. He would not survive another sickness. She wanted to bundle him in her arms, keep him safe from the world as well as men such as this one. She realized long ago, despite her best efforts, she could not do so.

The man did want her to leave. Was certain there was no way she would give up ground, at least not tonight. No matter what he told her, tonight she was going to sleep on a bed within the cottage. They had nowhere to go. Even if they did, they had no way to get there. She was going to do everything in her power to remain on this land that was Brice’s birthright.

“Could we stay in the gatekeeper’s cottage for the night. I would pay you in work tomorrow if you’d allow it. I’m a hard worker.”

“What would you do with the boy? Don’t want him around,” he asked leaning back on the cart, his huge arms crossed in front of him while he glared from the boy back to her. Fear for her child crawled up her spine.

If he didn’t have a perpetual scowl on his face, he might have arresting features. His dark brows tightly drawn together did nothing for his appearance except make him look threatening. She would give him that. He was intimidating.

“Brice would have to stay with me. There is…he’s too young to leave him here by himself. He would never get in the way. You won’t even know he’s in the house.” She was pleading, begging him. They both understood the fact. It seemed her words weren’t swaying him.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “It won’t work then. Don’t want the boy anywhere near my home or me. Don’t want the boy on my property. Don’t want to see him or hear his voice.”

That was more than obvious. She wasn’t stupid. She got the picture he painted. “I know the chateau. Know what needs to be done. You won’t find anyone more competent than me to help clean. Please.” God, she didn’t want to beg this man. She would.

“No.” He turned her back on her stomping up the trail to the house. He looked over his shoulder. “There is nothing for a woman to do. Don’t plan on hiring women for any reason.”

Especially not you, she heard the words he didn’t say.

Frantic with need, she ran after him, tugging on his arm to stop him. “I will do anything.” It was true. She would do anything to put food and clothes on Brice. “Anything at all.” She wanted him to live, to have things normal children had.

One of his eyebrows slanted upward in question. A crooked demonic smile lit his face. “Anything? I’ll keep that in mind.”

She understood she just offered herself to this man. Knew what she told him was true. Desperation had been a solid part of her life for so long now. “Yes, I’ve no other choice. I’ll work twice as hard as anyone, as any man. Do the chores no one else will want. The place must be a mess. How long since anyone lived there? You said you purchased it two weeks ago. The grapes will have to be harvested. I’ll fix up your home.”

Several seconds passed while he stared at her. For a moment, she noticed a partial smile then it vanished replaced by the frown she was getting used to seeing. “I want you and the boy gone tomorrow morning. Stay in the cottage if you wish overnight. Vacate the place by six. If you aren’t gone in the morning, I just might take you up on your offer. If I see you again, be prepared to let me see more of you, perhaps all of you.” His gaze roamed the length of her until it settled on her breasts.

The breath she’d been holding rushed out in a loud whoosh. Thank God, for one night. Instead of leaving, she intended to be at work at six. Perhaps her luck changed a tiny bit. She would work so hard he wouldn’t be able to turn her out. She would make him need her. Tonight, they had shelter as well as food. With the francs he would pay her when he discovered she was working for him, she could walk into town. She was certain Brice could ride the mare. She would buy more food. Living was day to day. This time she thought perhaps she found some place she could stay.

His long-legged stride took him quickly up the hill. He didn’t look back. Jenna found she was once more holding her breath while she watched. It seemed to her she was waiting for the next explosion of his wrath. Demain, tomorrow it would come. For now, there would be peace.

“Tete de butt,” she mumbled under her breath before realizing she didn’t want Brice to hear the words.

She made sure he knew swearing was wrong. However, this was apropos. He was exactly as she said. Her muttered words were not a lie.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to say bad things.” Brice tugged on her skirt.

She whirled. Embarrassed, she let the man blind her to the fact her son heard her frustration. “You aren’t.”

This time she didn’t know how to get out of the conversation that was certain to follow. How was she ever going to explain herself? She knelt so she could be eyelevel searching for the right words. She didn’t believe she could think of any.

“How come you can?” He sounded a little indignant as well as curious.

Tenderly, she pushed an unruly lock of hair from his eyes. He was so precious, his question so innocent and pure. She wished she could simply tell him it was because she was an adult. Being older didn’t make it right. “I’m not supposed to either. It’s just that he was acting like a butthead. I’m sure he is not that way most of the time. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Tete de butt,” Brice murmured seeming to agree with her. “He’s a bad man. I don’t like him. You shouldn’t want to work for a man like that. We need to find somewhere else to go.”

Jenna was sure he was right. Knew she shouldn’t have offered herself to the loathsome man. In any case, the coldness in his eyes when he looked her over told her he wouldn’t want her. By his expression, he found her lacking. She didn’t have to worry about him taking her up on the offer of her body. “Don’t say the words in front of him. Can’t lose this opportunity. Shall we see what the gatekeeper’s house looks like?”

“He told you we had to leave. Told you he didn’t want to see us. How are you going to work for him?”

“I’m hoping that if I’m already in the house working, he won’t send me away.”

Well, he most likely would. She would have to stand her ground, as she was desperate for the money. Stubborn was her second name. He would discover just how stubborn she could be.

“We really don’t have to sleep in the cart tonight? Will I have a real bed?” For the first time in weeks, Brice sounded eager to see what would happen next. His little boy smile so warmed her heart.

“Yes, and probably not. I would want to make sure all the linens are clean before you sleep on them. Maybe things inside are just dusty. What do you think? Shall we go see?” Her hand settled on his shoulder as they walked.

“If they are not too bad? Wouldn’t be any worse than the bottom of the cart and our old blankets,” Brice said looking up as if to see into her eyes.

“No, it probably would not. Let’s find out if I remember this place.”

The heavy wood door creaked on its hinges when she opened it. Before she did anything else, she pulled all the draperies wide to let the sunshine inside the dreary room. Dust flew as the fabric was swept aside. Muted light from a setting sun filled the drawing room. Particles of grime left by years of neglect swirled in the warming rays of the sun.

Hope filled her. The cottage wasn’t much, nevertheless it would be their home. She would find a way to stay.

“Shall we look at the bedrooms? If I remember correctly, there are two. Do you want to sleep with me tonight or in your own room?”

She understood he would start in one before he came to her later in the night. He did like to snuggle. They were a team. Had been so, for a very long time.

“My own.” He looked at her sheepishly through lowered lashes while he clung to his wooden pony. One time in his life he had an entire army of ponies and soldiers. Now he had the one. Their lives had been reduced to nearly nothing.

She did have her love for her son. One could not sneeze at something so valuable as love.

If the ill-humored man allowed her to stay and work, would he pay her? How much was the next question. She knew she was getting ahead of herself. Feeding and sheltering Brice was now her sole concern. In his present mood if he allowed her to work, he would most likely pay her next to nothing. She needed to save so she could pay the back taxes.

That thought did not put a smile on her face. The taxes were paid. It didn’t seem the man would sell the land to her even if she possessed the desired coin. He probably didn’t even need this place. He had the markings of wealth about him.

He could possibly make her work for the food and shelter without paying her. As a man in another village did, he could ask her for other services. She fled that place. The man was ghastly. He stunk of garlic, his teeth rotten. Even for food she couldn’t let him touch her. Couldn’t sleep with him. During the month to reach the chateau, there were times she thought she should have closed her eyes and spread her legs for him. In doing so she could have kept Brice healthy. Could have fed him. He might not have taken sick. She pushed those morbid thoughts to the back of her mind. The past was just that, the past. For Brice’s sake she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Jenna thought of this man, the man in her future. Would it be so bad if she shut out all sounds and thought of other things? If he didn’t scowl, he would be handsome. She knew women who did just that in order to survive. For a brief time, she worked as a maid for Angelique in her bordello in the city of Bordeaux. She saved every franc. Eventually, she had enough francs to move on.

Now, she was here. She offered herself to the man. The mean man, she amended. Jenna realized she didn’t even know his name.

Brice disappeared into the smaller bedroom. When he returned, he was grinning. “It’s dusty like everything else.”

“We’ll take the bedding outside. Give it a good beating. You can sleep there. First, however, we are going to have dinner. Are you hungry?”

After Brice ate, they took the bedding outside. The beating didn’t take long. Before she knew it, she was tucking Brice into bed, his wooden horse under his arm. She hugged him then kissed his forehead. “Sleep tight.”

“When are you going to eat? You never eat anything, Maman. Your clothes are going to…”

“I’m not hungry,” she whispered then gave him another tender kiss on his forehead. “I’ll have something as soon as my tummy tells me it’s time.”

No, she wasn’t hungry. She’d gone so long without eating she barely recognized hunger pains. Keeping Brice healthy was all that mattered to her. Once every couple of days, if there was extra bread, she would have a piece.

With everything done for the evening, she didn’t want to sit inside the stuffiness of the house. Needed to feel the fresh air on her face. The old swing still sat on the porch. She remembered sitting on the porch steps while Oliver told her stories. He was ancient. Seemed as old as the hills. He must have been forced to move on when the chateau was sold. Often, he spoke of the revolution along with the reign of terror.

The scent of ripe grapes hung on the air. Harvest season was upon them. If the vineyard was in working order, there would be people from the village tomorrow milling around waiting for orders as to what they should do.

Lost in thought, Jenna didn’t hear the soft tread of booted feet on the grass as she hummed a French lullaby she used to sing to Brice. Those days were a very long time ago, the memories nostalgic. In any case, she didn’t wish for them back. All she wanted now was to move forward.

She jumped when the man cleared his throat. “Thought you and the enfant might be hungry. Didn’t see a lot of food in the basket. Also brought the two of you clean linens. My cook suggested I bring this to you.”

At the bristling of her back, the man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking for favors in return?” While only a few minutes ago she thought she could give herself to this man, she now understood it wasn’t what she wanted. Even though when he let his guard down for a second, he was handsome as sin.

When her question registered, it seemed the words also burrowed under his skin. “Didn’t come down here looking for sex. Just making sure you understand you can’t stay longer than tonight. Want you to be comfortable.”

His gaze once again roamed over her, heating her from the inside out with what appeared to be raw hunger. She didn’t understand.

“Thought a bit of ham might go with the cheese and bread coupled with a bottle of Cimaron’s finer Boudreaux. A vintage from two years ago.”

That was when she fled the Cimaron. “You don’t want anything from me?”

Her pulse pounded as her breath caught deep in the back recesses of her throat. If she offered herself more blatantly…

Turning her head, she watched him walk into the cottage to return with two glasses and an open bottle. He set the sack of meat on a tray, emptied it. “Eat. Don’t want sex at this moment if that’s what you’re asking. Maybe another time, though there won’t be another opportunity. Just want to make sure you have enough stamina to get your skinny butt off my land tomorrow morning. No offense intended. You don’t appear to be very strong. Look as if you could just faint dead away any second.”

“Stronger than I look,” she muttered as she set aside most of the meat for later, for Brice.

She didn’t remember the last time they had meat. He still wanted her to leave. Well, she wasn’t about to do something so stupid.

“It’s not all for the boy. Want to see you eat and drink then I’ll leave. Not a second before.” He poured two glasses of the wine.

She accepted when he handed her one. She sipped, closing her eyes as the liquid warmth slid down her throat. The wine was delicious, a reminder of another, better time.

“So, you used to live up there on the hill? Jacques Bonnet is your boy’s papa? You know, the people around here, in the village, the ones who worked for him, didn’t like him. Suppose that’s mild, they hated him. Don’t like you either. That’s all I hear when I go to the village.”

He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. “Jacques wasn’t a nice man.” Seemed to run with the territory. He certainly wasn’t a very nice man either.

“I didn’t know him. Been away for a long time.”

“Who are you besides the man who stole my son’s inheritance,” she asked as she watched him close his eyes almost as if he tried to ward off immense pain.

When he opened them, he was staring at the rows of vines as if they didn’t exist.

“Look…if I didn’t pay the government what was owed on the land and chateau someone else would have. You still wouldn’t own this place. Cimaron will never be yours again.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Gill Allemand.”

“What do you need these vineyards for? I recognize the name. Your family owns several a little north of here.”

Silence stretched across the small distance separating the two people. “Haven’t seen you eat anything. If you don’t, I’m taking this with me so the kid won’t get any of it. Is that what you want? No, I don’t suppose it is. Eat. I’ll leave you alone after that.”

His one word sounded as a command. She didn’t want to eat anything she could save for Brice. He’d been so wrong about not seeing her eat. To appease Gil, she did have a piece of ham along with a slice of cheese. If she didn’t eat anything more, there was enough left for breakfast as well as lunch for Brice. She wasn’t going to allow her son to go without food. Brice needed to regain his strength.

After eating two pieces of ham and cheese she looked at him. “I’m Jenna,” she told him as she watched his strained features smooth slowly.

For a fraction of a second, his eyes warmed, golden flecks dancing in them.

It didn’t seem he meant to stay that long. “Jenna, finish the wine. Save the rest of the food for the boy, breakfast for both of you. Make sure you eat something before you leave in the morning.”

“I’m not leaving tomorrow. We’re too tired. You’re going to have to give me another couple of days to recover.”

She rose. Must have been too quickly. She swayed slightly her head dizzy. Trying to hide what just happened she sat down.

“See that you eat.”

His command didn’t go unnoticed.

As Jenna watched Gil walk up the hill, she understood she hid nothing from him. He had this way of looking at her, one that seemed to burrow into her soul. She wondered what he was thinking.

~ * ~

Gil sat in the darkness of his room. His body trembled as a seething darkness encompassed him. Seeing the boy, who would have been the same age as his son when his child died along with the boy’s mother, sent ice pouring into his veins. He didn’t even know about the two of them until his son was four. They shared one year together. That wasn’t enough time. After Etienne Dubois wed the woman, he thought to be in love with, Elisa Moreau, he aimlessly wandered France visiting old haunts. He didn’t go back to his work for the French government. Didn’t function with the same lethal nonchalance as he had previously. He discovered he yearned for a family along with peace and quiet of a rural life.

That was when he discovered his child. Unlike Jenna’s boy, his son was robust, big for his age. The boy could run and climb. He laughed easily. For that one year, he slept with Chantel, played at having a family. Unlike his son, he didn’t truly love the woman. When she died though…

When she died, he found himself haunted by thoughts of her. Found there was a hole left in his heart that needed filling. It seemed he would look into a room and he would sense their presence. At times in bed, he felt sure Chantel slept beside him. He might have made a life with her, just to be close to his son. Had been thinking of marriage even while he knew wedding a woman he didn’t love would be a mistake.

Thoughts of his first love, Elisa, disturbed his nights. Still, he missed Chantel simply because she came with his son who he adored. Now, alone with his memories, the emptiness in his life bled into his soul. Too many times to count, he didn’t see a reason to live. Without his son, thinking of his son, he could not breathe. Air refused to enter into his lungs. He wanted to die.

The room he slept in was black, pitch black. He reached for the pistol beside his bed. His hand shook. He turned it over in his hands, thinking to end his misery. If he did, too many people would be hurt; his family, his friend Etienne along with Etienne’s wife, Elisa. Every step he took each day was filled with pain, not the physical variety but the mental. No one dared mention the boy or his wife. They were terrified he would collapse. Perhaps they were correct in their assumptions. Without them he felt broken.

Jenna…

Her son Brice…

Gil couldn’t manage to swallow the lump in his throat. Couldn’t condemn himself more when he wished it was Brice and not his son, Lance, who perished in that fire. He should have been there, perhaps made a difference. If he’d been able to get him out, Lance would still be alive. That was a long time in the past.

Head in his hands, he sobbed. Copious tears rolled down his cheeks in an unbroken flow. His head pounded painfully with each new breath of salted tears slipping between his lips.

He didn’t want to see Jenna or her son in the morning. Prayed they would be gone when he checked on them. Didn’t know what got into him when he allowed her to offer herself to him. Lord help her, the woman was all skin and bones. The soles of her shoes were coming lose from the tops. Her threadbare dress might be ripped to strands if threatened with a stiff wind. When he looked into her basket of possessions, she owned one more dress, which was in just as bad shape as the one she wore. While the little boy didn’t have much, he possessed a great deal more than his mother. Clothing that was new, a shirt plus another one, two pairs of shoes that were not falling apart. He owned a warm coat tucked away at the bottom of the basket. She possessed a threadbare shawl.

It wasn’t his place to improve her life. The reasons for her leaving the winery years ago were unknown to him. Though the motives must have been very real and valid. What little he knew of Jacques Bonnet, he didn’t blame her for running. Now, with the passing of her husband she returned thinking to take up where she left off, believing her son would inherit the vineyard.

He wouldn’t.

It was almost dawn. He told her to be gone at six. Not knowing why, he expected her to stiffen her shoulders; after that beg him for another night. She’d already done just that. Perhaps his expectation had something to do with the boy. She would have to get him ready, feed him before she could leave. He hoped she didn’t give all the food he brought her last night to her son. He wanted her to be able to put that old mare to the cart and leave. If she couldn’t, he wasn’t positive how he could get her to leave. A sick woman to care for was not high on his list of priorities. He had enough trouble getting himself out of bed each morning. If she continued in this vein, she would be sick sooner than later. If she meant to take care of her son, she needed to take care of herself first.

The next morning when he made his way to the first floor, it was five thirty. He needed to make certain the cleaning supplies were out and available to the workers he meant to retrieve from the nearby village. Striding through the kitchen, he grabbed a slice of bread hot from the oven. He would eat later or perhaps while he worked.

“She’s out there working her skinny backside off.” The woman, Gaby, who cooked for him all his adult life, pointed toward the main hall. “Seemed to know where everything was located. Got herself a rag and some soapy water, says she’s going to use the lemon oil when she finishes to make the wood shine. Been working since I started baking bread this morning around five o’clock. You tell her she could work for you?” Gaby asked sounding skeptical while appearing even more surprised.

“The devil you say. No, told her to leave by six. Apparently, she didn’t listen.”

That didn’t surprise him. Where Jenna Bonnet was concerned, it seemed she had a mind of her own. She didn’t obey direct orders either.

He stabbed his hands in his hair as he strode the distance into the entrance. She was humming softly, working on the staircase with what smelled like lemon oil. She must have found the cleaning supplies. When she heard him, she looked up. Smiled softly.

“Where’s the boy?”

The soft smile vanished at the penetrating sound of his gruff voice. Despite his feelings about this woman and her child, he found he wanted to see the soft curve of her lips again. Cursed himself for the weakness. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable. When he asked about her son, her entire demeanor changed. Well, hell, of course she would be protective of her son.

Her shoulders squared while her back stiffened. “He’s not in the way,” she told him, her voice curt, her blue eyes icy. “He’s playing with his toy horse.”

“Eating, I see.” He turned his attention back to her. “Did you eat?” He couldn’t help asking even though he knew the answer.

“What do you think? Not that it’s your business,” she spoke softly as she continued stroking the wood, making it gleam more with each swipe of the soft rag. The transformation was vividly apparent.

“You were supposed to be gone by six. Instead, I find you working. Told you I wouldn’t hire you. Haven’t changed my mind. You’re doing this for naught. There is no pay for work when you haven’t been employed.”

His voice was harsh, gruffer than he intended, but her visible grimace was the effect he wanted. He knew she didn’t eat. Saw her hang on to the railing as she pushed hair from her face. Didn’t expect her to so blatantly defy him.

“I never thought it was a bad thing to be early to work,” she spoke as she watched Brice completely ignoring the fact she wasn’t authorized to do anything she was doing.

He’d just been blatantly honest. She ignored every word. “Hope it was alright that your cook, Gaby, gave Brice a glass of milk.”

“You need the nourishment more than your boy. You’re all skin and bones. When are you going to leave?”

When she followed his orders, he wanted to send a year’s supply of food with her.

At his words she flinched, red suffusing her cheeks. He supposed that wasn’t candid of him. Candid was not something he sought. If his disposition was nasty enough, he prayed she would decide on her own to depart the premises. No job could possibly be worth the belittling he’d already directed her way. As her lips moved, he was positive she was calling him a tete du butt. Well, she had him pegged right, a butthead. That’s exactly the way he intended to carry out this relationship of theirs that was going to be extremely short-lived. He figured the meaner he was, the sooner she would takeoff.

“Do you need some help departing?”

He strode toward her ready to do whatever was necessary. Pick her up then carry her if she continued the defiance. He could put her in that cart as well as hitch the old mare to it.

She stiffened then, her shoulders squaring as it seemed to him she prepared to talk. “Not going anywhere. Can take care of myself. Besides…” she paused sipping air just to keep herself standing as she once again wavered.

He was certain she was about to tumble down the steps to land at his feet. The question in his mind was whether he could snag her before she tumbled down the steps.

“Besides?” he queried as he started up the stairs. If she was going to fall someone needed to be there to keep her from hurting herself. While he wanted her and the boy to vanish, he didn’t wish anyone harmed.

“What I do is none of your business,” she finished on a soft whisper.

“It is when it seems I’m paying your wages. Wages I didn’t intend to pay you since you were never hired. You will be gone first thing tomorrow.” He didn’t understand why he backed off.

“Please, let us stay. I’ll do anything.” She paused looking as if she just heard his words. “You’re actually going to pay me?” Now she sounded wistful, a bit of apprehension thrown into the mix.

“I’m not that big an ogre that I expect you to work for nothing. Today at least, nevertheless if you turn up tomorrow unexpected, I’ll send you on your way with no wages to speak of.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He lifted an eyebrow as he studied the expression on her face. “What did you think?”

“I hoped.” She ran her tongue across her bottom lip, leaving it dewy with moisture.

He stared. A feminine ploy to entice him, he just might take her up on the blatant offer before sending her on her way. It had been a long time since he had a woman beneath him. “Well, your fondest wish just came true. Not paying you if you faint making me rush to Gaby for the smelling salts.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to do anything like that. We can stay then?” She sounded so hopeful and sincere.

“Madam, look here.” His voice was stern but it didn’t seem she listened.

“We can stay.”

“I’m not hiring you.”

“Of course you are. You need this chateau cleaned up from top to bottom. You need to harvest your grapes so you can do what this place does best, make wine. Don’t see anyone lining up to get rid of the dirt and grime in the house. If you want to live here…well, there is much to do.”

All this talk of food was making him hungry. Her arguments were having the same effect on his stomach while managing to make his head throb. Tete du butt. “Carry on.”

He strode back to the kitchen ignoring her question as well as her statements about his needs. He didn’t want her to stay or to ever see her again. Gaby set a plate of food on the table that she took from the warming oven. “You going to bring the little lady here to eat. It’s the least you can do. She needs some more meat on her bones. If she filled out a mite, she’d be quite attractive.”

“You’re meddling in what doesn’t concern you, Gaby. Save the matchmaking for your mama. She’s not staying.”

Gaby huffed as if she was indignant. “I’m the better matchmaker, besides just looking at her one would know she’s not eating enough.”

“Says she’s eaten.”

“Well, I’m sure she is lying.”

Couldn’t help the following heavy sigh. “So am I. Jenna gives all her food to her son. Doesn’t eat a thing. I sat at the cottage last night until she ate two small slices of ham and cheese. She did sip a glass of wine.”

“Doesn’t need wine. The girl needs food, good French cooking would put some well-needed meat on her bones. Then you’d want her stay to around for more than just the cleaning.”

“Give her anything at all and Brice will have the food. I’m telling you; she won’t eat.”

“If you give her more than the little tyke can eat, she’ll have to eat some of the leftovers before they spoil. Won’t she?”

“One would think.” He did sit down to eat. As always whatever Gaby cooked was delicious. Before she left for her home, she set about making sandwiches leaving them wrapped and on the table. Gaby would be back in time to cook dinner.

In the meantime, he had to oversee the collecting of the grapes. Harvesting was one of the most important parts of the vineyard. He wanted wine this year. While the grapes had been neglected, it was only for a year and a half. They would do fine. The harvest might not be as bountiful this year as in the past, but his manager assured him this year’s crop would produce a wonderful red Bordeaux.

Gil spent the remainder of the morning and well into the afternoon talking with the manager about his vines as the man gave him a tour of the property. He brought help with him from his family’s vineyard closer to St. Emilion. The men and women had over a hundred years of experience in wine making. All would go well. Yes, it would go well if Jenna Bonnet would leave as he instructed. He didn’t want a woman in his life nor did he want anything to do with the child. Just seeing the boy tore his heart into shreds.

By the time he finished, he was dusty and dirty which suited his mood. When he walked into the entrance, Jenna was finished with the stair railings. She was no longer on the steps. The wood was smooth and polished. The lemon scent of the oil she used filled the air. He breathed in deeply.

When he found her, she was sitting on the floor, scrubbing the stones with skim milk. Where she cleaned, everything reflected the sunlight. He looked around for Brice. Finally catching sight of him, he was sitting beneath the piano, playing with his toy horse as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The boy didn’t. His mother certainly did. His heart lurched. Gil didn’t appreciate the protective feeling toward Jenna that surfaced blindsiding him. He doused that feeling with a cold dose of realism. The pain in his gut was too raw and deep. All he wanted was to be left alone.

He pushed the sensation away with an angry nod toward the boy. “Has he done nothing today but play and eat?”

She stopped mid-scrub, lines on her forehead deepening as her eyes seemed to draw together with a pointed scowl. They flashed blue ice shards at him. He didn’t care. He wanted an answer.

“He’s just a little boy. What is it you want him to do? Get down on his hands and knees? Scrub the stones?” Sarcastic venom filtered through the air severing his mind with the ridiculousness of his words.

Her question was valid even though it reeked of disrespect. She should quell her unruly thoughts if she wanted to get paid. Gil didn’t have an answer for her. Children were supposed to play. Why would he want him to work? To ease her burden.

Jenna shouldn’t have Jacques Bonnet’s child to look after. She should have had better than a man who was despised by almost everyone who knew him or worked for him. All he heard was rumors. He had not been around to know the man first-hand. Gil had been in Paris most of the years since he turned twenty. Even before that, he’d spent a great deal of time there. Most of what he knew he’d heard since his arrival. At the time he didn’t care what was said. He bought the winery. It was his now. Eventually, the land his family owned adjoining this one would be merged.

He couldn’t bear to be such a burden on his family. That was why he moved out. Thought he could work so hard it would take his mind off his losses. Since the death of his boy, he didn’t want to be around people who cared about him. Saying he was morose would be understated. The people he cared most for him sidestepped the issue that overcame his mind. He never spoke of Chantel or Lance. He liked it that way. Needed his thoughts to be bleak and dark, desolate was best.

He didn’t want to think about these two either. Just looking at the woman and her child brought painful memories to the surface. Seeing her love shine so clearly for the little boy brought him to his knees. It was the way he loved Lance.

“Hell, if I know. Just don’t want to see him when I’m in my house. If you expect to work for me, keep him somewhere I don’t have to look at him.”

He didn’t miss the tiny look of relief that crossed her face to be changed when she spoke. “Can’t leave him by himself in the cottage. What do you propose I do with my son?”

“Maybe you should quit. Move on. Find some other means of employment.” Some other man to torment. “A place that will welcome you with open arms.”

Angrily, he fisted his hands while his gut coiled then soured. He didn’t know what else he could say to her.

“There is no place like that. It doesn’t exist,” she gritted out through teeth that were clenched hard together.

“It isn’t here either, Madam.”

Blinking a few times, she then ran her tongue across her bottom lip. At the sight he hardened, his arousal blatantly evident to anyone who looked. He knew he was looking at her with raw hunger in his eyes. He didn’t like his reaction, despised what the sight of her automatically did to his body. She told him she would do anything.

Jenna Bonnet wasn’t a virgin. She was a widow. So, what did he care? He should take what was offered and enjoy her sensuality. Hell, it wouldn’t be given willingly. He would always know she gave herself to him to feed her son. That knowledge didn’t settle very well in his gut.

If he took what she blatantly proposed, he’d be no better than dirt, lower than dirt. He understood her desperation to some extent. They were both dying inside but for different reasons. She wanted to keep her son alive while he mourned the death of his.

If he’d only had the chance to try to keep Lance alive, to rescue him from the fire that consumed his tiny body. Lance would be seven now. The boy had been strong and vital, so different from Brice. Gil hated the comparison.

What he did know was that he’d never again put himself in the position to love so thoroughly that the loss of that love would devastate him. He couldn’t go through anything like that another time.

Not ever.

“You should understand. I’m not going anywhere,” she spoke softly as she slowly pushed herself off the floor. “I’m staying.”

Her foot caught on the threadbare dress she wore. He heard the fabric tear. Quickly, she moved her foot before rearranging her skirt.

“What time do you put your boy to bed?” he asked as he studied her swaying form.

Her body was small. She was skinny except what curves she possessed were womanly, tempting even to a hard-edged, jaded man who’d been through hell and back. Her blue eyes were warm when she looked at her boy, turned to ice when she directed her gaze to him. If she eased some of his pain, he didn’t care if ice flowed in her veins as it did his. Perhaps together they could thaw each other. One time with her would never melt the ice that was so much a part of him now.

“Why?”

Her question didn’t surprise him even when he saw the immediate change from blue to frozen silver. Her lips trembled as if she guessed the answer to his question.

She might propose giving her body to him. He had no doubt giving herself to him to use was not something she wanted. What she didn’t know was that he would never take something from her she wasn’t willing to offer. All he wanted at the moment was to scare her out of his life. So far, she didn’t seem to catch onto any of the clues.

“Come, eat. Gaby left sandwiches. Enough so you don’t have to give yours to your son.”

A whisper of air left her lips as she wiped her hands down the front of her dress. As if he could see into her mind, he knew she was trying to figure out how to save one for Brice’s dinner.

“Don’t get me wrong, although I’m a bit skeptical you’re asking us to eat with you.”

Her voice held a wealth of censure while the summer-sky blue eyes sparkled with bits of sharp, silver-ice.

“We all need to eat. If you’re going to insist you have a job, I don’t want to be picking you up off the floor when you faint dead away.”

“Truth be told I’m not hungry. I’ll give Brice his. He can keep playing while he eats. I need to start on the wall paper.”

“No, you don’t. Since you defied my order of leaving this morning, this employer wants to get a full day of work out of you. The only way that can happen is for you to finish off that ham sandwich. Won’t take no for an answer.”

“If you insist.”

Her quick answer surprised him. He expected some half-witted argument. It seemed she capitulated too easily. “I do.”

“Gil.” The male voice coming from behind him caught his attention.

“What is it?” Gil asked as he turned to see Stephan, the manager of his vineyard, striding toward them, a grim look on his face. “Something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Need for you to check out the vats in the cellar. There are years of wine kept in a second cellar. You should take a look there. Figure out what you want to do with everything.”

He turned to Jenna. “You can relax now. Looks like I’ll be gone for a couple of hours.”

Gil didn’t leave though. He waited for Jenna to head to the kitchen with her little boy in tow.

When she didn’t move, he nodded in the direction of the waiting food. “Take the boy with you. I won’t be there.”

She nodded, grimacing as she tried to stand. He knew she was feeling the pain of working all day, part of it on her hands and knees. Wondered too if she ate any of the meat and cheese for breakfast he left the night before. He doubted it. Now that he wasn’t going to watch her down the sandwich, he was sure she would wrap the food up and save it for Brice tonight.

More food could be brought to her tonight. Food she would hand over to the boy. It wasn’t as if Brice didn’t also need meat on his bones. Jenna, however, appeared to be starving herself to death.

Why did he seem to harbor a soft spot for this woman? The faster she moved on the better. Enfer! He smashed a fist into his palm. All he wanted was to see her leave the chateau behind. Would do just about anything including intimidating her to succeed. He couldn’t keep up the pretense of intimidation despite how hard he tried.

Gil grabbed his lunch on the way out the back with Stephan. “What is it you wanted me to see?”

“Viens.”

Once inside the building housing the cellars, they made their way down a flight of steps to the area where the vats were located. The cellars smelled of darkness and wine. Hoses ran the length of the floors leading to each huge vat.

“They all seem to be in working order. If we go on through this hall, we’ll see the real interesting part of the estate.”

The cellar was cool, dark as well. He remembered playing inside the family cellars with Etienne. Wondered if his son would have enjoyed some of the same pastimes.

“What is it?”

“Wines going back to the early seventeen hundreds. They are all labeled and dated. Just thought you should see this. If you want, we can sell some of the bottles for hefty prices. Buy more vines to plant on some of the unused land.”

He thought of bringing one of the vintage bottles with him tonight when he visited Jenna.

He should bring food too.

Make sure she ate.

~ * ~

“Tomorrow I should visit Gil. Don’t want to leave him by himself too long. He might do something we’d all regret.”

“Not sure what he’ll do,” Elisa spoke softly as she watched Etienne sip his wine.

They were all afraid for Gil. The desolate and sometimes desperate look in his eyes was so different from the jovial man she first met. The man who helped her get over the loss of Etienne those first years as well as played with her son, Masson, when she had no one except the boy’s grandfather to help her. “He shouldn’t be left alone this long.”

Masson played with their little girl, Margo. A blanket was spread out on the floor, toys scattered haphazardly around her. Margo turned one a month ago. She was a precocious little thing. She had her big brother wrapped around her tiny little finger. Masson would do anything for the child. When it came to Gil, Elisa felt fear for his life. His eyes were haunted dark pool of depression.

“Gil doesn’t like to visit. Don’t think he enjoys watching Masson. Brings back memories he’d rather forget. Lance and Masson were the same age. Don’t want to push the man to do something too soon.”

“Seeing Masson makes him remember all he lost,” Elisa agreed with her husband as she watched their children. “At least to some degree, he shouldn’t hide from the memories. Sometime soon, he needs to embrace what he once had as well as except the fact it is gone. It would be nice if he could learn to live again.” In her heart she understood Gil didn’t want to live.

Etienne missed the first four years of Masson’s life simply because she kept the truth about his son from him. It wasn’t well done of her. Now, she regretted keeping the facts of Masson’s birth to herself, regretted it with all her heart. None of that time could be made up to the man she loved since she was a little girl.

Her husband would feel some of the pain Gil felt, however the trauma wasn’t the same. He didn’t lose his child forever. They’d both been so happy for Gil when he discovered he had a boy. Elisa knew Gil thought for a time to be in love with her. She never could return the sentiment. Now, Gil loved that boy with all his heart. Gave everything he was to him. Wound up devastated when Lance died. At the moment, everyone tiptoed around the man whose mean temperament was so different than the light-hearted, loving man she once knew. They all wanted to hear him laugh again. Needed to see the permanent scowl wiped off his handsome face.

Elisa didn’t acknowledge there was anything Gil loved more than playing with Masson until he was reunited with Lance. The joy carried over to his son. She was certain Gil was meaning to ask for Chantel’s hand in marriage. She didn’t think Gil loved Chantel though.

Now they were both gone, the mother as well as the child, leaving Gil a shattered man who seemed to barely live in the shell of his body. In Elisa’s mind, the man she once knew so well needed a swift kick to his backside. Etienne continued to tell her he just needed to be handled with care. If everyone left him alone, he would eventually come out of his melancholy. When they were around him, she was warned not to speak of her children and especially not of Lance.

“He shouldn’t be coddled,” she told her husband who glowered at her in disapproval. “You know he has to find a way to adjust to this, to learn to live again. He needs to find a woman to love, one who can give him more children. There are so many things he can do beside hideaway in that big old chateau of his.”

“Gil doesn’t need those thoughts of yours brought to the forefront. Whenever you speak them, he withdraws farther away. If you continue thinking you know best, he will end up a shell of himself.”

“Every time we see him, he is worse. You know it’s true. Coddling does not work. He needs to be confronted with this disease of the mind that possesses him. You are the one who is wrong in this matter.”

Etienne wrapped her in his arms. “What we need is to start another child so you can stay out of Gil’s business,” he told her nuzzling her neck.

In response, she shivered.

Trying to ignore him, she spoke again, “Remember the children.”

“Always do. Isn’t that what I just intimated?”

“We should go see him.”

Elisa had reasons her husband would not agree with nonetheless she intended to visit soon. It would be fun. The weather was nice. Fresh air linked with new scenery would do her good. Masson as well as Margo would love to spend time with their grandfather while they would be gone. She did agree that Gil seeing her son brought more despair to his eyes. A sleepover would be wonderful for Masson and Margo.

“We’re not traveling that great distance. Not with the children or without them. I know what you’re trying to do, Elisa. This time your meddling won’t work. Mind your business. Stay out of Gil’s.”

Etienne picked up Margo, cuddling her for a few seconds. “I’m putting her to bed then Masson. After that I’m going to put you to bed. No arguments.”

“Why would I argue?”

She smiled softly, lowering her lashes. Elisa let her fingers hover over the fastenings to her dress. “I’ll get a bottle of wine and something to eat. We can sit on the balcony.”

She loved the breezes on the balcony whether it was cold or hot. If cold, she could wrap herself in a heavy blanket. Etienne would always find ways to get his ever-questing hands beneath the covering to heat her more thoroughly.

“Watch the stars?” he queried, his voice husky, his eyes warm with the desire she hoped would never waver.

“The moon as well.” The laces to her gown were unfastened far enough she knew he could see the swell of her breasts.

“I’ll hurry,” he told her.

“Make sure that you do.”