Alex nodded. “On a much smaller scale of course.” She was conscious of his tall, hard-muscled frame as he continued walking to one end of the corridor on those long, powerful legs. “Let’s start with the bedroom in the turret round.”
“Oh—” she cried the second he opened the door and she took everything in. “This is the one I want!”
A smile broke the corner of his sensuous mouth. “You’re sure? You haven’t seen the others yet. The turret round on the other end has a fireplace.”
“I’m positive. Look at these!” There were fleur-de-lis designs placed at random in the inlaid wood flooring. She got down on her knees to examine them.
“If the original designer of this château could see a modern-day woman like you studying his intricate workmanship this closely, he would be delighted by the sight.”
“Go ahead and mock me,” she said with a laugh before getting to her feet. For the next few minutes she threw her head back to study the cross-beamed ceiling. There were little white enamel ovals rimmed in gold placed every so often in the wood depicting flowers and various forest creatures. “How did they do that? How did they do any of this?”
She darted to the window that needed washing inside and out, but at least it wasn’t broken. The entire room would require a good scrubbing to get rid of layers of accumulated dust. Even so there was a fabulous view of the countryside and a certain enchanted feel about the room. Eventually she turned to him. “Do you think this might have been your mother’s?”
Her question seemed to make him more pensive and probably brought him pain. She wished she’d caught herself before blurting it out.
“My mother lived here until her early twenties. I have no idea which bedroom she occupied, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it had been this one. The view of the Layon from the window at this angle is surreal.”
“I noticed,” Dana murmured. “I’m glad she met your father so she wasn’t so lonely anymore.”
Alex shifted his weight. “Lonely is an interesting choice of words.”
“She would have been, wouldn’t she? To know her father preferred her brother?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” he muttered. “Mother often seemed melancholy, at least that’s what I called it, but you’ve hit on a better description. Even in a crowded room she sometimes gave off a feeling of loneliness that no doubt troubled my father, too.”
“Forgive me for saying anything, Alex. It’s none of my business. It must be the atmosphere here getting to me.”
“You are your father’s daughter after all, so it’s understandable.” She didn’t detect anything more than slight amusement in his tone, thank heaven.
“If you’ll tell me where to find some cleaning supplies, I’ll get started in here before I bring up my sleeping bag.”
He tilted his dark head. “I have a better idea. We’ll drive into Angers in my truck and eat lunch. I need to pick up some items. While we’re there, we’ll get you a new mattress and box springs.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I wouldn’t allow you to stay here in a sleeping bag. After we come back, we’ll clean the room together and I’ll bring down a few pieces of furniture from storage. By sunset Rapunzel will be safely ensconced in her tower.”
She chuckled to hide her excitement at spending the day with him, not to mention the rest of the month. “You’re mixing up your fairy tales. I don’t have long hair.”
He gave an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders. “It’s evident you haven’t read the definitive version. Her father had her long golden tresses cut off so no prince could climb up to her.”
A few succinct words dropped her dead in her tracks. In the tale Dana had grown up with, there’d been a wicked witch. Was he still teasing her, or had this tale suddenly taken on a life of its own. “Then how did the prince reach her?”
He paused in the doorway. “I guess you’ll have to read the end of the story to find out.”
His cryptic explanation was no help.
“I’ll bring the truck around. When you’ve freshened up, meet me outside. I’ll lock the door with my remote.”
When she left the château a few minutes later, Alex was lounging against a blue pickup loaded with cut off branches and uprooted clumps of weeds. Dana marveled that he did this kind of backbreaking work without help. Pruning the grounds would be a Gargantuan task for half a dozen teams of gardeners, but he couldn’t afford to hire help because the taxes were eating him alive.
She felt his dark fringed eyes wander over her as she came closer. They penetrated, causing her pulse to race. Still, everything would have been all right for the trip into town if their bodies hadn’t brushed while he helped her inside the cab. Her breath caught and she feared he’d noticed. With nowhere to run, she had to sit there and behave like she didn’t feel electrified.
“This won’t take long,” he said a few minutes later, jolting her out of her chaotic thoughts. They’d stopped at a landfill to dump the debris. Fortunately there was a man there ready to help him, making short work of it. Soon they were on their way again.
After driving this route several times already, Dana recognized some of the landmarks leading into Angers. The massive castle dominating the town on the Maine came into view.
“Have you been through it?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, but I plan to. What about you?”
“One look at the condition of the estate and any thoughts I had of playing tourist flew out the broken windows.”
Dana flicked him a sideward glance. “You know what that old proverb says about Jack working all the time.”
He surprised her by meeting her gaze head-on. “Are you by any chance intimating I’m a dull boy?”
“Maybe not dull…” Dana said, before she wished she hadn’t.
“You can’t leave me hanging now—” It came out more like a growl, but he was smiling. When he did that, he was transformed into the most attractive man she’d ever seen or met. There was no sign of the boy he would have once been, one probably not as carefree with a mother whose heart had been broken.
“As you reminded me earlier, you’ll have to read to the end of the story to find out.”
“Touché.”
Dana was glad when he turned onto a side street and pulled up near a sidewalk café full of locals and tourists. She slid out of the cab before he could come around to help her.
There was one empty bistro table partially sheltered from the sun by an umbrella. Alex escorted her to it before anyone else grabbed it. The temperature had been mild earlier, but now it was hot. A waiter came right over and took their orders for sandwiches.
Alex eyed her. “I could use a cup of coffee, but maybe you’d prefer something cold. The air’s more humid than usual today.”
“Coffee sounds fine.” The waiter nodded and disappeared. She sat back in her chair. “I thought most French people preferred tea.”
“I grew up on coffee.”
“No billy tea?” she teased, referring to his Aussie roots.
He shook his head, drawing her attention to the hair brushing his shirt collar. In the light she picked out several shades ranging from dark brown to black. “I’m afraid tea doesn’t do it for me.”
“Nor me.” She smiled. “You seem