Almost afraid to...fall in love.
No. No, no, no.
‘Nuages means...?’ I asked hurriedly as if words would halt the chaos happening inside.
‘Clouds.’ He pointed to the west turret almost ablaze in the setting sun. ‘On stormy days it feels like you’re floating on a bed of clouds when you’re up there.’
For a single moment I wished we weren’t surrounded by clear dusk. That the sky was filled with fat fluffy clouds so I could experience that magic with Damian.
I shook myself free of the fantasy as we headed towards the chateau. ‘How long have you had this property?’ I asked, just for something practical to drag my head out of the clouds.
‘A few years. I look in on it once or twice a year.’
‘Other than that it just sits idle?’
He shrugged.
I looked at the spectacular structure looming up before us. ‘How many rooms?’
‘Twenty bedrooms. Nine reception areas. Assorted outhouses and stables.’
‘That seems...excessive.’
He gave me a tense little smile as he opened a set of French doors and ushered us into a vast hallway with gleaming herringbone parquet floors and two immense stone fireplaces. ‘I’m a Mortimer. I’m conditioned to do everything with my family in mind, whether I want to or not. Right this minute Gideon is buying an almighty great yacht big enough to fit the whole Mortimer clan even though we all hate each other.’
‘Because like you, he hates failing too?’
He tensed, then faced me at the foot of a grand, sweeping staircase. ‘Perhaps I’m practising what has been ingrained in me since I was old enough to understand.’
My heart banged against my ribs, fleeing whatever he was about to say. ‘Which is?’
His eyes were hard. Piercing. ‘That everyone has an agenda. And that it’s rarely selfless.’
A chill crawled over my skin, sank deep into my blood. I wanted to reject that allegation but...how could I? I wanted to demand what his agenda was, but again...how could I?
We were here because I had an agenda of my own. One that seemed to grow more nebulous by the second.
Confused emotions roiled inside me, rending me speechless.
Footsteps approached, as if summoned by some unknown signal to interrupt that exact moment. The slim elderly woman who appeared was simply but impeccably dressed. Damian chatted to her in flawless French before he turned to me.
‘This is Margret, the housekeeper—’ He stopped when his phone buzzed.
He pulled it out, stared at the screen and exhaled angrily. The gaze he flashed me was distracted. ‘I have to take this, Neve. Margret will show you to your room. Feel free to explore on your own but stay away from the second floor. I don’t want the surprise ruined.’
I realised I was staring at his departing figure when Margret cleared her throat. ‘Would mademoiselle like a quick tour?’
I wanted to say, no, mademoiselle would like to know what had just happened. Instead I summoned a smile. ‘Yes, please.’
Then came the progression through stunning room after stunning room, each with an identity of its own but somehow melding in perfect symmetry with the whole. Crown mouldings blended seamlessly with hand-painted mosaics. Stone archways invited exploration of beautiful rooms with spectacular views.
By the time I was shown into my suite on the third floor, Chateau des Nuages owned a piece of my heart.
Just like its owner?
I leapt back from the question, but it haunted me into sleep and still lurked, insidious and terrifying, when I woke from my nap an hour later.
The more I tried to push it away, the faster my weighty emotions churned. Going where I didn’t want them to go. Towards Damian Mortimer, and the suspicion that the plan I’d hatched during the pre-production meeting two weeks ago had indeed altered.
That I wasn’t in complete control.
Margret’s arrival with a tray of the most exquisite seafood bisque and crusty bread I’d ever tasted, followed by a mouth-watering crème brûlée, distracted me for a blessed half an hour.
I was fresh out of the shower when she returned to clear away the dishes, and I stopped in surprise as she wheeled in a clothes rail on which hung an expensive-looking garment bag. ‘Monsieur asked me to give you this.’ She handed me a note.
I waited till she left before I opened it and read Damian’s bold scrawl.
See you in an hour. Wear the red ensemble. My fantasy. My rules.
I’d accepted that Damian’s fantasy might require its own unique accoutrements. The evidence of it sent decadent shivers down my spine as I went to the rail and slowly pulled down the zip of the garment bag.
The red dress was stunning, complete with a plunging neckline and an honest-to-God sweeping train. Sky-high strappy red-soled shoes with sparkling diamanté buckles winked at me from the bottom of the bag. I was so absorbed with the shoes I almost didn’t spot the black satin bag hanging to the side.
With fingers that trembled like a schoolgirl’s, I opened the bag. A pair of long red silk gloves spilled out. The bag still felt weighted. I reached in and gasped as my fingers encountered cold stone.
The diamond necklace was beautiful, its sparkle flawless.
I sucked in an uneven breath, not entirely sure why this fantasy I wasn’t even fully aware of intensified my heart’s tremble. Attempting to ignore the puzzling sensation, I reached into the bag for the last items. Bra. Garter belt. Stockings. No panties.
Shaky laughter ripped from me as I started to dress.
I was securing the necklace when he knocked. With a quick exhale, I swayed to the door and opened it.
No other man looked better than Damian in a tuxedo, I was convinced. I forgot to breathe as I took him in from slicked-back hair to shiny handmade shoes.
It took him longer to return the scrutiny, and the heat in his eyes made me tremble all over again. ‘Neve. You look...’ he stopped and visibly swallowed ‘...breathtaking.’
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I replied huskily.
After another heated appraisal, he held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’
I slipped my gloved hand in his, noting the ease of the action, the giddy lightening of my heart, the fit of our fingers.
He kissed the back of it before tucking it into the crook of his arm.
Our progress down the hall to the grand staircase was unhurried, giving me time to study him, to note that he wasn’t as relaxed as he made out. There was an edgy set to his jaw and a little strain around his eyes.
‘Is everything okay?’
He turned his head and I glimpsed a stern little light in his eyes before he visibly shook it off. ‘I won’t let anything ruin our evening,’ he replied cryptically.
We’d reached the top of the grand staircase by then. I needed to concentrate before I fell on my ass so I let him guide me down the stairs to the second floor and along the west hallway.
The room we entered was immense, a grand ballroom transformed into a miniature early century opera house, with elegant drapery on the walls and a raised platform for a performance.
A large mezzanine overlooked the ballroom.