‘Of course not. He was a proud man. But if you’d bothered visiting,’ Xavier said coolly, ‘you would’ve seen it for yourself.’
There was no answer to that.
‘You didn’t come back when he was ill,’ Xavier continued.
‘Because I didn’t get the message that he’d had a stroke until after it was too late.’
‘You didn’t even turn up for his funeral.’
And he seriously thought she wasn’t bothered about that? ‘I intended to be here. But I was on business in New York.’
‘Not good enough.’
She knew that. And she didn’t need him to tell her. She lifted her chin. ‘We’ve established that I’m firmly in the wrong. And it’s not possible to change the past, so there’s no point in rehashing it.’
He simply shrugged.
Infuriating man.
‘What do you want, Xavier?’
You.
The realisation shocked him to the core. After the way Allegra had let him down, he shouldn’t want anything to do with her. And she was no longer the petite rose Anglaise she’d been at eighteen, sweet and shy and a little unsure of herself and then blossoming under his love. Right now she was impeccably groomed and as hard as diamonds beneath that smart business suit. Her mouth was in a tight line, not soft and promising and reminding him of the first roses of summer.
This was crazy. For pity’s sake, he was supposed to be working out how to get the woman to sell her half of the business to him, not looking at her mouth and remembering how it had felt to kiss her. How it had felt to lose himself inside her. How it had felt to see her expression soften and her eyes sparkle with love when she looked up from the book she was reading and caught him watching her, on those drowsy summer afternoons.
Oh, Dieu. He really had to get a grip.
‘Well?’
‘I just happened to be on my way back from the fields. I called Hortense to see if you were in, because I was going to be neighbourly and polite and welcome you back to France.’ That was true—though it wasn’t the whole truth. He’d also wanted to see if he could gauge her reactions. To work out a plan for persuading her to sell the vineyard to him. ‘But, seeing as you raised the subject, let me give you something to think about. You haven’t been to France in years and I can’t see you being interested in the vineyard now. I’m more than happy to buy you out. Consult whatever qualified oenologist you like to get a price and I’ll abide by his or her decision—I’ll even pay the survey fee.’
‘No.’
She wanted more than a fair price? Well, if it would keep his vineyard safe, it was worth paying over the odds. ‘How much do you want?’
‘I’m not selling the vineyard to you.’
His stomach turned. ‘You’re planning to sell to someone else?’ To someone who would neglect the vines, so they’d end up diseased and it would spread into his fields? Or, worse, to someone who decided to use pesticide sprays and to hell with the neighbours—when it had taken him years to get organic certification for the vineyard. All that work could be ruined in a matter of weeks.
‘I’m not selling to anyone. Harry left me the house and his half of the vineyard. The way I see it, this was his way of telling me it was time to come home,’ Allegra said.
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘That’s guilt talking.’ Guilt that he’d just encouraged, admittedly. ‘You know as well as I do, the practical thing to do here would be to sell your share to me.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m staying.’
He stared at her, incredulous. ‘But you know nothing about viticulture.’
‘I can learn.’
‘I don’t have time to teach you.’
‘Then maybe someone else can.’
Over his dead body.
‘And in the meantime I can deal with the marketing—it’s what I’m trained to do.’
Xavier folded his arms, goaded into reacting. ‘I don’t care what you’re trained to do. You’re not dabbling in my vineyard. You’ll get bored within a week.’
‘No, I won’t. And it’s my vineyard, too.’ She folded her arms, reflecting his own defensive body language, and glared at him. ‘Harry left his half of the business to me, and I owe it to him to make it work.’ Her blue eyes were distinctly icy, and Xavier realised that she was serious. She really did want to make this work, for Harry’s sake.
Impossible; but, right now, she looked too stubborn and defensive to listen to common sense. So it would be better to leave now, think about the best tactics to make her see reason and talk to her again tomorrow. ‘As you wish,’ he said. He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Did Marc tell you the time of the meeting tomorrow?’
She blinked. ‘You’re on first-name terms with Harry’s lawyer?’
‘Actually, he’s my lawyer, too.’ Xavier judged it politic not to mention that Marc had been his best friend since university. Though he did owe it to Marc to be fair. ‘Although, I should add that he isn’t acting for me in this case and he hasn’t discussed you with me. Marc’s the most professional man I know.’
‘He said eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘Better make it midday,’ Xavier said. ‘I’m sure you’re tired after all your travelling.’
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You don’t think I’m capable of getting up early, do you?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Though he’d thought it. ‘Actually, it would suit me better, too. Here, we work to l’heure solaire.’
‘The time of the sun?’ Her translation was hesitant.
‘Sun time,’ he corrected. ‘Working on the vines in the middle of a summer day is the quickest way to get sunstroke. I do my admin in the hottest hours of the day and I work outside when it’s a little cooler. So—midday. My office, at the chateau. And I will provide lunch.’ He thought about kissing her goodbye on the cheek, just to unsettle her a little more—but then thought better of it. Given his body’s earlier reaction to her, there was just as good a chance that it’d unsettle him, too. Instead, he gave her a formal bow. ‘À demain, Mademoiselle Beauchamp.’
She nodded in acknowledgement. ‘À demain, Monsieur Lefèvre. Midday it is.’
Chapter Two
THE next morning, Allegra spent a while looking at the vineyard’s website and jotting down some ideas before setting out for the Lefèvre chateau. The building had barely changed in the years she’d been away; it was still grand and imposing, pale stone punctuated by tall, narrow windows with white shutters. She remembered the formal lawn in front of the chateau, though she didn’t remember there being lavender fields flanking the long driveway. And she was also fairly sure there hadn’t been a rose garden at the back—although she couldn’t see it when she got out of the car, the scent of roses was strong enough for her to guess that there was a mass of blooms somewhere behind the house.
Xavier’s wife’s idea, maybe?
Not that it was any of her concern. And she couldn’t exactly have asked Hortense without it seeming like fishing—which it wasn’t. Yes, Xavier Lefèvre was still