Loves Choices. PENNY JORDAN

towards your father, perhaps it ought to. I have been to the Napa Valley where I own a vineyard. It is a new venture for me, and one in which I have sunk a large amount of capital. If my “mood”, as you call it, strikes you as “good”, you can put that down to the fact that I now believe my investment will pay off. I am not a wealthy man in the terms that your father and his crowd define “wealth” …’

      ‘And you envy those who are?’ Hope demanded scornfully. His face tightened and darkened slightly. ‘No, Hope, I do not,’ he corrected slowly. ‘When you have a little more maturity, you will appreciate that men value most that which they earn for themselves. I personally can conceive of nothing worse than inheriting or owning vast wealth. Everyone needs a goal in life, something to work and aim for. My aim, or one of them, is to restore this château to what it once was—that, and to produce a new wine from my Napa Valley vineyards which might one day equal those we produce here in France. My trip to California had already been postponed once, and consequently there is a considerable backlog of work for me to catch up on.’

      ‘Here at the vineyard?’ Hope asked the question reluctantly. She didn’t want to get involved in Alexei’s day to day life. She wanted to hold herself aloof, to remain distant from him, and yet, in spite of her resolutions, she was interested.

      ‘Here, in Beaune, where I serve on the committee which upholds the old traditions of this area, and in Paris, where I have an interest in a wine-broking business.’

      ‘I’m surprised as such a very busy man that you managed to fit in the time to … to kidnap me, and plan your revenge on my father,’ Hope said with what she hoped was a commendable degree of sarcasm, but it was her face that was tinged with betraying colour and not her opponent’s, his face calmly unimpressed as he poured himself a second cup of coffee.

      ‘You would do well to learn how to wield the rapier correctly, before you attempt to thrust against an expert, mon petit,’ he mocked her, refilling her own cup. ‘Now, have you any more questions for me, anything more you wish to know about my life?’

      ‘Nothing!’ Hope told him vehemently, too vehemently she feared if his amused expression was anything to go by. She glanced into his dark face and wondered numbly about the women who shared his life, quickly trying to quell the thought. What were they to do with her? Did they resent his absence while he spent his time with her? What sort of relationships did he have that he was able to do so? Was he as remote and taunting with them as he was with her?

      ‘So many busy thoughts chasing one another through your head.’ He picked up his cup and finished his coffee. ‘What is it that brings such an arrested expression to your face, I wonder?’

      ‘I was just thinking. You are spending a lot of time with me.’ She had blurted out the truth without thinking, and came to an abrupt halt, realising the dangerous ground on which she was treading, but it was too late.

      ‘And …’ Alexei pressed softly, the mockery in his eyes daring her to ask the questions she was sure he knew were racing through her mind, prompting her to ignore the warning voice inside her skull and to say instead, her chin lifting firmly:

      ‘I was thinking you must be a very cold, hard man, and one who does not care where he causes pain, just so long as he is able to accomplish what he desires.’

      ‘Meaning?’ Now there was an iron hardness beneath the soft tone.

      ‘Meaning, I am not so naïve as to suppose that you live your life as … as a monk,’ she managed, hating the colour seeping up under her skin, ‘and that it surely must cause your …’