‘I don’t need it.’
‘I know.’ Simone smiled at the knowledge that Lucien’s heart was for ever in safekeeping.
The photographer snapped more photos for the camera as they alighted from the carriage. Simone snapped more memories for her heart. The rich fragrance of autumn roses wafting up from the bridal bouquets. The glow of the old gold Duvalier pearls around Gabrielle’s slender neck. Something borrowed, Simone had insisted. They’d belonged to Simone’s mother, whose death had coloured both their lives. They were of Caverness and all that went with it, and they had endured, as the children of Caverness had endured.
Gabrielle wore them with love and with pride.
‘You’ll do,’ whispered Simone as she inspected Gabrielle one last time before Harrison stepped into place to escort his daughter to the gazebo where Luc and Rafael waited. ‘You’ll do very nicely.’
Night and Day, the household staff used to call Luc and Rafael when they were children. So totally different, night to day, but each followed the other and always in perfect rhythm. Brothers of the heart and now brothers-in-law, and Simone was fiercely glad for Luc’s
sake that, through Gabrielle, Rafe would be drawn back into her brother’s life.
Luc would be richer for it, and she…she would get by.
Simone barely heard the words of the ceremony. She knew they were beautiful. She knew them for truth. But she’d thrown her senses open, the better to catch the day and hold it close. Luc in his black tie regalia, so certain of his love for Gabrielle. Gabrielle incandescent with her love for him. And Rafael, who loved hard and never looked back, looked on in grave silence as he silently handed the safekeeping of his sister over to Luc.
An exchange of rings and then a kiss while Simone wrapped her calm around her like a shield and looked anywhere but at Rafael.
Congratulations and photos as the wedding party and guests made their way slowly through the gardens towards the restaurant. Simone held both bouquets now as the bride and groom greeted their guests. Many of Luc’s friends and business associates had made the trip from Europe. Some hadn’t had to travel quite so far. Simone kept a politician’s eye open for future allies for the new Mrs Luc Duvalier. She kept a general’s eye out for future enemies.
‘What
are
you doing?’ a deep and delicious voice murmured in her ear. ‘Calculating the collective cost of every piece of jewellery in attendance?’
‘Shh,’ she said imperiously, resisting the urge to turn at once and look her fill. ‘I’m counting.’
‘Counting what?’
‘Goodwill towards your sister.’ She counted to five before turning to study Rafael, still only marginally prepared for the loss of breath that usually accompanied such a venture. ‘For example—’ yes…goodbye oxygen
‘—Melisandre Dubois does not have any. Such things are worth knowing.’
Rafe scanned the crowd. ‘Point her out.’
‘Black cocktail hat, strapless black bodice, long pink skirt.’
‘Got her. Old flame of Luc’s?’
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Credit him with some intelligence. No, she’s never been Luc’s. She’s a snob.’
Rafe’s features hardened. ‘Who else here is lacking in goodwill?’ he said, and Simone told him. The children of Caverness guarded each other’s backs. Some things never changed.
Inigo signalled discreetly from the restaurant entrance that it was time for the party to move inside. With a nod, Simone told Rafe and separately they worked the guests and made it happen.
Champagne flowed. Canapés were served on silver trays by circulating wait staff. Once the guests had settled and the champagne had begun to work its magic, Inigo announced the arrival of Mr and Mrs Luc Duvalier. They entered to generous applause and the strains of a lone violinist playing an unchained melody.
‘I
love
what you’ve done with the roses,’ Simone murmured to Inigo, who had moved to stand by the kitchen doors, the better to orchestrate seamless service.
‘I
know
,’ he said. ‘Aren’t they divine? But really, I only had to arrange them. Rafe was the one who scoured the state to find them.’ Inigo eyed Rafael’s fine form and offered up a theatrical sigh. ‘It’s such a waste.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Simone as she caught Rafael’s eye. Rafael knew they were studying him. He hadn’t overheard them, but he was hazarding a pretty good guess as to the topic of their conversation and his
eyes promised retribution of the dark and edgy kind. ‘Not necessarily.’
Inigo smiled widely. ‘Did you
see
that look he just sent you? Call me a prophet but that’s not a merciful look from a merciful man.’
‘Mercy’s not really one of his strengths,’ said Simone and countered Rafael’s displeasure with a smile of pure challenge. Common sense clearly wasn’t one of hers.
‘Ow!’ said Inigo. ‘Sweetheart, you really shouldn’t poke at the man like that.’
‘Have you ever met a man who can take you straight to hell and make you burn for more, Inigo?’
‘No, but I’d like to. Send me a postcard. And don’t be shy if there’s anything I can do to help speed your impending trip into fiery oblivion. Cold water. Polar bears. Ice-train truck chains for restraining the vengeful angel over there, because seriously, my friend, he looks like he’s planning on burning in hell right along with you.’ Inigo shuddered theatrically. ‘You just tell Uncle Inigo what you need.’
Rafael straightened his tie, gritted his teeth, and did his bit to make Luc and Gabrielle’s guests feel welcome. It was an eclectic mix with figureheads of European winemaking dynasties mingling freely, and, to Rafael’s eye, quite readily with their Australian counterparts. Luc had never met some of the wedding guests before. Gabrielle had never met most of them. It didn’t seem to matter.
The reason it didn’t seem to matter wore a muted coffee-coloured sheath, a smile that never dimmed, and wielded hostessing skills that commanded Rafe’s respectful awe.
Poised and breathtakingly beautiful, and by dint of will and skill alone, Simone Duvalier merged the House of Duvalier and its associates with the House of Alexander.
Yes, it was true that Gabrielle and Rafael were the children of one of the most accomplished household estate managers in France, who up until recently had been in their employ.
Yes, indeed, Rafael had learned the art of making champagne from Simone’s late father, but the red-grape blends had beguiled him in a different direction. Yes, it was champagne’s loss—Simone’s father had considered Rafael’s champagne blends to be some of the finest the House of Duvalier had ever produced. In the last year of his life and as far as champagne was concerned, Phillipe had drunk
nothing
but the Caverness 1995 Special Reserve. It had been blended—under Phillipe’s guidance—by Rafael when he was fifteen. Yes, indeed, collaboration might well take place again between Rafael and Luc.
But wait until you tasted Rafael’s reds.
Gabrielle similarly, by way of Simone’s expansion on Gabrielle’s superior management and marketing skills, became a woman that Europe’s winemaking elite could not readily or sensibly ignore. In between building the Alexander family name, Simone polished the House of Duvalier’s reputation as a vibrant, progressive and wildly successful winemaking dynasty until it shone.
‘She’s a brilliant ambassador for them, isn’t she?’ murmured Gabrielle in one of the rare moments Rafe found himself alone with his sister.
‘Where did she learn all this stuff?’
‘Finishing school, on the job and at her father’s side. Luc says that when you left she turned to her work.
She’d sacrificed the man she loved for her role in the family business. Damned if she was going to make a mess of her business obligations too. Sound familiar?’
Rafael took the hit in silence. Gabrielle’s expression softened.
‘She loved you, Rafael. With all that she was. But she’s loyal to her family too, and you left her nowhere to go. No workable solution whereby she could be with you and fulfil her family obligations as well. She couldn’t leave, you couldn’t stay. You can
see
how crucial she is to the running of the Duvalier winemaking empire.’
‘I see it,’ he said gruffly.
‘I want to thank you. For showing Simone around the vineyard. For supporting her in her role as bridesmaid today. I knew you could do it.’
‘Save it, angel,’ he muttered. ‘The night’s still young.’
‘I trust you,’ she said and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘Get to know her again, Rafe. For your own sake. She’s a remarkable woman.’
That was what he was afraid of.
As far as Simone’s extremely well-trained eye could see, everything was unfolding according to plan. The food was magnificent, they had ambrosia for wine, the setting was superb and the execution was flawless. Luc looked relaxed, Gabrielle divine, the guests appeared genuinely happy, and the formalities had been delivered in a mixture of languages and with a great deal of laid-back humour.
Harrison spoke fluent French, Dutch, German and passable Spanish and would prove a valuable addition to the future social events Simone had already started planning in her head.
Not
your average Australian cattle farmer.
‘Stop working,’ said a dark, commanding voice as a tall glass of something that looked miraculously a lot like plain old iced water appeared in front of her. ‘Relax for a moment. I’m getting exhausted just watching you. And here, take this. Inigo said to give it to you.’
Inigo was a fiend who’d clearly surrendered to the dark side.
But she took the glass from Rafe’s outstretched hand and positioned him between her and the guests while she slaked her thirst for something without alcohol or bubbles in a most unladylike fashion.
She looked up on returning the glass to him to find that Rafe’s vivid blue eyes had darkened and his body had grown still.
‘I’m wondering which one’s real,’ he murmured. ‘The wanton sensualist or the poised and confident hostess?’
‘They both get a run every now and then,’ she said. ‘Which do you prefer?’
‘Well, that would depend on where you were. And who you were with.’
‘And were I alone with you in some dark secluded corner? Which would you choose then?’
‘You
know
which one I’d choose, princess.’
‘Actually, I don’t.’ She ignored the princess tag. For now. ‘When I kissed you the other day you definitely didn’t want wanton. You didn’t want any part of it.’
He regarded her in brooding silence. ‘I want to thank you for the build-up you gave the Alexander family tonight,’ he said finally. ‘I hardly recognised myself.’
Simone smiled. She’d embellished a little, but facts
were facts. Rafael Alexander was a man to watch, both in business and for the sheer pleasure it afforded people to do so. ‘It might take a while to secure Gabrielle’s position as mistress of Caverness, but she’s made a good start and you and Harrison have helped in no small measure by being charming, successful and socially adept. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you look like a fallen angel either.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘Fallen?’
‘Definitely. You don’t have good boy written all over you, Rafael, and you know it.’
‘Actually, I have “never look back” written all over me,’ he murmured.
‘Trust me,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’
‘Dance with me,’ he said.
‘That would require touching. And you know that’s not a good idea.’
‘Do it anyway,’ he murmured. ‘I can be good.’
She did it anyway, and settled tentatively into his arms. Her body thought it belonged there, but Simone begged to differ. They had an audience she’d been working all night and it wouldn’t do to ruin all her good work now. So they danced the way friendly acquaintances danced, and she avoided Rafe’s gaze and stamped down hard on her desire for more.
Gabrielle beamed at them. Luc shot Simone a warning glance. Careful, that glance said. Remember what became of this before.
She hadn’t forgotten. Not the pleasure or the pain.
For now she concentrated on the little things. The feel of her hand resting lightly in Rafael’s, his hand warm and slightly callused to the touch. His other hand at her back, assured, and taking no liberties. They had an
audience to play and his sister’s position in society to secure. Rafael knew this as well as she did and the truce held. Only as the dance ended did Rafe reveal the tiniest hint of battle readiness. His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist as he released her. One tiny discreet caress and her senses flamed to life.
Damn
he was good when he was being bad.
The bride and groom left at midnight and Rafe—along with everybody else—saw them to the door and into the car Harrison had arranged for them. Harrison would take them to Angels Landing and then he would head on to his own home. Rafe had taken a room at the guest house for the night in order to give the newlyweds their privacy. All that was left for him to do now was bid farewell to the rest of the guests as they departed and then he too could leave, secure in the knowledge of a wedding relatively well handled.
He stayed by the door, seeing people out. Simone did the same, her graceful, charming presence a direct threat to his sanity and his strength of will. Finally, there was no one else left to say goodnight to apart from a handful of guests who’d moved to the bar and were keeping Inigo busy. Rafael figured them for gone, one way or another.
Which left him and Simone. She stood on the step, with darkness at her back and soft yellow light from the restaurant illuminating her exquisite face and turning her gown into a glowing, golden sheath.
‘It’s not over, you know,’ she said quietly, and whether she spoke of the reception, their relationship or the truce he’d agreed to was anyone’s guess, but she was right on all counts.
‘I know,’ he said gruffly. Would she resist if he reached for her and drew her into the shadow of the night? Would she offer him her mouth? He tried to block the memory of that mouth and the things it could do. Such a clever, busy mouth.
Simone’s gaze turned dark and knowing and he knew before she spoke that she was about to acknowledge the beast that hungered inside him and invite it out to play, and she shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t.