Читать книгу One Kiss in... Paris - Robyn Grady - Страница 19

Later they moved into the bedroom. While Bailey slipped under the covers, Mateo built a fire before joining her. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they didn’t wake until after eight. He couldn’t let her leave the bed until they made love again.

An hour later, Mateo met Nichole at the orphanage. They plotted a workable scheme for regular excursions to the city and surrounds, the first planned in the spring to visit the Louvre with a weekend stay over at a boardinghouse. Nichole was beyond excited for the children, many of whom had never set foot much beyond this district. With a deep sense of satisfaction, Mateo signed his name to the draft document. Opening the world could be an invaluable experience for any child, with regard to education as well as a sense of self. He should know.

They ended their meeting on another high note. A child—Nichole wasn’t obliged to say who at this time—would leave the orphanage today for a new home and bright new future. Mateo left the room wondering.

Could this child be Remy? He would only be happy for him if it was.

Mateo had promised Bailey a trip to the neighboring village where she could soak up more of the rustic atmosphere she enjoyed so much. But when he found her in the large undercover area, she and her company looked so enthralled he didn’t have the heart to disturb them. Bailey was playing house with a few of the younger girls, one of them Clairdy, a blond angel who Remy was fond of.

As the girls’ conversation and laughter filtered through the cool late-morning air, Mateo rested back against that enormous oak-tree trunk and crossed his arms. This was the place he’d wanted to escape as a child. These were the grounds he still recalled in disturbing abstract dreams at least once a year. And yet, whenever he visited, the longer he stayed, the more difficult it was to walk away. Today—this minute, watching Bailey play with the girls—he felt that contradiction more strongly than ever. He couldn’t seem to settle the opposing forces playing tug-of-war in his mind. Memories reminded him how much he’d once wanted to leave this place and yet something else whispered for him now to stay.

This, of course, was absurd. He had a practice, friends, a life back home. Here, at times, he felt almost like a ghost.

Bailey saw him and arced an arm through the air. “Mateo, come over! Clairdy and Eleanor are baking cookies. You could help.”

Clairdy and an equally small Eleanor chattered on in French as they rolled and cut play dough then put the tray into their playhouse oven. Mateo smiled. Reminded him of when he’d helped Mama in the kitchen all those years ago.

“What cookies are you baking?” Mateo asked, sauntering over.

“C’est notre recette spéciale,” Clairdy said. It is our special recipe.

“Remember not to have the oven too hot or the bottoms will burn,” he pointed out.

Eleanor immediately pretended to alter a temperature dial.

Clairdy patted her friend on the back and exclaimed, “Bon travail!” Good job!

“These two are inseparable,” Bailey said. “I’ve never seen two children get along so well.”

Clairdy was tugging Mateo’s sleeve. “Would you like to try one, Monsieur?” she said in French.

Mateo leaned down, hands on knees. “Will they need to cool first?”

Clairdy put her hands on her hips and nodded solemnly at the oven before she told Eleanor two minutes longer and then the cookies needed to cool.

Mateo ran a palm down Bailey’s back and whispered, “After the cookies, I’ll take you into town.”

“Perhaps the girls would like to come.”

His brows lifted. No doubt. But, “If we take these two, they’ll all want to go.”

Bailey nodded earnestly, as Clairdy had done a moment ago, then said, “We could hire a bus.”

He laughed. “Perhaps we could.”

“How did things go with Nichole this morning?” she asked turning more toward him. Her blue eyes had never looked more vibrant.

“We worked out an excursion schedule for next year. The older children will go first.”

Bailey’s chin came down. “But no one will miss out.”

“Everyone will get a trip,” he assured her.

Happy with that, she maneuvered in front of him then wrapped his arms around her middle. Her head dropped back against his shoulder as she sighed and took in the industrious scene playing out before them. Eleanor was stepping into a fairy costume; Clairdy was handing her glittering silver wings.

Bailey snuggled back more. “I like it here.”

“The climate suits you.” He grazed his lips near her temple. “Brings out the pink in your cheeks.”

“What about my lips?”

Mateo’s physical responses climbed to red alert. With the children engrossed in their game, he pulled her around a cozy corner, gathered her snug against him and purposefully slanted his head over hers. She immediately melted against him, making him feel invincible … taller and stronger than that five-hundred-year-old oak. When their lips softly parted, he wanted to forget where they were and kiss her again.

“It’s only early,” he murmured against her cheek. “Perhaps we should visit home before trekking off for lunch.”

She dropped a lingering kiss on the side of his mouth. “Maybe we could stay here and eat with the kids.”

Frowning, he pulled back. “Am I losing my charm?”

A teasing glint lit her eyes. “Would that bother you?”

“Only as far as you were concerned.”

He cupped those pink cheeks and kissed her slowly, deeply, until all the world was only them and this embrace. She might have thought he was only flattering her but his last remark was sincere. Today, that other world—with its busy office and appointments and investments and antiques—wasn’t important. He wanted to think, and feel, only her.

When his lips drew away a second time, her eyes remained closed. Leaning against the stone wall at her back, she hummed over a dreamy smile.

“Perhaps we should stay here forever.”

His stomach slowly twisted. Not because he disagreed but because as outlandish and flippant as her suggestion may be, he was attracted to the idea. As far as he and Bailey were concerned, this trip was supposed to be about nothing more than short-term companionship. Was meant to be about acting on physical attraction. This minute physical attraction was dangerously high … but he was feeling something more. Something new. And he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.

A woman’s voice, emanating from around the corner, brought him back. It was one of the caregivers, the auburn-haired Madame Prideux. Bailey obviously heard too. Her dreamy look evaporated a second before she straightened her blouse and patted away the long bangs from her blushing face.

“Is she looking for you?” Bailey whispered.

“No. Eleanor. She wants her to wash up and come to the office.”

“Is something wrong?”

Mateo remembered Nichole’s comment about a child leaving.

“My guess is,” he said, “that this is little Eleanor’s lucky day.”

They came out from behind the corner. Eleanor was holding Madame Prideux’s hand as they walked together toward the main building. Clairdy sat by herself on a miniature kitchen chair. Mateo felt this little girl’s jumbled feelings as if they were his own.

“Don’t worry, Clairdy,” Bailey said. “Monsieur says Eleanor isn’t in trouble.”

Not understanding, Clairdy gave Bailey a blank look, let out a sigh then spoke in French. Bailey’s eyes widened at the words Mama and Papa. Clairdy knew Eleanor wasn’t in trouble. To Clairdy’s mind her friend was being rewarded for being the best little girl at the orphanage.

Bailey lowered into the second tiny chair and spoke to Mateo. “Is she saying what I think she’s saying?”

He nodded. “Nichole explained this morning that a couple, who’ve been waiting years, have jumped through the final hoop and obtained consent to adopt.”

“Eleanor?”

“It would appear so.”

They both studied Clairdy watching her friend walk away toward a different tomorrow. And as Mateo’s gut buckled and throat grew thick, he was reminded again of all the reasons he loved coming back. And why he hated it too.

Bailey gazed down at the little girl who a moment ago had been bubbling with life. Now Clairdy’s tiny jaw was slack and her shoulders were stooped. When she held her tummy and spoke to Mateo, Bailey guessed the ailment. The innocent she was, Clairdy would be happy for Eleanor finding a mother and a father—a mama and a papa—but how could she not also miss her friend? Likely envy her.

“Does Eleanor get to say goodbye to her friends?” Bailey asked as they escorted a pale Clairdy back to the dorms.

“I have no doubt.”

“That’s something at least. Not that I’m unhappy for Eleanor,” Bailey hastened to add. “It just must be so hard on the ones left behind.” She examined Mateo’s intense expression as they walked. “But you know that better than me.”

“There’ll be someone for Clairdy too one day.”

She read his thoughts—for them all, I hope—and had to stop herself before she blurted out, I wish it could be me.

But she’d known this child a couple of days. Even more obvious, she was in no position to think about children in that context and hadn’t before this moment. But the brave way Clairdy held her head as they strolled up the main path brought a stinging mist to Bailey’s eyes. She might have lost her mother but she’d known and loved her for fourteen beautiful years, and, as difficult to understand as he was, her father had never considered putting her up for adoption. Damon Ross cared about his daughter. These past years, he simply hadn’t been able to show it.

They were all three entering the nurse’s office as Remy showed up, a scuffed football clamped under his arm. When they came out a few minutes later, Remy was still there, waiting to see how Clairdy was. Something older than his years shadowed that little boy’s eyes; he knew she needed a friend more than medicine. Remy said a few words to Mateo—something in French, of course. Mateo nodded and Remy took Clairdy’s hand and led her upstairs to the girls’ dorm to rest.

They both watched until the pair disappeared around the top balustrade. Bailey let out a pent-up breath. She couldn’t stop thinking about what her mother would’ve done in this situation.

“We could stay and read her a story,” she suggested and stepped toward the stairs, but Mateo’s hand on her arm held her gently back.

“She might like to be alone with Remy now.”

Bailey wanted to argue, but it was as much herself as Clairdy she wanted to console. This was a small taste of what Mateo must see each time he visited. There was the fabulous welcome and smiling familiar faces, time set aside to make plans for improvements he knew would be appreciated. But those same faces who were overjoyed to see him couldn’t help but be sad when he drove away. He must want to take each and every one of these children home with him, and realizing he couldn’t …

Bailey hung her head.

A lesser man might simply send a check.

As they moved away from the building toward that big sprawling tree out front, Mateo circled his arm around her waist. “Let’s take a drive.”

She hesitated but then nodded. If they went out, talked, her mind, and his, would be taken off a situation over which they had no power. And she had to be happy for Eleanor and pray that Mateo was right. A perfect family was around the corner for Clairdy. Remy too.

Mateo drove over that ancient stone-bridge and into the village with a towering gothic church, two restaurants, one bakery … and right on through.

Bailey shot over a glance. “Where are we going?”

“Thought you might like to see something a little different. A fortress. A ruin now. Word is it’s haunted.”

Determined not to be sullen, she set her mittened hands in her lap. “I’m in.”

After a few more minutes traveling along the country road, they reached the foot of a rocky cliff that jutted over the river. Ascending a series of rock slabs that served as steps, Bailey, with Mateo, reached near the summit a little out of breath. But given their incredible surroundings, she soon forgot her tired legs.

“Nine-hundred-years ago this began as a motte—a large mound—and wooden keep,” Mateo told her. “An earlier word for keep is donjon.”

It clicked. “As in dungeon?”

He winked, took her hand and led her toward the ruins. “By the fifteenth century, the fortress consisted of three enclosures surrounding an updated keep. Only the château of the second enclosure still stands.”

Bailey soaked up the sense of history effused in the assorted moss-covered arches, sagging stone steps, the remnants of sculptures hanging to cold gray walls. Above what once must have been an imposing door rested a worn coat of arms. Shading her eyes, she peered up. A giant might have taken a ragged chomp out of the second story wall.

“Who are the ghosts?” she asked. “Why do they haunt?”

“It’s said that a lord once kept his daughter locked in this tower. Apparently no man was good enough, but everyone knew the true reason. The lord didn’t want to lose his only child.” Holding her elbow, he helped her over rubble through to a cool interior that smelled of mold and earth. “Then, one day, a knight rode through and was invited to stay for the evening meal. The knight heard the maiden singing and crying. He asked if he could speak with her. But the lord wouldn’t allow it.”

Bailey had been picking her way up the stairs. Now she swung around to face him. “Don’t tell me they both died while the knight was trying to rescue her?”

“The knight succeeded in freeing his lady and they rode away that night to be wed. The father was furious and set out on horseback to bring his only child back. Taking a jump, his horse faltered and the lord broke his leg. Infection set in. He took six weeks to die, but he moaned and howled for his daughter’s return until his last breath. He wanted her forgiveness,” he added.

Bailey studied the lonely crumpling walls and coughed out a humorless laugh. “Funny thing is that lord never enjoyed his daughter’s company while he had it.”

Reading between the lines, Mateo crossed the dirt floor and joined her midway up the steps.

“If you’d like to see your father when we get back,” he said, “I’d be happy to go with you.”

She cupped his bristled cheek. “Thanks, but I can’t see any happy ending there either.”

“I’m sure if you gave him a chance—”

“Maybe he should give me one for a change.” Gathering herself, she blew out a breath. She didn’t want to discuss it. There was no point. “I wish it were different, but it’s not.”

A muscle in his cheek pulsed as he considered her response.

“I suppose it’s not easy.”

Bailey frowned. Did he mean for her or her father? How would he handle the situation if he ever became estranged from his child? How would he handle any situation as a father? She wanted to ask. And now seemed the time.

“Natalie mentioned at dinner that night she wouldn’t be surprised if one year you came home with a child from France.”

His face hardened. “Natalie’s sweet but she doesn’t have all the facts.”

“What are the facts?”

“For a start, nowadays the adoption process in France is a longwinded one.”

“So you’ve looked into it?”

“Madame and I have conversed for many years.”

Be that as it may, he hadn’t answered the question. “Then you’ve never considered adopting?”

His voice and brow lowered. “Remy will find a perfect home.”

“Maybe it could be with you.”

The muscle pulsed again before he headed back down the steps. “It’s hard, Bailey, I know, to think about leaving those kids behind. But they’re well looked after. I do what I can.”

Bailey let out a breath. Of course he did, and far more than most people would. Resigned, she admitted, “It’s probably best we’re leaving tomorrow or I might never want to go. Those kids have a way of wrapping themselves around your heart.”

From the foot of the stairs, he found her gaze. “That’s the way it is. When you have to stay, you don’t want to. When you’re free to leave.” His gaze dropped away.

That’s the way it was for her with Mateo, Bailey realized walking with him back out into the open. When she’d had nowhere to go and Mateo had convinced her to stay to rest up, she’d been intent on leaving. She’d ended up sharing his bed for two weeks then flying with him here. And in these few days she’d become frighteningly used to the sight of him sitting before a flickering fire in their cottage. Used to his earnest evaluating walks around the orphanage, as well as his warm smile when any one of the children brought him a drawing or sang him a song. She felt so close to him. As if they’d known each other before.

What would happen when they returned to Australia? She’d be earning her own money … would be free to live her own life. She had no real reason to stay at the Celeca mansion any longer.

Only now she wasn’t so keen to go.