At the Chateau for Christmas. Rebecca Winters

all that? I do have a terrible aversion to rats. A married friend of mine has a little boy who loved the movie Ratatouille. I started to watch it with them, but I couldn—” She suddenly stopped talking. Good grief. She was babbling.

      His mouth broke into the first genuine smile he’d given her. That’s when she realized how fabulous he was. Probably the most incredible looking and acting man she’d ever seen in her life. Laura had never met anyone remotely like him. Everything he said and did was starting to slide beneath her skin to draw her in. His wife had to be the luckiest of women.

      Laura quickly looked down at the picture, only to cry out in wonder. After studying it, she lifted her eyes to him. “It does look like some of the pictures in my old fairy-tale book, the one my nana used to read to me. Your family home is beyond fabulous, Nic!”

      “My great-grandfather Clement had the seventeenth-century château fully restored. He needed a lot of bedrooms and bathrooms so he could entertain business associates. There’s an original baronial-style fireplace, stone spiral staircases and an enviable wine cellar. The conical roof and spring-fed moat add the perfect ambience.”

      “This is too much,” she cried softly. To think her grandmother had lived there for twenty-one years. “Did you love the château, too?”

      “Bien sûr. My parents lived nearby. The whole Valfort clan congregated there whenever possible.”

      “You must have had the time of your life!”

      His smile slowly faded, letting her know his family had been in hell, too. That solemn pewter gaze of his traveled over her as if he were trying to figure her out. He had no idea that it sent an unwanted rush of guilty heat through her body. Heaven help her, but she was enjoying Nic too much in his wife’s absence. This had to stop.

      All the talk about her grandmother having had an affair with Nic’s grandfather while she was still married to her first husband had horrified Laura for years. She couldn’t imagine getting involved with a married man. What would possess a woman to do that no matter how tempted?

      Yet here she was feeling an attraction to this man who’d grown up disliking her and her family with the same disdain Laura had felt for his family. Was this how it had started with her grandmother? An attraction that eventually led to an addiction and in the end the two of them had thrown both families aside in order to be together?

      One thing Laura did know. She shouldn’t be alone in this house with Nic any longer than necessary. Without realizing it, Laura pressed the photo to her chest, reminding herself that the only reason she was here was because of Irene. Not because of Maurice’s grandson, who was proving to be a disturbing distraction.

      In a mournful tone she murmured, “My grandmother lived here all these years, yet I never once saw her after she married and moved away.”

      Nic stood there with his powerful legs slightly apart, his hands on his hips in a male stance. “I heard many versions of the Holden-Valfort saga from my own relatives before I was grown up enough for my grandfather to sit me down and tell me the unvarnished truth about their situation.”

      She lifted tormented eyes to him. “You condoned his version, whatever it was?”

      Nic pursed his lips. “I love my grandfather without qualification. But I’d like to hear your version, if you’re willing to tell me. We’ll see if they match.”

      She put the photo down on the table and got to her feet. “My grandmother disappeared from my life when I was six. I have a vague memory of her, but I know most of what I know from my aunt Susan, Mother’s elder sister, who has never married. She said that my grandmother had an affair with your grandfather even though his wife was still alive.”

      “That would have been impossible!” Nic bit out.

      “I’m just repeating what I was told. All this happened while my grandfather was battling cancer. Grandfather Richard died too young. Soon after his death, Maurice’s wife died, so he married my grandmother and they moved to France. Neither Susan nor my mother could ever forgive Irene for having an affair while their father was so ill.”

      Nic’s face had darkened with lines, making her nervous to go on.

      “They said your grandfather was an evil man whose ability to seduce her while his wife was still alive created the scandal. They told her to get out of their lives and never come back.

      “When I grew old enough to understand what adultery meant, I could see why Mother and Aunt Susan had been so devastated. When I was told the truth, the bitter side of Mother’s nature came out. Our home was not a happy one.

      “But over the years I’ve learned that no one is perfect and everyone makes mistakes. To remain so angry at my grandmother was wrong, no matter what she or your grandfather did. I told her I wanted to go see Irene. She forbade it.

      “That’s when I suggested she get professional help, but she accused me of turning on her. It was awful. Every time I tried to reason with Mother, she’d shut me out and accuse me of not loving her.

      “I made things worse when I tried to talk to my aunt Susan. She told me that if I ever attempted to get in touch with my grandmother, my mother wouldn’t be able to handle it and it could push her over the edge.”

      The forbidding expression on Nic’s arresting face filled her with alarm. He moved closer. “That story is so wrong and twisted, it’ll tear my grandfather apart when he hears it.” To her shock he clasped her upper arms, drawing her to his hard muscled body. His intensity was a revelation. “Maurice is euphoric you’re here. Promise me you won’t tell him what you just told me.” A vein stood out in his neck. “Not yet, anyway.”

      “I—I won’t say anything,” she stammered. Her silence on the subject appeared of the most supreme importance to him.

      His energy drove through to her soul. He was close enough she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips. When she looked up, his dark gray eyes were pinpoints of pain. “Why did you really fly here?” he ground out. “Was the lure of the will so great, you had to find out what amount of money she left for you? Tell me the truth.” He gently shook her. “I can take it, but my grandfather can’t!”

      She was devastated by his reaction. “I guess I’m not surprised by your accusation. Because of the hate on both sides, it appears you really don’t know one very important detail.”

      “What’s that?” he demanded.

      “My grandfather Richard left millions to our family—to me, personally. I’ve never wanted for money a day in my life and never will. The only thing I could never have was the joy of growing up around my grandmother. And though I’m loath to meet the man who took her away from us, I was determined to see what kind of man he is.”

      Her eyes flashed with pain. “What kind of power does your grandfather wield to be able to entice her to give up her whole life in California and come live with him in France? She didn’t need money. My grandfather gave her everything!” Laura could tell her voice had risen. “Does that answer your question?”

      A groaning sound came out of him.

      “Mon Dieu,” he whispered, sounding utterly desolate. His hands slowly slid down her arms. But when he released her, she wasn’t ready. Her legs felt so insubstantial she grabbed for the wing-back chair so she wouldn’t fall.

      While Laura was trying to recover from being held that close to him, she heard voices coming from the foyer. A woman and a man, both speaking French.

      Shaken by the sound, she turned around and saw Nic’s housekeeper usher in Irene’s silver-haired husband from the photograph. He was dressed in a royal-blue sweater and cream-colored trousers.

      In person he seemed young in demeanor for an eighty-one-year-old man whose face showed signs of recent grief. He was remarkably handsome and had passed on those genes to his grandson. Twenty-one years ago Laura’s grandmother had no doubt been swept right off her feet.

      He