The French Aristocrat's Baby. Christina Hollis

party erupted in a flurry. In one smooth movement Etienne seized the drunk and pinioned his arms behind his back.

      ‘Let this be a warning to anyone else with a taste for trouble,’ he announced to the crowd as he frogmarched his attacker out of the building. Everyone stared after him. Gwen could not move. If she took one step she knew she would fly straight to the door, desperate to know what was happening. That would make a bad situation worse for her sophisticated guests. Instead, she had to wait along with everyone else. Minutes passed in silence. Then suddenly Etienne was there among them again. Breathing quickly, his dark curls tousled, he acknowledged the spontaneous applause with a diffident smile.

      ‘Your cheek is bleeding,’ Gwen said faintly, transfixed by the sight of a thin seam of blood trickling over the otherwise perfect surface of his sun-bronzed skin.

      He stopped adjusting his clothes and looked at her.

      ‘There’s no need to sound so worried, mademoiselle,’ he murmured, as though not quite able to believe what she had said.

      The strange way he spoke made Gwen think this man wasn’t used to being worried about—not on a personal level, at least. People might bow and scrape before him, but she had a shrewd suspicion they were only out for what they could get, like the countess. A surge of empathy kicked her into action. She knew what it was like to put on a brave show, and she might never get a chance to see such a gorgeous guy at close quarters again.

      ‘Of course there is, monsieur. Health and safety would never forgive me for standing by while one of my clients bled all over the place!’ she rallied. With a smile, she gestured towards the back of the restaurant. ‘Would you mind stepping into my office?’

      Her heart was thundering loudly as she spoke. She was amazed he couldn’t hear it, and still more amazed at the devastating way he smiled and said, ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, mademoiselle.’

      And with that he headed straight for the door marked ‘Mlle G Williams—Private.’