Royally Seduced

chapter 14


LILY CAME DOWN to the kitchen early the next morning and found a note from Jack. “Lily, meet me at the lavender field up the hill. Bring coffee. Yours, Jack.”

She smiled and set to brewing the milky café au lait she was coming to prefer. Once that was perking, she picked up his note and reread it. Yours, Jack. That was nice. Lily put great stock in words. She knew not everybody did, but Jack was a methodical, precise man and meant exactly what he said—and wrote.

She didn’t expect him to sign it Love, Jack or All my love, Jack, so that word of affection was a pleasant surprise.

Once the coffee was done and poured into a battered steel thermos, she slung her camera around her neck and headed up the hill to the lavender field, her calves burning in a pleasant way as the gravel road crunched under her hiking boots.

The first field she came to was empty of blooms and workers. That made sense, since it had probably ripened first, being at a slightly lower and warmer elevation. Another quarter mile or so brought her to the field under harvest.

Lily stood at the edge, her gaze immediately drawn to Jack’s chestnut head—and his bare torso. Her lips pursed. He was going to get sunburned if he wasn’t careful. But he was a grown man and had worked in tropical areas with much more intense sun than France.

His muscles bunched under his skin as he stooped and clipped the wiry stems, setting them aside. He moved down the row and stopped at the end, straightening to stretch his back. Jean-Claude yelled at him, gesturing for Jack to get back to work. Jack replied in kind, causing the older man to bellow with laughter.

The other harvesters glanced up from their own rows and grinned, obviously used to the byplay between the two men. The farmworkers were a diverse lot, men and women both, young and old.

Lily set down the thermos and took several photos, the tableau reminding her of the popular bucolic nineteenth-century paintings of peasants gathering harvest.

But her lens kept swiveling back to Jack. Instead of the sleepy shepherd lad he’d resembled on the train, he looked like a pagan harvest god, powerful and fertile, ripening crops with his touch.

He had joined Jean-Claude on the side of the field and the two men had an intense discussion, pointing at the current field and then up the hill at what was probably the next one on the list. Jack was insisting on something and finally Jean-Claude tossed his hands up in the air and slapped him on the back.

Almost as if Jack were in charge…but he did know about lavender from his family’s own farm. Then he spotted her and strode toward her, leaping the low stone fence surrounding the field with an easy jump.

“Good morning, chérie.” Jack lifted the camera over her head, bent her over his arm and kissed her. His skin was hot velvet, warmed by the sun. She clutched his shoulders as he leisurely moved his mouth over hers.

She dimly became aware of the cheers and catcalls from the harvesters, and Jack planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Sorry, Lily. Farmwork brings out my earthy side,” he murmured suggestively.

She blinked a couple of times. His “earthy side” had popped up in the bedroom, of course, but this public display of affection was new. She didn’t mind, and in fact found it fascinating how life in Provence was healing him from the thin, tired man she’d first met in Paris.

The harvesters had returned to work after Jean-Claude’s good-natured shout. Jack pulled on a T-shirt he’d tossed on the wall and took her hand.

“I have a surprise planned for this morning.”

“Really?” More of a surprise than a kiss. “What kind of surprise?”

His eyes fell to the scoop-neck blouse showing the top curves of her breasts. “I forget.”

Lily huffed in pretend exasperation. “Start remembering.”

“Cruel woman.” His brown puppy-dog eyes were almost enough to make her relent, but her natural curiosity won out.

“Jack…”

“All right, all right. Remember the perfume lab at the factory? You have an appointment with the ‘nose,’ the master perfumer, to make your own signature fragrance.”

“Really?” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “I read about that online but didn’t think I’d have the chance to do that. It doesn’t cost too much, does it?”

He hugged her back. “Not at all. It is a popular tourist outing and no trouble to arrange. We have time for coffee but not anything else,” he said regretfully.

She handed him the thermos. “Drink up. I’ll model my new perfume for you later.”

“Your perfume and nothing else.”

She giggled and soon they were in the little white car heading toward the village.

Jack parked near the perfume factory and they quickly found the perfume master, an elegant woman in her fifties with a gray-streaked blond bob and skin that would have looked great on a woman half her age. Probably kept out of the sun and had an inside track on wonderful botanical products.

Jack introduced them. “Simone Laurent is the best nose in the business. The House of Laurent is built on her skill.”

“I’m so excited,” Lily told her. “The world of perfume is fascinating, especially when you grow so many of your own ingredients right here in Provence.”

Simone smiled. “We are indeed fortunate to have such a perfect climate for the flowers and plants—our own corner of paradise.”

“I love it here.” Lily squeezed Jack’s hand. “The sun, the blue skies and hot, dry air. I’m from Philadelphia, and it’s very humid there. Much of the city was built on a swamp. They even had the largest yellow-fever outbreak in American history.”

Jack smiled. “Fortunately I’ve had my shots for that, so I will be safe.”

Did that mean that he was coming to visit her there? Her heart gave a funny thump, and she smiled up at him. “The Liberty Bell is always a fun sight.”

Simone was already leading them down the hall. “Come, come, we have work to do.” She ushered them into a laboratory-type space with a large white desk and several dark brown glass bottles on shelves lining the walls. “This is the perfume laboratory. Nothing but the highest quality oils and essences for the House of Laurent.” Simone pulled out a clipboard and paper. “We will write down your final choice and keep it on file. Whenever you need a new bottle, you can call us and we will mix it to order. Now tell me which fragrances you like and which you dislike.”

Lily thought for a second. “Not roses.” Mrs. Wyndham loved fresh roses in the house and she always associated that scent with her.

“Good.” Simone made a note. “What else?”

“I like vanilla.” The elderly pastry chef who’d preceded Stan had always made sugar cookies for Lily.

“A good, warm base.”

“And in honor of my trip to Provence, I thought I could have some lavender in the blend.”

“Lavender?” Simone smiled. “Excellent. We have the best lavender oil in the world here in Provence. And the best of the best comes from the de Brissard estate.”

“Really?” She turned to Jack in excitement. “You’re helping harvest the best lavender in the world. Doesn’t that make you proud?”

“Hot and sweaty more than anything,” he quipped. “But yes, we are undeniably proud of that lavender.”

Simone grinned widely. “Family-owned since 1323. Isn’t that correct, Jacques?”

Lily gasped in amazement. “That long. What a sense of history. Jack, maybe I should do a blog post on the de Brissard family.”

He shifted from foot to foot. “I wouldn’t bother. They have always been an extremely boring lot. But a blog post about Simone and the factory would be very interesting.”

Simone smiled. “We are always looking for good publicity, especially to introduce our name and creations to North American buyers.”

“I’m writing for Fashionista Magazine.” It still sent a thrill through her to say that.

“Congratulations. My daughter enjoys that magazine. Me, I cannot read fashion magazines because of all the perfume samples mixing together. Overwhelming for a woman like me.” She laughed and reached for a plain brown bottle. “But here we have the de Brissard lavender.” She uncapped the bottle and dropped a couple drops of the oil on a paper strip about six inches long. She let it dry for a few seconds and handed it to Lily.

Lily took a cautious sniff and her head almost spun from the concentrated essence. She was immediately thrown back in time to their afternoon in the lavender field, the heat and sun and buzz of cicadas almost loud enough to drown the pounding of the blood in her ears. “Jack, it smells like those fields where we…toured the plants,” she finished.

Simone gave her a knowing smile. “That is the power of scent. One wears it outwardly to communicate with others but it conjures the most personal and private memories to the wearer.”

“Almost like a secret—I know something that you don’t know.”

Jack brushed her hair back over her shoulder, his fingers lingering on her collarbone. “The mystery of a woman. Inviting and intriguing to us poor men as we strive to discover the hidden depths.”

Lily covered his hand with hers. “You men can be pretty mysterious yourselves.”

Simone interjected, “Ah, but that is the wonder of life, eh?” She clapped her hands together. “Enough philosophy. Let’s get to work.”

For the next hour or so, Lily sniffed test strips until they all started to blend in her poor, untrained mind. She stepped outside a couple times to clear her head, but even the town smelled of flowers, so that didn’t help much.

Finally, though, she and Simone had put something together that was floral but woodsy, sweet but exotic. “It’s not quite there,” she said in disappointment. “The lavender and vanilla are wonderful together along with the base of cedar, but it’s missing something.”

Simone smiled and dipped a paper tester strip into a bottle, adding it to the wand of papers. Lily cautiously sniffed and her cheeks pulled into a wide grin. “That’s it!”

Jack leaned in for a sniff and nodded in approval. “Wonderful. Whatever did you add?”

The perfumer spread her hands wide. “Lily, of course. One cannot make perfume for Lily without any lilies.”

They burst out laughing. Jack bent down and kissed Simone on the cheek. “Ah, Simone. The ‘nose’ knows, as they say.”

“Always. Now, Jacques, we still have your cologne formula if you need a new bottle of it.”

“You’ve done this before?” Lily didn’t know why that would surprise her since he and Simone were obviously old friends.

“A long time ago, but no, Simone, I don’t need any more fragrance.”

The perfumer shook her head. “But, Jacques, you know that the oils start breaking down after about a year and quality suffers. Certainly you will not wear your old supply anymore?”

“Well…”

She scoffed. “If you do, don’t you dare mention where you got it. I will not have people wondering why Jacques Montford is wearing something of ours that smells like a Marseilles alley.”

He sighed in exasperation and threw up his hands. “I promise to throw away that bottle if you will make me another.”

“Bon.” Simone smiled like the cat with the canary. “You know, Jacques, we should go into partnership. Put your fragrance into mass production and split the proceeds. We could call it—”

“Merci, but no.”

Lily thought it sounded like a great idea. “But you could use the money, Jack. Especially since you’ve been ill and aren’t working right now.”

“What?” Simone eyed him from head to toe. “You’ve been sick?”

“I caught a bug overseas but I am much better now. And I am working—working for Jean-Claude.”

“Well, that is certainly a switch. I hope you’ve been kind to him.”

“Always.” Jack smiled. “And Lily is getting all of Marthe-Louise’s recipes.”

“I wish—she probably knows several thousand.” At the mention of food, Lily’s stomach rumbled.

He pulled her to her feet. “Lunchtime, eh? Would you care to join us, Simone?”

“No, no.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I must mix both bottles for you and besides, I would not want to intrude on your tête-à-tête.” She stood and kissed Lily first on both cheeks, then Jack. She clasped his hand for a second. “Please take care of yourself, Jacques. You are very important to all of us.”

“As are you, Madame Simone.” He gave a quick bow and kissed the back of her hand. “Mmm, you smell wonderful.”

“Ah, Jacques, be gone.” She waved him away, laughing. “Come back later for your parfum.”

Jack took Lily’s hand and guided her out of the perfume lab. “Anything you want for lunch, it is yours.”

She looked up at him in worry. “Jack, we have to stop this crazy spending. Custom perfume and fancy lunches must be cutting into your budget. At least let me help. Since we’re staying at the guesthouse, I haven’t used the money I planned for the hostels.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her down the crowded sidewalk. “You are a generous woman, chérie. But don’t worry about the money. I do still get my salary from the relief agency. I am on a medical leave, not unemployed. As you said, the guesthouse is free and I believe Marthe-Louise would slap me with a spoon if I offered her money for the meals she has been cooking for us.”

“True.” The housekeeper would be vastly insulted, even if they meant well.

“Now what would you like for lunch?”

“I would like…fresh mussels in a white wine sauce tossed with fresh pasta.” Her stomach growled again. “Also a crusty loaf of bread to dip in the leftover sauce.”

“Wonderful. There is this nearby café that gets shellfish fresh from the sea. The owner’s nephew has a fishing boat and then sends the best to his uncle.”

“Jack, you know the most fantastic places around here.” She snuggled into his side. “And after lunch, we’ll pick up the perfume and model it for each other later.”

“Sounds delightful.”

Lily smiled in satisfaction. Perfume, pasta and Jack—but definitely not in that order. Life couldn’t get any better.



JACK LEFT A sleeping Lily, the fragrance of their mingled cologne and perfume still scenting the air of their bedroom. He was still dishonest with Lily. His stomach churned, and he couldn’t even blame the shellfish.

He was a forthright man—why had he started this deception? Had his experience with Nadine so jaded him that he thought every woman was out to snag a rich man, a titled man?

His only title should have been “Loser.” Lily was nothing like Nadine—and that was good. But he needed advice, so he pulled on a pair of shorts and picked up his phone. He stopped in the kitchen for a bottle of water and walked out to the pool.

Jack sat heavily into a cushioned chair and turned on his phone. It immediately signaled a new text message from the coordinator at the relief agency, asking how he was feeling. Apparently there was a volcanic eruption in Malaysia and they needed a doctor. Not for anything long-term, she assured him. Just long enough to set up a clinic in the refugee camps and take care of immediate needs.

He touched the reply screen. He should go—they needed him. But then he stopped. Maybe he should get some advice.

He dialed another number instead. “Hi, Frank, it’s Jack.”

“Jack!” Frank sounded delighted. “How are you? Enjoying the sun?”

He stretched his legs out in the sun. Still rather skinny and pale. “The weather here is wonderful.”

“Ah yes, I remember from that one summer we worked the lavender harvest,” Frank reminisced. “And those beautiful French girls sure enjoyed how nice we smelled, didn’t they?”

Jack grunted in agreement. One particular woman and her perfume were what had put him into this strange mood.

“You find anyone to share the sun and lavender with you?”

Jack sighed heavily. “Yes. And I think I may have royally screwed up.”

There was a moment of silence. “Uh-oh. We’d better call George for this one.”

In a minute, George was on the line.

Frank minced no words. “George, Jack is in trouble.”

“What’s wrong, Jack? Are you still sick?” George asked in alarm.

“No, I feel much better. It’s just—” He broke off his sentence, not knowing what he was trying to say.

“Go ahead and tell us the details. It’s about a woman,” he stage-whispered to George. He had always been Mr. Fix-It, leaping in to help whenever he could.

“Let the man think, Frank.” George sounded amused. He well could afford to be, having gone through his own struggles with the female sex earlier in the spring.

“I can’t think, that’s the problem. I can only think about—about Lily, this woman I just met last week. I can’t sleep unless I’m next to her. I can’t be away from her without wondering where she is, if she’s enjoying herself, if people are being kind to her…” he wound down, verbally if not mentally.

“Jack, Jack,” George soothed. “It’s okay. You’ve had a rough few months stuck off in Asia. No wonder you’re attracted to the first pretty face that came along.”

“Pretty face?” For the first time in his life, Jack wished he could hit George. “Lily is smart, beautiful, talented, witty—not just a pretty face,” he spit out.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Frank cleared his throat. “George didn’t mean it that way, Jack. She sounds great, she really does.”

“Well, she is.”

“I am sorry, Jack. I didn’t know you felt that way about her,” George apologized.

“What way?” he demanded. Another awkward silence. Jack realized he was totally losing his grip. Chewing out his best friends, for crying out loud, letting a woman come between them?

Frank jumped in again, hating to see them argue. “George and I are glad you met somebody nice. Does she like Provence?”

Glad for a more neutral topic, Jack readily said, “Oh, she can’t get enough of the landscape and the food, but it’s really the people that fascinate her. I spend hours translating for her with all her questions about how they grow lavender, what their mangy hunting dogs are named, how many children they have, anything at all.”

“Well, that sounds promising,” George said. “You’re tied to the land, like we are. Any woman you are serious about would have to understand the pros and cons of you being the Comte de Brissard.”

“That’s my problem. I haven’t told her who I am.”

There was another second of silence. “She doesn’t know?” Frank asked in amazement. “But you’re staying at your own home, harvesting your own lavender and roaming your own estate. She must think you’re the biggest moocher in France—the houseguest from hell.”

“Really, Frank,” George chided him. “I’m sure Jack had his reasons for portraying himself as a simple disaster-relief physician.”

“She doesn’t know I’m a doctor, either,” he mumbled.

Frank guffawed. “You’ve really stepped in the cow patties now.” Frank had always loved American farming colloquialisms. “Your only hope is to tell her the truth—and pronto, before someone else does.”

“I have to agree with him, Jack. It sounds as if you’ve been less than forthcoming. And especially if you like her, and she likes you. It sounds as if you have much in common—both the adventurous types and you both like Provence.”

“Like? Aside from the language, it’s as if she were a native. Lily loves it here.”

The L-word hung significantly over them. Lily loved his homeland. What else did Lily love? She couldn’t love…him, could she?

No, of course not. Why would she love him? He was a skinny, pasty Frenchman who knew too much about dying and not enough about living. “Another thing just came up. The agency wants me to go to Malaysia. Just short-term,” he hastily added. “I haven’t told them my answer yet.”

The air of disapproval was palpable. “I know what you can tell them,” Frank announced. “You can tell them you almost died earlier in the year and they can go to hell.”

George cleared his throat. “I have to agree with Frank, though not quite as bluntly. What would you say to a patient who wanted to do the same thing? You’d keep them home for much longer, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but they need me.”

“So do we, Jack,” said George.

“You guys are fine. This farm runs well without me. My mother is tied up in her social events. I’d be at loose ends if I didn’t have someone to help.”

Frank made a sound of exasperation. “We all need to be needed. You don’t have to become a martyr for it.”

It was as if someone had chopped him in the gut. Nadine had said almost the same thing to him at his disastrous homecoming party. Had called him St. Jacques and told him he wanted a statue to himself. “Guys, I have to go.”

“Oh. Right,” Frank said hesitantly. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yes, please do,” echoed George. “And again, accept my apologies in casting aspersions on your ladyfriend. I misspoke.”

Jack accepted, of course, feeling grumpy and irritable and generally pissed off—at himself, not George.

Jack hung up. He could go to Malaysia without having some kind of martyr-complex. His friends just didn’t understand the shortage of willing doctors. Jack should know better than to get all worked up over trivialities. After all, he was the cool, collected Dr. Montford, trained physician, award-winning philanthropist—and all-around jerk to his friends.



“DID HE HANG up, George?”

“I believe so, Frank.”

“He’s a goner for this girl, George.”

“I think you’re right, Frank.”

“I usually am.”

“Ha.”

“Ha, yourself. Go give Renata a kiss for me.”

“Ciao, Frank.”

“Ciao, George.”