‘It took me a painfully long time to appreciate how I felt—’
Tabby gazed up at him with a dreamy smile. ‘I thought it was Jake…I thought you were only marrying me for him—’
‘No, he’s fantastic, but you are in a class all your own,’ Christien confided thickly. ‘I want to marry you to make you mine—’
‘What do you think I am…some trophy?’ Tabby teased.
‘My trophy.’ Framing her face with not quite steady hands, he tasted her lush mouth with a hungry fervour that threatened to blow her away.
Tabby quivered. ‘I love you so much,’ she finally told him.
‘You do?’ His charismatic smile flashed out and his beautiful eyes were tender on hers. ‘Even though I’ve screwed up on innumerable occasions?’
‘I like it when you screw up—’
‘You were supposed to tell me I don’t…feed my ego,’ Christien lamented.
‘Your ego is healthy enough—’
‘I’m mad for you,’ he breathed raggedly.
‘We’ll be married tomorrow—’
‘Tomorrow might as well be a hundred years away. I ache with wanting you—’
‘It’ll be a very exciting honeymoon,’ Tabby promised shamelessly, nestling close to provoke, really loving his desperation.
‘We could go for a drive, mon amour,’ Christien groaned. ‘Book into a hotel—’
‘No…your mother has me booked into a beauty salon for half of the day as it is—’
‘That’s stupid…you’re gorgeous just the way you are. Don’t let them cut your hair.’
Tabby glanced up to see Jake peering round the edge of the door at them.
‘Kissy stuff.’ Jake pulled a face. ‘It’s yucky!’
‘I think we should start as we mean to go on. Lock the door on him and let your nightie fall off again,’ Christien informed her huskily.
‘I’m worth waiting for,’ Tabby swore with a cheeky smile. She curved into the wonderful reassuring warmth and strength of his big, muscular body and, when Jake hurtled over to join them, gathered Jake in close as well. She was loved. She was loved by both of them, which just made her feel incredible.
Her wedding outfit was a two-piece composed of an embroidered and beaded fitted bodice the same rich green as her eyes and a flowing ivory skirt. An emerald and diamond tiara was anchored to her head, her diamond necklace was at her throat and her wedding present from her groom was the superb diamonds that hung from either ear.
Christien could not take his appreciative gaze from her. He led her up the steps and into the mairie for the civil ceremony as though she were a queen. The church blessing followed in the little chapel down the street. Holding hands, they posed for photographs afterwards, her eyes shining, his eyes resting on her with pride and a love he couldn’t hide.
The reception was held in the Ritz Hotel in Paris. Alison Davies and her boyfriend looked on in surprise as Tabby took all the luxury and the attention in her stride. Indeed, the bride’s bubbly personality and assurance were much admired and, in her radius, the groom was less cool than his reputation suggested. His less discreet relatives hinted that parental opposition had kept the young couple apart. Their guests began talking of the match as a ‘grande passion’. That Tabby was penniless and neither stick-thin nor a classic beauty had been noted. That Christien looked at his bride as though she were as irresistible as Cleopatra was also noted. That Tabby had succeeded where the much-disliked Veronique had failed was sufficient to ensure that she would become a great social success.
Before leaving the hotel, the bridal couple entrusted their son, Jake, to the care of his grandmother, Matilde. A limo whisked them to the airport where they boarded Christien’s private jet for their flight to a honeymoon hideaway in the Tuscan hills.
Only when the jet was airborne did Christien remove a letter from his inside pocket. ‘This was delivered to me just before the reception. It’s from my great-aunt, Solange—’
‘Solange?’ Tabby echoed in disconcertion. ‘How could it be?’
‘Solange wrote it the same day that she changed her will so that you could inherit the cottage. She instructed the notaire that her letter was only to be given to me in the event of our marriage.’
Tabby was challenged to translate the letter written in the old lady’s spidery handwriting.
Christien came to her rescue. ‘In opening, Solange apologises to me for leaving a part of the Duvernay estate outside the family—’