Having the Frenchman's Baby

“You have to forgive me for going about everything the wrong way, Rachel. If you hadn’t come back to Alsace, I would have tracked you down in New York the next day.”

She covered his face with kisses. “I’ll forgive you for ever

ything on one condition.”

His breath caught. “Anything.”

“Take me in the house and propose to me in the time-honored Chartier way. If we have a son, then I want to be able to tell him that’s how his father made our marriage official.”

Hours later Rachel stirred in her husband’s arms. He was finally out for the count.

She smiled, unable to move because their legs were entwined and his arm was fastened possessively around her hips.

At last she knew he was madly in love with her and wanted only her for ever.

They hadn’t been able to get enough of each other.

So much the better since they had the rest of their lives stretching before them to shower each other with that love.

She looked over at the ancient green jug sitting on the end table.

“The marriage ritual of the vine,” Luc had called it, while his eyes had blazed with adoration.

Rachel gave a great sigh of contentment and nestled closer to her impossibly handsome French prince.

Somehow she had the feeling her grandfather knew she’d found her great happiness.

If she and Luc had a son, how she’d love to call him Guillaume Valentine Chartier. She’d already decided on the name Rebecca if they had a girl.

Of course Luc would have to approve of her choices.

Impatient to know his thoughts on the subject, she kissed him with growing hunger to bring him awake.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he murmured feverishly. Though his gorgeous brown eyes were still closed, he responded with breathtaking ardor.

Rachel realized it was going to be a while before she had her answers.

But it didn’t matter. She’d come home to God’s garden with her husband. They had all the time in the world…