“Very. Jean-Claude didn’t want children. You see, he’s much older than Eloise. But she talked him into it.”

“How old is he?” Robert asked, wondering what this lovely-looking young woman considered old.

“He’s forty. Can you imagine?” She grimaced.

“And how old is Eloise?” he murmured.

“She’s twenty-eight. But she’s … well, she’s very grown-up and sophisticated. I enjoy going there, because I also like to go to the art galleries. I love Impressionist paintings.”

“So do I!” he exclaimed, forgetting about age for the moment. “Who is your favorite, if you have one?” His eyes were still on her, but now they were filled with curiosity.

“Renoir, most of all,” Vanessa answered. “But I also like Cézanne. And you? Who do you like?”

He smiled that dazzling smile of his, and said, “Renoir and Cézanne.”

Vanessa laughed and raised her glass, touched it to his. “There, you see, we have the same taste.”

As she spoke, she edged toward the French doors, and then looked at him. “Let’s go outside. It’s cooler.”

“Good idea.” Robert followed her, realizing that they would also be totally alone out in the garden. Those amber eyes flecked with gold, the white skin like polished alabaster, the high forehead and prominent cheekbones and the very sensual mouth. He longed to seize her hand, rush her out of this house and take her away to another quiet place to be alone, talk to her.

These thoughts sent shock waves through him. He had never felt quite like this about a woman. Not his wife. Not ever in his life before, and there had been a few.

“Are you coming outside, Your Lordship?” she called from the middle of the garden.

“I am,” he answered, walking forward, fully aware of the varied emotions running through him, surprising him, unsettling him.

She stood near a big old oak, and had put her glass of champagne on a garden table.

He joined her, and said, “Why haven’t I met you before? I’ve been here often.”

“Nobody bothered to introduce us, and I suppose because I’m the youngest. Not so important. And people were always flocking around you. After all, you’re the Earl of Harding, the great businessman, the man everyone wants to meet.”

Her words took him by surprise, and he exclaimed, “I’m not famous! I just get on with it, and do my work.”

“I decided I was going to meet you tonight, no matter what, and I planted myself down here because I got a good view of the room.” She gave him a small smirk of a smile.

He laughed but made no comment.

She said, “Can I ask you to lend me something? I promise I’ll never ask you for anything else as long as I live.”