“So where have you been hiding until now, you delectable creature?” he asked as he took a seat beside me at a beautifully set mahogany dining table that glittered and sparkled in the light of two chandeliers.

“Not exactly hiding,” I said. “I have spent a lot of time in Scotland.”

“Scotland? Other people go there for the grouse shooting, but for me it is too wild and barbaric and boring. But then anything outside Paris tends to bore me. Until I meet a girl like you—so sweet and fresh. And then I feel quite alive again. You must call me Jean-Claude. Tell me, where are you staying in London? Claridge’s? The Dorchester?”

“Actually I’m at Kensington Palace,” I said and was relieved to see that not even an ardent Frenchman would consider trying to gain entrance to my bedroom there.

“You live at a palace? I did not realize that you are royal.”

“Only a cousin,” I said. “The king and my father were first cousins. Does that make me a second cousin or a first cousin once removed? I never understand these things.”

“But you are not a princess?”

“No. Because my father’s mother was a princess, but the title doesn’t pass through the female line. If she’d been a boy it would have been different.”

“So silly, all these aristocratic rules, are they not?” he said. “Myself I am glad that France is a republic and we do not have to bother with such trivialities.”

“And yet you still use your title.” I had to smile at him.

“It does open certain doors,” he conceded. “And provides for quite a pleasant lifestyle. I do own quite a nice town house in Paris close to the Seine, and a delightful little château near Bordeaux. You must come and visit me sometime. I would love to show you around my vineyards.”

If Darcy could see me now, he’d be amused, I thought. I could picture him winking at me from across the table. Then reality overwhelmed me. Darcy was far away in Ireland.

Chapter 7

NOVEMBER 30, AND THEN SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1

Back to Rannoch House and facing the dreaded Fig again. Oh dear.

The food was exquisite, as only the French know how to cook. A lighter-than-air soufflé followed by duck breast that was crisp on the outside yet succulent within. Yet in spite of my hunger I found it hard to eat. I could not shake the feeling of impending doom from my mind. I was also battling double annoyances closer at hand. Jean-Claude’s hand kept straying to my thigh. On the other side of me the princess interspersed her accounts of parachute jumps, camel rides across the Sahara and fishing for shark with probing questions about me and Darcy. Her conversation seemed to have few boundaries.