“I’ve lived my whole life thinking my only relation is my mother.” D’Arcy studied her baguette as she spoke. “But don’t you think it’s much too coincidental that, when I’m here, I happen to find a box of photographs containing a picture of a woman with the same name as my mother, and a man with the same name as her boss? I keep trying to tell myself that there are probably lots of Dan Hallworths in the world, that the one in the photograph is not the same one my mother works for. But I’m not sure I’ve convinced myself. And the only mystery I’ve managed to solve is one that’s the least important to me personally—although it’s the most significant to you and the rest of the world.”

D’Arcy put the baguette down, lay on her back and closed her eyes before she offered up her next confession, one she was sure, as Jess’s agent, he’d be unhappy about. “Jess wants to photograph me. Does she ordinarily photograph visitors to the chateau?”

“Never,” he said flatly.

“Isn’t that a little strange, then? Compared to everything else she’s photographed, I’m hardly a worthy subject.”

“You’re beautiful, D’Arcy.”

She rolled her head to the side to look at him and, as she did so, he stretched out a finger and traced a line from her forehead down to her cheek and then to her jaw. “So beautiful,” he repeated, bending his head to kiss her, not softly or gently but hungrily and exactly like she’d wanted him to kiss her the night before.

He lay beside her, and she rolled into him, thanking God she’d asked him to wear a T-shirt because she could feel his body all the better beneath the soft fabric. She concentrated on the feel of his mouth on hers, on his hand slowly moving away from her face and lightly caressing the bare skin of her neck, the tops of her shoulders, sliding the strap of her dress down a little, his palm splayed against her collarbones.

She tried her hardest not to do anything that might scare him away, felt her breath coming fast against his hand, tried to tell him with her lips pressing against his that she wanted him to slide his hand down further. The waiting was like torture and restraint almost impossible so, before long, her fingers crept up slowly beneath his T-shirt and she heard herself sigh as her hands met the bare skin of his back. She bent her leg to move into him even more closely and was both surprised and entranced to feel him tighten his hold and shift his weight.

Her breath caught and held and she almost forgot to return his kisses when his hand began at last to move down her side. He reached her hip and she reminded herself to breathe until he whispered against her lips, “You’ve gone awfully still. Are you okay?” to which she replied, “Okay isn’t quite the word I would use.”