Читать книгу: «Second Chance With The Best Man»

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEAST PRESSED his snout against Hannah McGinley’s car window, the glass instantly fogging up. ‘Good doggy, off you go, now,’ Hannah called out, trying to sound in control but also cheerful—the last thing she wanted to do was anger this beast any further. Her arrival on the driveway of Château Bonneval had already caused him to run alongside her car like an entry at the Grand National, his incessant barking almost causing her to drive into one of the hornbeam trees lining the long avenue.

As a farmer’s daughter from Shropshire, she’d been told time and time again she’d no cause to be so scared, but no amount of cajoling from her family had ever rid her of her terror of even the smallest of dogs, never mind the donkey-sized version staring at her right now as though he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into her.

Looking in the direction of the front door of the château, Hannah willed someone to come out and rescue her. Surely they had heard the beast’s hound-from-hell baying?

Not for the first time, Hannah wondered at her decision to agree to travel to France to act as the celebrant at her best friend Lara’s wedding blessing. An easy, joyful decision in most circumstances, but not when you had dated and fallen in love with the best man and brother to the groom, Laurent Bonneval, only for him to end it all. And the worst part of it all was that the wedding was taking place in his home—Château Bonneval. Why couldn’t it at least be at a neutral venue? Her only hope was that they would be surrounded by others all weekend and she would manage to project the air of calm professionalism she’d been rehearsing ever since Lara and François had travelled to London from Manchester, where they lived, just to ask her to be their wedding celebrant.

Though moved beyond words that they trusted her to perform their wedding blessing, especially given the fact that she was so new to being a celebrant—this would only be her fourth wedding—she’d asked if they were really, really sure it was she they wanted to be the one to perform the ceremony. Lara and François had exchanged a tentative glance before Lara had leant across the table of Hannah’s local Richmond coffee shop, and touched her arm. ‘You’ve been my best friend since we were seven.’ Pausing, Lara had given her a half-smile, one that had asked Hannah to understand, to trust her. ‘It would make our day even more magical to have you bless our marriage.’

Tears had blinded Hannah for a moment as she’d remembered how Lara had waded in on her first day at Meadlead Primary School and told Ellie Marshall and her gang to mind their own business when they had interrogated Hannah during the break with endless questions as to who she was, why she was joining the school in the middle of term, why she was so skinny. Frozen inside, confused by everything in her life, Hannah had been taken aback at just how grateful she was to Lara when she’d led her away from her interrogators. For weeks after, she’d remained silent. And while that had garnered her endless suspicious glances and whispered words behind cupped hands from the rest of class, Lara had cheerfully chatted away, her quirky humour and buoyant outlook on life thawing Hannah’s numb heart.

That day in the café in Richmond, Hannah had turned to François, her heart as usual jolting in remembrance—some of François’s features were so like Laurent’s: the thick dark wavy hair, the strong and proud Gallic jawline, the wide, high cheekbones, the clean blade of a nose. ‘Will...?’ She tried to form the word Laurent, but it stuck in her throat and refused to budge. Eventually she managed to mutter, through a false smile, ‘Will having me as the celebrant be okay with all of your family?’

François’s eyes were different, a softer, more forgiving blue, none of the striking, pain-inducing brilliance of Laurent’s. The care in his eyes had matched his gentle tone when he had answered, ‘Laurent is to be my best man,’ but Hannah had still felt it like a whip to her heart.

She’d looked away from the discomfort in both Lara’s and François’s expressions, hating that they had been put in this position. Their wedding should be a carefree celebration, not tainted by the fact that she’d foolishly fallen in love with Laurent, confusing his Gallic charm and romantic gestures for a sign that he’d felt what she did, that he too had wanted more.

In the months after he’d left London to return to the family business and château in Cognac, telling her before he left that he didn’t want to continue their relationship, she’d puzzled over the overwhelming effect he’d had on her. The pain, the disappointment, the humiliation had been so engulfing she’d struggled to comprehend it all. Was it the fact that he was the first man she’d ever truly fallen in love with? Which admittedly was pretty tragic at the age of twenty-nine. But up until then, she’d never met anyone who had quickened her heart, who had communicated so much with a glance, who intrigued her.

At first she’d resisted the chemistry between them, her age-old need to protect herself holding him at arm’s length. But in truth she’d been changing and had been more receptive to allowing someone into her life. She’d chased security and stability throughout her early twenties, desperately needing the safety of establishing her career in finance and buying her own apartment. But as she neared thirty, she’d realised she wanted more. A more free life, a more optimistic life. One of taking chances and not being so afraid. And into this new way of thinking and daring to dream had walked Laurent Bonneval. The brother of her best friend’s new boyfriend. And he’d swept her off her feet. But ten months later he’d left her with a broken heart.

But that heart was now mended and firmly closed to Laurent Bonneval’s charms.

Hannah jumped as the beast’s tail hit against her door panel as he turned and bounded away, disappearing around one of the château’s fairy-tale turrets that sat at each corner of the four-storey building.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. But then her heart plummeted to the car floor. From around the corner, sprinting at first, slowing to a jog when he took in her car, came Laurent, the beast at his side.

Stopping, he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the low evening sun. Behind him his shadow spilt across the gravelled drive, his tall, broad frame exaggerated.

She waited for him to move. Tried not to stare at the fact that he was wearing only running shorts that revealed the long length of his powerful legs and a lightweight vest top that showcased the taut, muscular power of his broad shoulders and gym-honed arms. His skin glistened with perspiration.

Heat formed in her belly.

He moved towards her car.

Her heart somersaulted.

She grasped for the window control and buzzed down her window a couple of inches, only then realising how stifling the car had become as she’d been held hostage by the beast. She longed to run a hand through her hair, check her make-up in the mirror. But she resisted giving him any sign that she cared how she looked in his eyes.

He came to a stop a few feet away from the car. The beast came to heel at his command. ‘Hannah...’ Her heart pinged at the concern in his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

The low, intimate sound of his voice almost undid her. Memory after memory rushed through her brain—how he used to leave her voicemails that had her blush and giggle. His mouth against her ear when they would be out with others, whispering a compliment, a promise. The Saturday mornings when they used to cycle to their favourite French bakery in Putney Heath and eat breakfast while playfully flirting, her legs trembling when his fingers would stroke her hand, her arm, her cheek, before he would suggest that they head home. His murmured words when they made love afterwards that had swelled in her heart and burst like joyful bubbles in her bloodstream.

Hannah breathed in deeply. She was over him. She had to remember that fact. Her focus now was on deciding which direction her life should take. Stay in her career in finance either in London or Singapore or take the risk of becoming a full-time wedding celebrant in Spain. Her old cautious side told her to hold on to her regular income and secure career but deep inside of her she wanted to be free to make her own decisions away from the confines of corporate life, to make a difference by being an integral part of one of the most important days in any person’s life.

She was here to support Lara. To celebrate with her and François. Laurent Bonneval was just a minor aggravation in what should be a gloriously happy weekend.

Now was the time to enact the calm professionalism she’d sworn she would adopt for the weekend. Unfortunately her trembling hands and somersaulting stomach didn’t appear to have received that particular memo.

She buzzed down her window a fraction more. Nodded in the direction of the beast. ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d lock him away.’

* * *

Something unyielding kicked in Laurent’s chest at the coolness of Hannah’s tone and stony expression. He pointed in the direction of the stables; at his command Bleu ambled away to where he slept alongside the horses.

Hannah’s gaze followed Bleu’s every step and even when he disappeared from view, her gaze remained fixed in that direction. ‘Will he come back?’

He edged closer to her door, crouched over to speak to her in the small gap of the window. ‘I heard him barking—I’m sorry if he scared you.’

She shook her head as though to deny any suggestion she’d been scared. ‘Is he yours?’

‘Yes.’

She grimaced at that. He knew that she was scared of dogs. He cursed himself for not having locked Bleu away. Lara had told him Hannah was due to arrive around this time but Bleu had looked so despondent when he’d led him to his kennel earlier, Laurent had relented and allowed him to accompany him as usual on his evening run. ‘Despite appearances, he’s as soft as a marshmallow. He just wanted to say hello to you.’

Hannah shook her head, clearly not believing him. ‘He’s terrifying—I’ve never seen anything like him.’

‘He’s a Grand Bleu de Gascogne. He has a very affectionate temperament.’ Moving to the car door, he opened it. Hannah’s gaze shot back to the corner of the château where Bleu had disappeared and then back to him. He gave her a smile of encouragement. ‘He won’t come back, I promise. You can trust me on that.’

Her forehead bunched and her mouth dropped into an even deeper scowl.

For long seconds she stared at him unhappily, heat appearing on her high cheekbones, but then with a toss of her head she yanked her handbag off the passenger seat and stepped out of the car.

In the silence that followed he cursed François. When François had told him that Hannah was to be their wedding celebrant he’d been incredulous. François knew of their history, how uncomfortable it would be for them both, but François, usually so sanguine, had refused to change his mind in the face of Laurent’s demand that someone else take on the role. His only compromise was his pledge that he and Lara would be present in the château at all times over the weekend to smooth any awkwardness between him and Hannah.

‘Your journey—was it okay?’

Hannah shrugged at his question and moved to the boot of her car. ‘I’d like to go inside and see Lara.’

By her tone, he knew she was as keen as he was for the others to be present in the château. But once again, his father had decided to make life difficult for everyone around him. He followed her to the boot of the car and lifted out her suitcase. ‘François and Lara called me earlier—there’s been a change of plans. They’re now staying in the family apartment in Bordeaux overnight. Lara tried calling you but she couldn’t get through.’

Her expression appalled, Hannah pulled her phone from her handbag, ‘I’m having problems connecting to the French network.’ Then with an exasperated breath she asked, ‘Why are they staying in Bordeaux?’

‘Apparently my father had already made a restaurant booking for them and refuses to cancel. He wants to show Lara and her parents some of the city’s nightlife.’

Her head turning in the direction of the château, she asked uneasily, ‘So who’s staying here tonight?’

‘Just you and me.’

Her eyes widened with horror.

Irritation flared inside him. He’d known she wouldn’t be keen for his company, but did she have to make it so obvious?

But then his indignation sank into guilt. He and he alone was the cause of all this tension. The least he could do was try to make this weekend somewhat tolerable for them both.

Leading her in the direction of the main entrance, he said, ‘Let me show you to your room. All of the château staff have this evening off as they will be working long hours in the coming days with the wedding.’ Inside the coolness of the double-height hallway of the château, his desperation to take a shower and have something cool to drink abated a fraction. The heatwave hitting most of south-west France for the past week was becoming unbearable. He kicked the front door shut with his heel, knowing he was only trying to kid himself—the weather had little to do with how he was overheating.

This always happened when Hannah was nearby.

Pale pink sleeveless blouse tucked into mid-thigh-length lemon shorts, plain white plimsolls on her feet, thick and glossy brown hair tied back into a high ponytail, she was all delicious curves and sweetness.

He uttered a low curse to himself. He knew he’d hurt her. She deserved better than him remembering how incredible it was to hold her, to feel her soft curves. But in truth, their relationship had been built on a bed of intoxicating mutual attraction.

He’d seen it flare in her eyes in the moments after they had first met, their handshake lasting a few seconds longer than necessary, neither trying to pull away.

That first day, as they’d sailed on his yacht, Sirocco, which had then been moored out of Port Solent but was now moored out of Royan, Hannah had been friendly but he could tell that she was avoiding being alone with him. He’d wanted to shrug off her indifference but in truth her reticence had intrigued him and the intelligence in her eyes and her close friendship with Lara had had him wanting to know her better.

She had turned down his invitation to meet for a drink later in the week.

So he’d orchestrated it for her to attend a dinner party he’d thrown in his Kensington town house. He’d hoped to impress her with his cooking but she’d left early, saying she had an early flight to Paris in the morning. As he’d walked her out to her awaiting taxi, for the first time ever, he’d felt tongue-tied. All night he’d been unable to stop staring across the table at her, her natural warmth that was evident behind her initially reserved nature, her genuineness, her authenticity lighting something inside him. On the few occasions she had looked in his direction, he’d seen that spark of attraction again, but she’d always snatched her gaze away. That night of the dinner party, he’d let her go, without pressing his lips to her cheek as he’d ached to, something deep inside him telling him he had to wait until she was ready to accept the spark between them.

Their paths had crossed several times in the months that had followed. He’d used to playfully remind her that his offer of meeting for a drink was still on the table but she would smile and turn away.

And then, one day, when they had all gone swimming in the Solent after another day sailing on his yacht, Sirocco, she’d watched him dive from the rail. When he’d emerged from the water deliberately close to her, her initial frown that had spoken of some deep internal turmoil had transformed into a gentle smile and she’d softly said, ‘I think I’m ready for that drink.’

He’d trod the cold English Channel water, grinning widely, not caring that everyone else in the party could see his delight. He’d wanted to stay there for ever, staring into Hannah’s soulful brown eyes, his heart beating wildly in delight and anticipation that had been more than about the desire to tug her gorgeous bikini-clad body towards him.

Now he led her up the main marble staircase of the château to the second floor where, at the end of the corridor, he opened the door to her bedroom. Hannah walked inside, her gaze widening as she took in the antique jade hand-painted wallpaper, the Louis XV furniture.

He stayed at the doorway. They had dated for over ten months. The chemistry and intense attraction never waning, escalating in fact. But as they’d grown closer, as his heart had begun to need her, panic had set in. Laurent didn’t believe in love and commitment. When he’d been twelve, François ten, his father had left the family home to conduct an affair. The following year his mother had done the same. And in the years that had followed his father had disappeared from the family home at least once a year to continue his affairs. The affairs, the hurt they had inflicted on everyone around them, had poisoned Laurent for ever against any thought of commitment in his own life.

His panic had soared when he’d visited Hannah’s family one weekend and seen their love and devotion to one another. How could he ever bring her into the toxic mix of his own family, which was so full of unspoken anger and accusations? And his panic had soared even more when Hannah had told him of her plans to become a wedding celebrant. At first he’d laughed, thinking she was joking. But she’d been serious. The woman he’d thought of as being as career-minded and as focused on success as he was, who had never given any indication that she was looking for commitment, wanted to be the officiator of the institution he’d no regard for—marriage.

Increasingly he’d realised just how incompatible they were despite their attraction and laughter and warmth for one another. And then he’d learnt of his father’s stroke and his need to return to Cognac to head up the family business. For years he’d waited on the sidelines to be given the role of CEO, beyond frustrated at the decline in the Cognac House’s market share under his father’s neglectful leadership. Bonneval Cognac had been in existence since the seventeenth century. It was Laurent’s legacy and one he was determined to restore to its rightful place as the most exclusive cognac house in the world. It was a promise he’d made to his beloved grandfather before he died, a man who had despaired at his own son’s disloyalty and irresponsibility, not only with the business, but with his own family.

Knowing that there was no future for him and Hannah, Laurent had ended their relationship when he’d returned to France. It had been a gut-wrenching conversation, and he’d seen the pain and confusion in her eyes, but it was not a conversation he regretted. Hannah deserved someone who actually believed in love and commitment. Someone who reflected the love and devotion and stability of her own background.

This weekend would be awkward. But they needed to somehow build a new relationship as their paths would cross time and time again in the future. Maybe having to spend time together this evening was an opportune time to begin that process. He was the one who had messed up by allowing their relationship to become too intense—the least he could do was ensure that the next few days were as painless as possible. For both of their sakes.

‘I had planned on eating out tonight—I need to go and check on my wedding present to François and Lara first, but there’s a restaurant nearby. Will you join me?’