“I insist.” He pulled out a chair for her.
Whoever he was, he was a gentleman—handsome in a light blue shirt and dark jeans. She took the seat and he walked into the other room.
The food smelled warm and inviting. The chicken was cooked with lemon butter and her mouth watered. The last thing she really ate was last night at the wedding reception. This morning she’d had water and finger foods she didn’t remember as she’d been so rushed to get her hair done.
The man returned and offered her a jacket, sweat pants and a sweatshirt. She stood and accepted. “Thank you.”
“Let me understand,” he pointed toward a bathroom where she could change. “You were in a car accident on the highway? And that’s when you escaped the crazy woman?”
Her heart stopped. How had he known about the accident? She hadn’t said anything. “Yes, how did you know?”
He shrugged and pointed to her chafed legs and wet sneakers. “How else did you get here on foot?” Snapping his fingers, he murmured, “I’ll get you a warm pair of socks.”
He walked away, and she went to the bathroom to put the dry clothes on over her thin men’s shirt. As she came out he handed her warm, thermal socks. She slipped them on and her toes began to thaw.
“Your fiancé is a lucky man, mademoiselle, for you to have gotten free. My mother already went to bed, or you’d have met her. I’m Alexandre Travers. And I’d like to welcome to our vineyard.”
“Travers?” She repeated the name as her eyes widened. This was Chelsea’s true love? Seriously? This guy was too kind for her sister.
He stared at her blankly. “Yes, have you heard of us?”
Again, she felt her cheeks were hot. She couldn’t tell him about her computer program that had chosen his name for her sister. She looked down at her borrowed thick, green socks and nodded. “Possibly, or at least your wine, Luegrille Piquant.”
“Oui?” He looked at her with renewed interest. “We just rebranded two years ago, and the locals still call us Travers Vineyard.”
Drat.Cassidy squashed the guilt rising for researching him to send Chelsea toward happiness. In order to follow through with what she’d started, she pointed to his wine rack. “Yes. May I have a try?”
He walked over to a cupboard and found a glass and an open bottle. He poured her a red and handed her the glass. She took a sip, which was surprisingly sweet and light. “I like it.”
A crashing sound came from outside. He turned with concern. “There will be no wine this year if we don’t keep the crops alive. Someone else is coming through the vineyard.”
“Wait. Is there a back door?” She put the glass down and searched for her tennis shoes drying before the fireplace. “And if it’s a blonde woman, please give me warning. Be careful.”
“Why?” He walked her to the other side of the house and a door that opened to a patio.
She swallowed her fear and said, “As I said in my ramble earlier, I was kidnapped, monsieur, on my wedding day. Lucinda poisoned me. All I want to do is go home to my fiancé.”
He showed her the door. “Wait inside until we know.”
“Thank you.” She followed him into the kitchen, but kept her distance and hid behind the cupboard. Alexandre opened the front door and she saw the blonde, blue-eyed Lucinda say hello.
The supermodel wore a pair of jeans and had donned a winter jacket. Blood stained her forehead but didn’t detract from her looks.
The floorboard underneath Cassidy’s feet creaked as she shuffled to get closer to the door in case she needed to run. Lucinda and Alexandre turned toward her. She froze on the spot, unable to move. And if she ran, where would she go? Remy would be here soon. Remy’s face was clear in her mind, so she stepped forward instead. “You’re still bleeding Lucinda.”
Lucinda’s hard expression showed her displeasure at having to chase her across the vineyard. She reached behind her back. “You left me to die.”
Thankfully she’d explained to Alexandre already. Cassidy’s hand went to her hip though a cold tremble raced up her spine, urging her to run. “You had me handcuffed, drugged me and stopped my wedding.”
“No, I didn’t.” Lucinda countered as if they were five-year-olds arguing semantics.
Cassidy walked closer to the door, her eyes on Lucinda for any sudden moves. “Yeah, you did.”
“I heard on the car radio that you married Remy anyhow. They had a proxy stand up for you.” Lucinda shook her head like she’d lost the battle and now hated Cassidy even more.
Proxy? Who? All that paperwork she’d signed had included century-old documents for aristocratic weddings that once included proxies though that law was medieval; no one in the twenty-first century had ever used a stand-in. She pushed her hair behind her ears out of habit, forgetting that most of her hair was in pins on the top of her head. She dropped her hands, oddly disappointed. “Impossible.”
Lucinda stepped inside the door next to Alexandre, the glimmer of black in her hand a gun.
