“He likes to potter around here.”
The old man winked at her.
“To borrow your metaphor,” Luc said in a low aside, “he’s like a mother with a new baby. His work is never done.”
“I heard that,” Giles muttered. Rachel couldn’t help smiling.
Luc studied her as if he enjoyed looking at what he saw. “Now tell me which item in the cupboard fascinates you so much.”
As he moved closer she could smell the soap he’d used in the shower. Her senses seemed to have come alive around him.
She turned toward the glass. “The nuptial jug. I’d love to hear the story behind it.”
He stood near enough that she could feel his warmth in the cool room whose walls were several feet thick.
“When a Chartier man has found his heart’s desire, he pours his favorite wine in that special jug from which he and his beloved both drink, whereupon he declares his undying devotion.
“It’s called the marriage ritual of the vine. My father, like his forebears, proposed to my mother in the time-honored Chartier way. They both drank from this jug before they were married in the convent chapel.”
Rachel trembled at the evocative image his words had conjured.
She’d been a lover of fairy tales all her life. What he’d just told her was a real-life fairy tale.
How would it be to marry a man like Luc and share in such a thrilling ritual?
He’d told her he was divorced. She couldn’t comprehend the pain his ex-wife must feel to live apart from him now.
She cleared her throat. “That’s a beautiful story, monsieur. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
She heard a sharp intake of breath. “After spending time with you last evening, I’m convinced you’re one person who can appreciate it.”
“Such a ritual is a very romantic tradition.”
“You value tradition?” he questioned silkily.
Her gaze flew to his. She swallowed hard to discover his dark brown eyes searching hers.
“Let’s just say I envy those who have established traditions to follow. I believe their lives are enriched for them.”
He continued to examine her features in the shadowy light, sending ripples of sensual pleasure through her system. How could that be when he wasn’t even touching her?
“So do I,” his voice rasped. “Now tell me what brought you to Thann besides wine buying.”
She blinked. “How did you know there was another reason?”
“Since you hadn’t heard of Chartier et Fils until the concierge told you, I assumed you’d ventured into my territory because something else brought you here.
“Be honest. How many people do you know who have ever heard of Thann, let alone could point it out on a map of France?”
His mouth curved upwards, causing her heart to turn over. She couldn’t help reciprocating with another smile.
“Actually I do know one person.”
When she didn’t reveal anything else, his eyes narrowed.
“But you’re not going to tell me who it is because it’s none of my business. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No—” she protested, embarrassed that Giles could hear them. “Not at all—I just don’t want to bore you with the details of my personal life when you’re such a busy man and have a thriving company to run.”