had she done? Were these prize-winning roses and he was the gardener, or something? It would certainly explain why there were so many roses around here. Didn’t posh gardeners have lots of different varieties though, and pride themselves on breeding different ones? Most of these roses seemed to be the same colour, cream at the centre shading to a deep blush-pink at the edges.
And what did he mean, it was his garden? Surely it belonged to the château and the vineyard? Or maybe he’d been the gardener here for years and felt that it was ‘his’ spiritually.
All that suppressed anger, over one little rose.
Crazy.
Though she felt a tiny bit guilty. He was right about one thing: she was a guest, and she should’ve resisted the impulse to pick a rose for her room. Or at least asked first.
Never mind. She’d ask Allie about her gorgeous sexy gardener—and if he ever smiled. Because, even though he’d been all brooding and simmering, she’d noticed how gorgeous he was. Sun-bleached fair hair, eyes the colour of a summer evening sky and a mouth that promised passion, all wrapped up with a seriously hot body.
She rolled her eyes. Picking a rose, without asking, was enough of a gaffe. Seducing her friend’s gardener would definitely be off limits. Besides, after that embarrassing feature in Celebrity Life a month ago—detailing every single one of her boyfriends over the past year, how long they’d lasted and how they’d dumped her—she’d decided to steer clear of men for a while.
She headed back to her room, filled the glass in her bathroom with water and put the rose in it, then placed it on the table next to her bed.
This place was so gorgeous. OK, so the walls needed a lick of paint and the heavy gold damask curtains were faded and the rug was a bit threadbare, but the half-tester bed was like a fairy princess’s. The whole place screamed ‘shabby chic’ and history. And her room had the most amazing view over the rose garden. It was the kind of room where you’d be quite happy to get up early in the morning, because you’d get to see the sun rising over the garden.
Lucky Allie, having all this at her disposal.
And definitely lucky her, having a friend who could invite her to stay somewhere so fabulous.
She wandered down to the kitchen; Allie was sitting at the kitchen table with someone else she recognised and hadn’t seen for ages. ‘Gina!’ She gave the designer a huge hug, kissing both cheeks. ‘When did you get here?’
‘The taxi dropped me off ten minutes ago.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You should’ve texted me. I could’ve waited at the airport for you and given you a lift. Never mind.’ She hugged her again. ‘It’s so lovely to see you.’
‘The coffee’s hot, if you want some,’ Allie said with a smile.
‘Yes, please.’ She poured herself a mug from the cafetière and added a splash of milk. ‘By the way, Allie, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve just upset your gardener.’
‘My gardener?’ Allie looked surprised.
‘He caught me picking one of the roses. He was a bit cross with me.’
Allie frowned. ‘I don’t have a gard—oh, wait. Was he tall, blond and gorgeous?’
‘Tall and blond, yes.’ Amber shrugged. ‘Gorgeous…’ Definitely. ‘He might be, if he wasn’t scowling.’
Allie blinked. ‘Guy never scowls.’
‘Who’s Guy?’ Amber asked.
‘Xav’s brother. It’s his château.’
Oh. So it really was his garden. Amber bit her lip. ‘In that case, I owe him an apology.’
‘Sorry, it’s my fault. I should’ve warned you that he’s precious about his roses, so don’t touch them.’
‘He’s a garden expert?’
‘Parfumier,’ Allie corrected. ‘You’ve heard of GL Parfums?’ At Amber’s nod, she said, ‘That’s him. Guy Lefèvre.’
‘GL Parfums? They do that fantastic shower gel. The citrussy one,’ Gina said. ‘They were going on about it in Celebrity Life, the other week, about how it was the best pick-me-up ever.’
Amber groaned. ‘Don’t mention them.’
Gina hugged her. ‘They gave you quite a mauling last month, didn’t they?’
‘Mmm, and how the hell did they find out that Raoul the Rat dumped me by text? I swear they must be tapping my mobile.’ She deliberately kept her voice light, but that feature had hurt. And Raoul had hurt her badly. She’d thought he was different, that he might be The One—but he’d turned out to be yet another of the liars and losers she always seemed to date. Sometimes she thought it was as if she had a tattoo on her forehead that was invisible when she looked in the mirror, but was written in neon colours for everyone else. Shallow and heartless? Take me, I’m yours!
She shook herself. ‘Let’s talk about something nicer. So that’s his fragrance, is it?’
Allie nodded. ‘That was the first scent Guy made for the perfume house. Originally it was an aftershave, but then he extended the line. Actually, Gina, I know he wants to talk to you because he likes what you did for our labels. He said something about a new project.’
‘Really? Oh, I’d love the chance to work with him,’ Gina said, looking enthusiastic. ‘His perfumes are brilliant and it’d be a fantastic opportunity for me to be involved in designing packaging or what have you for a new perfume.’
Xav strolled into the kitchen, wrapped his arms round his wife-to-be and kissed her. ‘Have you seen Guy anywhere, ma belle?’
‘No, though we were just talking about him being a genius with scent,’ Allie said.
‘Then he’s probably sneaked off to his lab,’ Xav said, and kissed her again. ‘I’d better go and fish him out, because we have a hot date with a barbecue lined up.’
‘That’s a terrible pun,’ Allie said, laughing. ‘Hot date with a barbecue, indeed.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better get started on the salads, I guess.’
‘Count me in for kitchen duties,’ Amber said as Xav left the kitchen. ‘Important things first: what are you doing for pudding?’
‘Pudding?’ Allie’s eyes went wide. ‘Oh, no. I forgot pudding. How could I do that?’
‘Because you’re getting married tomorrow and have a dozen more pressing things to think about?’ Amber suggested.
Allie sighed. ‘I’d better run down to the village and get something from Nicole’s. She makes the best tarte tatin in the world.’
Amber couldn’t resist the opportunity of getting her hands properly on this kitchen. ‘I could make pudding,’ she said. ‘We had this amazing one at the ball last month.’ She pulled up some of the photographs on her phone to show them.
‘Oh, wow, that looks fantastic,’ Gina said.
‘And it tastes even better. Is there somewhere in the village that’d sell raspberries and passion fruit?’
‘Nicole’s farm shop,’ Allie said.
‘Righty—I’ll go shopping. Allie, if you could chat up your scary brother-in-law and wheedle three roses out of him, I’ll be right back.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Course not. Is there anything else you need?’
‘No.’
But Amber could see in her face that Allie was having an attack of butterflies. If this Nicole made great pastries, hopefully she’d sell chocolate as well. Cake would