Across from him, Aideen sighed. 'Patrick, I really think you need to cut yourself some slack. You were only in your early twenties. You were running several rapidly expanding multimillion-pound businesses and trying to parent a teenage girl. You did your best. Sure, you made mistakes. Haven't we all? But, as you've said to me, that's in the past. Focus on the future now. You have to think about the next generation in your family. Your nephew or niece will need you. Orla's baby deserves to have you in its life.'
His gut tightened. She was right. But what if he caused Orla more upset? What if they had yet another bitter argument? He would never forgive himself if something happened to her or the baby because of him.
He picked up the chest, the material smooth against his skin. 'I would like to keep this, if that's okay with you. Hopefully some day I'll get the chance to give it to Orla and her baby. It's beautifully made.'
He genuinely looked as though he loved the chest, and Aideen prayed that a time would come when he could give it to Orla. She could see how much the rift was hurting him.
'Were the arguments with Orla one of the reasons why you moved to Ashbrooke?'
'Partially... And in truth they prompted my move here to the chateau, as well. I love both houses, and I'm proud of the restoration I've carried out at Ashbrooke. It would have been terrible to see it fall into further decay when it's of such historic importance. At the same time, I did need to retreat and focus on my businesses. They were growing at a rate even I hadn't anticipated. But I also needed some head space after years of arguing with Orla. My apartments both in Dublin and in Paris held too many memories. Orla moved to Paris and lived in my apartment when she was expelled from school. It was pretty tense, to say the least-especially when I arrived to find she had moved two friends in with her.'
'You didn't tell me that she was expelled.'
'Amongst other things. She came to Paris to attend a language school, but she dropped out of there, too. She said she'd learn French faster working in a bar.'
She didn't understand why he sounded so exasperated. 'But that was good-she was taking on responsibility for herself and learning to be independent.'
'You didn't see the bar she was working in.'
'Am I right in guessing you didn't allow her to keep working there?'
'Too right. She was on the first plane back to Ireland.'
'How old was she?'
'Eighteen.'
She inhaled a deep breath. 'Were there any other options other than sending her home? She was an adult, after all.'
'She certainly wasn't acting like an adult.'
'Did sending her back to Ireland work? Did it help your relationship?'
He glanced at her briefly and then looked away. 'No.'
'Would you do anything differently if you had that time again?'
He looked thrown by her question. For a good few minutes they sat in silence, his gaze trained on a spot in the far distance.
'I would do a lot of things differently.'
His thumb travelled again over the silk of the chest, and when he looked up she realised the pale blue of the material was a close match to the colour of his eyes.
He held her gaze and said, 'You're the first person I've ever told any of this to.'
'What do you mean?'
'Exactly that. I never told anyone about the problems we were having.'
'Not the school or your friends?'
'No.'
'You mean you carried all of this on your own?'
'Orla and I only had one another. It didn't seem right to tell anyone else what was happening. It was private-between the two of us. Family problems should stay within the walls of a home.'
'But not something as big as this, Patrick. Not when you're on your own, with no one to ask for advice or just talk it through with. It must have been so tough for you.'
Bittersweet sadness caught in her chest. She was honoured and moved that he had told her. But she also felt a heavy sadness that he had been burdened with this for so long.
'You shouldn't have carried it on your own.'
A solemn, serious gaze met hers. 'I could level the same accusation at you.'
Emotion took a firm grip of her throat. 'You're right... It's hard to speak when you're hurting, when you're embarrassed and loaded down with guilt.'
'I'm glad I did tell you.' A smile played at the corner of his mouth and he added, 'I never thought I would say this, but it's actually a relief to talk about it.'
It felt so good to see him smile. 'I'm glad, too.'
He considered her for a while, and her cheeks began to flame at the way his eyes darkened. An emotional connection pinged between them and her heart slowed to a solid throb.
In a low voice he said, 'I've been thinking over what you said about having more fun, and I've lined up a surprise for you tomorrow.'
Her heart began to race again, and to cover the wide smile of excitement that threatened to break on her mouth at any second she eyed him suspiciously. 'I hope it's not a triathlon, or something crazy like that.'
He shook his head with amusement, 'No, but I reckon you'd be pretty lethal in a triathlon-if the competitive way you play tennis is anything to go by.'
'You might be right, but I'm not the best of swimmers.'
'Really? You can't live by the sea and not be able to swim! When we get back to Ashbrooke I'll give you some lessons in the lough.'
Was he serious? He seemed to be. Mixed emotions assailed her at once, and a crazy excitement to know that he would want to do something like that. That there might be some type of future for them beyond Paris.
But what if she was wrong? Was she reading way too much into this? Was she crazy to believe and trust in a man enough to even contemplate the possibility of some type of future with him?
Her doubts and fears won out and she dismissed his suggestion with a laugh, praying it would mask the embarrassing frozen expression of hope on her face. 'Only if I can wear a wetsuit. The water is pretty cold in the lough.'
'Wimp!'
'I am not. Anyway, I have meetings tomorrow until four. Can the surprise wait until then?'
'Perfect. I'll collect you.'
She stood up and said happily, 'It's a date. Now I'm going to bed.'
Only as she went to walk away did she realise what she had said.
'Not that it's really a date or anything like that... You know what I mean.'
He, too, stood, and looked at her fondly, laughter in his eyes. 'Aideen...relax. And I would like it to be a date.'
'Would you?'
He pinned her with his gaze. 'Yes.'
His answer was such a low, sexy drawl that goosebumps popped up on her skin. She gave him a skittish grin and before she embarrassed herself any further decided to make a hasty retreat. But not before she threw him another goofy smile.
As she walked out of the room she heard him say in the same sexy tone, 'Goodnight, Aideen. Sleep well.'
A delicious, deep shiver of anticipation ran the length of her body.
CHAPTER NINE
THE FOLLOWING EVENING at Issy-les-Moulineaux heliport, close to the Eiffel Tower, a helicopter stood awaiting their arrival.
As Bernard brought the car to a halt beside the impressive machine excitement bubbled in Aideen's veins. 'Where are we going?'
Patrick considered her mischievously as he contemplated her question. 'Now, if I told you that it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it?'
'The helicopter is enough of a surprise for me... Oh, please tell me! I hate being kept in suspense.'
'No can do, I'm afraid. The good things in life come to those who wait.'
Bernard was waiting patiently at the door for her to exit, so she stepped out of the car. When Patrick joined her and they walked towards the helicopter she asked playfully, 'So is that your philosophy on life?'
He brought them both to a stop and stepped closer. He leant down. His breath was warm against her ear when he spoke and her heart did a triple flip.
'Sometimes the anticipation and the wait can be thrilling, don't you agree?'
Heat erupted in her body and she drew back to meet his eyes, which blistered into hers. When she finally managed to speak it was in an embarrassingly squeaky voice. 'I guess...'
His gaze changed to a look of amusement and, taking her hand in his, he led her to the helicopter, where the pilot was waiting for them with the rear door open.
As the pilot made the final checks for take-off her mind raced. Was he confirming what she suspected...that he would like more with her? She had read signals so wrongly in the past. Was she getting this wrong, too? But the way he looked at her said she wasn't getting anything wrong. He looked at her as though he would like to bed her then and there.
For the entire forty-five-minute journey they played a game of 'yes and no' in which she tried to guess their destination. She was wrong on every count, and was rapidly running out of names. It was a good job she had listened in her geography lessons in school.
But when a baroque castle appeared in the distance, with its raked roof and tall chimney stacks, she whispered, 'Oh, my...it's Château de Chalant.'