Nancy Thompson - Accidental Heiress

That she might bump into him on the street gave her a breathless thrill the likes of which she hadn’t experienced since…since the last time she’d seen Henri Lejardin.

Yes, there were lots of who, what, when, where and whys she wanted to ask him. All in good time.

She was glad she’d have the opportunity to work through it before she found herself face-to-face with the man who broke her heart.

Work it out now and get over it .

“You dated him?” A.J. asked.

Margeaux shrugged. “It was a long time ago. We were just kids. We grew up next door to each other.”

“And you let him get away?” Pepper stared at her with big, astonished eyes. “Honey, are you out of your mind? If a fine man like that lived next door to me, I don’t think I’d bother to leave the grounds. Except for the occasions when I found myself next door borrowing a cup of sugar. And I’m afraid I’d need lots and lots of sugar.”

Award-winning author NANCY ROBARDS THOMPSONis a sister, wife and mother who has lived the majority of her life south of the Mason-Dixon line. As the oldest sibling, she reveled in her ability to make her brother laugh at inappropriate moments, and she soon learned she could get away with it by proclaiming “What? I wasn’t doing anything.” It’s no wonder that upon graduating from college with a degree in journalism, she discovered that reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Since hanging up her press pass to write novels full-time, critics have deemed her books “funny, smart and observant.” She loves chocolate, champagne, cats and art (though not necessarily in that order). When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, hiking and doing yoga.

Nancy Robards Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Claire Borkert,

you are a bright light and inspiration to our family.

Caroline Phipps, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your willingness to read at a moment’s notice and your spot-on editorial advice.

Teresa Brown, thank you for always being there to help lead me out of the corners I’ve plotted myself into.

Catherine Kean, thank you for all the years of critiquing.

Boundless gratitude to Gail Chasan and Sarah McDaniel.

I don’t know what I’d do without “all y’all!”

“Margeaux, wasn’t this guy your boyfriend?”

Boyfriend? Margeaux Broussard chewed a piece of cinnamon gum and leaned against the hotel balcony rail, peering through the viewfinder of her camera, focusing on St. Michel’s rocky shoreline. It had been years since she’d had a man in her life—significant or otherwise.

She pressed the shutter release button and the camera snapped a series of rapid shots. The fleeting twilight gilding St. Michel with molten gold was too gorgeous to pass up for the man du jour her friend Caroline Coopersmith was talking about…on television…or somewhere in their hotel room. From Margeaux’s perch on the hotel balcony, she had a breathtaking panoramic view of the landscape. The light was perfect, and it would be gone in a moment. She wanted to get these shots.

Clickclickclickclick .

“If it is, he looks downright dangerous,” Caroline continued.

Clickclickclickclick .

Dangerous?

Margeaux turned and glanced through the open balcony doors at her friend, who was sitting on the bed reading the complimentary issue of Folio de St. Michel magazine that had been on the coffee table in their hotel room when they’d checked in earlier that afternoon.

“Let me see,” demanded Pepper Meriweather, as she and A. J. Sherwood-Antonelli crowded onto the bed on either side of Caroline and gaped at the picture.

Margeaux turned back to the vista and snapped a few more shots, but the magical light was already fading. At least she’d claimed the best of it.

A.J. let loose an unladylike catcall, which piqued Margeaux’s curiosity enough to make her smile, turn back toward her friends and squint at the bold captions on the magazine cover. The words jumped around on the page, and Margeaux had a hard time focusing her dyslexic gaze. She stepped back into the room, refocused on the words, and redoubled her effort to read the print on the magazine cover.

Ahh , it was the magazine’s annual “A List” edition, a roll call of her home town’s most eligible movers and shakers. Since this was the first time in sixteen years that she’d been back to St. Michel, it would be interesting to see if she knew anyone on the list. She set her camera on the table and prepared to join the ogling party.

“Oooh, dangerous and delicious,” Pepper purred, smacking her lips as if she tasted the mystery man in her Southern-laced words. “I’ll bet women fall all over themselves for a bite of those honey buns.”

“Who is it?” Margeaux asked.

A.J. thrust the periodical toward Margeaux. “Henri Lejardin. Do you know him?”

The name made Margeaux’s breath hitch.

“Henri?” Her stomach clenched. Then the bottom of her belly nearly fell out when, there, in living color with his dark, curly hair and penetrating chocolate eyes, her first love smiled at her from the glossy pages of Folio de St . Michel .

“Is this him?” Caroline asked.

Margeaux nodded. It was Henri, alright. All grown up and looking fine; different, but somehow still the same.

If he was on the Folio list, that meant he was single. It shouldn’t matter after all these years, she reminded herself. But it did. Suddenly, she wanted to know everything about him—what he’d been doing all these years; who he was involved with—past and present. Where he was right this very minute. If she knew, she just might go to him and ask him all these questions and others that had plagued her all these years. The fact that she could—that for once, she could walk right out the door and go to him—that she might bump into him on the street—gave her a breathless thrill the likes of which she hadn’t experienced since…since the last time she saw Henri Lejardin.

Yes, there were lots of who, what, when , where and whys she wanted to ask him. All in good time.

She was bound to run into him, and she needed to prepare herself for the deluge of emotions she was certain to feel, because this simple photo in a magazine already had her hyperventilating. She was glad she’d have the opportunity to work through it before she found herself face-to-face with the man who’d broken her heart.

Work it out now and get over it .

“You dated him?” A.J. asked.

Margeaux shrugged, unable to tear her gaze away from Henri’s photo. “It was a long time ago. We were just kids. We grew up next door to each other.”

“And you let him get away?” Pepper stared at her with big, astonished eyes. “Honey, are you out of your mind? If a man like that lived next door to me, I don’t think I’d bother to leave the grounds. Except for the occasions when I found myself next door borrowing a cup of sugar. And I’m afraid I’d need lots and lots of sugar.”

A.J. and Caroline murmured their agreement.

Her history with Henri was complicated. There wasn’t an easy way to answer her friends’ questions without awakening a lot of sleeping memories, which, her heart warned her, were much better left alone.