Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress: Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress

“It’s funny,” she admitted. “I think I always knew David was a terrible father. Even when my mom was alive, he was never around. When she died, I honestly thought it would be Jack who took care of me.”

“How old was Jack?”

“Nine. But he seemed very worldly wise. He used to pour me juice, make me sandwiches and read me bedtime stories.” She smiled wistfully at the memory.

“And then he abandoned you.”

“No, he didn’t.” She knew none of it had been Jack’s fault. “But for years, I expected him to come and get me. I don’t know what I thought, that he’d turn eleven, get a paper route and we’d live happily ever after. Pretty absurd, huh?”

Alec straightened the comforter around her. “You were a little girl.”

“Who took a very long time to wake up to reality.”

“Do you think you might be angry with him?”

She shook her head. “I missed him. That was all.” She still missed him. She wanted a brother, and what she had was an acquaintance.

“Tell me about you and Raine.” Charlotte knew she should go back to her own room before anyone else got home, but she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want it to end just yet. “Did you protect her? Tease her? Gang up with her against your parents?”

Alec chuckled. “I was Raine’s worst night—”

A deafening boom shook the château. Orange flames lit up the sky. Alec instantly threw himself on top of Charlotte, bracing her protectively against the bed.

“What the hell?” he ground out, glancing to the window behind him.

Charlotte blinked at the fire, smoke and ash rising toward the dark sky.

“You okay?” he demanded.

Her ears were ringing, and she’d experienced an adrenaline shot strong enough to stun an ox, but she nodded jerkily.

Alec sprang from the bed, crossing to the window while he stuffed his legs into his slacks. “Good God. One of the trailers is on fire.”

“It blew up?” Charlotte stated the obvious as she clambered out of bed herself, glancing around for her dress and shoes.

He dialed his cell phone with one hand, pulling his dress shirt on with the other as he headed for the bedroom door. There, he paused. “Will you be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she called. She could hear sirens in the distance, and people were shouting down on the lawn.

She prayed that nobody had been hurt. But the sirens were getting closer, and the shouts were getting louder. She struggled into her dress and into her shoes, then she clattered down the stairs to find out if she could help.

The front lawn looked like a disaster zone. Staff members and crew rushed to the aid of those lying on the ground. Alec was in the middle, shouting to his staff to bring blankets and first aid, while helping the gardeners to set up hoses to soak the semitrailers and a small cottage that were next to the fire.

Charlotte stopped, unsure of what to do.

She glanced at the man next to her. His face was black with soot, and he was cradling his left arm, his sleeve covered in blood.

“You’re hurt,” she stated, moving closer.

He looked down at his arm. “It’s just a cut.”

“Anything else?” She gingerly supported him on the uninjured side, helping him to the porch where he could sit down.

“It was the FX trailer,” he rasped.

She separated the torn sleeve, revealing a long, deep cut on his forearm.

“They were getting the pyrotechnics ready for the battle scene.” The man seemed to be in shock.

Charlotte’s gaze shifted involuntarily to the burning trailer. Alec was silhouetted against the flames. The fire trucks arrived, and he signaled them forward, clearing people out of their path as the firefighters jumped down and began connecting hoses.

If anybody had been inside…

A member of the housekeeping staff appeared, and Charlotte quickly latched on to a couple of towels and a bottle of water. She soaked one towel, carefully cleaning around the wound. Then she pressed the other towel against the cut, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked.

The man barely shook his head, his attention fixed on the firefighters and the approaching ambulances.

The attendants ran to a couple of people lying on the ground, and Charlotte wasn’t sure whether she should flag them down.

“I can wait,” the man said, guessing her thoughts.

“Are you sure?” The towel was soaking up a lot of blood.

“Charlotte?” It was Raine’s voice.

Charlotte looked into Raine’s stark expression.

“What happened? We just got back—”

“Can you get us a paramedic?”

Raine’s gaze jumped to the injured man. “Of course.”

She scooted across the lawn in her skirt and high heels. She stopped a woman in uniform and pointed to Charlotte. The woman grabbed a black case and trotted toward them.

“Thank you,” said Charlotte as the woman knelt down.

“I’m fine,” said the man.

“Let’s take a quick look,” said the attendant, swiftly removing the towel.

She opened the case and retrieved gauze, disinfectant and medical tape.

“I’ll be sending you in for some stitches,” she told the man.

He simply nodded, looking exhausted.