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not have to. I get it all the time. If you ever wonder why I wish to take to the stage, it is because my life is a stage. There is no difference. You men lose your minds around me. And whilst I appreciate the never ending parade of adoration, it does get to be annoying.”
    He hesitated as if intrigued. “Are you saying men crawl for you?”
    He had no idea. Men were the bane of her existence.
    She had always wanted to be known for her intelligence and quick wit that had been rightfully earned whilst raising ten very rambunctious brothers, but how was a woman to become more than a face in a world obsessed with beauty?
    She considered herself rather pathetic.
    For she had no friends outside of her family. She never had.
    All the girls in the village always snubbed her, snickering that she thought too much of herself. Which wasn’t true. They simply didn’t like the attention she always received. They blamed her for the fact that the boy of their dreams ignored them. Little did they know the boy of their dreams wasn’t even worth an oyster pie.
    She set her chin. “They do more than crawl. Giverny and its men about exhausted me.”
    “Is that so?” He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “If you are so tired of the attention, my dear, then why take to the stage? It will only make it worse. Actresses are the epitome of every man’s dream.”
    She kept her chin set. “True. But at least I will get paid for it.”
    “Money only ever shrouds other problems, you know.” He glanced judiciously around the forest, as if preoccupied by too many thoughts. The wind flapped the billowing sleeves of his linen shirt, outlining his broad physique and hinting at the impressive definition of taut muscle beneath.
    Thérèse tried not to stare, but every time the wind shifted his linen shirt against his muscled arms and chest, it gave her more to admire. She pinched her lips in an effort not to dash up to him and tap each pectoral to see if it was real.
    He eyed her and veered his gaze upward, searching the sky through the branches of the trees. “Fortunately, the weather does not appear to be getting worse. In fact, I am quite certain of it.” He pointed at the sky with a gloved finger and stared up at it with contempt. “I command you not to rain. I need to get to Paris without my gunpowder getting wet. Do you hear me?”
    This aristocrat was talking to the rain. To the rain . As if he had power over it.
    No wonder these people were getting stoned.
    She peered up at the sky through the leaves and branches above and paused. Large patches of blue sky pushed out from between the dark clouds. Her lips parted. “Did you just command the weather into cooperation?”
    He smugly adjusted his linen shirt. “I do it all the time. Whatever I want, I get. No matter what it is. The universe is quite used to it. You should get used to it, too.” His wry tone indicated he was attempting humor.
    She tossed his coat back at him, grabbing up the basket. “It must be nice being able to control the universe.”
    Gérard effortlessly snatched hold of his coat in midair and stared. “I am not in control of it yet. But I damn well hope to be.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Let me know when you are.”
    He still stared. “Are you really a virgin? Or are you pretending to be?”
    The prickling of heat overtook her cheeks. She never blushed around men. After all, she was the one in control of how they behaved around her. It was an art she had perfected since she had grown into her breasts. “You are being downright crude. I refuse to answer that.”
    He pointed. “So you are a virgin.”
    She glared. “What are you? The virgin magistrate?”
    “Pardon me for saying it, but I am a touch confused as to how worldly you appear to be for a virgin.” He eyed her basket, as if attempting to assess its contents. “You certainly travel lightly.” He lingered on the apples crowding it. “But well.”
    Averting his gaze, he shrugged on his