by Chloe Harris
Emiline gasped and turned from him. Folding her arms around her body, she hunched, hiding her face in her hair.
Helpless at the unexpected change in her demeanor, Reinier could only stare at her, preoccupied with his own inner turmoil. When he finally showed the presence of mind to try and soothe her by placing his hand gently on her shoulder, she jolted as if a scorpion had stung her. Throwing her arms before her body like she wanted to ward him off, she hissed, “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare.”
Something hideous and dangerous formed in his gut at her rejection, a swirling black mass that rattled with a revolting snarl. Without another word, Reinier took the reins in his hand and let them crack, the sound splitting the warmth of the evening and causing sleepy birds to rise out of a nearby tree with indignant twitter. The mare spurred into motion again with a contemptuous whicker.
Reinier tried to find an explanation for her sudden change, for why at Connor’s arrival she’d turn from a playful, warm lover to…well, back to being his wife.
With a mental snort of derision, he stopped searching his mind for what made the fickle woman do what she did and tried to work out how he himself felt about Connor’s arrival. That at least promised to be a much more fruitful exercise than brooding over his wife’s moods.
Honestly, he’d forgotten all about Connor. He’d forgotten he’d made arrangements for him to come and assist in teaching his cuckolding wife a lesson or two.
In a way, he was glad to know Connor was here now. Reinier could slap himself for his tremendous stupidity. Not once or twice but a thousand times. How often had he told himself not to let himself feel something for her again? What had made him throw all his well-formed caution to the wind? He’d known he needed to pay close attention around her to save himself from another broken heart. The old scars were still too tender to survive another blow.
Now Reinier was certain he couldn’t wait to get off this rotten island. Connor’s presence helped him confirm that. He’d also help him with whatever disturbing contradictions churned in his belly.
His affection for Connor, Reinier knew, went beyond what was sane or sensible, but at least it was mutual. Reinier had never questioned it, nor had he ever had reason to. Connor was his friend, his only, best friend.
He was so much more than that if Reinier were completely honest with himself.
If Reinier were completely honest with himself now, was he truly happy that Connor was here?
The mare must have known the way instinctively because she halted right outside the mansion and stopped Reinier’s contemplation. Reinier jumped from the gig and held his hand up to help Emiline down without looking at her.
She walked into the manor ahead of him, not dignifying him with a look either. It seemed things had returned to the way they’d always been.
When Reinier entered the open foyer by his wife’s side, he saw Justine waiting for them. Apparently, she was just as unhappy about Connor’ arrival as her mistress, though she tried to conceal it. That was more than Reinier could say for his wife. Well, at least the maid had some manners.
“You have another guest, mistress,” Justine spoke without acknowledging him. “I’ve escorted him to the sunroom and asked Cook to prepare a light tea service. The next tide is before dinner, so I assume he won’t be staying past tea.”
Forget about the maid having any manners, Reinier thought, his eyes narrowing.
Emiline’s answering smile of approval didn’t sit well either. “Thank you, Justine,” she drawled smoothly. “I’m sure you did the right thing.”
Reinier began to feel ganged up on. He’d be damned if he let these two vipers just run Connor off without having a say in it. Clenching his jaw, Reinier grasped Emiline’s arm and guided her into the sunroom in silence.
Before he could stop it, a tight smile flitted over his face when he spotted Connor looking completely relaxed and at ease, almost like a visit to Bougainvilla for tea was a common occurrence. Reinier’s jaw muscles jumped when he clenched his teeth even harder. Connor was, Thank God, oblivious to the tension his visit was causing between them. He was gazing out the window. To Reinier, it appeared that Connor’s mind was enraptured in the far distance that reached beyond the horizon, but then Connor blinked and turned to them, his typical easy smile in place.
Reinier felt the corners of his lips curl down. Connor had seen it, Reinier judged from the way his naturally dark eyes sparkled for a short moment. The Irishman acted as if he hadn’t noticed, though, and rose from his chair.
Keeping his own expression blank, Reinier firmly shook Connor’s proffered hand. “How nice of you to come, Connor. I hope you can stay for dinner at least.”
When he felt Emiline tense by his side, Reinier took irrationally devilish delight in it, letting his expression ease with the satisfaction he felt.
“I would be more than honored, of course,” Connor replied. Bowing to Emiline, he took her hand.
For an absurd moment, Reinier was almost shocked that she’d let him take her hand and brush a kiss to her knuckles, but just as quickly as she’d acquiesced, Emiline pulled away. She turned her back on them both and walked toward the window.
The knowing expression on Connor’s face made Reinier feel uncomfortable, and his teasing wink was even worse, but before he could scold the Irishman with a look of disapproval, Connor retrieved a small chest from beside the table and walked to Emiline.
Made from stained and polished cherrywood, it was adorned with vines bearing stylized roses and gold inlay in the form of leaves. The box was exquisite, a truly lavish gift, and Connor offered it to her with the words, “Madam, I hope you’ll accept this small gift as an apology for my intrusion on your hospitality.”
Without replying, without one small crack in her distant manner, Emiline took the chest and set it on the wide windowsill. When she opened it, Reinier saw that Connor’s superb taste and the lucrative nature of their business ventures were evident in the contents: finest silks in rich hues of aquamarine and gold, the former matching her eyes, the latter setting off her skin and emphasizing the light tresses in her hair, as well as the best and whitest of Belgian laces. It was, Reinier thought, a gift worthy of a queen. As regal as any empress, Emiline examined the silks and laces in great detail.
When she turned back to Connor, her eyes were filled with a frosty shimmer. “How wonderful! Really, it was very thoughtful of you.” Her smile and the peculiar pitch in her voice was too exaggerated to be genuine. “Thank you. Next time one of the servants needs a cap or an apron I’ll be sure to put these to good use.”
She shut the lid on the box with a loud snap, hooked it under her elbow, and looked Reinier straight in the eyes, daring him to comment. Her glare was full of disdain.
She’d dismissed Connor so rudely that Reinier was appalled and ashamed at the same time, but just as he took a deep breath to utter a reproach, she walked purposely toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the sun has given me quite a headache. I’m afraid you gentlemen will have to enjoy your tea alone, but I’m certain that won’t be a problem for either of you.”
She was almost at the door when Reinier’s fury snapped. That spiteful, overbearing woman, he roared mentally, restricting himself to bellowing, “Madam!” Stalking after her, he continued, “You will not—”
Connor was suddenly at his side, gripping his upper arm. Emiline was through the door, her skirts swishing aggressively against the frame.
“Come back here at once!” Reinier growled from between his teeth, struggling against Connor’s tightening grip.
“Reinier.” Connor’s forceful tone registered through the haze of his ire, and momentarily Reinier’s attempts to shake off the hand that held him back ceased. “Let her go. Come on, let’s enjoy our tea.”
With his eyes still narrowed at the top of the stairs where Emiline had just disappeared into her rooms, Reinier took a few calming breaths. Eventually, he felt he had himself under control again, and wrenching his arm fr
ee, he harrumphed and stalked back into the sunroom.
Emiline bolted the door shut to drown out Reinier’s angry bark. Stalking, she threw the tainted gift across the room, brushing a priceless Grand Siècle vase in the process. Breath held in horror, she watched the china depicting Louis XIV amidst nymphs and satyrs feeding him and groveling at his red-heeled shoes sway slightly. Round and round it rocked until it finally tipped and fell to the floor where it crashed into tiny bits of merely unremarkable colored porcelain.
In her mind she snorted and reprimanded herself to not pace the floor and wear down the carpet. He wasn’t worth ruining another unique heirloom.
In the silence that followed she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. A gale of feelings swamped her; she felt foolish and furious, and Lord only knew what else.
The catalyst had been the bright flag at the top of the main mast of the Coraal, full of mirth dancing and vividly waving at her.
She hadn’t really needed to ask Reinier whose ship it was. She’d known. L’Île de Ronde had been part of Connor’s regular shipping route ever since they had started their company and Reinier had left. But there had just been that split second when she’d held out hope that her eyes had somehow failed her.
Every time Emiline had begun to forget that she’d ever had a husband, every time the pain would lessen for just a bit, the merry sails of the damned Coraal would appear on the horizon and force those haunting memories back to the surface.
They’d never spoken during his visits; they’d never even seen each other but from a distance—Emiline in her study anxiously awaiting his departure; Connor at the docks and then back on his ship. He’d never made any attempt to call on her at Bougainvilla, and Emiline had always made sure Captain Blanc or the dock foreman was available to conduct business with him.
Time and again she’d tried to find an excuse to stop him from coming, but how could she prevent what technically amounted to the master of the estate’s shipping fleet doing business with himself? So she’d endured those cruel jabs her heart suffered with each visit.
Why was Connor here now? He wasn’t scheduled to pick up another shipment of goods for two months yet. He had to be up to something.
Suddenly, Justine’s words chimed like hysteric bells in her head. They were known, she’d said, for entertaining women together.
Fighting not to lose control of her breathing, Emiline shook her head from side to side. Her hands balled into fists and her body went rigid.
No, she thought. No, no. The word repeated itself in her mind with each gasp for breath she took. That can’t be it, she moaned inwardly. Reinier would never do that to her. He couldn’t possibly ask that—demand that of her.
The man she’d been with this afternoon would never do that. He’d cared for her, put her best interest above all else. He’d looked at her with so much affection. When she’d started to tell him how she felt in the chaise, she’d been positive he returned her feelings.
But that left her once again with no explanation why Connor was here now.
Had he followed Reinier here to take him away from her again? Was he that much of a scoundrel that he would show up here just to prove that he could?
Upon seeing Connor’s ship, Reinier had completely shut her out again. She had seen the curtain veil his eyes that exact moment. Being left outside once more, especially after the wonderful time they’d just spent together, had hurt her so deeply there hadn’t seemed an end to it.
Did she really need any of this?
Fine! Connor won. He could just bloody well take Reinier and be gone! She didn’t need either of them.
Emiline sank to the floor and covered her face in her hands in a futile attempt to stop the tears from forming.
Who was she trying to fool? True, she didn’t need Reinier. She wanted him. And—damn that Irish bastard—they’d made a bargain! She wasn’t going to just let his intrusion interfere with that or the fact that on top of everything, she’d promised herself she’d enjoy every minute of their time. She and Reinier had another day and a half, and Connor could just go back to where he came from until her time was up.
She was no coward. She was a fighter. Her unique heritage didn’t permit her to give up, certainly not so easily. She was Emiline du Ronde, daughter of a pirate and a noble woman, and not just some simpering sap!
Wiping her cheeks dry, she hiccupped a sigh and brushed a fold out of the rumpled skirts on her thighs.
It wasn’t just that bargain that had her taking such offense at Connor’s showing up. There was more to it. Much more.
This wasn’t about some silly pact, not anymore. She loved Reinier—even more now than when they’d married. Then it had been a childish attraction, but now what she felt was much deeper. It was richer and finer. It was all-encompassing, influencing every aspect of her existence, making her experience life with much more intensity, making her feel whole. Her love for Reinier wasn’t infatuation. It wasn’t just physical attraction. Her love for Reinier had matured despite her fit of petulance earlier—never mind that she’d been right…
Her breathing slowed and a calmness washed over her. What if she’d made a mistake?
Maybe she had, indeed, been wrong to react so badly. She hadn’t trusted Reinier; she’d doubted him, although he hadn’t failed her thus far. Maybe he wouldn’t now either.
The Reinier on the beach today wouldn’t be so easily swayed. He wouldn’t choose another over her, wouldn’t share her with another. He’d continue to be with her and look out for her, and he’d never let Connor come between them.
But Emiline hadn’t given him a chance to prove any of that.
Shaking her head, she wiggled her nose, disgusted at her preposterous behavior. She felt so ridiculous now for letting past fears and jealousies cloud her judgment so profoundly.
What would she do in his stead? She would send Connor on his way as soon as possible, not wanting to waste any more of the time they had left. And perhaps that was exactly what Reinier would do.
He just needed a nudge in the right direction. That’s why she needed to look her best at dinner. For Reinier.
And after dinner she’d find a way to apologize thoroughly for her rashness, something very…special that she was sure Reinier might like. Oh yes, now that was something she could enjoy contemplating while setting the perfect scene.
Emiline sprang to her feet and rushed to call for Justine, who came up the stairs and into her room a blink of an eye later. “Have my bath drawn as quickly as you can. And fetch a bar of the French-milled scented soap.”
Justine gave her a look that clearly conveyed she believed Emiline had lost her mind completely. She mumbled something under her breath but did as she’d been told.
Particular arrangements needed to be made for dinner also. “And tell Cook to make something with ginger.” It would remind Reinier of their delicious little secret this afternoon.
Justine, already on her way out the door again, turned on her heel and stepped back into the room. “Yes? Anything else?”
“None I can think of now.”
“Very well.” Nodding, Justine turned to leave again.
“Perhaps the scented candles, along with the special china for the table. Tell the maids that.”
Justine halted in her tracks, pivoted, and stepped back into the room, remaining by the door and not moving at all.
Emiline fumbled at the laces of her dress. What would she wear? Perhaps the blue one? No, that was too somber.
She saw Justine was still there despite the hurry, the wrinkly corners of her mouth pointing downward. “My bath, Justine?”
“Yes, I heard you the first time already. I’m just waiting if there’s anything else you want. In my age it’s not considered prudent to take too many unnecessary steps.”
Emiline’s shoulders slumped. Walking up to Justine, she grasped her upper arms. The maid had always been her dearest friend, her closest ally, and all she’d ever wanted was to save Emiline from harm
. Her rigorous stance right now was a warning, but Emiline knew exactly what she was doing. “Justine, trust me in this. I need to make things right. Everything will turn out just fine, I’m sure.”
“Well, at least one of us is.” With a sigh, the strict expression on the maid’s face softened. “I don’t think I can bear seeing you hurt again, girl.”
Emiline cupped the old woman’s cheek. “I know.”
Justine petted Emiline’s hand, leaning into the caress.
“Thank you,” Emiline breathed.
They hugged, then Justine broke away. “I’ll be a minute, don’t you worry. Can’t work miracles, but I’m trying very hard to.”
As the door closed behind her lady’s maid, Emiline walked straight to her wardrobe. Even within the best of Caribbean society, things were much less formal and relaxed than in Europe, but being half French, Emiline was well adept at looking her very best when she chose to. One glance at her dresses and Emiline knew which one would be perfect for the evening.
Lastly, she rummaged in the top drawer of her vanity table to retrieve the flacon containing that special fragrance she’d ordered but never worn.
A man should never underestimate the devices of a determined, half-French woman with seduction on her mind.
All went smoothly and quickly until she and Justine encountered a large obstacle. The trouble was her hair; it wouldn’t bend to their will. Almost no one ever wore wigs in the West Indies. It was simply too hot for that extravagance. Poor Justine had become quite frustrated around the third or fourth style she tried that Emiline didn’t think was quite right. Reinier loved her hair loose, but completely loose didn’t fit with the intricate beauty of the dress and feast she’d planned. Justine huffed and Emiline tugged impatiently at her hoopskirt while trying to find a solution. Finally, she and Justine settled on sweeping the front up and away from her face into a complex weave of curls while the rest of her hair was left down, falling over her shoulder to her waist just as Reinier liked it.