by Chloe Harris
Emiline then dabbed a little of the perfume, a light combination of fresh bergamot with a discreet layer of violets underneath the lush sweetness of wood strawberries, behind her earlobes, on her wrists, between her breasts, and between her thighs before she stepped into her dress.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken so much care in her dressing, and she’d forgotten how much fun it could be. Emiline looked at herself in the mirror, her fingers smoothing the shimmering coppery silk of her stomacher and dress that were highlighted with silver flowers and bows. The same flowers trimmed the three rows of silvery lace flounces on her sleeves that ended just above the elbows. The lace ruff around her neck held small, silvery flowers as well and complemented the six silver bows in graduated sizes on her bodice. Silvery satin shoes completed the ensemble.
When she made her way down the main stairs, she felt both confident and excited. She was so eager to show Reinier how she looked, she had to force herself to stop and take deep, calming breaths before she opened the doors to the study to—
She needn’t have bothered. They weren’t waiting in the study.
Was she late? Hadn’t she rushed enough? Emiline tried the dining room next, but the only people in there were the maids setting out the china. Taking a moment to double-check the preparations and finding everything to her satisfaction, she resumed her search for her husband and their guest.
When she didn’t find them in the main sitting room either, Emiline started to worry. They were nowhere to be found. Her choker seemed to leap with each forceful thrum of her pulse.
Rushing to the sunroom, she checked what she could see of the harbor, holding her hand over her heart as if that would stop it from jumping out of her bodice. She could see both the Sirene and the Coraal were still anchored, only their captains were—
A small movement on the south lawn caught her eye. It was a nervous blinking at first until it eventually captured the last rays of the dying sun and blinded her. Emiline held her hand up to shield her eyes and saw two figures.
She hesitated for a moment, reluctant to soil her shoes, but curiosity got the better of her. Out of the open doors that led from the sunroom into the garden, she ventured toward that blinding little object. Finally, she realized it was one of those stupid iron balls she’d hidden in a shed.
Standing at the entrance of the naturally grown archway of vast, wild oleander shrubs, Emiline heard laughter. Focusing in the direction where she’d heard the merriment, she spotted Reinier and Connor. They were playing lawn bowls, both in just their breeches and shirts with their sleeves rolled up over their elbows.
She pressed her lips together. Obviously neither one was worried at all about taking care to dress for dinner or to even be on time for that matter. Her heart sank more with every passing moment.
It was Connor’s turn. The black ball rolled directly at the silver ball closest to the smaller, white jack, knocking Reinier’s ball out of play. Connor, having won the game, thus raised both his hands over his head. They didn’t just shake hands like gentlemen, they fell into a warm hug. Reinier said something Emiline couldn’t make out; then they were roughhousing with each other while retrieving the bowls, pushing and laughing at each other all the while.
Her thoughts went still.
So, her husband and his friend were having a grand time enjoying each other’s company and not sparing a single thought on her.
How could she have been so wrong about Reinier? She now saw quite plainly that it all had been nothing but a game for him. He’d fooled her into giving in to his every whim right from the start, and it had always been a way to fill idle time away until Connor showed up again, then he’d leave.
What a deceitful bastard!
Connor looked in her direction and remained still as if he’d seen her. Reinier followed the Irishman’s gaze, then walked to the small fountain close by.
Emiline would show them both what she was made of. Nothing they did could hurt her. This had only ever been a means to an end and her freedom. Remembering that helped her shut down her feelings. She made her way back to the manor, her chin inched higher and her shoulders squared.
14
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” Reinier sighed, crouching next to Connor to pick up the silver ball while he gathered his. He avoided the Irishman’s gaze on purpose. It hadn’t been easy to reveal there were problems with Emiline, not that Connor couldn’t have guessed from her behavior earlier. But perhaps he had a clue that would help. Maybe something that Reinier had somehow missed.
Connor laughed, still jesting. “Or gotten into you? Your aim is way off. Are you letting me win?” But then he paused and Reinier could feel his contemplating gaze on him. “You needn’t worry, Reinier. She’s just angry.”
He was at his wit’s end at the moment. “I wonder if marrying her was worth all the trouble.”
Getting up, Connor nodded in understanding. “In my opinion that’s the real drawback about marriage—once you’re in, you’re in.”
That was a little hypocritical. “I’m not as fortunate as you,” Reinier snapped. Unlike Connor, he didn’t have prospering warehouses to bank on. “You know why I married her. I do believe it was on your suggestion that I did.”
Tossing the jack into Reinier’s hands, Connor quirked an indignant eyebrow. “Yes, I know why you married her. But do you?” He took a deep breath and his demeanor softened. “Reinier, I also know why you left.”
Pursing his lips, Reinier headed back to the end of the green. He heard Connor’s breathy laugh at his side the next instant. “She probably just needs a good whipping.”
Reinier couldn’t stop the smug grin from blossoming.
“Ahh.” Connor chuckled. “You already did that.”
Nodding, Reinier shrugged and harrumphed. “So much good it did. She’s developed into a termagant.”
Connor stopped in his tracks and burst into grunts of laughter. “You mean there is finally a woman you can’t manage with your customary sense of detachment?”
Reinier snorted. He wanted to contradict him, but Connor was right, and as irksome as it was, they both knew it.
“Well, if you ask me, I think it’s perfectly understandable.”
“What is?” Reinier rolled the jack to the other end of the green.
“Her reaction.” Connor spoke low, carefully watching where the jack came to lie. “You sailed away from her and didn’t return for four years. I’d say she’s entitled to a little hostility.”
Time and again, Connor had chided him on his decision to stay away from her, but Connor would never understand why Reinier had to do it. He wasn’t in the mood to hear it again. “Are you on her side now?”
“Side?” Connor sputtered the word with a half snort, half gasp. “This isn’t about sides, Reinier. It’s about marriage.” Holding his hand up in an appeasing gesture, he cut off Reinier’s reply before he could even take a breath to utter it. “Of course she’s brushed me and my gifts off. Who is it that you’ve been spending your time with the last four years instead of her?”
“Still, I see no reason for her to—”
“Love has got nothing to do with reason.” Connor placed his hand on Reinier’s shoulder, his gaze a trifle too observant for Reinier’s taste.
“This isn’t about love and well you know it,” Reinier growled. Connor had no idea what he was talking about. He’d been a fool to think the Irishman could impart some kind of insight. Connor was as far off the mark about Emiline as he himself was with his lawn bowling aim.
“It isn’t about love?” Connor raised a cynical eyebrow.
“No.” Reinier heard the irritation in his own voice. “It’s about divorce. She wants to divorce me.” He spat the words out with all the disdain they created in him.
“Oh.” Connor lifted his reassuring hand off Reinier’s shoulder, turned, took aim, and tossed the first bowl. “Really?” Connor’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “I can’t imagine why.”
> His bowl came to lie right next to the jack, and when he turned to face Reinier, his eyes glinted with triumph. “Well? What’s keeping you?”
Taking aim, Reinier swallowed his reply. He cared for Emiline more than was good for him, but her distant manner earlier was beyond his grasp. Why couldn’t he let her go?
Reinier heard Connor’s knowing snicker. The Irishman had just made his point. Damn Connor’s cleverness, but he was right. If Reinier didn’t love her, he could have divorced her without a second thought.
“Irish bastard. Why can’t I be mad at you?”
Connor shrugged, let out an exaggerated sigh, and flicked his wrist in an airy gesture. “It’s my charming smile. It has a devastating effect on the ladies as well.” He winked, drawling, “Gets them every time….”
Bursting into laughter, Reinier elbowed Connor in the ribs. “Conceited fop!”
Bending forward, Connor clutched his chest and mimicked great pain, stumbling with the pretended impact. He might have been about to reply, but his gaze was suddenly drawn to the flower-covered archway leading back to Bougainvilla and his whole demeanor changed. He straightened and the playful smirk on his lips sobered into a polite, welcoming smile.
Reinier followed his gaze and saw Emiline standing there, looking like a goddess in a copper gown lavishly embellished with silver. She wore her hair down, just as he’d asked.
But by the way she held her back so perfectly straight and her hands balled into fists at her sides, there was no mistaking that this was his wife as he knew her, the veritable epitome of cold perfection.
Reinier went to the small fountain where a fat little cupid spit water. Washing his hands in jerky motions, he splashed more water around than was necessary but didn’t notice until Connor cleared his throat loudly by his side, wiping a few drops off his shirt deliberately.
When Connor had cleaned up as well, Reinier handed him the linen towel in silence. Looking toward the manor, he saw that his wife was no longer on the lawn. They were late for dinner, he assumed, and she’d come looking. He waited for Connor and they walked back to the house to freshen up and change as quickly as they could.
On entering the dining room, Emiline stood by the table with her eyes down. Her surprising compliancy upset Reinier even more. She acted the humble, demure hostess too perfectly for it to be genuine, which raised his suspicions anew.
Connor’s barely audible sigh disrupted the emotionally charged silence. The Irishman walked toward her and bowed over her hand. “Madame, you look splendid if I may say so.” He waved his hand, an exuberant, inviting gesture for Reinier to have a closer look himself, which he ignored. “You are aware that your lady is the most beautiful woman on either side of the ocean?”
Snorting, Reinier rolled his eyes. “Appearances are deceiving, especially in this case, believe me.” Staring down his nose at her, his tone was deliberately cool. “I think it’s time to apologize to Connor.”
With a smile that didn’t reach her eyes—or the corners of her mouth, for that matter—Emiline bowed gracefully in turn. “Please forgive my contemptible behavior earlier, Monsieur O’Driscoll.”
Of course she’d given the perfect apology. Anything else would have been beneath her. Connor seemed happily unaware of all that and flicked his wrist as if to say he thought nothing of it.
The next moment, Justine’s forceful stride interrupted them. With her gaze fixated on Emiline, she announced, “Dinner is served.”
Reinier’s reaction to Emiline hiding behind the mask of the ideal wife after what they’d shared was fiercer than ever before. He was furious; he wanted to hiss and spit his contempt but thought better of it. If she could uphold her detached façade, then so could he. He just went around the table to sit down, his eyes flicking to his wife every once in a while, watchful to catch any sign of when or if that façade might crack.
Connor took his seat as well, but Emiline remained standing. “May I sit down with you, messieurs?”
“No,” Reinier answered quickly, his eyes narrowing on her. “Kindly stay where you are in case we require anything.” The corner of his lip twitched into a devious smile at the unspeakable, vicious satisfaction he felt at the moment. Not even Connor’s condemning glare could taint his joy.
“Really, Reinier. Come now.” His words were full of reproach. “The lady was unwell earlier. You should take more care with something so precious.” Connor stood and walked to Emiline, offering his arm for her to accompany him to the table. “Come, madame, and sit close to me.”
Emiline took his hand, her eyes widening for a moment, before a devious glitter highlighted them. She slung her arm around Connor’s and, with her other hand on his upper arm, leaned into him a little more than was proper.
“Thank you, Monsieur O’Driscoll,” she breathed. “You’re too kind.” Her sideward glance to Reinier didn’t go unnoticed.
Laughing, Connor shook his head as he righted her seat. “Don’t call me that, please. If you say that name, I believe my brother is standing right behind me.” Connor gave a theatrical shudder and leaned closer. “It’s Connor only for you, milady.”
He gave Emiline his best “devastatingly charming” smile, as he’d called it. Reinier was anything but amused. He supposed he might find the whole situation hilarious if this weren’t his wife and his best friend. But right now Reinier found it all rather alarming, especially when Emiline leaned in closer to Connor, her chin resting on her hand with her elbow braced on the table.
“Your older brother?” she asked, her voice low and slightly husky.
Good Lord! Was she flirting? Reinier staked his conch as if it were still alive and not just merrily swimming in lime juice and chilies.
An exaggerated sigh preceded Connor’s reply. “My younger brother, unfortunately. We were told that he was born two minutes after me.”
Reinier watched in growing aggravation as Connor reached for Emiline’s plate and served her some of the snapper with onions and peppers. Reinier’s dinner tasted very bitter all of a sudden.
“Upon my father’s death he assumed his place chiding my waywardness,” Connor continued, helping himself to some snapper as well.
“Your wayward…?” Emiline asked, prodding him to elaborate.
“Yes,” Connor nodded. “Preferring the sea to running one or more of the warehouses and”—he made a circular gesture with the knife he held to emphasize a vague description of his “waywardness”—“all that.”
“And all that…wildness, I presume?”
Connor seemed a little jolted at that. Reinier was quite astonished himself.
Again, she laughed. “I may be secluded on this island, but I’m not completely shut off from the world here. Sailors tend to…tattle.”
“Ah.” Connor’s eyes flicked to Reinier briefly. “I see.”
“It’s a pity we haven’t met all those times your ship was anchored here. You could have called on me at least once.” She pouted her lips slightly, silently chiding Connor.
Reinier had never seen her like this. Was this coquettish behavior something all women were born with? Reinier wondered. Was this the way she behaved with all the guests she entertained? Did she entertain a lot of male guests? Somehow his appetite was dwindling.
“A pity I never called, indeed,” Connor concurred. “It seems the occasion never arose.”
Reinier snorted with contempt. Connor always rose, quite quickly actually, when the situation called for it….
“So, Connor, you have a younger brother—a twin?” Emiline continued, ignoring Reinier’s slip.
“Yes?”
“Is he as good-looking as you?” She batted her flirtatious lashes.
Putting his fork aside, Connor placed his hand over his heart and bowed. “Milady, you are too kind. We do look very much alike, although Kier wears his hair much longer. Unfashionably so, I’m afraid. Once or twice we have been told that his eyes were brighter. In general, he’s a bore—although he wasn’t always like that. But
now you wouldn’t like him at all.”
“No?”
“No.” Connor shook his head to emphasize his point. “He is too serious. He wouldn’t match your spirit or your playfulness, believe me.” He winked.
That was quite enough. Their banter had used up all the patience Reinier had left, which after this afternoon hadn’t been much to begin with. He pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing on both of them. “When you two are finished, I’d appreciate it—” Turning his anger fully on Emiline, he continued, “If you could get me some more wine.”
“Of course. I’d be delighted to.” She rose and passed Reinier without so much as a sideward glance. Who on earth did she think she was?
Just when she bent over his glass to refill it, Reinier was slowly losing his inner struggle not to let his ire show. He did his best to hold on to his outward detachment with everything he had, but when she stood and stared at him as if daring him with eyes void of any emotion, he felt his fury snap.
“The perfect hostess. The perfect wife,” Reinier drawled. Reaching for her bodice, he pulled it down with one quick motion. Her eyes, suddenly wide as a doe’s, conveyed her shock for just the fraction of a second.
Taking his time, Reinier exposed her breasts one after the other. When he was finished, Reinier took a deep breath and let it out with relief. “There now. That’s much better. Now you’re not quite so perfect anymore.”
She pressed her lips together tightly. Despite that, Reinier saw nothing in her demeanor that betrayed any reaction except for a faint blush on her cheeks for the blink of an eye. His frustration knew no bounds. How far did he have to go to see her mask of indifference crack?
Emiline set the decanter down with a soft thump and attempted to cover herself, but Reinier stayed her hand. “No, leave it. I do believe you’re even more perfect now, Lily.”
Slowly and reverently, he caressed her breasts lightly, pinching one until her nipple puckered and stood invitingly; then he teased her other breast, rubbing the tip lightly and tweaking it in tiny, playful motions until that nipple popped up too. He tore his attention away from her breasts until his eyes met hers.