“Upset? You were damned near incoherent.”
“And you were your usual arrogant self. Let me go, dammit.”
She wrenched her wrist free and scrambled to her feet. Mason followed her up, his angry glance going from her to their small but intensely interested audience. His eyes narrowed on Sarah.
“You must be the sister.”
“I… Yes.”
His jaw working, he shifted to Dev. “Who the hell are you?”
“The sister’s fiancé.”
“What!” Gina’s shriek ricocheted off the walls. “Since when?”
“It’s a long story,” Sarah said weakly. “Why don’t we, uh, go someplace a little more private and I’ll explain.”
“Let’s go.” Gina hooked an arm through Sarah’s, then whirled to glare at the two men. “Not you. Not either of you. This is between me and my sister.”
It wasn’t, but Dev yielded ground. Mason was forced to follow suit, although he had to vent his feelings first.
“You, Eugenia Amalia Therése St. Sebastian, are the most irresponsible, irritating, thickheaded female I’ve ever met.”
Her nostrils flaring, Gina tilted her chin in a way that would have made the duchess proud. “Then aren’t you fortunate, Ambassador, that I refused to marry you.”
*
Her regal hauteur carried her as far as the stairwell. Abandoning it on the first step, she yanked on Sarah’s arm to hurry her up to their room. Once inside, she let the door slam and thrust her sister toward the sofa wedged into the turret sitting room.
“Sit.” She pointed a stern finger. “Talk. Now.”
Sarah sat, but talking didn’t come easy. “It’s a little difficult to explain.”
“No, it’s not. Start at the beginning. When and where did you meet Dev?”
“In New York. At my office. When he came to show me the surveillance video of you lifting his Byzantine medallion.”
Gina’s jaw sagged. “What Byzantine…? Oh! Wait! Do you mean that little gold-and-blue thingy?”
“That little gold-and-blue thingy is worth more than a hundred thousand pounds.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I was. What did you do with it, Gina?”
“I didn’t do anything with it.”
“Dev’s surveillance video shows the medallion sitting on its stand when you sashay up to the display shelves. When you sashay away, the medallion’s gone.”
“Good grief, Sarah, you don’t think I stole it, do you?”
“No, and that’s what I told him from day one.”
“He thinks I stole it?”
The fury that flashed in her eyes didn’t bode well for Devon Hunter.
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Sarah lied. “What matters is that the medallion’s missing. Think, sweetie, think. Did you lift it off its stand? Or knock it off by accident, so it fell behind the shelves, maybe?”
“I did lift it, but I just wanted to feel the surface. You know, rub a thumb over that deep blue enamel.” Her forehead creased in concentration. “Then I heard someone coming and… Oh, damn! I must have slipped it into my pocket. It’s probably still there.”
“Gina!” The two syllables came out on a screech. “How could you not remember slipping a twelfth-century Byzantine medallion in your pocket?”
“Hey, I didn’t know it was a twelfth-century anything. And I’d just taken the pregnancy test that morning, okay? I was a little rattled. I’m surprised I made it to work that evening, much less managed to smile and orchestrate Hunter’s damned dinner.”
She whirled and headed for the door. Sarah jumped up to follow.
“I’m going to rip him a new one,” Gina fumed. “How dare he accuse me of…” She yanked open the door and instantly switched pronouns. “How dare you accuse me of stealing?”
The two men in the hall returned distinctly different frowns. Jack Mason’s was quick and confused. Dev’s was slower and more puzzled.
“You didn’t take it?”
“No, Mr. High-and-Mighty Hunter, I didn’t.”
“Take what?” Mason wanted to know.
“Then where is it?”
“I’m guessing it’s in the pocket of the jacket I wore that evening.”
“So you did take it?”
“Take what?”
Sarah cut in. “Gina was just running a hand over the surface when she heard footsteps. She didn’t want to be caught fingering it, so she slipped it into her pocket.”
“Dammit!” the ambassador exploded. “What the hell are you three talking about it?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Gina returned icily. “Why are you in my room, anyway? I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Tough. I’ve still got plenty to say to you.”
Sarah had had enough. A night of gut-wrenching worry, little sleep, no breakfast and now all this shouting was giving her a world-class headache. Before she could tell everyone to please shut up, Dev hooked her elbow and edged her out the door. With his other hand, he pushed Mason inside.
“You take care of your woman. I’ll take care of mine.”
“Wait a minute!” Thoroughly frustrated, Gina stamped a foot. “I still don’t know how or when or why you two got engaged. You can’t just…”
Dev closed the door in her face.
“Ooh,” Sarah breathed. “She’ll make you pay for that.”
He braced both hands against the wall, caging her in. “Do I look worried?”
What he looked was unshaven, red-eyed and pissed.
“What are you doing here?” she asked a little breathlessly. “When I called the Hôtel Verneuil a while ago, they told me you had some kind of crisis in your business and had to fly home.”
“I had a crisis, all right, but it was here. We need to get something straight, Lady Sarah. From now on, it’s not my sister or your business. We’re in this together. Forever. Or at least until we deliver on that promise to give kid number four a cruise on the Seine.”
Sixteen
The prewedding dinner was held on the evening of May 3 at Avery’s, where Dev had first “proposed” to Sarah. He reserved the entire restaurant for the event. The wedding ceremony and reception took place at the Plaza the following evening.
Gina, who’d emerged from a private session with the duchess white-faced and shaking, had regained both her composure and some of her effervescence. She then proceeded to astonish both her sister and her grandmother by taking charge of the dinner, the wedding ceremony and the reception.
To pull them off, she’d enlisted the assistance of Andrew at the Plaza, who’d aged with immense dignity since that long-ago day he’d discreetly taken care of an inebriated presidential aide during Grandmama’s soirée for the Sultan of Oman. Gina also formed a close alliance with Patrick Donovan, Dev’s incredibly capable and supremely confident executive assistant.
All Sarah had to do was draw up her guest list and select her dress. She kept the list small. She wanted to enjoy her wedding, not feel as though she was participating in a carefully scripted media event. Besides, she didn’t have any family other than Grandmama, Gina and Maria.
She did invite a number of close friends and coworkers—including Alexis. Beguile’s executive editor had admitted the Paris thing was a mistake of epic proportions, but swore she’d never intended to publish a single photo without Sarah’s permission. As a peace offering/wedding present, she’d had the photos printed and inserted into a beautifully inscribed, gilt-edged scrapbook. Just to be safe, Sarah had also had her hand over the disk with the complete set of JPEGs.
Dev’s guest list was considerably longer than his bride’s. His parents, sisters, their spouses and various offspring had flown to New York four days before the wedding. Dev had arranged a whirlwind trip to New Mexico so Sarah could meet most of them. She’d gotten to know them better while playing Big Apple tour guide. She’d also gained more insight into her complex, fascinating, handsome fiancé as more of his friends and
associates arrived, some from his Air Force days, some from the years afterward.
Elise and Jean-Jacques Girault had flown in from Paris the afternoon before the wedding, just in time for dinner at the Avery. Sarah wasn’t surprised that Elise and Alexis formed an instant bond, but the sight of Madame Girault snuggled against one of Dev’s friends during predinner cocktails made her a tad nervous.
“Uh-oh,” she murmured to Dev. “Do you think she’s trying to seduce him?”
“Probably.”
She searched the crowded restaurant, spotted Monsieur Girault happily chatting with Gina and relaxed.
*
Her wedding day dawned sunny and bright. Gina once again assumed charge. She’d accepted Dev’s offer of payment without a qualm and arranged a full day at a spa for the women in the wedding party. She, Sarah, the duchess, Maria, Dev’s mother and sisters and the two little nieces who would serve as flower girls all got the works. The adults indulged in massages, facials, manicures, pedicures and hair treatments. The giggling little girls had their hair done and their fingernails and toenails painted pale lavender.
Sarah had enjoyed every moment of it, but especially treasured the half hour lying next to her sister on side-by-side massage tables while their facial masks cleaned and tightened their pores. According to the attendant, the masks were made of New Zealand Manuka honey, lavender oils and shea butter, with the additive of bee venom, which reputedly gave Kate Middleton her glowing complexion.
“At fifty-five thousand dollars per bottle, the venom better produce results,” Gina muttered.
Only the fact that their masks contained a single drop of venom each, thus reducing the treatment price to just a little over a hundred dollars, kept Sarah from having a heart attack. Reaching across the space between the tables, she took Gina’s hand.
“Thanks for doing all this.”
“You’re welcome.” Her sister’s mouth turned up in one of her irrepressible grins. “It’s easy to throw great parties when you’re spending someone else’s money.”
“You’re good at it.”
“Yes,” she said smugly, “I am.”
Her grin slowly faded and her fingers tightened around Sarah’s.
“It’s one of the few things I am good at. I’m going to get serious about it, Sarah. I intend to learn everything I can about the event-planning business before the baby’s born. That way, I can support us both.”
“What about Jack Mason? How does he figure in this plan?”
“He doesn’t.”
“It’s his child, too, Gina.”
“He’ll have as much involvement in the baby’s life as he wants,” she said stubbornly, “but not mine. It’s time—past time—I took responsibility for myself.”
Sarah couldn’t argue with that, but she had to suppress a few doubts as she squeezed Gina’s hand. “You know I’ll help you any way I can. Dev, too.”
“I know, but I’ve got to do this on my own. And you’re going to have your hands full figuring how to meld your life with his. Have you decided yet where you’re going to live?”
“In L.A., if we can convince Grandmama to move out there with us. Maria, too.”
“They’ll hate leaving New York.”
“I know.”
Sarah’s joy in her special day dimmed. She’d had several conversations with the duchess about a possible move. None of them had ended satisfactorily. As an alternative, Dev had offered to temporarily move his base of operations to New York and commute to L.A.
“I just can’t bear to think of Grandmama alone in that huge apartment.”
“Well…” Gina hesitated, indecision written all over her face. “I know I just made a big speech about standing on my own two feet, but I hate the thought of her being alone, too. I could…I could move in with her until I land a job. Or maybe until the baby’s born. If she’ll have me, that is, which isn’t a sure thing after the scathing lecture she delivered when I got back from Switzerland.”
“Oh, Gina, she’ll have you! You know she will. She loves you.” Sarah’s eyes misted. “Almost as much as I do.”
“Stop,” Gina pleaded, her own tears spouting. “You can’t walk down the aisle with your eyes all swollen and red. Dev’ll strangle me.”
*
As Dev took his place under the arch of gauzy netting lit by a thousand tiny, sparkling lights, strangling his soon-to-be sister-in-law was the furthest thing from his mind. He was as surprised as Sarah and the duchess at the way Gina had pulled everything together. So when the maid of honor followed two giggling flower girls down the aisle, he gave Gina a warm smile.
She returned it, but Dev could tell the sight of the unexpected, uninvited guest at the back of the room had shaken her. Mason stood with his arms folded and an expression on his face that suggested he didn’t intend to return to Washington until he’d sorted some things out with the mother of his child.
Then the music swelled and Dev’s gaze locked on the two women coming down the aisle arm in arm. Sarah matched her step to that of the duchess, who’d stated bluntly she did not require a cane to walk a few yards and give her granddaughter away. Spine straight, chin high, eyes glowing with pride, she did just that.
“I hope you understand what a gift I’m giving you, Devon.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
With a small harrumph, the duchess kissed her granddaughter’s cheek and took her seat. Then Sarah turned to Dev, and he felt himself fall into her smile. She was so luminous, so elegant. So gut-wrenchingly beautiful.
He still couldn’t claim to know anything about haute couture, but she’d told him she would be wearing a Dior gown her grandmother had bought in Paris in the ’60s. The body-clinging sheath of cream-colored satin gave Dev a whole new appreciation of what Sarah termed vintage. The neckline fell in a soft drape and was caught at each shoulder by a clasp adorned with soft, floating feathers. The same downy feathers circled her tiny pillbox cap with its short veil.
Taking the hand she held out to him, he tucked it close to his heart and grinned down at her.
“Are you ready for phase three, Lady Sarah?”
“I am,” she laughed. “So very, very ready.”
Epilogue I must admit I approve of Sarah’s choice of husband. I should, since I decided Devon Hunter was right for her even before he blackmailed her into posing as his fiancée. How absurd that they still think I don’t know about the deception.
Almost as absurd as Eugenia’s stubborn refusal to marry the father of her child. I would respect her decision except, to borrow the Bard’s immortal words, the lady doth protest too much. I do so dislike the sordid, steaming cauldron of modern politics, but I shall have to learn more about this Jack Mason. In the meantime, I’ll have the inestimable joy of watching Eugenia mature into motherhood—hopefully!
From the diary of Charlotte, Grand Duchess of Karlenburgh *
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One
“Stern, what can a woman do to make a man want her?”
Stern Westmoreland, who had been looking through the scope of his hunting rifle, jerked his head around at the unexpected question, nearly knocking the cap off his head.
He glared at the woman beside him who was staring through the scope of her own rifle. When a shot rang out, expletives flowed from his lips. “Dammit, JoJo, you did that on purpose. You asked me that just to ruin my concentration.”
She lowered her rifle and frowned at him. “I did not. I asked you because I really want to know. And if it makes you feel better, I missed my target just now.”
Stern rolled his eyes. So what if she had missed her shot now? Nothing had stopped her from taking down that huge elk yesterday when he had yet to hit anything, not even a coyote. On days like this he wondered why he always invited his best friend on these hunting trips. She showed him up each and every time.
Lifting his rifle and looking through the scope again, he drew in a deep breath. He knew why he always invited JoJo. He liked having her around. When he was with her he could be himself and not a man trying to impress anyone. Their comfortable relationship was why she’d been his best friend for years.
“Well?”
He lowered the scope from his eye to look at her. “Well what?”
“You didn’t answer me. What can a woman do to make a man want her? Other than jump into bed. I’m not into casual sex.”
A Business Engagement Page 17