by Chloe Harris
Perfect.
It’s what he’d thought when he’d first seen her as well. She was perfect. Flawless perfection come to life.
Reinier had forgotten how much he’d wanted her. How much he still wanted her now that he saw her again after such a long time. It all felt so new, yet it wasn’t. Still, it was exciting. Still, she was enticing. Simply seeing her again had his heart pumping heavily in his chest. And something else farther down as well.
He’d always felt physically attracted to her—almost to the point of madness. Yes, he’d always thought he’d go insane if he couldn’t have her.
Time and distance hadn’t lessened her appeal like he’d hoped it would.
She wore a simple linen dress, but nothing looked just plain on her. Whatever she wore, she looked like an angel, especially now that she had her hair down, her still-wet, wild curls fell down her back. He knew they smelt like strawberries as well. Small wood strawberries, like the ones he’d gathered when he was a boy back home.
Reinier also remembered how silken her hair felt on his skin. He’d drape it over him in the night, and lose himself in her utter femininity and mild, soothing fragrance.
The evening tide was almost gone. Almost.
So, while he was here, he might as well renew his memories; he might as well enjoy her soft, pliant body against his. It would be only natural. He was her husband and…
Suddenly remembering why he was here, a cool jolt of reality drew him out of his pleasant musings.
He was not just her husband. She’d made him a cuckold as well. He’d had a purpose coming here, after all.
Upon entering the parlor, Emiline thought she saw a ghost, an evil ghost from her past that had come to unmercifully haunt her. But Reinier was real and standing there in her parlor by the window with his back to her. When he turned around, she thought her heart had stopped beating altogether.
Now he was moving, gracefully, with a certain swing to his every movement, like the predator she thought him to be. Reinier was coming up to her and she knew she should run, should do something, anything but just foolishly stand there, paralyzed by his presence, mesmerized by how he looked at her.
He bowed to her and Emiline blinked. What was he doing? Was he formally…? Emiline gasped as she saw him lifting the book she hadn’t noticed had slipped from her fingers. Absentmindedly, she took it from him and clutched it to her chest, held on to it as if she needed something that felt solid, real.
Nonsense, she chided herself. She needed a shield.
What was he suddenly doing here? Why was he back in her life now?
“Emiline.”
She had to repress the warm, gentle shiver that snaked through her when she heard Reinier’s voice again after such a long time. It was deep and there was still that certain kind of husky mystery in it. Oh, how she’d missed it, how she’d missed hearing him speak, hearing him say her name. He always laid special emphasis on the last syllable, gave it a particular sensual quality that made her skin crawl with delectable memories of how he used to caress her cheek after he’d made love to her and he’d say her name in almost a whisper….
Good Lord.
Emiline had expected anything but this. She’d never again take Justine’s distress lightly. If only she’d listened.
Now not only did she see his eyes wandering up and down her body, she also felt them as they whispered over her. She almost trembled with the sensation that he knew exactly what was underneath her dress.
Her treacherous body instantly started to heat up. When she saw the left corner of his ever-smiling lips move upward, she was so stunned that all she could think was how could she have forgotten how breathtakingly handsome Reinier was.
Yes, his lips were so full that he always seemed to smile, and they made him look soft and sweet. She knew what he was thinking by the way his eyes, his still amazing bright citrus eyes, began to glitter.
She still felt like a rabbit staring at a cougar that had suddenly pounced out of the bushes, just like she had all those years ago when she’d first seen his intense gaze taking her in. All she could do was blink once and swallow hard.
Once more she was mesmerized by his fair beauty. He wasn’t just the most handsome man she’d ever met in her life. Now she remembered why she’d fallen so easily back then. He had a way of making one willingly do almost anything just to hear him say their name, experience his lips against their own, his hands on their body, his body against theirs, his hair tickling their neck and other places the mere thought of which made her blush.
Damn him.
His smile was triumphant even now, because he knew how she felt when he merely looked at her like that.
And curse him. His skin was a sun-baked tan, and Emiline even caught herself wondering for a moment how far his tan would go. His hair, neatly tamed at the back of his head, had faded to a lighter shade in the sun. Now he had small wrinkles around his eyes. Barely there, but they made his alluring, seductive gaze even wilder than ever. He wore a jacket that was exactly the same shade as the green part of his swirling eyes, and his elegant, golden breeches did little to hide the muscular columns underneath.
The years had added to his good looks. She’d thought him handsome then? Well, he was as beautiful as an angel now. So beautiful she’d weep if she could. But she couldn’t do anything at all. She was too stunned.
She bowed her head and gave him the friendliest smile she could manage. “Reinier.”
When he presented his arm, she took it and let him guide her to the table where their tea was set.
Aloof politeness was the right course, Emiline decided while she was sorting through the chaos in her mind. Maybe he’d be gone by the evening tide. If it wasn’t too late for it already?
Emiline busied herself by filling their cups with tea. She could deal with him. She was a strong woman. She was in charge.
Emiline almost believed herself if it hadn’t been for the tiny voice in her head that snickered evilly that she controlled every aspect of her life—save him. But she had a plan to remedy that as well, didn’t she?
The awkward silence in the room now felt oppressing. Emiline brought her cup up to her mouth and sipped elegantly while trying to find a way to start a pleasant conversation with Reinier. But what could she possibly say?
Reinier leaned back and watched her craning her head a little, blinking at him like she always did. She wasn’t showing him any kind of emotion at all. But she had to feel something. Elation or, more likely, anger. Anything that showed him she felt—for him. But she didn’t. Had she ever?
He noticed her hands were trembling. When she put the cup down on the saucer she was holding with her left hand, it clattered. Emiline cleared her throat at the embarrassing noise.
Reinier laughed softly.
“What amuses you?” She was only smiling at him, her stunningly bright eyes searching his face, and as always she didn’t have the slightest idea what he was thinking.
“I see that nothing has changed.”
“Oh…” Emiline set out, but he rose to leave and she didn’t continue.
Reinier had had enough for the moment. If he’d missed the evening tide, then they had plenty of time to talk before morning. “Since I feel fatigued after the journey, I will retire until supper. I expect you to honor me with your presence, Emiline.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but in the end, she nodded, “Of course.”
Reinier hid his disappointment behind a detached but self-assured smirk, an expression he’d practiced well over the years. He’d have preferred her sneering at him, or screaming she’d rather starve or eat maggots than dine with him. But no, he wouldn’t get any emotional reaction from her.
Emiline. Always polite. Ever the perfect wife.
He’d forced himself to forget, but he remembered now why he needed to stay away from her. She filled his sweetest dreams and haunted his nightmares. Yes, he had loved her. But he hated her for not loving him back—and that was why
he could not forgive her.
4
Emiline had lingered in her preparations for dinner hoping to annoy Reinier by making him wait, but now she decided that was a much too petty and cowardly tact for the Mistress of Bougainvilla.
Her foot was tapping with apprehension as she sat at her dressing table. She pictured him down in her parlor, with his typically triumphant smirk, the smile that she hated and loved at the same time.
She mustn’t let him get to her. Not again. Not ever. He wasn’t worth it. Each emotion Emiline let him pull from her was like another stabbing pinprick, and she wanted them to stop. She ruled here, and now she was overly anxious to get downstairs and show him just that.
Justine was humming softly to try and calm her. “Be still, child, or I’ll never be done.”
“Sorry.” It wasn’t a complicated style, just a simple pile of curls to go with her simple tan silk dress and ordinary sea-green cap-sleeved jacket. Still, Emiline found it hard to remain still enough for Justine to finish her hair.
“I don’t blame you, though. That man would try the patience of St. Rita of Cascia popping up here out of the blue like that.”
“What possessed him to come here, Justine? Why didn’t I throw him out of my house as soon as I saw him?” Was it really just a coincidence that he’d returned right when she’d asked someone to find him? Emiline pricked her thumb with the pin she’d been playing with and threw it carelessly on the vanity table.
“Worse of all, my brain was so addled before I could think of any kind of witty reply, he just left—left me alone in the parlor with my tea and a million questions.”
“No use fretting about it now. If I know my girl, you’ll be thinking much more clearly at dinner. Don’t you worry.”
Emiline took a deep, calming breath. “Thank you, Justine. Yes, I do believe I am thinking much more clearly now. It’s of no special consequence that Reinier came here past that of convenience.” She refused to say he’d come home. “I hadn’t thought it was important to meet in person, just that we could handle the matter like any other business transaction. But it might be fortuitous he’s here. This way I can get the things over more quickly.”
“The quicker the better, I’d say.” Justine added the last pin to Emiline’s hair. “You sure you don’t want me to do anything else? Maybe add a string of pearls or pull a few curls down?”
Emiline looked at the plain style in the mirror. “No, this will do fine. Thank you.” She didn’t need to make any kind of impression. There was no need to take any special care whatsoever with her appearance for a man, not husband, but just a man she barely knew and certainly didn’t want meddling in her life anymore.
“If you wish, but I say the more armor, the better to face the devil.” Justine took one more quick look over her handiwork.
“He’s not the devil, Justine, just a shrewd businessman. You know, even if I hadn’t realized it in the beginning, our marriage wasn’t anything but a business transaction. Why shouldn’t the end of it be the same?” She’d make it through dinner with just a little small talk and then casually remind him of how well they’ve both done apart from each other.
Justine’s snort was derogatory. “If you say so, but, darling, I was there when the honeymoon was over and you suddenly found yourself alone. If only you’d listened to your father’s warnings before it was too late.”
“I know.” Emiline sighed, thinking back on how she’d told her father time and again that Reinier wasn’t like the others. Eventually, her father gave up trying with a sympathetic, sad smile. You know there’s nothing I can deny you, he’d said, kissing her forehead.
Emiline knew now she’d been overconfident in her youth. She thought she was oh-so-special and her love was enough to hold Reinier. She’d been completely happy to give herself up to being the perfect wife—had, in fact, believed it would be enough for him.
But bitter realization had woken her from her dream. Reinier Barhydt had never wanted her love, hadn’t wanted the burden of responsibilities that came with being master of Bougainvilla and being her husband. He had only wanted her money. And just as her father had predicted, she couldn’t keep him with her on Ronde.
Emiline walked to the full-length silver mirror and took one last look. “We’re both businesspeople now. I’ll make him see the logic and tremendous profit in him signing the papers. If all goes according to plan and he agrees, then maybe he’ll even be gone from l’Île de Ronde and our lives by the morning tide.”
Justine knit her brows, her frown deepening. Paying that no mind, Emiline opened the door. The stage was set; now all she had to do was play her part. It was easy, really.
“From your mouth to God’s ears, child.” Emiline heard Justine’s murmur just as she stepped out of her room.
Reinier paced in front of the open French doors of the dining room. The fresh evening breeze and scent of bougainvilleas, sugarcane, and sea did nothing to lighten his mood.
He stopped to look out at the cliffs above the caves, wondering again what the hell had really made him come. One thing was for sure, as Captain of the Sirene, he had a reputation to uphold. If word got out that his wife was cuckolding him and doing as she pleased, his ability keep his own house in order might be called into question, and thereby his ability to keep his business dealings in order as well.
Not that he actually wanted any real part in having to keep his own house in order. It was rather annoying to have to take time out of the life he so enjoyed to be forced back here to bring his wife in line. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to charm her into agreement; then, after a very pleasurable night of husbandly duties, he could be on his way. Maybe even on the morning tide.
He checked the clock on the mantel above the fireplace again and his frustration grew. Obviously, his spoiled little island beauty hadn’t changed at all. Still playing childish games by keeping him waiting.
But when he turned at the sound of delicate yet determined footsteps coming through the door behind him, all his previous thoughts were forgotten and lost in the vision of someone he didn’t recognize standing before him.
This moment Reinier knew she wasn’t the same. This faultless beauty standing just inside the doorway to the dining room was not the girl he’d married.
Already a very appealing and exquisite, comely girl, Emiline had become a stunningly gorgeous woman. As his intense gaze examined her appearance, taking her in slowly from head to toe, he noticed her chin inched higher with indignation. But Reinier paid that no mind. He looked his fill. If anybody had a right to do it, it was him—whether she welcomed it or not. On the contrary, her reluctance to enjoy his sensual perusal made the task even more luscious than it already was.
He was glad she didn’t favor the busier fashions of the day with all their ribbons and lace and bows. She didn’t need them. Her eyes were jewels, her skin was warm silk, and her hair was entwined with its own strands of gold. They were all the accessories she needed. And he hoped to see her with nothing else very, very soon.
Also, Reinier noticed that she was, it seemed, a woman as impatient as he’d just been by the look in those magnificent blue-green eyes.
He moved toward her to lead her to the table set near the open French doors to catch the breeze. The table by the doors had been set without its leaves, creating an intimate and casual feel as if this was how the master and mistress had their dinner every night.
His gaze, he knew, was predatory; perhaps much more revealing than he had at first intended. But it was only natural. She had achieved the impossible by becoming more beautiful than ever, and Reinier couldn’t seem to help the attraction he was beginning to feel for the improved looks of his wife.
The servants, arms laden with food trays, were moving into the room from a side door. Emiline gave Reinier a small nod, lightly placed her hand on top of his, and without a word let him guide her to her chair.
They ate much of their meal of prawns, citrus-glazed chicken, roasted yams, and fresh fruits
in little more than an awkward silence.
“You had fair weather sailing in?”
“Yes, it was quite nice. The prawns were excellent. Were they caught this morning?”
“I believe so; there should have been mussels as well.”
“Wonderful.”
It wasn’t that they didn’t have a lot to say to each other. He assumed she, too, was carefully testing, trying to find a way to lead the conversation in the direction she wanted. They both had their agendas, he was sure, only it seemed that no occasion would arise to allow either one to finally start the topic they intended to talk about.
Finally, Reinier had enough. He broke another long stretch of silence right before she could seize the chance to make her excuses and take her leave for the night. “I must tell you, madam, Bougainvilla seems to be doing quite well. Of course, I haven’t had time to see too much of it as of yet, but it seems to be thriving. Who’s your man, by the way?”
Her fork clattered on her plate; the tips of her ears pinkened. Reinier’s lips twitched into a mean smile.
“My man? Sir, whatever do you mean?” She blinked innocently and her gasp was exaggerated. “I was under the assumption that you were under the assumption that it was you.”
Her eyes sparkled with the cold, calculating certainty of her quick mind. Reinier was taken aback with that bit of sarcastic wit. It tasted just a tiny bit of hostility. It would seem that more than just her outer carriage had changed.
“Touché, madam.” He winked quickly.
If she wanted to challenge him, he was more than up for the task—in more than one sense of the word to be sure. If irritating her made her react to him in more than the usual slightly bored and superficial way, then more’s the better. After all, it meant she felt something for him and wasn’t just trying to keep up appearances and be the perfect wife. Just that thought alone made his chest tighten and his breath come quicker.
