by Chloe Harris
He should feel good. He should be happy that she’d thought of it first; after all, he had made himself believe—no, he’d thought their marriage was a burden for the last years.
Nevertheless, he’d appreciate it if she just did as he said and kept her admittedly appealing mouth shut.
No, it didn’t make sense. His thoughts raced through his mind, one contradicting the other.
How could she! How dare she try and cast him off!
Well, by the terms laid out, she must have assumed it would take a large sum of enticement—that was clear. Emiline had been rather gracious, actually, if one looked at it objectively. It was very well thought-out and precise. It would make good sense to do it.
But Reinier found himself feeling anything but rational or objective. Right now he felt like the bull in front of which one had waved the red cloth once too often. His nostrils flared, and hot, crimson anger crept up his neck and stuck stubbornly to his cheeks. He felt the urge to ball his hands into fists, papers in them or not, he didn’t mind. He wanted to throw the papers through the room and roar with outrage.
Breathing deeply, he forced the muscles in his arms and neck to relax. He wouldn’t sink that low and allow himself this kind of emotional outburst, even though the tightening in his chest he’d felt for the last few hours had turned into a stinging lump of pain now.
He’d let her do it again; he knew he mustn’t allow himself to feel for her for his own sake. In the end, it hurt too much.
Reinier fought his way back to his senses. None of this mattered. He had his charms, he knew, and he’d use each and every one of them.
He didn’t feel wounded by her irresponsible show of defiance anymore, not even in a small way. No, he actually took this predicament as just another challenge, a game to play and win before he moved on to the next thing. He felt as if he was back in his element where he was comfortable and in control.
Pinching his lower lip and thinking of how he would play this game, he suddenly remembered the small box of “treasures,” as he called them. He always had them with him, and right in that moment he knew that the fortune he’d spent on them was more than worth it.
Reinier decided exactly how he would go about it. First, he’d appeal to the savvy businesswoman in her. Then he’d spin his net. If she wanted his signature on a set of divorce papers, then she’d have to bargain for it. He knew what he wanted—and she would realize it only when it was too late for her.
The games had begun, and he had just enough time to set a few playing pieces where he needed them and get a little sleep before his next move. Emiline might not be aware of it, but her action hours before gave him the clue to just how he’d start out.
As quickly and as quietly as possible, he put everything away and locked the secretary. When he rose from the desk chair, Reinier rubbed the front of his dressing gown, finding himself rock hard and aching once more.
As much as he hated to have to take care of things himself, Reinier was afraid if he didn’t give himself some relief, sleep would never find him. And he’d need some rest. He’d have to have all his wits about him for what he had planned for his beautiful, smart, and defiant little wife.
6
Despite how angry and confused Emiline felt last night, she had a good night’s rest. So good, in fact, that she started the next day with a hum on her lips. Today she’d show Reinier just how much in control of Bougainvilla she was; not just the estate, but the whole bloody island. She’d make her place—and his—perfectly clear.
She could almost taste victory in the air when she was bouncing down the stairs. Justine had been instructed to tell the staff they should set a big breakfast table. Emiline and Reinier would sit at the opposite ends, with both leaves put back in. That would make her attitude toward him quite clear. This was going to be a landmark win for her in their battle for control.
Wonderful, Emiline thought as she approached the breakfast room. Reinier was already up and about. She could hear him in the room saying thank you to someone.
As Emiline entered, the young maid bowed and, with a quick, uncertain flick of her eyes toward her mistress, hurried out of the room. Emiline wondered what that was all about, but soon enough she halted, robbed of breath.
The table was set with the leaves in, just as she’d wished it, but the china and silver were set right next to each other. Reinier, insufferable lout that he was, stood right next to his chair, his arm leaning against the back of it with a sparkle in his eyes she didn’t care for at all.
How dare he contradict her orders? Emiline remembered to breathe again just in time so that Reinier couldn’t mistake the outraged, flustered blush on her cheeks for anger or, God forbid, shyness.
“Emiline.” Reinier bowed, the twinkle in his eyes becoming more intense for a moment. “Good morning to you. I trust you slept well? How nice of you to join me for breakfast.”
She glanced from the plates set so intimately next to each other to him and back. Then, putting all the disdain she felt at him into her glare, she held her back rigid and with an almost regal stance stared at Reinier coolly. “It seems I do not have a choice. Once again. I must say I find this all rather tiresome.”
Reinier’s lips twitched before he took a step forward and presented his arm to guide her to the table.
“Truly? I’d have thought you’d be happy to have me back at least for the moment to oversee things so you could concentrate on embroidery or—”
“There is little use or time for embroidery,” Emiline interrupted, taking her seat without bothering to look up at him.
“Or,” Reinier drew the word out, ignoring her objection. “You could concentrate on other things that might interest an accomplished woman. Do you still play?”
He sat down then, leaning toward her with a despicably amiable smile on his face. “Has your skill with the harpsichord finally improved? I must say—and we both agree on that, I believe—you never took your play seriously, although it should be tremendously important for a modern woman.”
Emiline felt her molars grind, but she was determined to ignore him. Taking the napkin, she flicked it open and placed it on her lap.
“Or what is it that strikes young women’s fancies these days? Fashion! Yes. Ohh, you’ll tremendously enjoy having time for all that now that I’m back.”
Emiline never knew he loved to hear his own voice so much. He most probably expected applause to commend him on his ridiculous monologue.
Instead, Emiline balled her hands into fists. The nails biting her palms reminded her that it was essential she stayed calm. But how could she stay calm with him blabbering such nonsense?
“Furthermore, sir, there is no use for fashion or any other fancies on Bougainvilla. So you see, I do not require or desire your help.”
Reinier sighed. “A pity! You always had such a good eye for fashion. You never looked less than stunning as I recall.”
Emiline took a deep, fortifying breath and narrowed her eyes at him. The unbearable smile on his face was not wavering; if anything, that peculiar gleam in his eyes flashed even brighter.
“My compliments, sir. You have the memory of an elephant or so it seems,” she pressed out, her words barely void of the unladylike growl she felt.
Reinier tried to hide his amusement behind his hand, elbow braced on the table. Either he’d been in the sun on deck of his precious ship for too long and was suffering from the consequences of serious sunstroke, or he had become a little daft through the years. Why wasn’t it getting through to him that she didn’t want him here?
“By the way, I have asked Captain Blanc to see you off at the docks whenever you’re ready to depart.”
Rolling his lips under, Reinier only busied himself with his own napkin. A strange, unpleasantly cool sensation skittered down her nape.
Just as Emiline was about to demand he disclosed his thoughts, the servants entered and set breakfast. There was no need for them to witness a scene, because if she spoke now, she knew s
he wouldn’t be able to control her temper, and she and Reinier would end up having a nasty argument. She never raised her voice in front of the servants, and she wouldn’t let him make her do so now. He wasn’t worth it.
As soon as they’d left, however, Emiline let all the contempt for him fill her glare, but his cold, calculating stare stole her thunder.
“I have to say your wish to be rid of me again so quickly has me concerned.” Reinier’s face was void of any expression, his voice callous. The contrast to his amiability before was chilling to the bone. “Emiline, could it be there’s something you’re trying to hide?”
Heart hammering in her throat, she swallowed hard. She needed to remain calm.
“Hiding?” Emiline cocked her head. “What on earth would I have to hide? And from whom? You—someone who hasn’t stepped foot on Ronde for four years?” She shook her head with a derisive bark of laughter. “Why would I bother?”
Leaning his head back a little, his eyes narrowed.
Emiline drummed on the wood of the table with her forefinger. “But more to the point: Why have you bothered coming here?”
Reinier averted his eyes and licked his lips. He gave a bored shrug and stirred his coffee.
Yes, she had him now. Her heart was pumping so hard with the certainty that he was going to admit it was a mistake, perhaps even ask her forgiveness…
He met her eyes straight on. “Frankly, I was a little bored. And Connor was otherwise occupied, so I thought why not come here for a bit of fun, she is my wife, after all.”
Reinier saw it snap, the last straw that held her calm, dignified carriage together. Throwing her napkin on the table with a little too much force, the smile she gave him was brittle.
“Well, then, Monsieur Barhydt, I think I might have just the excitement a savvy businessman like yourself would be interested in.”
Very promising. Indeed, something in the way she’d called him “Monsieur” struck him in a very interesting way. There were possibilities in that.
Reinier marveled at her spirit, truly admired her strength. What a worthy opponent she was in their joust. But he knew he’d win this tournament of words.
He uncrossed and recrossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, feeling comfortable and infinitely smug. “Do tell, madam.”
She inhaled deeply through her nose. “Since I’ve been running Bougainvilla on my own these past years, rather successfully I might add, and you’ve shown no interest, I thought it only practical and fair that we make our separate lives official. That way I can legally have full control of what I’m already managing, and you can carry on just as you’ve been doing—with ample compensation to you, of course.”
Reinier waited to see if she remembered to breathe. “Spell it out, Emiline. What precisely do you want?”
She wrinkled her nose as if she were disgusted talking to him. “Fine. I want to be free of you. I want you to give up all rights to the property and to me. In short, I want a divorce.”
“Give up all my rights to my property? To all of my property? Including you?”
Emiline nodded once.
“That is highly unlikely.”
Lips grim, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Perhaps you failed to hear me correctly. I am willing to pay very handsomely to finally be rid of you.”
Reinier shrugged again. “No.”
“What?”
“No, I’m not interested in your proposal.”
She blanched. “Why not? You obviously don’t want me—” Reinier clicked his tongue at that. She had no idea how much he wanted her, but she’d see soon enough. “Besides,” Emiline went on, her tone slightly sullen. “You haven’t even heard exactly how much I’m offering.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want or need your money.”
“What, then?” she snapped. “What do I have to do for this to finally be over?”
He inhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring. Then he brushed his sleeve, gently, like he’d caress her skin. “Everything.” Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward. “Anything and everything I could possibly ask of you in every way.”
There was this certain light in her eyes, distrustful and cautious. Her eyebrows drew together. “What exactly does that mean? Explain yourself.”
“Three days, Emiline. Three days under my command and at my beck and call in exchange for the rest of your life. It’s hardly even a fair bargain for me.”
Looking down, she bit her lower lip. Reinier could see the wheels turning.
“Three days and I will sign the papers, Emiline.” The time span, Reinier was sure, would win her over.
Her eyes flicked up at him, filled with annoyance. “You know.”
“Yes, I know about the divorce papers.”
Emiline turned her head away from him. “Three days and you’ll be gone for good?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Cross my heart.”
Slowly, she nodded to herself, then looked him straight in the eyes. “We have a bargain, Captain Barhydt.”
At that, Reinier’s expression turned sour. “No, please. From now on you will call me ‘Monsieur’ and only ‘Monsieur.’ And I shall call you…my ‘Lily.’ Very fitting, wouldn’t you agree?” His face glowed with anticipation.
Emiline pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose at her new nickname. She obviously didn’t care too much for it.
“You see,” Reinier explained, “a lily is a flower so delicate and precious, she needs someone else to care for her.” Clearly, she set out to contradict him, but Reinier waved her argument off. “No, no. You are my Lily from now on. And remember, you will do as I say. No exceptions to the rule. These are the conditions, and you’ve agreed to them.” His words were a cold warning.
Emiline pressed her lips together. There was a flicker of willfulness in her eyes. “Aye, captain.”
She’d defied his first order. Reinier suppressed the smile he felt. Instead, he leaned into her more. “I do not care much for your bold show of recalcitrance.” His whisper didn’t hide the tone of command. “Perhaps I need to teach you a lesson.”
At that, her eyes grew wide with confusion.
“Give yourself pleasure, Lily. Now.”
Deep crimson colored her cheeks and she avoided his gaze. Her lips moved, although nothing but a whimper could be heard.
“What? Are you shocked? But why? It’s not that you haven’t done it before. I know. I heard you last night. So, show me. I want to see how you did it.”
Emiline shook her head. “It’s broad daylight. We’re too exposed here. I can’t—I won’t do it. What if one of the servants came in?”
Reinier felt the muscles in his jaw twitch. He’d been looking forward to this, perhaps more than was prudent. Reluctantly, he had to admit that she was right. He got up, went to close the door to the main hallway, then the servants’ entrance. Very careful that she didn’t notice, he turned the key so that it was locked.
“Now, then. Nobody will dare intrude upon our privacy.” Walking back, Reinier sat down before her. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
She turned to look to the side, embarrassment shining brightly on her face.
“Three days. You agreed to the bargain. So, Lily, expose yourself.”
Her inner battle showed clearly on her face. Her hands on her thighs were balled into tight fists, but gradually, they opened.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were marvelously big, their aquamarine quality slightly paler than usual. She was frightened; this leap of faith was a very big one for her. Was she afraid he’d laugh at her?
He wouldn’t. Reinier let his steady gaze convey just that. He didn’t move. He simply waited for her to comply, giving her strength by locking his eyes with hers. She needed his support, and that was all that mattered to him for now.
He could see her shoulders moving. She was lifting her dress inch by inch. Reinier remained still and encouraging in his demeanor. When her skirts were finally up, bunching at her hips, her courage lef
t her and she looked away.
“Lily.” It must have been the way he said this one word, a name, her name, because she looked back at him. He rewarded her with a tender smile. Something akin to gratefulness showed in her eyes.
“Open for me.”
Perhaps she was slowly grasping the idea of the game. Perhaps she was slowly understanding that this wouldn’t end in humiliation, that, in fact, this was not about humiliation, far from it. For whatever the reason, she seemed no longer hesitant but did as he’d told her and opened for him to see her.
She began to move. Reinier watched her hands as they wandered over her thighs. Her fingers, delicate and oh-so-elegant, caressed the silken, golden skin on the inside, drew up, then down, and up a little farther until Reinier could see her core was gradually covered with a fine glistening sheen, the color deeper, her nether lips opening.
He suppressed the urge to lick his lips. In fact, he was careful not to show any outward sign that might betray how elated and aroused he felt.
Her fingers found the sensitized nub but didn’t touch it yet. Her middle finger was rubbing to the side of it, first left, then right. Her other hand grasped the inside of her thigh. She finally found the spot that would give her release, stroked it, and at the same time squeezed her thigh. It made her gasp and she let her eyes close, her head falling back.
So she loved the sensations brought on by the sweetest of pleasure-pain, not quite pain, not just pleasure anymore. Good to know, Reinier thought as he kept observing her every move, every shift, watchful not to miss a thing.
Her hand left her thigh and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing it as well. He could see she had increased her speed, her fingers flying expertly over her shining, wet core.
Her fragrance found him. The heady mix of musk and strawberries raged through his body and mind. Her scent tingled under his skin, tickling his scalp, wrapping him into its sweetness, drawing him in. She’d always been an aphrodisiac, a drug he couldn’t get enough of. Biting his lower lip, Reinier swallowed the masculine grunt he felt churning in his chest.
After a time her breathing quickened, and soon little sighs could be heard every time she exhaled. His own breathing became deep and heavy in response.
