by Chloe Harris
Her heart missed a beat. Disgust spread in her and hope’s bloom withered away in an instant. Why did thinking about someone else fill her with dread and almost paralyze her completely?
She cringed with a nearly physical sensation of bitterness. Why couldn’t she imagine wanting another man but Reinier?
Chiding herself, she made her way grudgingly to the small harbor. She needed to find a rational explanation for her peculiar reluctance to think of the new, bright future and what it might entail. Maybe she couldn’t imagine being in another man’s arms right now, but things would change for certain after he was gone—for certain. And then she’d want to find someone else. For certain.
Emiline was almost to the middle of the wharf where a ship was loading cargo. No longer alone with her thoughts, she breathed deeply, taking in the hustle and bustle, happy to be distracted from her inward gloominess. It was comforting, all those people busy with running around and shouting commands and loading the belly of a ship.
Workers were lined up, conveying the cargo into the hold, and the mingled odor of sweet sugarcane, spicy rum, and the distinctive scent of hard manual labor filled her lungs. Seagulls were screeching over her head; people were nodding a friendly greeting in her direction.
Swallowing a sigh of relief, Emiline felt a smile creeping in. This was her life; this was a good life, and this was what she felt comfortable with. Realizing that had pride pulse in her chest, elevating her to almost where the seagulls drew their circles.
Eyes roaming the dock workers, she tried to make out the wharf captain so he could tell her where that ship they were currently loading had come from. There were a few ships due in soon that she wasn’t familiar with yet.
A glimpse of sun-gold hair among the workers caught her eye.
When had she hired…?
Who was…?
Emiline almost heard her jaw drop to the ground with a nasty clunk when she finally understood. That man wasn’t just one of the workers.
Inhaling sharply, she frantically searched for a hiding place. Emiline knew it was a ridiculous reaction. So this side of Reinier was rather unexpected, not to say astounding. Why hide? But instinct won out and she walked backward, crouching like a crab to duck out of sight behind a stack of wooden crates. Knowing how silly she must have looked, it shouldn’t have surprised her when her heel caught in her skirts and she stumbled. Her calf bumped into the side of another, smaller crate that had been hidden behind the bigger ones. All she could do was throw her arms up for a fraction of a second before she tumbled and landed ungracefully in a heap on her backside while her shoulder caught most of the fall. She pressed her lips together tightly to muffle the sound of distress coming from her throat. Then she righted herself, rubbing the soreness in her shoulder blade to ease the pain a bit.
At least Emiline could be thankful she was safely hidden now since she had a feeling the earth wasn’t going to kindly open to swallow her that instant.
So that was what he had to do this morning. He’d traded being with her for…sweating along with the other men on the dock as if he were just another common worker?
How pathetic she was to be…here. Emiline should be mortified. But curiosity had got the better of her.
Might as well make the best of the situation meanwhile, Emiline decided as reason and instinct concurred for once and she glimpsed from behind the crates to spy on Reinier.
Having removed his shirt, stockings, and shoes, he toiled side by side with the line of workers loading the ship. Barefoot and bare-chested, his torso glistened with a fine sheen of exertion. His muscular back was to her, and it rippled and bunched rhythmically as he moved.
The sight had her whole body tingle from the inside out all of a sudden, the ache in her shoulder completely forgotten. Her breath caught in her throat as her mind played tricks, picturing him not working on the wharf but…
Averting her eyes, Emiline mentally slapped herself. This was not the time, or the place, or was it in any way appropriate to even think of something like that.
Or was it?
Her eyes wandered back to the mesmerizing sight on their own accord and she had time enough to think that, although tanned, his back was still much lighter in color than her own, before her mouth went completely dry and she licked her lips. She suppressed a moan when the overwhelming, wanton craving to lick a salty path along that distinctive scar that crossed his back from his left shoulder to his right hip, hit her with unbridled force. Drawing in a shaky breath, she almost succeeded in scattering the yearning to run her hands over that powerful body, taste his kiss, feel what she knew was hidden in his breeches in her hands, then stretch her secret muscles…
Luckily for Emiline, the cargo was all safe in the belly of the ship now and she found herself able to breathe again. The line of workers broke up. Some braced themselves on their knees, others bent back, their hands massaging the small of their backs.
Reinier just stood there, back straight, his unblinking eyes fixated on the horizon. Only when a droplet of sweat sneaked over his eyebrows did he blink. He brushed it away, staring at his hands as if he saw them for the first time. Emiline fully expected Reinier to turn toward the manor now—but he didn’t. Instead, he walked off in the other direction; not to her, but to a more secluded patch of beach she knew was just beyond the dock.
Scrambling up, she quickly gathered her skirts and followed. She was careful to remain hidden in the trees and undergrowth lining the shore further down the coast of Ronde. But she simply couldn’t resist, never mind how pathetic her behavior must seem.
Emiline arrived just in time, stooping behind a silver button mangrove, to see him release his hair from the leather restraint and remove his breeches, stalking into the sea in that long-legged, graceful, pacing-cougar stride as naked—and as flawless—as God had created him. Her attention was immediately riveted to his male, muscular bottom. She had always thought that his narrow hips and especially his exquisitely shaped backside were…lovely. More like mouthwatering, she mentally corrected herself yet again and cleared her throat.
The ocean swallowed the lower half of his body as his golden mane swung and shivered and danced in the breeze as he opened his arms wide, throwing his head back to welcome the waves of cooling salt water enveloping his body.
She knew she should still feel something akin to anger, because he had abandoned her that morning preferring to work instead of entertaining her with some new scheme he’d thought up for their bargain. Alas, her treacherous body had a mind of its own. Heat streaked down her throat, into her abdomen, and coiled tightly between her legs. In that moment, she longed to become a drop in the sea to lick and lave at his body.
Throwing his arms up, he dove in, swimming until he resurfaced again farther away, tossing his head from side to side, his hair firing droplets of salt water. It was all Emiline could see from him in that distance.
She had to look away as her chest began to constrict.
How can that be? Why?
Lost in thought, she made her way back to Bougainvilla just as she’d intended before her embarrassing spying interlude.
Emiline wondered at the fact that Reinier hadn’t headed back to the manor to bathe with scented soap before luncheon. Oh no, he’d run for the beach, preferring the natural scent of the sea on his skin. He might be very good at acting tame and domesticated, but there was a superior wildness in him.
A wildness that nothing could erase.
He might act the supercilious fop, but he was so much more than that. He didn’t shy away from manual labor, and he didn’t need perfume and powdered hair or pristine wigs to feel at ease, or tons of lace around his wrists and throat, for that matter.
She had almost made herself forget, but this encounter had woken memories she had buried. Not for the first time Emiline speculated whether his trademark expression that displayed faint amusement as much as light boredom was just a mask he wore to hide a depth to his soul that she was sure must be there.
There were just too many contradictions about him to believe otherwise.
If only he could just be that way always, she could love him. Or better yet—if he had stayed and he’d been that way all along, they could have been happy.
But he hadn’t. He had made the choice to go away.
Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder: Had she underestimated him?
Lounging in a brown leather chair tucked away in a corner of the study, Reinier flung one foot over its arm and let it swing idly. He lifted his hand and let his fingers play casually with the thick velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the main mast of his ship in Ronde’s harbor every once in a while.
The curtain draped him in darkness. He felt quite at ease hidden in the shadow of the otherwise sunlit study. Leaning his head against the head of the leather chair, his eyes settled on the immense bookshelf at the other side of the room.
Reinier felt much better than he had last night. A good morning’s work had done him a world of good, helping to clear his head from the frustration of the night before. And now he’d come to a decision. He’d play out the game to the end, cut his losses, and be done. It was the only way.
Just as well.
He was jolted out of his thoughts when Emiline came into the study, walking straight to the bookshelf. Fortunately, she wasn’t aware he was there.
She looked fresh and cool in her pale lavender day dress. It set off the warm color of her skin, making it glow. It also clung to all her enticing curves in just the right places, especially now as she leaned to one side, standing on tiptoe and reaching for a book in the upper row. Her dark chocolate hair was loosely piled high. Parts of it were still damp; Reinier could tell by the way it curled.
Why was she wearing her hair up again? Whatever the reason, Reinier made a mental note to require she always wear it down again from now on. He’d tell her to leave it loose so he could run his fingers through its welcoming softness whenever he wished.
His line of thinking was beginning to make him slightly uncomfortable in his chair, so as quietly as possible in order to remain unnoticed, he shifted to sit straight and cross his legs. Luckily, any noise he might have made was hidden by the sibilant noise of the curtain’s swinging lazily in the breeze at the window closer to her.
She put back the book she’d almost taken from the shelf and was running her hands along the spines of the others. It was obvious she was quite fond of them. Her fingers stroked them adoringly, almost as if…
Now, there was no need for Reinier to feel jealous, was there? It was rather foolish to feel the pang of covetousness when one observed one’s spouse just selecting something to read, wasn’t it?
From the few glimpses he got of her profile whenever she turned it in the general direction of the window, Reinier could see her expression seemed disquieted. Yet, her touch on those beloved books was so tender. Was she trying to find some comfort and peace in her collected volumes? What dark thoughts could be plaguing her?
Her fingers flew aimlessly now, and Reinier knew when she finally took out a book that she’d selected it randomly. She began to flip through it, lifting it high enough for him to catch the gold-leafed name on the cover in the light.
The Welshman who preferred the still life of the country to the bustle of the ton, Reinier mentally mused. Emiline sighed and was immediately drawn into the words, turning more to the window to catch a better light for reading. Her lips slightly opened and closed as she mimicked silently the passage that had captured her. Reinier saw adoration and longing on her face. Instantly, the angry taste of bitter sadness was back, making him wish she could look at him with such…affection.
Would that be enough?
Probably. If he were a fool—and what was it they said about fools? Only fools fell in love.
Before that train of thought could continue to meddle with his mind some more, Reinier lifted himself out of the chair in one quick motion and stalked toward her, reciting aloud what she was reading. “‘Let sensual natures judge as they please, but, for my part, I shall hold it no paradox to affirm there are no pleasures in this world. Some coloured griefs and blushing woes there are, which look so clear as if they were true complexions; but it is a very sad and a tried truth that they are but painted.’”
At that Emiline jumped and slammed the book shut. With her mouth ajar, she stared at him as if he’d sprouted a fish tail and become a merman. Ignoring her bewildered look, Reinier gently placed one finger under her chin to close her luscious lips again, then lifted the book from her hands, flipping through it himself.
Reinier spoke into the pages as if he was merely thinking out loud. “Don’t look so startled, Lily. I could take offense that you think me so ill read. Vaughan’s a little too maudlin for my taste, though. I do think Donne’s my favorite. I so love the contrasts in him.”
He closed the book and turned it in his hands. After admiring the richness of the leather and the skill of the binding, he glanced at her. She opened her mouth again to reply. Nothing came out but an embarrassed gasp.
“This is an exquisite edition, Lily. Wherever did you find it?”
Reiner watched her visibly shaking herself out of her trance. She blinked, her eyes bouncing from his to the book in his hands and back. But then the question seemed to have turned on some light inside her. Her eyes now sparkled like a full moon reflecting on the tides; her whole being exuded excitement. Watching the change was truly mesmerizing.
“Isn’t it, though?” Her hand brushed the unique leather binding quickly once. “It definitely took some persuasion to get it away from the mayor of Grenada. Turns out all it took was passing on the recipe for mother’s ‘secret ingredient’”—she curled her forefingers in the air, changing her voice to imitate the graveness of that so-called secret, and continued with a laugh—“for her famous Alsatian Chocolate Balls to his cook, although it’s really only a knifepoint of cinnamon added to the vanilla, nothing out of the ordinary. The cook could have figured it out herself. Well, that and three cases of rum. That did it. It was really amazing how easily he let go of it then!”
Laughing some more, she turned to the shelf, pride glowing on her face. “But for most of the collection I have a wonderful bookseller in Grenada who is always on the lookout for things I might like.
“Oh…and…” She all but skipped to the bookshelf, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and reached for something hidden on a high shelf. “Here it is! Have you seen this edition of Chapman?”
Taking the book out, she caressed it once, front and back, then pressed it to her heart before she presented it to him. When he took the proffered book from her, she clasped her hands under her chin and continued hastily, “I’ve yet to authenticate it, but I have it on good authority it’s from Andrew Marvell’s collection from his time in Bermuda…Of course, it’s the poetry that really matters, I suppose, not so much the binding, but…”
Her words trailed and she quickly looked away. Reinier suspected she felt self-conscious that she’d begun to ramble, but he could have listened to her talk of poetry all day.
He set both precious volumes in his hands back in their place. Stepping behind her, he wrapped his arms around her small waist. He enjoyed the familiar feel of her body against his.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you’re enthusiastic about something?” His murmur was muffled as he pressed a soft kiss on her temple.
Turning her head to the side and away from him, she harrumphed. “I normally don’t read in a crowd, no.”
“Maybe you should. It’s captivating. But I have an even better idea. Let’s you and I find a private spot for a picnic and maybe we’ll discover even more things we might have in common.”
At that he felt her whole body relax and melt into his. She crossed her arms in front of her, holding his arms in hers. Turning, she beamed up at him. “I think that might be very pleasant.”
12
Emiline let her arms dangle by her sides, because with every step s
he took hers would brush against Reinier’s, who in his other hand was carrying the basket Justine had ordered to be packed for their picnic. Of course, the contact was hidden in Emiline’s skirts. Nevertheless, or perhaps because they kept it covert, she liked it.
It was one more little secret they shared. Actually, Emiline found that sharing secrets with Reinier, old, new, and very new, was…nice. Not just that, it was surprising and so very exciting. And that was what she decided she would do the remaining days of the bargain. She resolved to enjoy finding out secrets and marvel at what they had in common. She’d forget about the rest and always remember the good times she’d had with Reinier.
Just as they were passing the stables, John, the groom, came around the corner with a rope in his hands.
Oh no. “Did she do it again?”
John seemed fretful that she had caught him, stepping from one foot to the other and wringing the rope in his hands. “Yes, mum. I swear I turned my back just a second and the moment I turned back, she’d bitten through the leather again!”
Reinier snickered. “That filly hasn’t changed at all, has she? So haughty as a mare now, sabotaging the bridle and tack?”
Emiline snorted with contempt, not dignifying Reinier’s comment with a reply. In her opinion, all the mare required was a lot of love and even more patience. “John, you have to take better care. We can’t get leather here at the pace that mare is chewing it up. And she’ll bite through that thin rope in no time.”
The stable lad sighed, nodding in agreement and uttering something that sounded like “stubborn” beneath his breath. Emiline would have chided him some more, but something about the way Reinier was looking at the rope just now caused her to forget what she’d wanted to say.
“Reinier?”
He jolted when she spoke his name, but then his impeccable masking smile was back on his lips, although his eyes were still a little clouded.
