Six
Dev had employed a cautious, scope-out-the-territory approach for his first encounter with the duchess. For the second, he decided on a preemptive strike. As soon as he and Sarah were in the limo and headed uptown, he initiated his plan of attack.
“Do you need to call your grandmother and let her know we’re coming?”
“Yes, I should.” She slipped her phone out of her purse. “And I’ll ask Maria to put together a quick lunch.”
“No need. I’ll take care of that. Does the duchess like caviar?”
“Yes,” Sarah replied, a question in her eyes as he palmed his own phone, “but only Caspian Sea osetra. She thinks beluga is too salty and sevruga too fishy.”
“What about Maria? Does she have a favorite delicacy?”
She had to think for a moment. “Well, on All Saints Day she always makes fiambre.”
“What’s that?”
“A chilled salad with fifty or so ingredients. Why?” she asked as he hit a speed-dial key. “What are you…?”
He held up a hand, signaling her to wait, and issued a quick order. “I need a champagne brunch for four, delivered to Ms. St. Sebastian’s home address in a half hour. Start with osetra caviar and whatever you can find that’s close to… Hang on.” He looked to Sarah. “What was that again?”
“Fiambre.”
“Fiambre. It’s a salad…Hell, I don’t know…Right. Right. Half an hour.”
Sarah was staring at him when he cut the connection. “Who was that?”
“My executive assistant.”
“She’s here, in New York?”
“It’s a he. Patrick Donovan. We used to fly together. He’s back in L.A.”
“And he’s going to have champagne and caviar delivered to our apartment in half an hour?”
“That’s why he gets paid the big bucks.” He nodded to the phone she clutched in her hand. “You better call the duchess. With all this traffic, lunch will probably get there before we do.”
*
Despite his advance preparations, Dev had to shake off a serious case of nerves when he and Sarah stepped out of the elevator at the Dakota. His introduction to Charlotte St. Sebastian last night had given him a keen appreciation of both her intellect and her fierce devotion to her granddaughters. He had no idea how she’d react to this sudden engagement, but he suspected she’d make him sweat.
Sarah obviously suspected the same thing. She paused at the door to their apartment, key in hand, and gave him a look that was half challenge, half anxious appeal.
“She…she has a heart condition. We need to be careful how we orchestrate this.”
“I’ll follow your lead.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. The key rattled in the lock, and the door opened on a parade of white-jacketed waiters just about to exit the apartment. Their arms full of empty cartons, they stepped aside.
“Your grandmother told us to set up in the dining room,” the waiter in charge informed Sarah. “And may I say, ma’am, she has exquisite taste in crystal. Bohemian, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I thought so. No other lead crystal has that thin, liquid sheen.”
Nodding, Sarah hurried down the hall. Dev lingered to add a hefty tip to the service fee he knew Patrick would have already taken care of. Gushing their thanks, the team departed and Dev made his way to the duchess’s high-ceilinged dining room.
He paused on the threshold to survey the scene. The mahogany table could easily seat twelve, probably twenty or more with leaves in, but had been set with four places at the far end. Bone-white china gleamed. An impressive array of ruby-red goblets sparkled at each place setting. A sideboard held a row of domed silver serving dishes, and an opened bottle of champagne sat in a silver ice bucket.
Damn! Patrick would insist Dev add another zero to his already astronomical salary for pulling this one off.
“I presume this is your doing, Devon.”
His glance zinged to the duchess. She stood ramrod straight at the head of the table, her hands folded one atop the other on the ivory handle of her cane. The housekeeper, Maria, hovered just behind her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I also presume you’re going to tell me the reason for this impromptu celebration.”
Having agreed to let Sarah take the lead, Dev merely moved to her side and eased an arm around her waist. She stiffened, caught herself almost instantly and relaxed.
“We have two reasons to celebrate, Grandmama. Dev’s asked me to go to Paris with him.”
“So I understand. Maria informed me you asked her to stay with me while you’re gone.”
Her arctic tone left no doubt as to her feelings about the matter.
“It’s just for a short while, and more for me than for you. This way I won’t feel so bad about rushing off and leaving you on such short notice.”
The duchess didn’t unbend. If anything, her arthritic fingers clutched the head of her cane more tightly.
“And the second reason for this celebration?”
Sarah braced herself. Dev could feel her body go taut against his while she struggled to frame their agreement in terms her grandmother would accept. It was time for him to step in and draw the duchess’s fire.
“My sisters will tell you I’m seriously deficient in the romance department, ma’am. They’ll also tell you I tend to bulldoze over any and all obstacles when I set my sights on something. Sarah put up a good fight, but I convinced her we should get engaged before we take off for Paris.”
“Madre de Dios!” The exclamation burst from Maria, who gaped at Sarah. “You are engaged? To this man?”
When she nodded, the duchess’s chin shot up. Her glance skewered Dev where he stood. In contrast to her stark silence, Maria gave quick, joyous thanks to the Virgin Mary while making the sign of the cross three times in rapid succession.
“How I prayed for this, chica!”
Tears sparkling in her brown eyes, she rushed over to crush Sarah against her generous bosom. Dev didn’t get a hug, but he was hauled down by his lapels and treated to a hearty kiss on both cheeks.
The duchess remained standing where she was. Dev was damned if he could read her expression. When Sarah approached, Charlotte’s narrow-eyed stare shifted to her granddaughter.
“We stopped by Cartier on our way here, Grandmama. Dev wanted to buy me an engagement ring.”
She raised her left hand, and the effect on the duchess was instant and electric.
“Dear God! Is that…? Is that the Russian Rose?”
“Yes,” Sarah said gently.
Charlotte reached out a veined hand and stroked the emerald’s rounded surface with a shaking fingertip. Dev felt uncomfortably like a voyeur as he watched a succession of naked emotions cross the older woman’s face. For a long moment, she was in another time, another place, reliving memories that obviously brought both great joy and infinite sadness.
With an effort that was almost painful to observe, she returned to the present and smiled at Sarah.
“Your grandfather gave me the Rose for my eighteenth birthday. I always intended you to have it.”
Her glance shifted once again to Dev. Something passed between them, but before he could figure out just what the hell it was, the duchess became all brisk efficiency.
“Well, Sarah, since you’re traipsing off to Paris on such short notice, I think we should sample this sumptuous feast your…your fiancé has so generously arranged. Then you’ll have to pack. Devon, will you pour the champagne?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
*
Dev’s misguided belief that he’d escaped unscathed lasted only until they’d finished brunch and Sarah went to pack. He got up to help Maria clear the table. She waved him back to his seat.
“I will do this. You sit and keep la duquesa company.”
The moment Maria bustled through the door to the kitchen, la duquesa let loose with both barrels. Her pale eyes danger
ous, she unhooked her cane from her chair arm and stabbed it at Dev like a sword.
“Let’s be sure we understand each other, Mr. Hunter. I may have been forced to sell the Russian Rose, but if you’ve purchased it with the mistaken idea you can also purchase my granddaughter, you’d best think again. One can’t buy class or good genes. One either has both—” she jabbed his chest with the cane for emphasis “—or one doesn’t.”
Geesh! Good thing he was facing this woman over three feet of ebony and not down the barrel of an M16. Dev didn’t doubt she’d pull the trigger if he answered wrong.
“First,” he replied, “I had no idea that emerald once belonged to you. Second, I’m perfectly satisfied with my genes. Third…”
He stopped to think about that one. His feelings for Sarah St. Sebastian had become too confused, too fast. The way she moved…. The smile in her green eyes when she let down her guard for a few moments…. Her fierce loyalty to her grandmother and ditz of a sister…. Everything about her seemed to trigger both heat and hunger.
“Third,” he finally admitted, “there’s no way I’ll ever match Sarah’s style or elegance. All I can do is appreciate it, which I most certainly do.”
The duchess kept her thoughts hidden behind her narrowed eyes for several moments. Then she dropped the tip of the cane and thumped the floor.
“Very well. I’ll wait to see how matters develop.”
She eased back against her chair and Dev started to breathe again.
“I’m sure you’re aware,” she said into the tentative truce, “that Paris is one of Sarah’s favorite cities?”
“We haven’t gotten around to sharing all our favorites yet,” he replied with perfect truthfulness. “I do know she attended the Sorbonne for a year as an undergraduate.”
That much was in the background dossier, as was the fact she’d majored in art history. Dev planned to use whatever spare time they might have in Paris to hit a few museums with her. He looked forward to exploring the Louvre or the Cluny with someone who shared his burgeoning interest in art. He was certainly no expert, but his appreciation of art in its various forms had grown with each incremental increase in his personal income…as evidenced by the Byzantine medallion.
The belated reminder of why he was here, being poked in the chest by this imperious, indomitable woman, hit with a belated punch. He’d let the side details of his “engagement” momentarily obscure the fact that he’d arm-twisted Sarah into it. He was using her, ruthlessly and with cold deliberation, as a tool to help close an important deal. Once that deal was closed…
To borrow the duchess’s own words, Dev decided, they’d just have to wait and see how matters develop. He wouldn’t employ the same ruthlessness and calculation to seduce the eminently seductive Lady Sarah as he had to get a ring on her finger. But neither would he pass up the chance to finesse her into bed if the opportunity offered.
The possibility sent a spear of heat into his belly. With a sheer effort of will, he gave the indomitable Charlotte St. Sebastian no sign of the knee-jerk reaction. But he had to admit he was now looking forward to this trip with considerably more anticipation than when Jean-Jacques Girault first requested it.
Seven
Three hours out over the Atlantic Sarah had yet to get past her surprise.
“I still can’t believe Grandmama took it so well,” she said, her fingers poised over the keyboard of her laptop. “Not just the engagement. This trip to Paris. The hefty bonus you’re paying Maria. Everything!”
Dev looked up from the text message he’d just received. Their first-class seat pods were separated by a serving console holding his scotch, her wine and a tray of appetizers, but they were seated close enough for him to see the lingering disbelief in her jade-green eyes.
“Why shouldn’t she take it well?” he countered. “She grilled me last night about my parents, my grandparents, my siblings, my education, my health, my club memberships and my bank account. She squeezed everything else she wanted to know out of me today at lunch. It was a close call, but evidently I passed muster.”
“I think it was the ring,” Sarah murmured, her gaze on the milky stone that crowned her finger. “Her whole attitude changed when she spotted it.”
Dev knew damn well it was the ring, and noted with interest the guilt and embarrassment tinging his fiancée’s cheeks.
“I supposed I should have told you at Cartier that the Russian Rose once belonged to Grandmama.”
“Not a problem. I’m just glad it was available.”
She was quiet for a moment, still pondering the luncheon.
“Do you know what I find so strange? Grandmama didn’t once ask how we could have fallen in love so quickly.”
“Maybe because she comes from a different era. Plus, she went through some really rough times. Could be your security weighs as heavily in her mind as your happiness.”
“That can’t be it. She’s always told Gina and me that her marriage was a love match. She had to defy her parents to make it happen.”
“Yes, but look what came next,” Dev said gently. “From what I’ve read, the Soviet takeover of her country was brutal. She witnessed your grandfather’s execution. She barely escaped the same fate and had to make a new life for herself and her baby in a different country.”
Sarah fingered the emerald, her profile etched with sadness. “Then she lost my parents and got stuck with Gina and me.”
“Why do I think she didn’t regard it as getting stuck? I suspect you and your sister went a long way to filling the hole in her heart.”
“Gina more than me.”
“I doubt that,” Dev drawled.
As he’d anticipated, she jumped instantly to her sister’s defense.
“I know you think Gina’s a total airhead…”
“I do.”
“…but she’s so full of joy and life that no one—I repeat, no one—can be in her company for more than three minutes without cracking a smile.”
Her eyes fired lethal darts, daring him to disagree. He didn’t have to. He’d achieved his objective and erased the sad memories. Rather than risk alienating her, he changed the subject.
“I just got a text from Monsieur Girault. He says he’s delighted you were able to get away and accompany me.”
“Really?” Sarah hiked a politely skeptical brow. “What does his wife say?”
To Dev’s chagrin, heat crawled up his neck. He’d flown in and out of a dozen different combat zones, for God’s sake! Could stare down union presidents and corporate sharks with equal skill. Yet Elise Girault had thrown him completely off stride when he’d bent to give her the obligatory kiss on both cheeks. Her whispered suggestion was so startling—and so erotic—he’d damned near gotten whiplash when he’d jerked his head back. Then she’d let loose with a booming, raucous laugh that invited him to share in their private joke.
“He didn’t say,” Dev said in answer to Sarah’s question, “but he did ask what you would like to do while we’re locked up in a conference room. He indicated his wife is a world-class shopper. Apparently she’s well-known at most of the high-end boutiques.”
He realized his mistake the moment the words were out. He’d run Sarah St. Sebastian’s financials. He knew how strapped she was.
“That reminds me,” he said with deliberate nonchalance. “I don’t intend for you to incur any out-of-pocket expenses as part of our deal. There’ll be a credit card waiting for you at the hotel.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
Her reaction shouldn’t have surprised him. Regal elegance was only one of the traits Lady Sarah had inherited from her grandmother. Stiff-necked pride had to rank right up near the top of the list.
“Be reasonable, Sarah. You’re providing me a personal service.”
Which was becoming more personal by the hour. Dev was getting used to her stimulating company. The heat she ignited in him still took him by surprise, though. He hadn’t figured that into his plan.
&nbs
p; “Of course I’ll cover your expenses.”
Her expression turned glacial. “The hotel, yes. Any meals we take with Madame and Monsieur Girault, yes. A shopping spree on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, no.”
“Fine. It’s your call.”
He tried to recover with an admiring survey of her petal-pink dress. The fabric was thick and satiny, the cut sleek. A coat in the same style hung in their cabin’s private closet.
“The rue du Whatever has nothing on Fifth Avenue. That classy New York look will have Elise Girault demanding an immediate trip to the States.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment, then burst into laughter. “You’re not real up on haute couture, are you?”
“Any of my sisters would tell you I don’t know haute from hamburger.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, still chuckling. “Unless I miss my guess, your shoes are Moroccan leather, the suit’s hand-tailored and the tie comes from a little shop just off the Grand Canal in Venice.”
“Damn, you’re good! Although Patrick tells me he orders the ties from Milan, not Venice. So where did that dress come from?”
“It’s vintage Balenciaga. Grandmama bought it in Madrid decades ago.”
The smile remained, but Dev thought it dimmed a few degrees.
“She disposed of most of her designer originals when…when they went out of style, but she kept enough to provide a treasure trove for me. Thank goodness! Retro is the new ‘new,’ you know. I’m the envy of everyone at Beguile.”
Dev could read behind the lines. The duchess must have sold off her wardrobe as well as her jewelry over the years. It was miracle she’d managed to hang on to the apartment at the Dakota. The thought of what the duchess and Sarah had gone through kicked Dev’s admiration for them both up another notch. Also, his determination to treat Sarah to something new and obscenely expensive. He knew better than to step on her pride again, though, and said merely, “Retro looks good on you.”
“Thank you.”
*
After what passed for the airline’s gourmet meal, Dev used his in-flight wireless connection to crunch numbers for his meetings with Girault and company while Sarah went back to work on her laptop. She’d promised Alexis she would finish the layout for the Summer Sea-escapes but the perspectives just wouldn’t gel. After juggling Martha’s Vineyard with Catalina Island and South Padre Island with South Georgia Island, she decided she would have to swing by Beguile’s Paris offices to see how the layout looked on a twenty-five-inch monitor before shooting it off to Alexis for review.
A Business Engagement Page 7
