“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 dangerous, 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
