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.
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
