“I’m very glad to be here.” Caroline’s answer was sincere, and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. She couldn’t have imagined a warmer greeting than she had been given. It was balm to the tension that had held her since the plane had touched down. “Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner, then.”
“Somebody will come for you so you won’t get lost. We eat around eight. If you’re hungry now, I can have something sent up. I didn’t think to ask if you’d had lunch.”
“I’m fine. I ate on the flight. I’ll be ready by eight.”
She smiled again into the friendly blue eyes and followed Andre up the stairs. He had retrieved her bags, and she found something reassuring about that, as well—about his carrying them himself instead of summoning some hovering servant. All her preconceptions and fears were dissolving in the ease of their welcome.
“I think you’ll like your room. Suzanne spent days deciding where you should be. You’re close to her, of course, and it looks down on the garden pool. The surf here is dangerously strong, so I wouldn’t advise swimming in the sea, but the pool is available at any time. There are light switches for the atrium in every doorway. I thought you might prefer looking out on the sea, but those rooms are too far from Suzanne to satisfy any urge for a quick nighttime conference, so she decided on this one.”
The suite was beautifully appointed, but not at all formal. The colors were the muted greens of the waters closest to the shore and the creams of the surf. The decorator had used a shell motif sparingly in the border and spread. Andre opened the floor-to-ceiling louvered windows, and the garden that the house surrounded was just below, lushly planted around the pool. The tiles of the pool were navy, the richness of its dark depths contrasting the sparkle of the sun on its surface and the colors of the flowers that surrounded it.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said, breathing in the fragrance of the blooms that were wide and drooping in the afternoon heat.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, apparently assuming her comment to refer to the room rather than the tropical paradise she supposed he was too accustomed to even notice anymore.
“I like it very much. Thank you for everything, especially for taking time to meet me personally. I was a little concerned, despite all Monsieur Dupre’s careful instructions.”
“You’d have managed. Everyone’s very friendly. I wanted to meet you. It was my pleasure.” He smiled, the blue eyes warm.
The silence grew between them. She wondered if his words had been intended to convey the attraction she was attributing to them or if, as his sister had said, he was simply so practiced at flirtation that he did this intimate smile and meeting of the eyes automatically.
“Well,” he said finally, “I’ll let you rest. I’ll see you at dinner. I’m looking forward to seeing you at dinner.”
There could be no mistake about the intent of the fingers that closed gently around her hand and raised it to his lips. They barely touched the skin, but the warmth of his mouth and the gentle breath he took before he released her hand was electric. The current flared briefly in his eyes before he turned and retreated across the thick, foam green carpet.
When he had closed the door behind him, she looked out into the richness of the garden again. She shook her head in a slow, deliberate, negative movement and then closed the doors against the reflected glare of the pool.
She slipped out of the linen dress that had already begun to wilt in the heat and humidity. She hung it carefully in the cedar-lined closet and removed her heels and hose. Turning back the thick spread, she lay down against the cool, lavender-scented sheets that seemed vaguely comforting and, because she had slept so little the night before, she drifted easily into sleep.
* * *
“I TAKE IT our guest has arrived?” The quiet voice was carefully emotionless, but Suzanne knew Julien well enough to read a lot that he intended to hide.
“She’s here, all right. I just don’t understand why she’s here. What possible purpose do you believe allowing her to come here will serve?”
She ran her small hands across the broad shoulders and massaged the tension she could feel in the strong column of his neck. He rolled his head in response to the release that her fingers were kneading into the tight muscles, but he didn’t answer her question, just as he had refused to explain his reasons from the beginning.
“Why? Why? Why are you putting yourself through this?” she asked, her small fist pounding an emphasis to each question against the corded muscles of his upper arm until he caught her hand and held it still with the tensile strength of his. His thumb massaged her knuckles, and he laughed.
“Expiation,” he said, and his voice was rich with the laughter that still lurked behind the word.
“Expiation?” she repeated, pulling her hand free. “Expiation.” This time it wasn’t a question. “Are you sure that’s the right word? Are you sure that’s what you mean?”
“What word do you think I mean?” he asked, still amused by her anger.
“Retribution,” she whispered, wondering as she had from the beginning if it were possible he had not told her the truth.
“Like some Old Testament injunction? An eye for an eye? Is that what you expect?”
“I don’t know what to expect. I thought I understood you. I thought I knew you, and then...” She shook her head in frustration.
“I need to understand why...after all these years...” The deep voice faded, unable to put into words what he felt.
“You always tried to understand. God, Julien, sometimes...”
The taut mouth relaxed at her anger for his sake, and he smiled. “Because there’s always a reason. I just have to determine what it is.”
“I don’t want her here,” she said, knowing the other was an argument she couldn’t win. “I don’t like this. I don’t want any part of it.”
“But it’s too late for that. She’s here. We’re here, and I think we need to find out what this is all about. Don’t you? Don’t you really believe that it’s time to finally finish whatever this is?”
“Is that what you intend? To put an end to it?”
She ran her hand through the dark hair that curled against her fingers. She rested her palm against his temple and finally bent to lay her cheek against the ebony curls. His lips curved again into a smile in response, and he raised his hand to touch the small, comforting fingers.
“Expiation,” he repeated. “I told you.”
“I just don’t want you hurt again,” she said.
“She can’t cause me pain. I promise you that. I don’t think—” he began and then paused.
“What?” She raised her head, moving so she could see his face. “What don’t you think?” she asked again and he smiled at her.
“I don’t think I want to talk about this any longer,” he answered truthfully, “but I don’t want you to worry.
