has changed.”
“Oh…” Emiline set out, but he rose to leave and she didn’t continue.
Reinier had had enough for the moment. If he’d missed the evening tide, then they had plenty of time to talk before morning. “Since I feel fatigued after the journey, I will retire until supper. I expect you to honor me with your presence, Emiline.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but in the end, she nodded, “Of course.”
Reinier hid his disappointment behind a detached but self-assured smirk, an expression he’d practiced well over the years. He’d have preferred her sneering at him, or screaming she’d rather starve or eat maggots than dine with him. But no, he wouldn’t get any emotional reaction from her.
Emiline. Always polite. Ever the perfect wife.
He’d forced himself to forget, but he remembered now why he needed to stay away from her. She filled his sweetest dreams and haunted his nightmares. Yes, he had loved her. But he hated her for not loving him back—and that was why he could not forgive her.
4
Emiline had lingered in her preparations for dinner hoping to annoy Reinier by making him wait, but now she decided that was a much too petty and cowardly tact for the Mistress of Bougainvilla.
Her foot was tapping with apprehension as she sat at her dressing table. She pictured him down in her parlor, with his typically triumphant smirk, the smile that she hated and loved at the same time.
She mustn’t let him get to her. Not again. Not ever. He wasn’t worth it. Each emotion Emiline let him pull from her was like another stabbing pinprick, and she wanted them to stop. She ruled here, and now she was overly anxious to get downstairs and show him just that.
Justine was humming softly to try and calm her. “Be still, child, or I’ll never be done.”
“Sorry.” It wasn’t a complicated style, just a simple pile of curls to go with her simple tan silk dress and ordinary sea-green cap-sleeved jacket. Still, Emiline found it hard to remain still enough for Justine to finish her hair.
“I don’t blame you, though. That man would try the patience of St. Rita of Cascia popping up here out of the blue like that.”
“What possessed him to come here, Justine? Why didn’t I throw him out of my house as soon as I saw him?” Was it really just a coincidence that he’d returned right when she’d asked someone to find him? Emiline pricked her thumb with the pin she’d been playing with and threw it carelessly on the vanity table.
“Worse of all, my brain was so addled before I could think of any kind of witty reply, he just left—left me alone in the parlor with my tea and a million questions.”
“No use fretting about it now. If I know my girl, you’ll be thinking much more clearly at dinner. Don’t you worry.”
Emiline took a deep, calming breath. “Thank you, Justine. Yes, I do believe I am thinking much more clearly now. It’s of no special consequence that Reinier came here past that of convenience.” She refused to say he’d come home. “I hadn’t thought it was important to meet in person, just that we could handle the matter like any other business transaction. But it might be fortuitous he’s here. This way I can get the things over more quickly.”
“The quicker the better, I’d say.” Justine added the last pin to Emiline’s hair. “You sure you don’t want me to do anything else? Maybe add a string of pearls or pull a few curls down?”
Emiline looked at the plain style in the mirror. “No, this will do fine. Thank you.” She didn’t need to make any kind of impression. There was no need to take any special care whatsoever with her appearance for a man, not husband, but just a man she barely knew and certainly didn’t want meddling in her life anymore.
“If you wish, but I say the more armor, the better to face the devil.” Justine took one more quick look over her handiwork.
“He’s not the devil, Justine, just a shrewd businessman. You know, even if I hadn’t realized it in the beginning, our marriage wasn’t anything but a business transaction. Why shouldn’t the end of it be the same?” She’d make it through dinner with just a little small talk and then casually remind him of how well they’ve both done apart from each other.
Justine’s snort was derogatory. “If you say so, but, darling, I was there when the honeymoon was over and you suddenly found yourself alone. If only you’d listened to your father’s warnings before it was too late.”
“I know.” Emiline sighed, thinking back on how she’d told her father time and again that Reinier wasn’t like the others. Eventually, her father gave up trying with a sympathetic, sad smile. You know there’s nothing I can deny you, he’d said, kissing her forehead.
Emiline knew now she’d been overconfident in her youth. She thought she was oh-so-special and her love was enough to hold Reinier. She’d been completely happy to give herself up to being the perfect wife—had, in fact, believed it would be enough for him.
But bitter realization had woken her from her dream. Reinier Barhydt had never wanted her love, hadn’t wanted the burden of responsibilities that came with being master of Bougainvilla and being her husband. He had only wanted her money. And just as her father had predicted, she couldn’t keep him with her on Ronde.
Emiline walked to the full-length silver mirror and took one last look. “We’re both businesspeople now. I’ll make him see the logic and tremendous profit in him signing the papers. If all goes according to plan and he agrees, then maybe he’ll even be gone from l’Île de Ronde and our lives by the morning tide.”
Justine knit her brows, her frown deepening. Paying that no mind, Emiline opened the door. The stage was set; now all she had to do was play her part. It was easy, really.
“From your mouth to God’s ears, child.” Emiline heard Justine’s murmur just as she stepped out of her room.
Reinier paced in front of the open French doors of the dining room. The fresh evening breeze and scent of bougainvilleas, sugarcane, and sea did nothing to lighten his mood.
He stopped to look out at the cliffs above the caves, wondering again what the hell had really made him come. One thing was for sure, as Captain of the Sirene, he had a reputation to uphold. If word got out that his wife was cuckolding him and doing as she pleased, his ability keep his own house in order might be called into question, and thereby his ability to keep his business dealings in order as well.
Not that he actually wanted any real part in having to keep his own house in order. It was rather annoying to have to take time out of the life he so enjoyed to be forced back here to bring his wife in line. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to charm her into agreement; then, after a very pleasurable night of husbandly duties, he could be on his way. Maybe even on the morning tide.
He checked the clock on the mantel above the fireplace again and his frustration grew. Obviously, his spoiled little island beauty hadn’t changed at all. Still playing childish games by keeping him waiting.
But when he turned at the sound of delicate yet determined footsteps coming through the door behind him, all his previous thoughts were forgotten and lost in the vision of someone he didn’t recognize standing before him.
This
