prices, but a good many of them were bargaining for bargaining’s sake alone.
Emiline tried to blend in with the masses. She barely noticed the mixture of scents wafting through the port, from the delectable fragrance of spices to the strong, distinctive smell of coffee and tobacco all tinged by the stink of fish. She just wanted to get onboard the Sea Gull.
The crude wooden plank swayed under her feet as she ascended. Her maid, Justine, had returned from her errands along with the Sea Gull’s Captain Blanc, who had been so kind to accompany Justine. Emiline had wanted to be alone for the business she’d concluded today.
The Anglican Church proudly looked over the town and the port, its chiming bell bidding farewell to the Sea Gull slowly passing through the horseshoe-shaped harbor. The ship’s belly was now empty of its cargo of sugarcane from Ronde, the small island just north of Grenada that was her home.
Emiline held her white crochet-covered hand over her eyes to shield them from the bright morning sun, smiling up at her entourage, a horde of quibbling sea birds with their tuneless cacophony crudely imitating a fanfare as the Sea Gull made her way out of the port.
On his way to the most excellent house in town, Connor didn’t pay attention to whether he was walking in the shade or in the sunlight. He was too distracted. He had to be sure of his plan before he entered Madame Poivre’s establishment and met with Reinier.
It was quite unfortunate that the advice he’d given his friend years ago had turned out like this. As second son, Reinier hadn’t had too many options to make a fortune for himself, and since he was definitely not meant for the church, Reinier had started his career on a ship. One night Connor had told him half jokingly that Reinier needed to marry money and get his own ship. Had he known Reinier would take his advice that literally, Connor would have been more careful.
One didn’t go off and marry a young, besotted girl if one wanted to marry rich. One looked for a lonely, but wealthy—and if possible, passably attractive—widow. Connor supposed Reinier had never thought that part through and had certainly not taken heed of the consequences for her.
Reinier valued freedom above anything else. Never feeling tied down was his main ambition in life, and he was determined to achieve it. Yet, Connor had known him long enough and well enough to see a new restlessness in his eyes. Something was amiss. Reinier needed to settle down, whether he was aware of it or not. He needed to find a sense of peace before too long.
Is this the right choice? Connor wondered. Does he really have a right to meddle with his friend’s life like this?
Perhaps he wanted to do this to silence his own conscience. Reinier had taken his thoughtless words too seriously.
Nonetheless, Connor was sure he mustn’t tell Reinier about the divorce. In his current state of mind, Reinier would sign the agreement only too gladly. Four years was a long time. It changed people, and by the tone Mrs. Emiline du Ronde-Barhydt had laid into her words, as well as her determination to be rid of her husband, she seemed quite the opposite of how Reinier had described her. She might not have been before, but perhaps now she was exactly what his friend needed.
By the time he was taking two steps at once to climb the stairs to Madame Poivre’s, Connor had convinced himself of the best course of action. What he’d come up with may not have been the best of all lies, but it would do. Connor knew Reinier was competitive, especially when it came to what he regarded as his own.
What a shame. The world would certainly mourn the loss of a glorious rake such as Reinier.
“Bonjour, Monsieur O’Driscoll. This way.” A young maid greeted him, opening the door with a curtsy even before he reached for the bell. She must have been spying from behind the curtains.
They walked in silence toward a private room at the back of the house. Quietly, she opened the double doors and motioned with a quick gesture for him to enter. Bobbing another curtsy, she closed the doors to the room, giving the men some privacy.
Three very spacious armchairs surrounded a tiny table in the elegantly furnished room. It was polished and classic, a place where a man could relax before indulging in other, very pleasurable activities.
There were no silly-looking cupids around anywhere, no lush red carpets, no strong-smelling perfume in the air covering more undesirable scents that would indicate this was an establishment of the worst kind. The tasteful and timeless elegance made Madame Poivre’s an outstanding place, genteel and chic, an establishment of the best kind.
“What took you so long?”
Connor’s head snapped toward the voice. He could see only Reinier’s legs stretched out lazily and his hands hanging elegantly over the arms of the chair he was lounging in. Instantly, Connor felt his lips twitch into a smile again, but this time it wasn’t a forced smile. No, there was genuine delight in it—and a certain amount of playfulness as well.
He went to the armchair opposite his friend and made himself comfortable. Reinier returned the smile with one of his own, only his was more. It was enigmatic. It was meaningful, it was charming and unspeakably seductive—a direct assault to one’s senses.
He wore his hair loose today. There was no need to tie it back for what they had in mind. His blond hair was generally straight, but it curled slightly at the tips, and now, as he lounged in the armchair as confident as ever, his mane surrounded his head and brushed over his shoulders like a halo.
His unique eyes were translucent, crystalline jewels of lush green that became so bright they looked as golden as the sun in the center—almost like a cat’s eyes. It was precisely those bright, hypnotizing eyes that were taking Connor in from head to toe and back. The perusal sent a pleasant shiver of awareness through Connor’s body.
“So…” Reinier purred, a husky sound full of heat. “Where have you been?”
Connor relished in his friend’s sensual mouth gradually changing, the corners wandering up until he smiled his typical, breathtaking smile. Reinier knew his appeal, and he took great pleasure in seeing how it affected others.
Letting Reinier’s rich, velvety words trickle down his spine, Connor tried to sit more comfortably in the chair. The fly of his breeches had become dangerously confining.
Slowly licking his lips, Reinier leaned back more. The delightful physical pressure that was an immediate result of their arousing game was too sweet. Reinier loved anticipation. He adored the sensations brought on by withholding what was inevitably to follow.
At last, Connor found a position he was comfortable with. Now it was time to put his plan into action. He knew if he didn’t do it now, he’d forget about it all later. But how to begin?
“Business kept me from joining you sooner,” Connor finally replied. “But what I really wanted to tell you is I have heard some juicy rumors about one of the lonely wives on the islands around.”
“Is that so?” Reinier let the words out in a bored sigh and looked away. He studied a nonexistent piece of lint on the turquoise sleeve of his coat that boasted elegant patterns of gold.
He had definitely caught Reinier’s attention with that. One corner of Connor’s mouth flitted up. If only Reinier knew how much his taste in garments matched his wife’s—matched Emiline with her turquoise eyes and the golden highlights in her chocolate brown hair.
“I hired a new sailor at Ronde when we last stopped there to load up with sugarcane. But I am a little
