in the Caribbean Sea, but he, too, did not think freckles could be classified as a “distortion.” For Connor, it was probably quite the contrary.
Madame Poivre sighed. “I’m afraid so.”
Perhaps it was time Reinier scattered Madame Poivre’s worries about the woman’s “unattractiveness.” He knew she’d be appealing. Madame Poivre had a good eye for beauty, after all. Therefore, Reinier stated dryly, “I do believe freckles pose no hindrance to our performance.”
“Certainly not,” Connor chuckled.
Madame Poivre sighed with relief and bowed her head gratefully.
“So,” Reinier concluded, “we are to be the ones to give her her first lesson in licentiousness?”
Madame Poivre bit her lower lip to swallow the mischievous grin crawling up her round face. “Do you feel up to it?”
2
Madame Poivre was swaying her broad hips more than usual. Reinier could tell because he was right behind her when she was showing them up the stairs. Something was on her mind, something exciting, something besides money. He would have liked to wonder some more, but she opened the door to the best suite on the second floor and, stepping aside, murmured a low, “Amusez-vous, messieurs.”
Reinier stepped inside and let his coat fall over the one chair in the room. Hearing Connor sucking in his breath, he turned. His friend had stopped short, eyes fixated on the woman standing by the windows. Reinier pivoted to see what had Connor so captivated.
Her exceptionally long, strawberry blond hair fell down her sides like an exotic veil. Her hair was straight, as straight as her back when she heard the door close, and she slowly lifted her chin to meet their gazes. She wore a flimsy white dressing gown over a matching corset that was cut below her breasts. The long undergarments emphasized her slim calves and delicate ankles.
Reinier felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. She was tall and thin, but nevertheless beautiful. A rare jewel to be sure. Not as rare as turquoise…The thought of her had his expression turn to stone, so he reined in his wandering mind.
She was pale, which only emphasized the dark green quality of her eyes. And as Madame Poivre had pointed out, freckles were lavishly strewn over her features and décolleté. Although her lips were broad and a little too thin for Reinier’s taste, they seemed created for luscious pleasures. She was beautiful, indeed. She was a very beautiful whore.
Turning back to Connor, Reinier saw that his friend seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. He looked spellbound, almost frozen in place.
As realization dawned on Reinier, his eyes briefly widened and he felt a knowing, albeit sad, smile on his lips. He’d been there. Reinier knew only too well how it felt when instant attraction hit and rattled a man like lightning.
The poor boy. Somehow Reinier had a strong feeling that this was a woman the Irishman wouldn’t be able to easily walk away from.
Tilting his head in thought, Reinier licked his lips slowly. After all their adventures before and after his marriage, Reinier had not thought it could ever happen to Connor. He could only hope he would have far better luck with it than Reinier had ever had.
His gaze was locked with Connor’s as the Irishman shook himself out of his trance, his eyebrows puckering in a whimsical way. Reinier ignored Connor’s quizzical look and crossed the room to sit on the bed. Casually, he leaned back, bracing himself against the mattress. He was not going to start the game this time. If Connor was, indeed, feeling what Reinier thought he was, he would have to decide the next step to take.
That instant, when both men were looking at her, she cleared her throat, lowered her gaze, and self-consciously tried to cover herself. “Gentlemen,” she began tentatively and quietly, “I have been instructed on what you expect. So, what would you have me do?”
A fleeting glance at Connor told Reinier that he was too hypnotized by her smoky voice to react, so Reinier drawled, “Patience. We have all afternoon and half of the night for this.” Reinier paused before he added, “At least I do. I believe my friend can stay even longer.”
If it was possible, she blanched even more at those words, swallowed, and looked down. Finally, Connor found his way out of his stupor, threw his coat carelessly on top of Reinier’s, and stalked toward her. Moving around her, he eyed her from all sides. His sapphire eyes glittered with appreciative sparkles. Subtly leaning forward as if he was trying to catch the scent of her hair, Connor closed his eyes. “Tell us your name.” His words were barely more than a whisper.
Instead of answering, instead of maybe even giving them a false name, she only shook her head. Just as well.
Then Reinier saw her shudder and he couldn’t help feeling a little bit for her. She was frightened to death. But there was no need to be. He knew that if Connor still wanted this, they would both skillfully seduce her. It was an art they had perfected a long time ago.
Connor walked around until he stood right in front of her. “Are you cold?”
He captured her hands in his. Reinier noticed she wanted to pull away but apparently thought better of it.
“Come. Sit down,” Connor offered, guiding her to the bed until she had no choice but to perch on the edge beside Reinier. The Irishman sat down on the other side of her, gently massaging her hands in his. “I am Connor. And this is Reinier.”
So, it was to be the both of them? Inwardly, Reinier was surprised at Connor’s choice. But maybe it was better this way.
She refused to look at either of them. Instead, her eyes were fixated on a spot on the floor.
“Tell us something about you,” Reinier encouraged, hiding the low, purring note in his voice. “Where are you from?”
She raised her head slowly at that and stared at him, full of suspicion. But when she looked into his eyes, her face relaxed and her cautiousness eased. She was fascinated.
Reinier’s singular eyes were indeed a blessing most of the time. One would think he would grow tired of others’ reaction to them, but all too often the advantage served his purpose.
The woman before him vigorously shook herself out of her enthrallment and looked down again upon replying, “Éire. I was born and raised in Ireland.”
Connor stopped caressing her hands and his eyebrows drew up in obvious surprise.
Reinier’s and the Irishman’s eyes briefly met over her shoulder. They had both noticed the sophisticated way she expressed herself.
“Born and raised?” Reinier repeated her words as a question to nudge her to tell them more. Meanwhile, Connor tenderly rubbed her upper arms. She let it happen; in fact, she didn’t seem to notice at all.
She nodded to emphasize her story. “I am a maid’s daughter. My father is unknown.”
Perhaps if she’d looked him straight in the eyes, Reinier could have believed it. As it was, it was clear that she had diligently made it up.
Reinier tried his best to hide a grin. “You look like you loved to ride through the vast green fields bareback.”
Eyes wide with astonishment,
