Secrets of Sin. Chloe HarrisЧитать онлайн книгу.
to avert his gaze to hide the telltale glitter of understanding in his eyes.
How sweet. Connor felt territorial. But it was a shame, really. The world would certainly mourn the loss of a glorious rake such as Connor.
“I see,” Reinier gasped a little exaggerated and somewhat disappointed, but he wasn’t bothering to hide the triumphant, meaningful smile he felt. “Seeing that she is out of the question, I might have to find someone else for it, though,” he whispered, leaning closer, so close to Connor that their lips almost met.
Reinier had expected anything but Connor’s surprising response, a sly curling of his lips into much the same enigmatic smile he himself had felt on his own face mere moments ago.
“You are charmingly incorrigible.” Connor smirked. “Go ahead and tease me now. But you’ll see. You’ll soon see, my friend.”
Now it was Reinier’s turn to look—and feel—quite perplexed.
3
“Mistress!”
Emiline was stopped by Justine’s breathless, distressed squeal as soon as she entered the house. Hands in her apron, the lady’s maid who had been on Bougainvilla since Emiline’s childhood seemed quite agitated. Her eyes were unnaturally wide, as was her mouth.
With a sad smile, Emiline remembered when she had last seen Justine like this. It was when one of the downstairs maids had broken several saucers of her mother’s most precious china.
Emiline cut the maid off with a simple, weary shake of her head and continued toward the stairs up to her room. “Justine, whatever has you flustered like this, whether it’s another piece of the china or something similarly dramatic, please stop. I’m too tired and I long for a bath.”
Justine clapped her mouth shut. Then her forehead wrinkled. “But…”
Once more Emiline shook her head and handed the maid her old hat and worn leather gloves. Justine could wait. It had been another exhausting day in the fields. A long, hot bath would ease the ache in her back a little and the stiffness in her muscles too. Besides, it was part of her daily routine. After a day in the fields, she’d relax in steaming water; then she’d have tea in the parlor and read a little or brood over the ledgers in the study until it was time for dinner.
When she entered her chamber, Emiline leaned against the door, closing her eyes with a sigh. She felt so tired. The people of Ronde all worked hard for her and she worked with them. There was no day off for the Mistress of Bougainvilla.
When her father had died, Emiline had to learn to take a man’s role, to take on all the responsibilities the trade required without complaint—and she had. She’d made Bougainvilla the most profitable sugarcane estate in the West Indies.
She pushed off the door and began to open the laces of her plain linen dress that was mended in too many places and now dirty from the fields. Emiline made her way to the bathtub in the adjoining room and let herself sink into the hot water.
Having scrubbed herself clean until the water was white from the soap, Emiline allowed herself to linger a little longer. She leaned back, feeling the soreness in her muscles ease.
The scent of bougainvilleas wafted to her through the open windows. That’s where the name of the estate came from. They’d been her mother’s favorite flowers, and the villa was surrounded by them.
The estate and the tiny island were Emiline’s whole world, and she ruled it. She had to. There was no one else to do it for her.
Sometimes she felt very alone. But that was ridiculous really. She had a busy life. There was nothing she lacked, and she was a very successful businesswoman. There was no need, she told herself, for a family.
Once she’d thought herself in love. Once was enough to teach her. That love had been so fierce and all-encompassing, it burnt her. Oh, it had definitely been enough.
The ever-present, soft breeze from the sea through the windows reminded her that the water had turned cool already, so she stepped out of the bathtub and grabbed a towel.
While rubbing herself dry, she was thinking about the parlor. She’d have tea there, as usual. Sometimes, when she was sitting in the parlor, she caught herself still looking out the window there. It had a wonderful view of the little harbor of Ronde.
Some days there’d be ships there. Ships waiting to purchase a load of the finest sugarcane or rum the Caribbean had to offer.
For a long time she’d searched the harbor for the one ship that would bring her beloved home. After a while, her tears had tasted bitter and stung her cheeks as she watched for the ship that might carry her husband back to her. He’d never returned, and eventually there were no more tears left. That fountain dried and her heart shriveled with it.
He didn’t want her and she wasn’t looking for him any longer. And that was just as well.
Still, the annoying habit of looking out of the window in the parlor when she was having tea remained. And still she chided herself for it.
But Emiline would be in control of even that eventually. She controlled every other aspect of her life now. She’d master this too. Only one little obstacle remained in the way of her absolute independence. But that was well in hand and would be taken care of. His whereabouts would be known soon, and the papers would be delivered to him.
Elated by that thought, Emiline went to her wardrobe and chose a simple beige linen afternoon dress to wear for tea. She mustn’t forget to take one of her new books with her, she thought and snatched it from her bedside table before she closed the door behind her. Blessed solitude and tea were waiting in the parlor for her.
Reinier was annoyed. Simply being here irked him immensely. It was bad enough that he’d had to interrupt his very pleasurable life to come here and bring his wife to heel, but waiting this long for her to finally grace him with her presence was enormously irritating.
He felt the muscle in his jaw twitch furiously. He should have known, though. She was probably up in her room making herself look pretty. She shouldn’t flatter herself. He was over that animalistic affection he’d felt years ago. Besides, he hadn’t come here to stay, and he surely hadn’t come here to take care of her loneliness. He was not going to be intimate with her, so there was no need for her to try and impress him.
Reinier had only come to tell Emiline what he expected of her, and he assumed that she’d meekly accept it. Once he’d saved his reputation, he would leave again as quickly as he’d come. Maybe even with the evening tide. He had a shipping business to run and quite a few other pleasurable things to get back to, after all.
The tiny island only felt confining. Especially this parlor he was in now while waiting for his spoiled wife to arrive. Even though he was standing by the window and looking out at the sea, he felt as if his hands and feet were shackled and he was chained to a wall. He longed to be out there, experiencing the salty breeze of freedom on his face.
He remembered that stifling feeling only too well—his past. Sometimes he thought it might still suffocate him, throttle him, and immobilize him. Like he’d felt when…
The nervous clatter of teacups on delicate saucers interrupted his somber memories, and out of the corner of his eye, Reinier could see a maid setting the table for tea. She was struggling not to look directly at him.
His lips twitched. Yes, he was here again, but he’d soon be gone—with the evening tide for sure.
Reinier heard the maid leave as unobtrusively as she had entered. By her quick footsteps, she seemed eager to exit the room. Why? Was it because his wife would soon be here? He really hoped so, because the evening tide waited for no one.
He heard footsteps again, slower this time. The doorknob turned and the door squeaked. Then suddenly there was complete silence, as if time stood still for that very moment.
But the enchantment fled as unexpectedly as it had come when something fell to the floor and there