The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.
ready.”
“Yeah, yeah, just hang on a sec.”
ZZ thrust out a light meter, scowled at the reading and barked orders to his assistant. After a good five minutes spent adjusting reflectors and falloff lights, they were finally ready.
“Go,” the photographer ordered.
Dev slipped the ring on Sarah’s finger. It slid over her knuckle easily, and the band came to rest at the base of her finger as though it had been sized especially for her.
“Good. Good.” ZZ clicked a dozen fast shots. “Look up at him, Sarah. Give him some eye sex.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks but she lifted her gaze. Dev wore a cynical expression for a second or two before exchanging it for one more lover-like.
Lights heated the room. Reflectors flashed. The camera shutter snapped and spit.
“Good. Good. Now let’s have the big smooch. Make it hot, you two.”
Tight lines appeared at the corners of Dev’s mouth. For a moment he looked as though he intended to tell ZZ to take his zoom lens and shove it. Then he rose to his feet with lazy grace and held out a hand to Sarah.
“We’ll have to try this without an audience sometime,” he murmured as she joined him. “For now, though...”
She was better prepared this time. She didn’t stiffen when he slid an arm around her waist. Didn’t object when he curled his other hand under her chin and tipped her face to his. Yet the feel of his mouth, the taste and the scent of him, sent tiny shock waves rippling through her entire body.
A lyric from an old song darted into her mind. Something about getting lost in his kiss. That was exactly how she felt as his mouth moved over hers.
“Good. Good.”
More rapid-fire clicks, more flashes. Finally ZZ was done. He squinted at the digital screen and ran through the entire sequence of images before he gave a thumbs-up.
“Got some great shots here. I’ll edit ’em and email you the best, Sarah. Just be sure to credit me if you use ’em on your bridal website.”
Right. Like that was going to happen. Still trying to recover from her second session in Devon Hunter’s arms, Sarah merely nodded.
While ZZ and his assistant packed up, Dev checked his watch. “Do you want to grab lunch before I take you home to pack?”
Sarah thought for a moment. Her number-one priority right now was finding some way to break the news to the duchess that her eldest granddaughter had become engaged to a man she’d met only a few days ago. She needed a plausible explanation. One that wouldn’t trigger Charlotte’s instant suspicion. Or worse, so much worse, make her heart stutter.
Sarah’s glance dropped to the emerald. The stone’s cloudy beauty gave her the bravado to respond to Dev’s question with a completely false sense of confidence.
“Let’s have lunch with Grandmama and Maria. We’ll make it a small celebration in honor of the occasion, then I’ll pack.”
Dev had employed a cautious, scope-out-the-territory approach for his first encounter with the duchess. For the second, he decided on a preemptive strike. As soon as he and Sarah were in the limo and headed uptown, he initiated his plan of attack.
“Do you need to call your grandmother and let her know we’re coming?”
“Yes, I should.” She slipped her phone out of her purse. “And I’ll ask Maria to put together a quick lunch.”
“No need. I’ll take care of that. Does the duchess like caviar?”
“Yes,” Sarah replied, a question in her eyes as he palmed his own phone, “but only Caspian Sea osetra. She thinks beluga is too salty and sevruga too fishy.”
“What about Maria? Does she have a favorite delicacy?”
She had to think for a moment. “Well, on All Saints Day she always makes fiambre.”
“What’s that?”
“A chilled salad with fifty or so ingredients. Why?” she asked as he hit a speed-dial key. “What are you...?”
He held up a hand, signaling her to wait, and issued a quick order. “I need a champagne brunch for four, delivered to Ms. St. Sebastian’s home address in a half hour. Start with osetra caviar and whatever you can find that’s close to... Hang on.” He looked to Sarah. “What was that again?”
“Fiambre.”
“Fiambre. It’s a salad...Hell, I don’t know...Right. Right. Half an hour.”
Sarah was staring at him when he cut the connection. “Who was that?”
“My executive assistant.”
“She’s here, in New York?”
“It’s a he. Patrick Donovan. We used to fly together. He’s back in L.A.”
“And he’s going to have champagne and caviar delivered to our apartment in half an hour?”
“That’s why he gets paid the big bucks.” He nodded to the phone she clutched in her hand. “You better call the duchess. With all this traffic, lunch will probably get there before we do.”
* * *
Despite his advance preparations, Dev had to shake off a serious case of nerves when he and Sarah stepped out of the elevator at the Dakota. His introduction to Charlotte St. Sebastian last night had given him a keen appreciation of both her intellect and her fierce devotion to her granddaughters. He had no idea how she’d react to this sudden engagement, but he suspected she’d make him sweat.
Sarah obviously suspected the same thing. She paused at the door to their apartment, key in hand, and gave him a look that was half challenge, half anxious appeal.
“She...she has a heart condition. We need to be careful how we orchestrate this.”
“I’ll follow your lead.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. The key rattled in the lock, and the door opened on a parade of white-jacketed waiters just about to exit the apartment. Their arms full of empty cartons, they stepped aside.
“Your grandmother told us to set up in the dining room,” the waiter in charge informed Sarah. “And may I say, ma’am, she has exquisite taste in crystal. Bohemian, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I thought so. No other lead crystal has that thin, liquid sheen.”
Nodding, Sarah hurried down the hall. Dev lingered to add a hefty tip to the service fee he knew Patrick would have already taken care of. Gushing their thanks, the team departed and Dev made his way to the duchess’s high-ceilinged dining room.
He paused on the threshold to survey the scene. The mahogany table could easily seat twelve, probably twenty or more with leaves in, but had been set with four places at the far end. Bone-white china gleamed. An impressive array of ruby-red goblets sparkled at each place setting. A sideboard held a row of domed silver serving dishes, and an opened bottle of champagne sat in a silver ice bucket.
Damn! Patrick would insist Dev add another zero to his already astronomical salary for pulling this one off.
“I presume this is your doing, Devon.”
His glance zinged to the duchess. She stood ramrod straight at the head of the table, her hands folded one atop the other on the ivory handle of her cane. The housekeeper, Maria, hovered just behind her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I also presume you’re going