Secrets of Sin (13 page)

“I will make a fortune with her now that she’s trained, you know.”

That stopped him. Slowly, he turned around and met her stare. Her lips twitched into a grin as she leaned back in the chair, obviously pleased with herself.

“I beg your pardon?” Connor didn’t know why he reacted the way he had. He’d heard her perfectly well; his ears were in faultless condition. He didn’t know why he cared. That was the way with whores. They sold their favors to the highest bidder. He knew that, after all. Why was it bothering him, then?

Counting off on her fingers, she began to enumerate the “benefactors” who were on the list, falling back into her fake French accent. “There is Monsieur Abeiros ’oo expressed interest in ’er. Also, Monsieur Cameron wishes to get an appointment with ’er. Viconte Maleroy ’as written ’ee would visit us in a few days—”

“Maleroy?” Connor felt his eyes bulge. “You can’t be serious, madame. We both know his preferences.”

Rolling her eyes, she laughed. “
Oui.
They do not exactly include women nor ’armless entertainment. But ’ee pays so well, Monsieur O’Driscole. Besides, she is very thin. She might look like a boy from be’ind if you get my meaning.”

Madame Poivre was thinking about introducing Jaidyn to Maleroy? If so, she must have lost her mind. That sadistic bastard? Connor had once seen what that fat, ugly beast did to women. How could she have told him about Jaidyn?

“Then there’s of course the usual clientele that ’ungers for a beauty such as ’er from the old world. And…”

Connor wasn’t paying attention to her rambling on about who’d be next anymore. All of a sudden he was too focused on sorting through his own strange feelings. He desperately needed to leave, to find some time to sort through everything. But one thing was for sure. He didn’t care at all for the idea that there’d be anybody but him next, even though right that moment he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see Jaidyn again. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed himself.

Yes, he was still himself. The old Connor. Nothing had changed. He’d used her well. Jaidyn might be sore a day or two, actually. She’d been sore the last few times already, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself even if she’d wanted him to—and she certainly hadn’t wanted him to. No doubt about that.

“Enough!” His bellow had been sterner than he had at first intended.

Madame Poivre blinked with her mouth still open. “Monsieur?”

Connor brought his left arm up and leaned his forehead into his hand, letting his fingers massage his temples. He figured if worse came to worse, he’d be gone a week at the most. He’d think of something meanwhile. Anything was better than her meeting Maleroy. Or any of the others. Jaidyn would need time to rest. Yes, he could afford that. Much more if it came to that. Connor owed Jaidyn that much at least. “How much for the whole week?”

Crossing her pudgy fingers and leaning them against her chin, Madame Poivre studied him a long time, her right eye a little narrower than her left. Clearly, she was adding figures in her head. With interest.

Connor sighed. With one step toward her, he fumbled for the purse in his waistcoat. Taking it out, he tossed it on the small table next to where his empty glass stood. Madame Poivre’s eyes lit up with glee at the distinctive clatter of gold coins muffled by the leather of the pouch.

“Here. That should compensate you.” Connor had difficulty not hissing through his clenched jaws.

She uncrossed her fingers to grab the heavy purse. Opening it to peek at its contents, she hummed her approval.

“Just make sure nobody touches her until I return.”

She bowed her head and that asinine turban bobbed once. “Very well, Monsieur O’Driscole. That should suffice for…ten days?”

Nodding to show he’d understood, Connor left. One problem at a time. He had a prior appointment. Right now he’d focus on his friend and see whether Reinier needed his help. And then he’d think about…the other matter.

A
fter spending the morning losing herself in her work again, inspecting the planting back in the fields, then overseeing the boiling and the rum production as well, Emiline now found herself famished having skipped breakfast. So she started toward the mansion taking the route past the harbor.

This morning she had promptly lost her appetite. There had been a note on her breakfast tray that explained why there was a breakfast tray in the first place since she usually broke her fast in the sunroom. Having read the note, she’d been nettled. Well, if one could call her unladylike growl and the emotional outburst that followed just a little piqued. She’d furiously shredded the condescending, incredibly high-handed dismissal into tiny pieces.

Merely thinking about it had her temper flare yet again. Any positive thoughts she’d had about that
man
the day before had been shredded to bits like the vile note. What had that note said? If only it were as easy to wipe the words from her memory as it had been to tear up the slip of paper and watch the confetti rain on her while she wished those specks would miraculously vanish like soap bubbles.

Disdainful, arrogant fop. Who on earth did he think he was?

Ah, yes, of course. He was the monsieur. After all, he’d signed the note with “M” for monsieur, she supposed. Foolish title in her opinion.

Sniffy, haughty dandy! How dare he dismiss her?

What in the world could he have possibly had to do? Emiline had resisted the despicably immense urge to run to the window and see if the top of the
Sirene
’s main mast was still peaking over the green hills of Ronde.

She had passed the harbor later on her way to the fields, anyway, and the
Sirene
had still been there.

Thinking again now of that moment of weakness made Emiline halt in her angry stride. She harrumphed, almost failing to resist the contemptible need to stomp her foot.

Well, fine! If the whole point of this ridiculous exercise of his was to do as he said, then, of course, she would do as she pleased!

She resumed her walk heading down the path cut in the vine-covered slope leading to the sea, feeling very proud in her defiance only to stop short again when it dawned on her that the whole thing was rather depressing.

The saddest part of it all was that she’d gone back to work because it was the only thing she knew to do, the only thing she ever did. Well, except for reading or cooling off in her secret swimming spot, but she had much too much frustration to burn for either of those.

Emiline threw her arms up and hid her face in her hands, muffling the frustrated sound from her throat that was a mixture of a despairing shriek and a discomfited huff.

When had her life become such drudgery? She had known how to have fun once. She’d had friends, attended parties, and been invited to tea. In fact, when her parents were alive, the island was always full of visitors. It had been rare that a week went by without someone else at their dinner table.

What a horrible hermit she had become. She’d never thought to question it before, but she’d cut herself off from almost everything she’d known before her marriage. Agreed, her life might have been a teensy shallow and frivolous before, but surely there was some medium between that and the sad, boring existence she had now?

Well, not right now. Until this morning the last day and a half had made her normally lonely existence seem so very far away.

Did she really want to go back to that life in just a couple more days?

Lowering her arms and blinking into the sun, Emiline wondered, when her divorce became final, she wouldn’t have to go back to…that. She’d be completely free then and she could do anything she wanted.

Hope blossomed in her chest as she continued to make her way toward the manor. Indeed, she thought, almost bouncing in her tracks, she could create a great scandal by throwing a lavish ball to celebrate her new-found freedom. She could even find another lover or another husband, for that matter. Or both?

Her heart missed a beat. Disgust spread in her and hope’s bloom withered away in an instant. Why did thinking about someone else fill her with dread and almost paralyze her completely?

She cringed with a nearly physical sensation of bitterness. Why couldn’t she imagine wanting another man but Reinier?

Chiding herself, she made her way grudgingly to the small harbor. She needed to find a rational explanation for her peculiar reluctance to think of the new, bright future and what it might entail. Maybe she couldn’t imagine being in another man’s arms right now, but things would change for certain after he was gone—for certain. And then she’d want to find someone else. For certain.

Emiline was almost to the middle of the wharf where a ship was loading cargo. No longer alone with her thoughts, she breathed deeply, taking in the hustle and bustle, happy to be distracted from her inward gloominess. It was comforting, all those people busy with running around and shouting commands and loading the belly of a ship.

Workers were lined up, conveying the cargo into the hold, and the mingled odor of sweet sugarcane, spicy rum, and the distinctive scent of hard manual labor filled her lungs. Seagulls were screeching over her head; people were nodding a friendly greeting in her direction.

Swallowing a sigh of relief, Emiline felt a smile creeping in. This was her life; this was a good life, and this was what she felt comfortable with. Realizing that had pride pulse in her chest, elevating her to almost where the seagulls drew their circles.

Eyes roaming the dock workers, she tried to make out the wharf captain so he could tell her where that ship they were currently loading had come from. There were a few ships due in soon that she wasn’t familiar with yet.

A glimpse of sun-gold hair among the workers caught her eye.

When had she hired…?

Who was…?

Emiline almost heard her jaw drop to the ground with a nasty clunk when she finally understood. That man wasn’t just one of the workers.

Inhaling sharply, she frantically searched for a hiding place. Emiline knew it was a ridiculous reaction. So this side of Reinier was rather unexpected, not to say astounding. Why hide? But instinct won out and she walked backward, crouching like a crab to duck out of sight behind a stack of wooden crates. Knowing how silly she must have looked, it shouldn’t have surprised her when her heel caught in her skirts and she stumbled. Her calf bumped into the side of another, smaller crate that had been hidden behind the bigger ones. All she could do was throw her arms up for a fraction of a second before she tumbled and landed ungracefully in a heap on her backside while her shoulder caught most of the fall. She pressed her lips together tightly to muffle the sound of distress coming from her throat. Then she righted herself, rubbing the soreness in her shoulder blade to ease the pain a bit.

At least Emiline could be thankful she was safely hidden now since she had a feeling the earth wasn’t going to kindly open to swallow her that instant.

So
that
was what he had to do this morning. He’d traded being with her for…sweating along with the other men on the dock as if he were just another common worker?

How pathetic she was to be…here. Emiline should be mortified. But curiosity had got the better of her.

Might as well make the best of the situation meanwhile, Emiline decided as reason and instinct concurred for once and she glimpsed from behind the crates to spy on Reinier.

Having removed his shirt, stockings, and shoes, he toiled side by side with the line of workers loading the ship. Barefoot and bare-chested, his torso glistened with a fine sheen of exertion. His muscular back was to her, and it rippled and bunched rhythmically as he moved.

The sight had her whole body tingle from the inside out all of a sudden, the ache in her shoulder completely forgotten. Her breath caught in her throat as her mind played tricks, picturing him not working on the wharf but…

Averting her eyes, Emiline mentally slapped herself. This was not the time, or the place, or was it in any way appropriate to even think of something like that.

Or was it?

Her eyes wandered back to the mesmerizing sight on their own accord and she had time enough to think that, although tanned, his back was still much lighter in color than her own, before her mouth went completely dry and she licked her lips. She suppressed a moan when the overwhelming, wanton craving to lick a salty path along that distinctive scar that crossed his back from his left shoulder to his right hip, hit her with unbridled force. Drawing in a shaky breath, she almost succeeded in scattering the yearning to run her hands over that powerful body, taste his kiss, feel what she knew was hidden in his breeches in her hands, then stretch her secret muscles…

Luckily for Emiline, the cargo was all safe in the belly of the ship now and she found herself able to breathe again. The line of workers broke up. Some braced themselves on their knees, others bent back, their hands massaging the small of their backs.

Reinier just stood there, back straight, his unblinking eyes fixated on the horizon. Only when a droplet of sweat sneaked over his eyebrows did he blink. He brushed it away, staring at his hands as if he saw them for the first time. Emiline fully expected Reinier to turn toward the manor now—but he didn’t. Instead, he walked off in the other direction; not to her, but to a more secluded patch of beach she knew was just beyond the dock.

Scrambling up, she quickly gathered her skirts and followed. She was careful to remain hidden in the trees and undergrowth lining the shore further down the coast of Ronde. But she simply couldn’t resist, never mind how pathetic her behavior must seem.

Emiline arrived just in time, stooping behind a silver button mangrove, to see him release his hair from the leather restraint and remove his breeches, stalking into the sea in that long-legged, graceful, pacing-cougar stride as naked—and as flawless—as God had created him. Her attention was immediately riveted to his male, muscular bottom. She had always thought that his narrow hips and especially his exquisitely shaped backside were…lovely. More like mouthwatering, she mentally corrected herself yet again and cleared her throat.

The ocean swallowed the lower half of his body as his golden mane swung and shivered and danced in the breeze as he opened his arms wide, throwing his head back to welcome the waves of cooling salt water enveloping his body.

She knew she should still feel something akin to anger, because he had abandoned her that morning preferring to work instead of entertaining her with some new scheme he’d thought up for their bargain. Alas, her treacherous body had a mind of its own. Heat streaked down her throat, into her abdomen, and coiled tightly between her legs. In that moment, she longed to become a drop in the sea to lick and lave at his body.

Throwing his arms up, he dove in, swimming until he resurfaced again farther away, tossing his head from side to side, his hair firing droplets of salt water. It was all Emiline could see from him in that distance.

She had to look away as her chest began to constrict.

How can that be? Why?

Lost in thought, she made her way back to Bougainvilla just as she’d intended before her embarrassing spying interlude.

Emiline wondered at the fact that Reinier hadn’t headed back to the manor to bathe with scented soap before luncheon. Oh no, he’d run for the beach, preferring the natural scent of the sea on his skin. He might be very good at acting tame and domesticated, but there was a superior wildness in him.

A wildness that nothing could erase.

He might act the supercilious fop, but he was so much more than that. He didn’t shy away from manual labor, and he didn’t need perfume and powdered hair or pristine wigs to feel at ease, or tons of lace around his wrists and throat, for that matter.

She had almost made herself forget, but this encounter had woken memories she had buried. Not for the first time Emiline speculated whether his trademark expression that displayed faint amusement as much as light boredom was just a mask he wore to hide a depth to his soul that she was sure must be there.

There were just too many contradictions about him to believe otherwise.

If only he could just be that way always, she could love him. Or better yet—if he had stayed and he’d been that way all along, they could have been happy.

But he hadn’t. He had made the choice to go away.

Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder: Had she underestimated him?

Lounging in a brown leather chair tucked away in a corner of the study, Reinier flung one foot over its arm and let it swing idly. He lifted his hand and let his fingers play casually with the thick velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the main mast of his ship in Ronde’s harbor every once in a while.

The curtain draped him in darkness. He felt quite at ease hidden in the shadow of the otherwise sunlit study. Leaning his head against the head of the leather chair, his eyes settled on the immense bookshelf at the other side of the room.

Reinier felt much better than he had last night. A good morning’s work had done him a world of good, helping to clear his head from the frustration of the night before. And now he’d come to a decision. He’d play out the game to the end, cut his losses, and be done. It was the only way.

Just as well.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Emiline came into the study, walking straight to the bookshelf. Fortunately, she wasn’t aware he was there.

She looked fresh and cool in her pale lavender day dress. It set off the warm color of her skin, making it glow. It also clung to all her enticing curves in just the right places, especially now as she leaned to one side, standing on tiptoe and reaching for a book in the upper row. Her dark chocolate hair was loosely piled high. Parts of it were still damp; Reinier could tell by the way it curled.