Secrets of Sin (2 page)

Améliore sat down at his desk again. The slight protest of the lawyer’s chair told Connor so. Then he heard the lawyer grunt, “So, do you know where we might find Captain Barhydt to make him aware of your request?”

“I’m sure I have no idea where Reinier is at the moment. Most likely, he’s on the ship he built with my dowry. But I’m also sure you can hire people to track him down. Last time I saw him, he was blond. I’m afraid I cannot recall anything beyond that, having seen only his back as he ran.”

Sarcasm? Connor’s jaw dropped. So, the “little, too sweet-tempered and naïve wife,” as Reinier had described her, was asking the family lawyer, who also happened to be the lawyer of the Barhydt-O’Driscoll Shipping Company, to draw up the divorce papers? Now that was an interesting twist to his day.

Not that he could blame her. In fact, Connor wasn’t really surprised. Reinier was restless and always sought the freedom of the sea.

When Reinier had married her five years ago, Emiline du Ronde was no match for the Dutchman. She was barely 18, privileged, and judging from what little Reinier had told him, infinitely spoiled. Reinier had built his ship and ran soon afterward. She hadn’t been able to hold him.

Never in Connor’s wildest dreams—and they could be quite wild—would he have thought it could turn out like this.

He quickly walked over to where the young secretary sat, asked him for a paper and a quill, and wrote a short note to Améliore. But just as the salt had dried the viscous ink and he was about to fold the note, the door to Améliore’s office opened.

Connor stood straight and smirked when his eyes met the turquoise blue depths of Reinier’s wife’s. He saw recognition cross Emiline du Ronde-Barhydt’s lovely face; then she halted and inhaled deeply. Despite her delicate café-au-lait complexion, she blanched. Her eyes widened with what must have been shock at seeing him, her husband’s partner, right there by the secretary’s desk.

“Monsieur O’Driscoll,” she murmured civilly as she curtly bowed her head. The coolness of her tone made his name sound like that of an evil sprite one wished away.

Connor felt his smug expression broaden as he bowed to her in turn. “Mrs. Barhydt, what a pleasure to see you here.”

Emiline’s eyes paled to a chilly light blue at the deliberate address. She said a quick farewell to Améliore and left the office without looking at him again.

Connor watched her speedy retreat, the smile on his lips slowly vanishing. A very interesting twist, indeed.

Emiline was careful to uphold a calm, sedate exterior when she ducked into Polilla’s, the tiny bookstore right around the corner. The instant she entered the bookshop, she felt better. Not only did the coolness calm her overheated body, as always, the scent of old paper and ink, vaguely moldy and bitter, had a soothing effect on her.

Emiline loved books. They were her escape from the burdens her life had become. There was no more need for decisions, no responsibility, no more hard work to do while she lost herself in her books. Poetry was her favorite; it made her feel again when everything else had dulled her.

Polilla, the owner of the shop, was a frail, old bookworm, but his eyes twinkled with delight when he saw her standing in his gloomy little store. “Ahh, Señorita du Ronde, how wonderful to see you,” he greeted her warmly. Before she could answer, he promptly bent under the ancient counter to retrieve a package. “Come, have a look. I’ve had these ordered exclusively with you in mind.”

She quickly shed her crochet gloves and let her fingers run gently over the exquisite leather bindings of the two books. She examined them, well aware of Señor Polilla closely watching her. It was too rare that somebody shared her passion for books, but Polilla did.

“Señorita, if it weren’t for you, I would have had to close this shop years ago.”

All he got was a tentative smile when she briefly glanced up from the poem that had captured her attention.

“Pray, forgive my speaking so openly, but there should be more in your life than printed words. I do think you need a husband.”

She shut the book a little too loudly. The smile on her lips froze to a friendly grimace at the mention of a husband once again.

“Pardon. I shouldn’t have…” Polilla bowed, averting his eyes.

“I’d like both of them. Thank you.” Emiline’s tone was warm and friendly to silently reassure him that she hadn’t taken offense where none was meant.

Gnarled fingers wrapped brown paper around the two books, and a simple twine secured the bundle. “Shall I keep these here for you until you’re ready to sail?”

“No, thank you. I’ll take them now.” Emiline reached for the purse in the small pocket of her gown and paid the old bookseller. Then, holding her precious package to her chest, she braced herself against the temperature outside.

Her feet carried her quickly back down the winding road to the harbor. She made her way swiftly through the dozens of sailors, traders, and marketers. St. George’s was the main port in the Caribbean to purchase and advertise all manner of traded goods like sugarcane and indigo, among other things. At this time of day, the Carenage, the deep water harbor, was buzzing with traders and buyers involved in heated discussions about quality, quantity, and 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 disappointed with him. He seems to not be able to stop prattling on about how he was wrongly accused of theft and thrown out by the mistress.” Connor deliberately paused for effect before he added, “And her lover.”

Now, this wasn’t quite the truth, but it could still be excused as a little white lie. Perhaps it wasn’t that little, after all, nor was it exactly white. But Connor knew Reinier well enough to trust it wouldn’t fail to rattle him.

Wrinkling his forehead, Reinier’s detached façade was unwavering. He was even too disciplined to grind his teeth, although inwardly he felt anything but calm. A flashing memory of brilliant turquoise eyes skirted through his mind. Their recurring image had been haunting his dreams lately.

She’d never do that, Reinier told himself. Not to him. She wouldn’t dare make a cuckold of him.

“Gossip.” With a wave of his hand he brushed off the rumor.

“Yes, it is,” Connor agreed, seemingly unaware of how this all affected Reinier. “But isn’t it entertaining? I thought it was highly amusing myself.”

Reinier snorted with contempt. Closing his eyes, he carefully hid the anger churning in him. If Connor saw his gaze darken, he’d know for sure his mood had changed, and there was no need to give him proof. Most times having such unique eyes was a blessing, but not around somebody who knew him so well, somebody who could tell what Reinier felt just by looking into his eyes.