The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection

Five

If Dev hadn’t just run past a gauntlet of snickering females, he might have been amused by the almost identical expressions of surprise on the faces of his fiancée and her boss. But he had, so he wasn’t.

Alexis Danvers didn’t help matters by looking him up and down with the same scrutiny an auctioneer might give a prize bull. As thin as baling wire, she sized him up with narrowed, calculating eyes before thrusting out a hand tipped with scarlet talons.

“Mr. Hunter. Good to meet you. Sarah says you and she are engaged.”

“Wish I could say the same, Ms. Danvers. And yes, we are.”

He shifted his gaze to Sarah, frowning when he noted her reddened eyes and tearstained cheeks. He didn’t have to search far for the reason behind them. The grainy color photo on Danvers’s desk said it all.

Hell! Sarah had hinted the crap would hit the fan if some magazine other than hers scooped the story. Looked as if it had just hit. He turned back to the senior editor and vectored the woman’s anger in his direction.

“I’m guessing you might be a little piqued that Sarah didn’t clue you in to our relationship before it became public knowledge.”

Danvers dipped her chin in a curt nod. “You guessed right.”

“I’m also guessing you understand why I wasn’t real anxious for another avalanche of obnoxious publicity.”

“If you’re referring to the Ten Sexiest Singles article...”

“I am.”

“Since you declined to let us interview you for that article, Mr. Hunter, everything we printed was in the public domain. Your military service. That cargo thingamajig you patented. Your corporation’s profits last quarter. Your marital status. All we did was collate the facts, glam them up a little, toss in a few pictures and offer you to an admiring audience.”

“Any more admiration from that audience and I’ll have to hire a bodyguard.”

“Or a fiancée?”

She slipped that in with the precision of a surgeon. Dev had to admire her skill even as he acknowledged the hit.

“Or a fiancée,” he agreed. “Luckily I found the perfect one right here at Beguile.”

Which reminded him of why he’d made a second trek to the magazine’s offices.

“Something’s come up,” he told Sarah. “I was going to explain it to you privately, but...”

“You heard from Gina?”

Her breathless relief had Dev swearing silently. Little Miss Gina deserved a swift kick in the behind for putting her sister through all this worry. And he might just be the one to deliver it.

“No, I haven’t.”

The relief evaporated. Sarah’s shoulders slumped. Only for a moment, though. The St. Sebastian steel reasserted itself almost immediately. Good thing, as she’d need every ounce of it for the sucker punch Dev was about to deliver.

“But I did hear from the CEO I’ve been negotiating with for the past few months. He’s ready to hammer out the final details and asked me to fly over to Paris.”

She sensed what was coming. He saw it in the widening of her green eyes, the instinctive shake of her head. Dev ignored both and pressed ahead.

“I told him I would. I also told him I might bring my fiancée. I explained we just got engaged, and that I’m thinking of taking some extra time so we can celebrate the occasion in his beautiful city.”

“Excuse me!” Danvers butted in, her expression frigid. “Sarah has an important job here at Beguile, with deadlines to meet. She can’t just flit off to Paris on your whim.”

“I appreciate that. It would only be for a few days. Maybe a week.”

Dev turned back to Sarah, holding her gaze, holding her to their bargain at the same time.

“We’ve been working this deal for months. I need to wrap it up. Monsieur Girault said his wife would be delighted to entertain you while we’re tied up in negotiations.”

He slipped in that veiled reminder of one of his touchiest problems deliberately. He’d been up front with her. He wanted her to provide cover from Elise Girault. In exchange, he’d let her light-fingered sister off the hook.

Sarah got the message. Her chin inched up. Her shoulders squared. The knowledge she would stick to her side of the bargain gave him a fiercer sense of satisfaction than he had time to analyze right now.

“When are you thinking of going?” she asked.

“My executive assistant has booked us seats on a seven-ten flight out of JFK.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight. You have a current passport, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I can’t just jet off and leave Grandmama!”

“Not a problem. I also had my assistant check with the top home health-care agencies in the city. A licensed, bonded RN can report for duty this afternoon and stay with your grandmother until you get back.”

“Dear God, no!” A shudder shook her. “Grandmama would absolutely hate that invasion of her privacy. I’ll ask our housekeeper, Maria, to stay with her.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Since I’m springing this trip on you with such short notice, please tell your housekeeper I’ll recompense her for her time.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said stiffly.

“Of course it is.”

She started to protest, but Dev suggested a daily payment for Maria’s services that made Sarah blink and her boss hastily intervene.

“The man’s right, kiddo. This is his gig. Let him cover the associated costs.”

She left unsaid the fact that Dev could well afford the generous compensation. It was right there, though, like the proverbial elephant in the room, and convinced Sarah to reluctantly agree.

“We’re good to go, then.”

“I...I suppose.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “I need to finish the Sizzling Summer Sea-escapes layout, Alexis.”

“And the ad for that new lip gloss,” her boss put in urgently. “I want it in the June edition.”

“I’ll take my laptop. I can do both layouts on the plane.” She pushed out of her chair and faced Dev. “You understand that my accompanying you on this little jaunt is contingent on Maria’s availability.”

“I understand. Assuming she’s available, can you be ready by three o’clock?”

“Isn’t that a little early for a seven-ten flight?”

“It is, but we need to make a stop on the way out to JFK. Or would you rather go to Cartier now?”

“Cartier? Why do we...? Oh.” She gave a low groan. “An engagement ring, right?”

“Right.”

She shook her head in dismay. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

Her boss took an entirely different view. With a hoarse whoop, she reached for the phone on her desk.

“Perfect! We’ll send a camera crew to Cartier with you.” She paused with the phone halfway to her ear and raked her subordinate with a critical glance. “Swing by makeup on your way out, Sarah. Have them ramp up your color. Wouldn’t hurt to hit wardrobe, too. That’s one of your grandmother’s Dior suits, right? It’s great, but it needs something. A belt, maybe. Or...”

Sarah cut in, alarm coloring her voice. “Hold on a minute, Alexis.”

“What’s to hold? This is exactly what we were talking about before Hunter arrived.”

Sarah shot Dev a swift, guilty glance. It didn’t take a genius for him to fill in the blanks. Obviously, her boss had been pressing to exploit the supposed whirlwind romance between one of her own and Number Three.

As much as it grated, Dev had to admit a splashy announcement of his engagement to Sarah St. Sebastian fell in with his own plans. If nothing else, it would get the word out that he was off the market and, hopefully, keep Madame Girault’s claws sheathed.

“I’ll consent to a few pictures, if that’s what Sarah wants.”

“A few pictures,” she agreed with obvious reluctance, leveling a pointed look at her boss. “Just this one time.”

“Come on, Sarah. How much more romantic can you get than April in Paris? The city of light and love. You and Hunter here strolling hand in hand along the Quai de Conti...”

“No, Alexis.”

“Just think about it.”

“No, Alexis.”

There was something in the brief exchange Dev couldn’t quite get a handle on. The communication between the two women was too emphatic, too terse. He didn’t have time to decipher it now, however.

“Your people get this one shoot,” he told Danvers, putting an end to the discussion. “They can do it at Cartier.” He checked his watch. “Why don’t you call your housekeeper now, Sarah? Make sure she’s available. If she is, we’ll put a ring on your finger and get you home to pack.”

* * *

Sarah battled a headache as the limo cut through the Fifth Avenue traffic. Devon sat beside her on the cloud-soft leather, relaxed and seemingly unperturbed about throwing her life into total chaos. Seething, she threw a resentful glance at his profile.

Was it only two days ago he’d stormed into her life? Three? She felt as though she’d been broadsided by a semi. Okay, so maybe she couldn’t lay all the blame for the situation she now found herself in on Dev. Gina had certainly contributed her share. Still...

When the limo pulled up at the front entrance to Cartier’s iconic flagship store, the dull throb in her temples took on a sharper edge. With its red awnings and four stories of ultra high-end merchandise, the store was a New York City landmark.

Sarah hadn’t discovered until after her grandmother’s heart attack that Charlotte had sold a good portion of her jewels to Cartier over the years. According to a recent invoice, the last piece she’d parted with was still on display in their Estate Jewelry room.

Dev had called ahead, so they were greeted at the door by the manager himself. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter. I’m Charles Tipton.”

Gray-haired and impeccably attired, he shook Dev’s hand before bowing over Sarah’s with Old World courtesy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. St. Sebastian. I’ve had the honor of doing business with your grandmother several times in the past.”

She smiled her gratitude for his discretion. “Doing business with” stung so much less than “helping her dispose of her heritage.”

“May I congratulate you on your engagement?”

She managed not to wince, but couldn’t help thinking this lie was fast taking on a life of its own.

“Thank you.”

“I’m thrilled, of course, that you came to Cartier to shop for your ring. I’ve gathered a selection of our finest settings and stones. I’m sure we’ll find something exactly to your...”

He broke off as a cab screeched over to the curb and the crew from Beguile jumped out. Zach Zimmerman—nicknamed ZZ, of course—hefted his camera bags while his assistant wrestled with lights and reflectors.

“Hey, Sarah!” Dark eyed and completely irreverent about everything except his work, ZZ stomped toward them in his high-top sneakers. “You really engaged to Number Three or has Alexis been hitting the sauce again?”

She hid another wince. “I’m really engaged. ZZ, this is my fiancé, Devon...”

“Hunter. Yeah, I recognize the, uh, face.”

He smirked but thankfully refrained from referring to any other part of Dev’s anatomy.

“If you’ll all please come with me.”

Mr. Tipton escorted them through the first-floor showroom with its crystal chandeliers and alcoves framed with white marble arches. Faint strains of classical music floated on the air. The seductive scent of gardenia wafted from strategically positioned bowls of potpourri.

A short elevator ride took them to a private consultation room. Chairs padded in gold velvet were grouped on either side of a gateleg, gilt-trimmed escritoire. Several cases sparkling with diamond engagement sets sat on the desk’s burled wood surface.

The manager gestured them to the chairs facing the desk but before taking his own he detoured to a sideboard holding a silver bucket and several Baccarat flutes.

“May I offer you some champagne? To toast your engagement, perhaps?”

Sarah glanced at Dev, saw he’d left the choice up to her, and surrendered to the inevitable.

“Thank you. That would be delightful.”

The cork had already been popped. Tipton filled flutes and passed them to Sarah and Dev. She took the delicate crystal, feeling like the biggest fraud on earth. Feeling as well the stupidest urge to indulge in another bout of loud, sloppy tears.

Like many of Beguile’s readers, Sarah occasionally got caught up in the whole idea of romance. You could hardly sweat over layouts depicting the perfect engagement or wedding or honeymoon without constructing a few private fantasies. But this was about as far from those fantasies as she could get. A phony engagement. A pretend fiancé. A ring she would return as soon as she fulfilled the terms of her contract.

Then she looked up from the pale gold liquid bubbling in her flute and met Dev’s steady gaze. His eyes had gone deep blue, almost cobalt, and something in their depths made her breath snag. When he lifted his flute and tipped it to hers, the fantasies begin to take on vague form and shape.

“To my...” he began.

“Wait!” ZZ pawed through his camera bag. “I need to catch this.”

The moment splintered. Like a skater on too-thin ice, Sarah felt the cracks spidering out beneath her feet. Panic replaced the odd sensation of a moment ago. She had to fight the urge to slam down the flute and get off the ice before she sank below the surface.

She conquered the impulse, but couldn’t summon more than a strained smile once ZZ framed the shot.

“Okay,” the photographer said from behind a foot-long lens, “go for it!”

Dev’s gesture with his flute was the same. So was the caress in his voice. But whatever Sarah had glimpsed in his blue eyes a moment ago was gone.

“To us,” he said as crystal clinked delicately against crystal.

“To us,” she echoed.

She took one sip, just one, and nixed ZZ’s request to repeat the toast so he could shoot it from another angle. She couldn’t ignore him or his assistant, however, while she tried on a selection of rings. Between them, they made the process of choosing a diamond feel like torture.

According to Tipton, Dev had requested a sampling of rings as refined and elegant as his fiancée. Unfortunately, none of the glittering solitaires he lifted from the cases appealed to Sarah. With an understanding nod, he sent for cases filled with more elaborate settings.

Once again Sarah could almost hear a clock ticking inside her head. She needed to make a decision, zip home, break the startling news of her engagement to Grandmama, get packed and catch that seven-ten flight. Yet none of the rings showcased on black velvet triggered more than a tepid response.

Like it mattered. Just get this over with, she told herself grimly.

She picked up a square cut surrounded by glittering baguettes. Abruptly, she returned it to the black velvet pad.

“I think I would prefer something unique.” She looked Tipton square in the eye. “Something from your estate sales, perhaps. An emerald, for my birth month. Mounted in gold.”

Her birthday was in November, and the stone for that month was topaz. She hoped Hunter hadn’t assimilated that bit of trivia. The jeweler had, of course, but he once again proved himself the soul of discretion.

“I believe we might have just the ring for you.”

He lifted a house phone and issued a brief instruction. Moments later, an assistant appeared and deposited an intricately wrought ring on the display pad.

Thin ropes of gold were interwoven to form a wide band. An opaque Russian emerald nested in the center of the band. The milky green stone was the size and shape of a small gumball. When Sarah turned the ring over, she spotted a rose carved into the stone’s flat bottom.

Someone with no knowledge of antique jewelry might scrunch their noses at the overly fussy setting and occluded gemstone. All Sarah knew was that she had to wear Grandmama’s last and most precious jewel, if only for a week or so. Her heart aching, she turned to Dev.

“This is the one.”

He tried to look pleased with her choice but didn’t quite get there. The price the manager quoted only increased his doubts. Even fifteen-karat Russian emeralds didn’t come anywhere close to the market value of a flawless three-or four-karat diamond.

“Are you sure this is the ring you want?”

“Yes.”

Shrugging, he extracted an American Express card from his wallet. When Tipton disappeared to process the card, he picked up the ring and started to slip it on Sarah’s finger.

ZZ stopped him cold. “Hold it!”

Dev’s blue eyes went glacial. “Let us know when you’re 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.”

Six

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 to tell me the reason for this impromptu celebration.”

Having agreed to let Sarah take the lead, Dev merely moved to her side and eased an arm around her waist. She stiffened, caught herself almost instantly and relaxed.

“We have two reasons to celebrate, Grandmama. Dev’s asked me to go to Paris with him.”

“So I understand. Maria informed me you asked her to stay with me while you’re gone.”

Her arctic tone left no doubt as to her feelings about the matter.

“It’s just for a short while, and more for me than for you. This way I won’t feel so bad about rushing off and leaving you on such short notice.”

The duchess didn’t unbend. If anything, her arthritic fingers clutched the head of her cane more tightly.

“And the second reason for this celebration?”

Sarah braced herself. Dev could feel her body go taut against his while she struggled to frame their agreement in terms her grandmother would accept. It was time for him to step in and draw the duchess’s fire.

“My sisters will tell you I’m seriously deficient in the romance department, ma’am. They’ll also tell you I tend to bulldoze over any and all obstacles when I set my sights on something. Sarah put up a good fight, but I convinced her we should get engaged before we take off for Paris.”

“Madre de Dios!” The exclamation burst from Maria, who gaped at Sarah. “You are engaged? To this man?”

When she nodded, the duchess’s chin shot up. Her glance skewered Dev where he stood. In contrast to her stark silence, Maria gave quick, joyous thanks to the Virgin Mary while making the sign of the cross three times in rapid succession.

“How I prayed for this, chica!”

Tears sparkling in her brown eyes, she rushed over to crush Sarah against her generous bosom. Dev didn’t get a hug, but he was hauled down by his lapels and treated to a hearty kiss on both cheeks.

The duchess remained standing where she was. Dev was damned if he could read her expression. When Sarah approached, Charlotte’s narrow-eyed stare shifted to her granddaughter.

“We stopped by Cartier on our way here, Grandmama. Dev wanted to buy me an engagement ring.”

She raised her left hand, and the effect on the duchess was instant and electric.

“Dear God! Is that...? Is that the Russian Rose?”

“Yes,” Sarah said gently.

Charlotte reached out a veined hand and stroked the emerald’s rounded surface with a shaking fingertip. Dev felt uncomfortably like a voyeur as he watched a succession of naked emotions cross the older woman’s face. For a long moment, she was in another time, another place, reliving memories that obviously brought both great joy and infinite sadness.

With an effort that was almost painful to observe, she returned to the present and smiled at Sarah.

“Your grandfather gave me the Rose for my eighteenth birthday. I always intended you to have it.”

Her glance shifted once again to Dev. Something passed between them, but before he could figure out just what the hell it was, the duchess became all brisk efficiency.

“Well, Sarah, since you’re traipsing off to Paris on such short notice, I think we should sample this sumptuous feast your...your fiancé has so generously arranged. Then you’ll have to pack. Devon, will you pour the champagne?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Dev’s misguided belief that he’d escaped unscathed lasted only until they’d finished brunch and Sarah went to pack. He got up to help Maria clear the table. She waved him back to his seat.

“I will do this. You sit and keep la duquesa company.”

The moment Maria bustled through the door to the kitchen, la duquesa let loose with both barrels. Her pale eyes dangerous, she unhooked her cane from her chair arm and stabbed it at Dev like a sword.

“Let’s be sure we understand each other, Mr. Hunter. I may have been forced to sell the Russian Rose, but if you’ve purchased it with the mistaken idea you can also purchase my granddaughter, you’d best think again. One can’t buy class or good genes. One either has both—” she jabbed his chest with the cane for emphasis “—or one doesn’t.”

Geesh! Good thing he was facing this woman over three feet of ebony and not down the barrel of an M16. Dev didn’t doubt she’d pull the trigger if he answered wrong.

“First,” he replied, “I had no idea that emerald once belonged to you. Second, I’m perfectly satisfied with my genes. Third...”

He stopped to think about that one. His feelings for Sarah St. Sebastian had become too confused, too fast. The way she moved.... The smile in her green eyes when she let down her guard for a few moments.... Her fierce loyalty to her grandmother and ditz of a sister.... Everything about her seemed to trigger both heat and hunger.

“Third,” he finally admitted, “there’s no way I’ll ever match Sarah’s style or elegance. All I can do is appreciate it, which I most certainly do.”

The duchess kept her thoughts hidden behind her narrowed eyes for several moments. Then she dropped the tip of the cane and thumped the floor.

“Very well. I’ll wait to see how matters develop.”

She eased back against her chair and Dev started to breathe again.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” she said into the tentative truce, “that Paris is one of Sarah’s favorite cities?”

“We haven’t gotten around to sharing all our favorites yet,” he replied with perfect truthfulness. “I do know she attended the Sorbonne for a year as an undergraduate.”

That much was in the background dossier, as was the fact she’d majored in art history. Dev planned to use whatever spare time they might have in Paris to hit a few museums with her. He looked forward to exploring the Louvre or the Cluny with someone who shared his burgeoning interest in art. He was certainly no expert, but his appreciation of art in its various forms had grown with each incremental increase in his personal income...as evidenced by the Byzantine medallion.

The belated reminder of why he was here, being poked in the chest by this imperious, indomitable woman, hit with a belated punch. He’d let the side details of his “engagement” momentarily obscure the fact that he’d arm-twisted Sarah into it. He was using her, ruthlessly and with cold deliberation, as a tool to help close an important deal. Once that deal was closed...

To borrow the duchess’s own words, Dev decided, they’d just have to wait and see how matters develop. He wouldn’t employ the same ruthlessness and calculation to seduce the eminently seductive Lady Sarah as he had to get a ring on her finger. But neither would he pass up the chance to finesse her into bed if the opportunity offered.