been so fresh and young and she’d . . . well, she’d already seen more of life by four and twenty than most women ever experienced, or ever should for that matter.
Funny how a few years could alter a person. She didn’t notice much of a difference in her own face, but she sensed that, when Trystan looked at her since his return, he’d noticed a few new lines around her eyes. Did he wonder now what he had ever seen in a body as lived-in as hers? Or, did he suffer the same pangs of regretful attraction and annoying happiness whenever their paths met as she did?
He had aged well, her boy. No . No longer a boy; he looked like a man now—a fact that made her all the more anxious to stay as far away from him as she could. He had stubble on his jaw and lines around his eyes; even a few on his brow and around his mouth. Did he not have a birthday this month? He had to be close to thirty now.
He glanced up. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized her fingers were pressed to the window, as though reaching for him through the glass. Their gazes met. She jerked her hand away and stepped back from the window, out of his line of sight.
Her heart was pounding. She brought her hand up against the soft dark green merino of her jacket, feeling the coolness of the brass buttons beneath her palm. Why such a fearful reaction to a lover who had never been anything but respectful and generous to her?
Perhaps that was an answer in itself, but Vienne had no time for such useless contemplation. Instead, she straightened her clothes, adjusted the set of her jaunty hat, and went down the stairs to confront . . . er, welcome her guests.
Sadie and Indara were all apologetic smiles when she greeted them, each with a kiss on either of their cheeks. She did not blame them for this not entirely unwelcome intrusion, knowing how persuasive Trystan could be.
“Gentlemen,” she said, her gaze flitting over both of them, “how lovely of the two of you to stop by. There isn’t much to see just yet, I’m afraid.”
“Just seeing you is pleasure enough, Madame La Rieux,” Lord Archer replied with his trademark lopsided grin. He was one of the few men who had never taken advantage of the grottos and private rooms at Saint’s Row, despite his reputation as a lothario. She found that odd and yet somehow endearing, and returned a smile to his before allowing her attention to drift to his brother, the younger Kane—who wasn’t looking at her at all, but rather surveying the inside of the empty building.
“You’ll be tearing this down?” he asked as he moved deeper into the room.
“Actually, this building will remain, save for the side walls. The two flanking structures will be demolished and rebuilt to match the exterior of this one. They will be connected, but I want to create the feeling of crossing thresholds into new shopping departments. Each space will occupy a unique yet easily accessible area.”
He nodded, as though giving his approval—something she found a little strange, but nothing she hadn’t experience before where men were concerned. They seemed so surprised when a woman had a sound plan or thought.
“Household goods in its own building?”
“Yes, with a tearoom on the bottom floor so ladies might refresh themselves.”
“Brilliant. I assume you’ll have a powder room as well?”
How polite the English were when asking about toilets. One would think they never defecated. “Of course. Also a delivery service so maids and footmen don’t have to carry all the purchases. Plus, I plan to offer credit for regular customers—at a fair rate of interest, of course.”
He turned his head just enough to smile at her, as though they shared a private joke. “Of course.”
In response, Vienne’s heart gave a traitorous thump in her chest. He had the most wicked of grins—which always made her a little weak in the knees. It was as though all the world existed only for his enjoyment and he wanted only to share it with
Funny how a few years could alter a person. She didn’t notice much of a difference in her own face, but she sensed that, when Trystan looked at her since his return, he’d noticed a few new lines around her eyes. Did he wonder now what he had ever seen in a body as lived-in as hers? Or, did he suffer the same pangs of regretful attraction and annoying happiness whenever their paths met as she did?
He had aged well, her boy. No . No longer a boy; he looked like a man now—a fact that made her all the more anxious to stay as far away from him as she could. He had stubble on his jaw and lines around his eyes; even a few on his brow and around his mouth. Did he not have a birthday this month? He had to be close to thirty now.
He glanced up. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized her fingers were pressed to the window, as though reaching for him through the glass. Their gazes met. She jerked her hand away and stepped back from the window, out of his line of sight.
Her heart was pounding. She brought her hand up against the soft dark green merino of her jacket, feeling the coolness of the brass buttons beneath her palm. Why such a fearful reaction to a lover who had never been anything but respectful and generous to her?
Perhaps that was an answer in itself, but Vienne had no time for such useless contemplation. Instead, she straightened her clothes, adjusted the set of her jaunty hat, and went down the stairs to confront . . . er, welcome her guests.
Sadie and Indara were all apologetic smiles when she greeted them, each with a kiss on either of their cheeks. She did not blame them for this not entirely unwelcome intrusion, knowing how persuasive Trystan could be.
“Gentlemen,” she said, her gaze flitting over both of them, “how lovely of the two of you to stop by. There isn’t much to see just yet, I’m afraid.”
“Just seeing you is pleasure enough, Madame La Rieux,” Lord Archer replied with his trademark lopsided grin. He was one of the few men who had never taken advantage of the grottos and private rooms at Saint’s Row, despite his reputation as a lothario. She found that odd and yet somehow endearing, and returned a smile to his before allowing her attention to drift to his brother, the younger Kane—who wasn’t looking at her at all, but rather surveying the inside of the empty building.
“You’ll be tearing this down?” he asked as he moved deeper into the room.
“Actually, this building will remain, save for the side walls. The two flanking structures will be demolished and rebuilt to match the exterior of this one. They will be connected, but I want to create the feeling of crossing thresholds into new shopping departments. Each space will occupy a unique yet easily accessible area.”
He nodded, as though giving his approval—something she found a little strange, but nothing she hadn’t experience before where men were concerned. They seemed so surprised when a woman had a sound plan or thought.
“Household goods in its own building?”
“Yes, with a tearoom on the bottom floor so ladies might refresh themselves.”
“Brilliant. I assume you’ll have a powder room as well?”
How polite the English were when asking about toilets. One would think they never defecated. “Of course. Also a delivery service so maids and footmen don’t have to carry all the purchases. Plus, I plan to offer credit for regular customers—at a fair rate of interest, of course.”
He turned his head just enough to smile at her, as though they shared a private joke. “Of course.”
In response, Vienne’s heart gave a traitorous thump in her chest. He had the most wicked of grins—which always made her a little weak in the knees. It was as though all the world existed only for his enjoyment and he wanted only to share it with
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