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woman. As his intense gaze examined her appearance, taking her in slowly from head to toe, he noticed her chin inched higher with indignation. But Reinier paid that no mind. He looked his fill. If anybody had a right to do it, it was him—whether she welcomed it or not. On the contrary, her reluctance to enjoy his sensual perusal made the task even more luscious than it already was.
    He was glad she didn’t favor the busier fashions of the day with all their ribbons and lace and bows. She didn’t need them. Her eyes were jewels, her skin was warm silk, and her hair was entwined with its own strands of gold. They were all the accessories she needed. And he hoped to see her with nothing else very, very soon.
    Also, Reinier noticed that she was, it seemed, a woman as impatient as he’d just been by the look in those magnificent blue-green eyes.
    He moved toward her to lead her to the table set near the open French doors to catch the breeze. The table by the doors had been set without its leaves, creating an intimate and casual feel as if this was how the master and mistress had their dinner every night.
    His gaze, he knew, was predatory; perhaps much more revealing than he had at first intended. But it was only natural. She had achieved the impossible by becoming more beautiful than ever, and Reinier couldn’t seem to help the attraction he was beginning to feel for the improved looks of his wife.
    The servants, arms laden with food trays, were moving into the room from a side door. Emiline gave Reinier a small nod, lightly placed her hand on top of his, and without a word let him guide her to her chair.
    They ate much of their meal of prawns, citrus-glazed chicken, roasted yams, and fresh fruits in little more than an awkward silence.
    “You had fair weather sailing in?”
    “Yes, it was quite nice. The prawns were excellent. Were they caught this morning?”
    “I believe so; there should have been mussels as well.”
    “Wonderful.”
    It wasn’t that they didn’t have a lot to say to each other. He assumed she, too, was carefully testing, trying to find a way to lead the conversation in the direction she wanted. They both had their agendas, he was sure, only it seemed that no occasion would arise to allow either one to finally start the topic they intended to talk about.
    Finally, Reinier had enough. He broke another long stretch of silence right before she could seize the chance to make her excuses and take her leave for the night. “I must tell you, madam, Bougainvilla seems to be doing quite well. Of course, I haven’t had time to see too much of it as of yet, but it seems to be thriving. Who’s your man, by the way?”
    Her fork clattered on her plate; the tips of her ears pinkened. Reinier’s lips twitched into a mean smile.
    “My man? Sir, whatever do you mean?” She blinked innocently and her gasp was exaggerated. “I was under the assumption that you were under the assumption that it was you.”
    Her eyes sparkled with the cold, calculating certainty of her quick mind. Reinier was taken aback with that bit of sarcastic wit. It tasted just a tiny bit of hostility. It would seem that more than just her outer carriage had changed.
    “Touché, madam.” He winked quickly.
    If she wanted to challenge him, he was more than up for the task—in more than one sense of the word to be sure. If irritating her made her react to him in more than the usual slightly bored and superficial way, then more’s the better. After all, it meant she felt something for him and wasn’t just trying to keep up appearances and be the perfect wife. Just that thought alone made his chest tighten and his breath come quicker.
    Reinier took his napkin from his lap and placed it on his plate. “I was speaking of business, not personal matters—for the moment at least. Who have you got running things for you here? He should be commended.”
    Her eyes grew unnaturally big. “I don’t wish to seem obtuse, but I’m afraid that I am