Once inside the city, Paris’s customary snarl of traffic engulfed them. Neither the traffic nor the nasty weather could dim the glory of the 7th arrondissement, however. The townhomes and ministries, once the residences of France’s wealthiest nobility, displayed their mansard roofs and wrought-iron balconies with haughty disregard for the pelting rain. Sarah caught glimpses of the Eiffel Tower’s iron symmetry before the limo rolled to a stop on a quiet side street in the heart of Saint-Germain. Surprise brought her around in her seat to face Dev.
“We’re staying at the Hôtel Verneuil?”
“We are.”
“Gina and I and Grandmama stayed here years ago, on our last trip abroad together.”
“So the duchess informed me.” His mouth curved. “She also informed me that I’m to take you to Café Michaud to properly celebrate our engagement,” he said with a smile.
Sarah fell a little bit in love with him at that moment. Not because he’d booked them into this small gem of a palace instead of a suite at the much larger and far more expensive Crillon or George V. Because he’d made such an effort with her grandmother.
Surprised and shaken by the warmth that curled around her heart, she tried to recover as they exited the limo. “From what I remember, the Verneuil only has twenty-five or twenty-six rooms. The hotel’s usually full. I’m surprised you could get us in with such short notice.”
“I didn’t. Patrick did. After which he informed me that I’d just doubled his Christmas bonus.”
“I have to meet this man.”
“That can be arranged.”
He said it with a casualness that almost hid the implication behind his promise. Sarah caught it, however. The careless words implied a future beyond Paris.
She wasn’t ready to think about that. Instead she looked around the lobby while Dev went to the reception desk. The exposed beams, rich tapestries and heavy furniture covered in red velvet hadn’t changed since her last visit ten or twelve years ago. Apparently the management hadn’t, either. The receptionist must have buzzed her boss. He emerged from the back office, his shoulders stooped beneath his formal morning coat and a wide smile on his face.
“Bonjour, Lady Sarah!”
A quick glance at his name tag provided his name. “Bonjour, Monsieur LeBon.”
“What a delight to have you stay with us again,” he exclaimed in French, the Parisian accent so different from that of the provinces. “How is the duchess?”
“She’s very well, thank you.”
“I’m told this trip is in honor of a special occasion,” the manager beamed. “May I offer you my most sincere congratulations?”
“Thank you,” she said again, trying not to cringe at the continuation of their deception.
LeBon switched to English to offer his felicitations to Dev. “If I may be so bold to say it, Monsieur Hunter, you are a very lucky man to have captured the heart of one such as Lady Sarah.”
“Extremely lucky,” Dev agreed.
“Allow me to show you to your floor.”
He pushed the button to summon the elevator, then stood aside for them to enter the brass-bedecked cage. While it lifted them to the upper floors, he apologized profusely for not being able to give them adjoining rooms as had been requested.
“We moved several of our guests as your so very capable assistant suggested, Monsieur Hunter, and have put you and Lady Sarah in chambers only a short distance apart. I hope they will be satisfactory.”
Sarah’s was more than satisfactory. A mix of antique, marble and modern, it offered a four-poster bed and a lovely sitting area with a working fireplace and a tiny balcony. But it was the view from the balcony that delighted her artist’s soul.
The rain had softened to a drizzle. It glistened on the slate-gray rooftops of Paris. Endless rows of chimneys rose from the roofs like sentries standing guard over their city. And in the distance were the twin Gothic towers and flying buttresses of Notre Dame.
“I don’t have anything scheduled until three this afternoon,” Dev said while Monsieur LeBon waited to escort him to his own room. “Would you like to rest awhile, then go out for lunch?”
The city beckoned, and Sarah ached to answer its call. “I’m not tired. I think I’d like to take a walk.”
“In the rain?”
“That’s when Paris is at its best. The streets, the cafés, seem to steal the light. Everything shimmers.”
“Okay,” Dev said, laughing, “you’ve convinced me. I’ll change and rap on your door in, say, fifteen minutes?”
“Oh, but...”
She stopped just short of blurting out that she hadn’t intended that as an invitation. She could hardly say she didn’t want her fiancé’s company with Monsieur LeBon beaming his approval of a romantic stroll.
“...I’ll need a bit more time than that,” she finished. “Let’s say thirty minutes.”
“A half hour it is.”
* * *
As she changed into lightweight wool slacks and a hip-length, cherry-red sweater coat that belted at the waist, Sarah tried to analyze her reluctance to share these first hours in Paris with Dev. She suspected it stemmed from the emotion that had welled up when they’d first pulled up at the Hôtel Verneuil. She knew then that she could fall for him, and fall hard. What worried her was that it wouldn’t take very much to push her over the precipice.
True, he’d blackmailed her into this uncomfortable charade. Also true, he’d put a ring on her finger and hustled her onto a plane before she could formulate a coherent protest. In the midst of those autocratic acts, though, he’d shown incredible forbearance and generosity.
Then there were the touches, the kisses, the ridiculous whoosh every time he smiled at her. Devon Hunter had made Beguile’s list based on raw sex appeal. Sarah now realized he possessed something far more potent...and more dangerous to her peace of mind.
She had to remember this was a short-term assignment. Dev had stipulated it would last only until he wrapped up negotiations on his big deal. It looked now as though that might happen within the next few days. Then this would all be over.
The thought didn’t depress her. Sarah wouldn’t let it. But worked hard to keep the thought at bay.
* * *
She was ready when Dev knocked. Wrapping on a biscuit-colored rain cape, she tossed one of its flaps over a shoulder on her way to the door. With her hair tucked up under a flat-brimmed Dutch-boy cap, she was rainproof and windproof.
“Nice hat,” Dev said when she stepped into the hall.
“Thanks.”
“Nice everything, actually.”
She could have said the same. This was the first time she’d seen him in anything other than a suit. The man was made for jeans. Or vice versa. Their snug fit emphasized his flat belly and lean flanks. And, she added with a gulp when he turned to press the button for the elevator, his tight, trim butt.
He’d added a cashmere scarf in gray-and-blue plaid to his leather bomber jacket, but hadn’t bothered with a hat. Sarah worried that it would be too cold for him, but when they exited the hotel, they found the rain was down to a fine mist and the temperature had climbed a few degrees.
Dev took her arm as they crossed the street, then tucked it in his as they started down the boulevard. Sarah felt awkward with that arrangement at first. Elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, strolling along the rain-washed boulevard, they looked like the couple they weren’t.
Gradually,