“Well, well, well, the Marquess of Lindberg. I
certainly hadn’t expected to see you,” the woman purred as she stepped forward, her kohl-lined eyes roaming boldly over the
marquess. Her lips were painted with red rouge, drawing attention to their fullness. She was a tall woman. Unlike most women
of height, she was not lithe or overly thin, but lush and curvaceous, soft and round in all the appropriate places. No doubt
a much-admired creature among the men of London.
He turned at the sound of her voice. “Cassandra, you know there is no need for such formalities.”
She sauntered forward, then held her hand out to him. As he leaned over it, she positively glowed. “Max, it’s been far too
long.”
“Has it?” he said playfully. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“Surely you know,” she said. “Tobias’s is fast becoming the most sought-after beauty product in all of London.”
For the time being, it appeared that Sabine and the marquess were finished with their brief confrontation. The interlude wouldn’t
last long, though. Eventually this woman would leave the shop, and the marquess would continue his questions. She might not
know him, but Sabine could tell that Max Barrett was not a man who gave up all that easily.
“May I help you with anything today?” Sabine asked. Intentionally she faced the woman, putting her back to the marquess. “We
have many products designed for the modern woman; which did you have in mind?”
Cassandra turned her icy gaze to Sabine. “The Tobias Miracle Crème is the
only
item I require,” she said, then she shifted her attention back to Max.
Sabine ignored the woman’s superior tone. “How many jars would you like?”
“If it’s as good as I’ve heard, I should probably start with several.” Cassandra touched her pale blonde locks and smiled
coolly. “You’ve been selling out, yes?”
“Every day for several weeks.” Sabine couldn’t help noticing how the marquess appeared rather amused, standing there with
his smug smile as he looked from one woman to the other.
“Three will be good then.” The woman held up three long fingers, but never once met Sabine’s eyes.
“Whatever are you doing in here?” Cassandra asked Max. “Buying a gift for a new love?” She ran a finger down the marquess’s
arm.
Sabine went about packaging the three jars, all the while watching their exchange.
“A friend’s wife, actually,” he said.
Sabine was amazed at how easily the lie slipped off his tongue. She’d have to remember that in her future dealings with him.
Not that she planned on having any.
“It’s her birthday,” he added with a smile.
“Lovely,” Cassandra said. “How very considerate of you.”
Now at least Sabine knew that the man was not married. It mattered not, though she supposed it was nice to know she hadn’t
kissed a married man.
“Madam,” Sabine said as she held out the bag with the three jars.
Cassandra sauntered over to the counter and counted out her money, then instead of putting it in Sabine’s outstretched hand,
she dropped it onto the countertop. As she turned to leave, she paused and leaned in close to Max’s ear and whispered something.
With a saucy smile, she made her way out of the shop’s door.
He turned to face Sabine once again, and there on his left cheek was the perfect imprint of the woman’s red lips.
Sabine chuckled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. Let him walk around London with rouge on his cheek. “Friend of yours?”
He paused and then recognition lit his eyes. “Ah, Cassandra, she was a”—he paused—“friend. I suppose you could call her that.”
Clearly they had been more than merely friends at some point. For reasons she did not want to consider, her amusement went
sour in her stomach. He could have all the
friends
in the world, and with his dashing good looks, probably did.
As Sabine crossed in front of him to one of the display shelves,