Page 24 of The Billionaire's Demand

Captain Wentworth was despising Anne Elliot with ill-concealed disdain. Anne was enduring it painfully.

Eliana felt for her.

At least Anne Elliot hadn’t had to endure Wentworth’s scathing tongue. As Eliana did Leandros’s now.

‘Eliana.’ Leandros’s voice was bladed. ‘I told you last night—drop the martyr pose. You’re here with me of your own choice and now you can choose the clothes you’ll be wearing here.’

She named a fashion house—one she could see they were nearing, and which she did personally like—and the car pulled up at it. She was left to make her own choices as the vendeuses ushered her to the fitting rooms, to emerge some time later with her choices made.

Leandros was sitting in the plush waiting area, reading a magazine about upmarket cars from a selection thoughtfully provided by the fashion house for attendant males.

He looked up as she emerged. Eliana felt his eyes go to her. Rest on her. Saw his expression change.

There was approval in his eyes—and more. A light she had not seen before, yet could remember, oh, so well. She felt colour flare...walked forward hurriedly. To see Leandros look at her like that, letting her know, quite openly, that he liked what he was seeing, that she was pleasing to his eyes...

‘Finally,’ he said, nodding slowly.

He got to his feet, his gaze still taking in the change in her appearance.

She wore a belted two-piece in cinnamon-coloured fine wool jersey, gracefully skimming her slender figure. It was both chic and comfortable to wear. She’d accessorised it with a plain but soft leather handbag, moderately heeled matching shoes, and a printed silk scarf that went with the short, lightweight jacket with bracelet sleeves. She’d added some fashion jewellery—topaz beads and a chunky bracelet.

One of the vendeuses had discreetly inquired whether she would like to avail herself of the fashion house’s own-brand make-up selection, and she had done so. She hadn’t used it lavishly, just applied some tawny eyeshadow and mascara, and a tinted lip gloss to give a soft sheen to her lips, finishing off with a spray of the fashion house’s latest perfume. She’d redressed her hair too, changing it from the plain ponytail to a stylish French pleat fastened with faux tortoiseshell combs.

As she’d put the final touches to her face and hair, she’d told herself that it was because her outfit deserved it. That it was part of her attempt to make amends to Leandros...

But it was more than that, she knew. Knew it when she saw his eyes resting on her with approval in them—and more than approval.

He used to look at me like that all the time. Is that what I’m yearning for? To recapture that?

She put the thought aside—it was too painful, too difficult.

Too tangled.

Instead, she simply said, ‘I’ve bought quite a lot—you said I should.’

He made no demur, merely settled the hefty bill to cover a good half a dozen carrier bags bearing the fashion house’s name with the flick of a platinum credit card.

‘Now for evening dresses—but not here,’ he said.

They got back into the dutifully waiting car, and the carrier bags were stashed neatly in the capacious boot by the chauffeur. Leandros named a fashion house that Eliana knew made a speciality of ultra-alluring designs. She’d never shopped there. It had been too sophisticated for when she’d been young, and not conservative enough to please her father-in-law. As for Damian—well, he’d just wanted her to wear whatever his father had wanted her to wear. That had been his sole concern—not contesting his father’s dictates or defying his will. Except, of course—

She pulled her mind away. Gave herself over to what was happening now. This time it was Leandros making the choices, not her. Well, if that was what he wanted, that was his call. This whole expedition was his call, after all. She would not be keeping any of these clothes when her time with him was over. However venal he thought her, she would not prove it to him in that, at least. Even if she could not defend herself for her past actions and they would stain her for ever...

She was grateful to him for diverting her thoughts, her painful memories, by saying, ‘Time for some sightseeing—shall we see what’s happening to Notre Dame?’

‘Why not?’ she said.

She kept her voice studiedly neutral. But it was an effort. Somehow, when she’d just been wearing her poverty-stricken, cheap-of-necessity clothes, making no effort to look good, it had been easier—easier to ignore, or downplay at least, the impact Leandros had on her. But now, chic and elegant, with her flattering hairstyle and a touch of make-up to enhance her appearance, she was more conscious than ever of the man sitting beside her in the confines of the chauffeur-driven car.

More like old times. When I only wanted to look good for him, to revel in his finding me beautiful. I thrilled to see him looking at me...wanting only to gaze at him in return...feeling myself melting inside...

Deliberately, she made herself look out of the window, away from the temptation that was Leandros, and away from the memories she should not allow herself, for those times had gone for ever. Instead, she watched as the car crossed over to the Île de la Cité, closing in on the great cathedral.

‘It’s still in repair after the catastrophic fire a few years ago,’ Leandros was saying. ‘But we can look at the outside. Would you care for that?’

‘Why not?’ said Eliana again.

They got out, walking on to the great concourse by the west front. It was milling with tourists, and there were plenty of noticeboards showing the extent of the original damage and what was being done to restore it. She saw Leandros gazing up at the solid, four-square towers, at the Romanesque arch between them with its ornate carvings.

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