Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels #2) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,15

something else. This is the least valuable ring from the entire tray.”

“To me it’s the most valuable,” Helen said cheerfully. “I never judge the worth of something by how much it actually costs.”

“A pretty sentiment,” Rhys commented. As the owner of a department store, it gave him chest pains. “But this isn’t good enough for you.”

Diplomatically the jeweler offered, “If you like, I could surround it with larger diamonds, and widen the shank—”

“I love it exactly as it is,” Helen insisted.

“It’s a semiprecious stone,” Rhys said in outrage. Any of his past lovers would have scorned the thing.

Sauveterre broke the tense silence. “A stone of this quality, Mr. Winterborne, is perhaps more valuable than you may assume. For example, it’s worth more than a middling sapphire or a ruby of the second water—”

“I want my wife to have a ring that’s worthy of her,” Rhys snapped.

Helen stared at him without blinking. “But this ring is what I want.” Her voice was gentle, her expression mild. It would be easy to override her opinion—especially since it was clear that she didn’t understand what she was asking for.

Rhys was about to argue, but something about her gaze caught his attention. She was trying not to be cowed by him, he realized.

Lucifer’s flaming ballocks. There was no way in hell he could refuse her.

Enclosing the ring in his clenched fist, he gave the jeweler a glance of pure murder. “We’ll take it,” he said curtly.

While Sauveterre slid the glittering trays back into the case, Rhys muttered Welsh curses under his breath. Prudently, neither the jeweler nor Helen asked him to translate.

After Sauveterre closed the leather case, he took Helen’s proffered hand and bent over it in a gallant gesture. “My lady, please accept my felicitations on your betrothal. I hope—”

“It’s time for you to leave,” Rhys said shortly, ushering him out.

“But the camp table—” Sauveterre protested.

“You can retrieve it later.”

The jeweler strained to glance over his shoulder at Helen. “If I may be of service in any other—”

“You’ve helped enough.” Rhys pushed him across the threshold and closed the door with a decisive shove.

“Thank you,” Helen said in the silence. “I know it’s not what you would have chosen, but it’s made me happy.”

She was smiling at him in a way she never had before, the corners of her eyes crinkling winsomely.

Rhys couldn’t fathom why she was so pleased to have exchanged a diamond for a moonstone. All he understood was that she needed to be protected from her own naiveté. “Helen,” he said gruffly, “when you have the upper hand, you must not give it away so easily.”

She gave him a questioning glance.

“You just exchanged a costly ring for one that is only a fraction of its value,” he explained. “It’s a bad bargain, it is. You should demand something to make up the difference. A necklace, or a tiara.”

“I don’t need a tiara.”

“You need to ask for a concession,” he persisted, “to bring the ledger back into balance.”

“There’s no ledger in a marriage.”

“There’s always a ledger,” he told her.

He saw from Helen’s expression that she didn’t agree. But rather than argue, she wandered to the jar of peppermint creams and lifted the lid, sniffing at the cool, bracing fragrance.

“So this is where it comes from,” she said. “I’ve noticed the scent on your breath before.”

“I’ve been fond of them ever since I was a boy,” Rhys admitted, “carrying deliveries to the corner sweet shop. The confectioner used to let me have the broken ones.” He hesitated before asking with a touch of uncertainty, “Do you dislike it?”

The line of her cheek curved as she looked down at the jar. “Not at all. It’s . . . very pleasant. May I try one?”

“Of course.”

Self-consciously she reached into the jar for a small white sphere, and placed it cautiously in her mouth. The quick dissolve and powerful rush of mint caught her off guard. “Oh. It’s”—she coughed and laughed, her winter-blue eyes watering slightly—“strong.”

“Do you need a glass of water?” he asked, amused. “No? Here, then—let me give this to you.” Taking her left hand, he began to slide the moonstone onto her finger, and hesitated. “How did I propose the first time?” He had been nervous, steeling himself for a possible refusal; he could hardly remember a word he’d said.

Amusement tugged at her lips. “You laid out the advantages on both sides, and explained the ways in which our future goals were compatible.”

Rhys absorbed that with chagrin. “No one has ever accused