When she walked in and saw him standing beside the mantle with a perfectly lovely, perfectly elegant woman, her hopes fell. “Belinda, I want you to meet Maureen. She’s kindly agreed to a private showing. Just pick whatever you want.” She hadn’t noticed the array of clothes. There were enough suits and evening gowns and dresses to outfit an army of nannies. Now what? Though she knew perfectly well that whispering in front of somebody was rude, she marched to Reeve and leaned close so Maureen couldn’t hear. “I don’t need those expensive clothes.” “I’m paying.” He said it right out loud, as if money grew alongside the rosebushes in his backyard. “I won’t take them,” she said, loud enough for Maureen to hear. Reeve’s expression didn’t change. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Maureen? I’ll have Quincy bring some coffee to you in my study.” After she had left the room, he turned to Belinda. “Whether you will take them is not a question here.” He held up two dresses.
