Authors: Shirl Henke
“Tonight,” he whispered softly.
A threat or a promise? She was not certain which he intended—or how she felt about it either way.
Chapter Five
Nicholas watched her step away from him, her breath still coming in short jagged gasps. Those luscious breasts rose and fell quickly, then subsided as she forced herself to regain her calm. He grinned at her with Luce's arrogant nonchalance and raised his hands in mock surrender. Glancing down at the blatantly visible proof of how badly he wanted her, he said, “You see how it is between us, love.”
“I see you're the same rutting stallion who couldn't leave a female between the age of fourteen and forty untouched,” she snapped, then wanted to bite her tongue. Enraging him was stupid and would only guarantee that he made his retribution all the more swift and ugly.
But he surprised her with a rich low chuckle and slid the gun belt from his shoulder, tossing it on the top rail of Peltre's stall. Then he reached down to his long hard thigh and unfastened the leather tie of his knife scabbard. He laid it next to the gun belt.
Turning back to her he shrugged. “Now, you see? I'm completely defenseless before you.”
“You have never been defenseless since the day of your birth!”
“That's not true at all, Mercedes. When I—” He stopped short, aghast at what he had been about to blurt out. God above, what was the matter with him! The woman made him lose all judgment. Pretty soon he would give away the whole charade and end up a landless bastard with his gun for hire again.
Keep your wits about you. Play Luce, dammit!
She saw the flash of anguish pass over his face, but before she could even wonder what had triggered it, he was grinning in that old hateful, lascivious way. He shrugged his damp, crumpled shirt over his broad shoulders. She found herself licking her lips and swallowing nervously as she watched the play of bronzed muscles beneath the sheer white linen. “I’ll see to dinner and your bath,” she said with all the dignity she could muster, turning around before he said anything more humiliating.
He called after her retreating figure, “Don't forget your own bath, Mercedes. We wouldn't want to dirty the bed linens with sweat.”
Her back stiffened slightly, but she did not break stride. If he was the rutting stallion she accused him of being, then she was an elegant little mare—
his
elegant little mare. Tonight would be good, he vowed as he called the stable boy over and instructed him to feed Peltre and then bring his weapons to the house.
By the time he reached the top of the stairs from the entry hall, he was whistling to himself, but then he saw the narrow black figure of the priest bearing down the hall toward him. Damn, what did Sofia's confessor want with him? He thought of Hilario's sacrilegious jokes and smiled to himself as he greeted the older man. “Father Salvador, you wish to see me?”
“I'm glad you have returned. A matter of some urgency has arisen. A rider from Hermosillo brought this for the
patrón
this afternoon.” He handed an envelope with the seal broken to Nicholas.
Frowning at the open seal, Fortune flipped the letter over. It was addressed to Don Anselmo. As he reached inside, the priest hastily explained, “Because it was sent to your father and you were not at home, I felt it my duty to see if I could resolve the matter.”
“The rider—did he wait?” Fortune asked as he unfolded the small sheet of plain, inexpensive paper.
“No. He was paid by the Ursuline Sisters only to deliver this on his way to Durango,” the priest replied nervously, watching the
patrón
scan the small cribbed handwriting.
* * * *
Most Noble Sir,
As you know, we have cared for the infant you sent to us four and a half years ago, along with her mother, Rita Hererra, who worked in the kitchens of the convent. I regret to inform you that Senorita Hererra has been stricken with cholera and passed on to the blessed mercy of our Lord this past week.
We would be most happy to continue looking after Rosario, who is a bright and beautiful little girl, but the epidemic which swept away her mother has also claimed many of my sisters in Christ, leaving our convent desperately understaffed during this turbulent time. I fear for her safety if she remains with us. Therefore, I regretfully request that you reclaim your son's child and see to her upbringing elsewhere.
Understanding the delicate nature of the situation, may I be so bold as to suggest you seek assistance from the Convent of the Holy Cross in Guaymas, which has been as yet untouched by the war? A small monetary gift accompanying the child, as you sent to us with her mother, would be greatly appreciated by Mother Superior Mary Agnes. If I do not receive word from you by the end of the month, I shall be forced to return Rosario to Gran Sangre.
* * * *
The closing of the letter with its formal title and signature blurred before his eyes. He crumpled it, balling it up tightly as his mind raced.
A child
. His own flesh and blood, his niece, and Luce had never even mentioned her or her mother! Of course, knowing how Luce felt about women, he probably did not deem a cast-off serving wench and her illegitimate brat worthy of remembering. Luce was his father's son all right.
At the time the baby and her mother were being packed off to Hermosillo, arrangements for the betrothal between Mercedes Sebastián and Lucero Alvarado were being finalized. Don Anselmo had decided to get rid of the embarrassment of his son's bastard, but why would he bother when he let Luce cavort with Innocencia so openly, in front of his bride? Grimly Nicholas realized the old man simply had not been able to control Luce, else he would never have allowed his only son and heir to ride off to war before performing his conjugal duty.
Father Salvador coughed delicately, breaking into his ruminations. “Er, what are you going to do,
patrón
? Your lady mother would be greatly upset if this child were to arrive in such a public manner.”
“The child is her own granddaughter,” Fortune said coldly.
“The child is the get of a sinful young woman you flaunted in front of God and your family,” Father Salvador said in confusion. “When she confessed her fall to me, you wanted no more part of her than did your father. Surely that has not changed. I will go to Hermosillo and take her to—”
“No!” Nicholas interrupted furiously, then clamped a rein on his temper and continued calmly, “You will do nothing. I was planning to ride into the city myself on business. I will see to my daughter.”
The look of incredulity on the priest's face indicated how out of character such a statement was for a man like Lucero Alvarado. Did he suspect that Nicholas was an impostor? He had known Luce since his half brother was a boy, although Luce had made it clear that he had always heartily detested the priest and stayed as far away from him as possible. Don Anselmo had even brought in tutors for his son so his wife's confessor did not have to soil his holy soul by teaching a son of Satan like Luce.
No, the sour old priest disliked him, but that only aided Nicholas’ masquerade for Father Salvador expected the
patrón
to behave scandalously. He gave the priest an insolent grin and sauntered past him as if he had not a care on earth.
While he prepared for dinner, however, Nicholas felt anything but carefree. What would he do about the complication of females in his life? If he brought Rosario home, not only would it infuriate Doña Sofia, it would also humiliate Mercedes. She had already inadvertently betrayed how shamed and inadequate her husband's affair with Innocencia had made her feel. Bringing the physical proof of his philandering to raise as his own child would no doubt build a wall between them he could never breach.
And he did want to breach the defenses of this proud and lonely woman who had become his wife.
His wife
. When had he begun thinking of her as his instead of Luce's?
From the moment you laid eyes on her and smelled her lavender scent and knew he was mistaken about her passion, that's when.
Damn. What could he do about Rosario? Follow Father Salvador and the Mother Superior's suggestion and salve his conscience by sending her to Durango with a sack full of coins? That was certainly an easier way to handle matters than claiming her as his own at this late date. Yet the idea sat sour on his gut, eating at him like a canker. He knew all too well what it felt like to be shipped off, to live with people who wanted you no more than had those who already deserted you.
“She's my blood. I can't leave her with strangers,” he muttered grimly, wondering how disastrously his decision would affect Mercedes. Bringing home a bastard child would be uncharacteristic enough for the
patrón
. He dared not defer to her wishes and avoid his duty to provide a legitimate male heir. Anyway, the sparks between them this afternoon had been undeniable. The lady may have thought she wanted to sleep alone, but he knew women. And he knew damn well she was mistaken. If he had the time to woo her slowly he could convince her of the truth, but that was not an option.
Cursing the rotten timing, he slipped on his jacket and inspected the elegantly clad stranger in the mirror. Luce's suit of charcoal gray wool fit him with the grace only bestowed by custom tailoring on a man of superb proportions. A white silk shirt and snowy ruffled stock accented his sun-darkened face. He studied that face, feature by feature, as if discovering it for the first time.
My father's face.
Hispanic, haughty and hawkish. Yet did it hold the indolent decadence that he detected in Don Anselmo's portrait, hanging in the
sala
? He hoped not, although he had certainly never taken any pride in his mother's heritage. He had seen firsthand the stock from which she had sprung. Perhaps there was some distant ancestor on the Alvarado side who had character and integrity.
Sliding a sapphire signet ring on his finger, he grinned sardonically at the reflection in the mirror. Here he was wearing another man's clothes and jewelry, living under false pretenses in his house and planning to seduce his wife tonight—and he dared to think about integrity! He had done many things to survive over the years, things of which he was not proud. Perhaps rescuing Rosario would erase a few of the sins weighing on his soul, not the least of which would be his enjoyment of the beauteous Mercedes.
She was waiting for him in the dining room, dressed in a demure-looking little gown of sprigged muslin in various shades of rose and pale pink. “You look like a concoction of sugar candy,” he said, causing her to turn suddenly and face him. She clutched a glass of wine in both hands. “Of course, the neckline is rather...concealing, but the way you fill out the bodice almost makes up for that deficiency. Anyway, since I'll soon see what lies beneath the layers of clothing, it doesn't really matter, does it?”
“You delight in tormenting me with your crude sexual taunts, don't you, Lucero?” Her tone of voice indicated it was a rhetorical question. “I used to shiver and blush and stammer when you made remarks like that.”
He stalked closer. “Oh, I can still make you blush, as pinkly as your girlishly sweet dress. Did you choose it to make me feel I was robbing the cradle again—taking that insipid little virgin who bored me so four years ago?” Two could play at rhetorical questions, he indicated with a smile. “As you've already made quite clear to me, you aren't that fainting miss any longer.” His eyes swept to the glass in her hand. “For courage? Surely the
patrona
of Gran Sangre doesn't need it.” He took the heavy crystal glass and raised it to his lips, turning the rim to drink from the exact spot where her lips had touched. “You may not faint, but I promise to make you shiver...in satisfaction.”
His low, sibilant words sent a frisson of white heat coursing through her like a bolt of lightning. He was standing beside her now and she could feel his warm breath on her cheek as he bent down and pressed his mouth to the curve of her throat. Blessed Virgin! She had thought his words had scalded her. What did the fiery burn of those beautiful lips do?
She would not flinch away like the insipid little virgin he named her. But neither could she stand as unresponsively still as she wished to do. The strange, mesmerizing combination of his sexual hunger and his tenderness made her ache to melt against him.
He could feel her sway imperceptibly toward him. Sitting through a formal dinner at the large oak table would only allow her more time to think of what lay ahead and resurrect all sorts of long-buried fears. The way she studied the wine bottle on the sideboard indicated her need for its false courage. Best he strike now. She was showing some promise of giving in to the naturally passionate instincts he sensed.