Authors: Shirl Henke
“You left behind a green girl with no experience of the world.” She reached up and gave a defiant yank to the bell pull. “The war has honed my survival skills as well as your own.”
He chuckled again. “You've learned to survive quite handily, I warrant.”
“Let me enlighten you about the war here in the north. The French may hold Hermosillo but they can't hold the countryside outside the city. We're at the mercy of the Juarista guerrillas—and the
contre-guerrillas
, too,” she added bitterly.
“I know all too well what imperial mercenaries have done in the south. I feared Gran Sangre might not remain standing when I returned, but it has.”
“No thanks to you—or your father. Come, let us drink the last bottle of good French wine from the cellars while I explain what has befallen our once great estate.”
As if on cue, Angelina entered the dining room, bearing a bottle of claret and two fine crystal goblets. Silently she placed the tray on the serving board, then withdrew at Mercedes’ nod of thanks.
“Allow me?” He picked up the bottle and inspected it. “My father had excellent taste,” he said as he poured the rich ruby liquid into the goblets and handed one to her.
“Your father had no money with which to indulge his excellent taste these past years, but that didn't stop him from living as profligately as ever.” The mellow flavor was acrid on her tongue as memories of past years rolled over her.
He raised his glass in a salute, studying her over the rim with those hungry black eyes. “The wine cellar is not all that is depleted, I gather. Hilario told me about the livestock. What happened to the gold table service?”
“Sold to pay taxes. I received a good price in Hermosillo last spring.”
“I see you still have the emeralds. What of the rest of the Alvarado family jewels?”
“I've managed to hold onto the heirloom pieces but some of the larger diamonds had to go, mostly to pay off your father's gambling debts in Hermosillo. There was also the matter of buying medicines and a bull to replace the one butchered by a band of Juaristas.” She took another sip of wine for courage.
He shrugged. “Papa was always impractical, even in the best of times.”
“These are not the best of times.”
He drained his glass and poured a refill. “I'm aware of that, believe me.”
There was grimness in his voice that she did not wish to examine. Instead she accused, “You're just like him.”
“I'm nothing like him,” he replied harshly. The silver irises of his eyes contracted, turning the black centers to small glowing pinpoints. “At least,” he added carefully, “I'm no longer like he was. War has a way of forcing a man to examine his life...if he's fortunate to live long enough.”
“And you obviously were fortunate.”
“Fortune is my middle name,” he replied wryly, saluting her with his glass.
“Shall I have Angelina serve dinner before you drink the last of the wine?”
“By all means,” he replied with a small flourish.
Angelina responded to her summons, carrying in a heavy silver platter heaped with thickly sliced ham, surrounded by fresh vegetables. Lupe assisted her, bringing bowls of condiments and a basket of steaming hot tortillas. While the servants arranged the food on the serving board, he took Mercedes’ arm and escorted her to her seat.
“Allow me?” He pulled out the heavy chair and leaned over her as she slipped gracefully into it. “Your skin smells sweet with lavender.”
The whisper softness of his voice was matched by the warmth of his breath brushing her bare shoulder. “I grow it in the herb garden and dry it myself. It's the only perfume left I can afford.”
I sound too shrewish. Too nervous.
“Perhaps the fortunes of war will turn in our favor soon.” He moved around the corner of the table and took his seat before motioning for Angelina to serve them.
“I very much doubt the war will end anytime soon,” she said, breaking apart a tortilla.
“Now that I'm home to assume control of the
hacienda
, I'll talk to the French commander in Hermosillo about increasing patrols in outlying areas.”
“Don't. All that will do is provoke reprisals from the banditti in the mountains when the French ride off. And imperial soldiers always do ride off, Lucero.”
“Is that a complaint I hear in your voice, my darling wife? You have my word I'll not leave you again for a very long while.”
“You know it would delight me if you did precisely that,” she replied when the servants had left them alone in the big room.
“Perhaps that would please you, but it would not please my mother. Nor Father Salvador. They both reminded me of my duty. Need I remind you of yours?” He studied her intently.
The bite of sweet spicy ham tasted like ashes in her mouth but she forced herself to swallow it. “No one need ever remind me of duty, Lucero. I've devoted my life to Gran Sangre, working alongside the peons, bartering with merchants, negotiating with petty bureaucrats—I even held a French colonel at gunpoint once last year.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You used to be terrified of guns.”
“Circumstances forced me to learn how to use your father's LeFaucheaux double barrel. It takes no great skill to aim a shotgun.”
He leaned back in his chair and studied her with renewed interest. “But it does take nerve. You possess the courage to fire a shotgun, but do you possess the courage to let me touch you without pulling away?”
He slowly reached out and took her hand in his, drawing her closer. She did not resist.
“Your hands are small and delicate—the hands of a lady.” He could see the marks where blisters had formed calluses in spite of her obvious efforts to soften the work-worn skin. Her nails were neatly buffed but far shorter than a lady of her station would normally wear them. The only adornment on her fingers was her heavy gold wedding band with its matching pearl and diamond betrothal ring.
Mercedes felt her pulse race as he examined her hand, holding it in both of his far larger ones, turning it this way and that. She knew the condition of her skin was deplorable, sunburned, dried out, callused. “I told you I had to work alongside the peons. There is scarcely a man younger than sixty or a boy older than twelve left on the
hacienda
. Those the French haven't impressed have run off to join the accursed Juaristas in the mountains.”
A smile lit his eyes and he replied in a silky voice, “I'm neither an old man, nor a green boy, Mercedes.”
“Nor am I a servant to tend crops and do chores, but I must.”
“I wish I could promise you a whole retinue of new house servants, but I cannot.”
Could he feel the blood beating in her wrist? “I don't expect miracles, Lucero,” she replied, struggling to maintain her calm facade without jerking her hand away from him.
“But you would love it if I were to vanish in a puff of smoke.”
“As I said, I don't expect miracles,” she replied tartly as he finally released her hand.
He threw back his head and laughed. “No, I'll not leave after riding a thousand miles to answer my family's summons.” His expression lost all traces of levity and grew thoughtful. “My father knew he'd failed in his duty. I don't intend to fail in mine.”
This is your opportunity. Take it.
“We must discuss that duty, Lucero. In your absence I've had a good deal of time to consider our marriage.” She took a small sip of wine to fortify herself, then met his eyes. He had leaned back in his chair again, studying her with renewed interest.
“What about our marriage?” he prompted.
“For all practical purposes we have none.”
“To some extent that's true,” he conceded. “I've been away, performing my duty to emperor and country. Now I've returned to...perform for you.” He could see the pulse at the base of her throat accelerate. A blush stained her cheeks beneath the golden touch of sun on her skin.
“We're strangers to each other. You can't just ride back into my life after all these years and expect me to welcome you to my bed. I don't know you. I never did know you.”
“Ah, but I did know you—in the biblical sense of the word, at least.” Her blush deepened under his onslaught.
“For a scant three weeks.” Her voice was laced with scorn. “After that, you weren't the least bit interested in doing your duty anymore. I was merely a tiresome encumbrance keeping you from your harlot.”
“I pledge to remedy my inattention to you now, my darling,” he said, trying to see beyond her anger. Was this vulnerability—hurt, perhaps? Dismissing the thought, he added lightly, “Now that you mention her, how is Innocencia?”
Mercedes sat rigidly straight in her chair, her chin held high, exuding the pride of her illustrious Spanish father, combined with the stubbornness of her English mother. “She'll return from the Vargas
hacienda
tomorrow, overjoyed to have you back.”
“Which you obviously are not,” he said dryly, waiting to see where this twist in the conversation was leading.
“She desires you in her bed. I do not, which should be apparent to any man not possessing absolute arrogance—or the wits of a flea.”
“I've often been accused of arrogance, never of stupidity, Mercedes. Your desires—or my own, for that matter—aren't the issue. You are my wife, not Innocencia. It's your duty to submit to me and provide Gran Sangre with a legal heir.” He shoved back his chair and stood, staring down at her, watching the pulse in her throat beat furiously. His fingers caressed her hair, taking one shiny golden curl and lifting it free of the combs, letting the light catch it as he rubbed it slowly back and forth against her heated cheek. “I won't find making an heir such an onerous task. I don't think you will either.”
She moistened her lips with the wine but could not swallow any. If only he were not so close, she could think, could speak.
Damn him! I've faced armed brigands and not felt this defenseless.
But none of her previous adversaries were her husband. None had the legal and moral power over her that he could command. Unless she convinced him otherwise.
Be calm, reasonable
. “I've been raised to do my duty, just as my mother did hers.”
“Perhaps that's the trouble—the English don't view life's responsibilities in the same way Mexicans do.”
Her eyes blazed with golden fire. “My mother gave up her home and country to wed my father and follow him back to Spain, then to Mexico. She placed her duty to family above all else.” Mercedes took a swift calming breath, feeling his scrutiny, knowing she must speak now or it would be too late. “Both her example and that taught me by the holy sisters at Saint Theresa's have inculcated a sense of duty in me, Lucero. I've been an excellent steward in your absence. Even before your father fell ill it was left to me to run Gran Sangre, to see that bills were paid, protection secured from the army, crops planted and livestock tended. I've not only been in charge of the household but of the entire
hacienda
, all four million acres of it.”
“A formidable task for a lone female, even one with your rather startling temerity.” He released the fat shining curl, which bounced softly onto her bare shoulder. He could feel his whole body growing rigid with desire.
She, too, stood up, then walked to the sideboard where a crystal decanter of
aguardiente
sat. Pouring the potent locally distilled brandy into two tiny goblets, she handed him one, willing her hands to remain steady no matter how she trembled inside. “You're going to be even more startled by my temerity, I fear.” She raised her glass to salute him, then waited until he followed suit and took a drink. “Our marriage was a mistake, but a marriage before God it remains and cannot be undone, no matter how much either of us might wish it.”
“But I don't wish it undone, Mercedes.” Her name fell off his tongue sibilantly, whisper soft.
“Then you well and truly have changed. Before you went away you wanted nothing more than to be rid of your ‘pallid scrawny little virgin’—I believe those were the words you used to describe me to Don Anselmo after our betrothal dinner.”