by Lee Savino
“Do you think he means her harm?”
“No, no.” Ana tugged on the goat’s leash, hard, and it bleated. “And I do not wish to gossip. I just don’t have a good feeling.”
“I understand. And I will not tell anyone what you said.”
“Thank you, señor. I know my mistress bears a grudge against you, but I am glad you are here with us.”
“I appreciate that, Ana, but I think I’ll be leaving soon.”
Shadow passed over her face. “Please, señor. It’s only been a week. Do not let her fire drive you away.”
Sebastian hated disappointing the kind matron, but steeled his expression. “She is a good woman.”
“She needs a good man.”
He felt a flash of anger. Was the woman matchmaking? Surely she’d be the first to see how it wouldn’t work: the landed lady and the wandering English lord. “What do you want me to say, Ana?”
“Nothing.” Her expression tightened. “I thought I was in the presence of a good man. I can see I was wrong.” With that effective parting shot, she flounced away, managing to look haughty while dragging a goat.
Sebastian tore a hand through his hair. Now he had two women mad at him.
Francesca didn’t come home until almost dark. Sebastian saw her as she passed through the dining room, where he’d sat since dinner, facing the open doors, smoking an endless chain of cigarros.
“You’re still here,” she said. “Ana made it sound like you were leaving.”
“Probably on the morrow.” He blew smoke out.
She came and sat across from him at the heavy wooden table. For a few minutes, they sat in silence, staring into the garden. Sebastian ignored her. A part of him wanted her to leave and let him be, or speak only in that formal manner, ignoring all that had gone between them.
A part of him wanted her to beg.
He wasn’t angry with her, though. He was angry with himself.
She started to say something then stopped. “Thank you, for all your help.”
“Señora.” Ana entered the dining room. “Señor Diego is here. Do you want to speak to him?” The matron’s eyes met Sebastian’s, and he remembered what she’d told him about the sort of man Diego was.
Francesca sighed. “Send him in.”
Chivington made as if to rise.
“You’re leaving?” Francesca glanced up suddenly, fear written cleanly on her face.
“No, I’ll stay,” Sebastian said. He went and arranged himself in the shadows near the fireplace, still smoking.
Diego Montoya entered, and Sebastian took the opportunity to study him up close. Montoya was about his age, dark and handsome, with a sharp, greedy energy. Sebastian had met men like him before. He agreed with Ana: this man wasn’t to be trusted.
Diego’s eyes lit up when they fell on Francesca, and Sebastian felt a surge of possessive anger.
“Francesca.” The man held out his hands to greet her.
“Diego.” Francesca sounded tired. Sebastian noted how she moved around the table so her brother-in-law couldn’t get close. “So kind of you to visit.”
“I sent my man to check on you, but they said you were out. You are working too long and hard.”
“There is much to be done,” she said. “Please, sit, and tell me the purpose of your visit.”
“This hard work you speak of, that has you looking so worn and thin, that is my purpose,” Diego started in silky tones. He was stepping closer to Francesca when his gaze snapped up. In his corner, Sebastian had lit a match to light a new smoke, and Diego noticed him for the first time. He’d had a chance to see Sebastian before, but must have written him off as a vaquero laboring in the acequia.
“Who is this?” Diego’s tone turned colder.
“My name is Chivington,” Sebastian said. “I’m a friend.”
“Is this true, Francesca?” Diego asked.
“Yes. Forgive me, I am tired, and I did not introduce him before. He and his men escorted me on a recent journey. I am quite grateful, for we were attacked on the road.”
Diego pressed his lips together, then went on as if Sebastian wasn’t in the room. “This is what I’m talking about. In the past few days, you’ve been attacked, your lands have been maligned. There is too much for it to be bad luck.”
“I agree,” Francesca said softly.
“All this running about-it’s not safe. There are dangerous men about. And though I am grateful for anyone who helps you, you should not have single male guests in your home. You are a grieving widow, Francesca, and there is propriety. If I was your husband, I could protect you from these accusations, or wastrel hang abouts.” Diego waved a hand in Sebastian’s direction.
“Chivington,” Sebastian repeated, moving away from the mantel to sit near Francesca.
“What?” Diego snapped.
“The name’s Chivington. And I’m not quite a wastrel anymore. Señora De La Vega is turning me into an honest man. Through honest work.”
“It’s true. I don’t know about the honest part, but his name is Lord James Sebastian Chivington, the third,” Francesca said and her lips twitched into a smile.
Diego looked from one to the other, as if trying to catch the joke. Finally, he nodded stiffly.
“Francesca, may I speak to you in private?”
“Diego, you said it yourself. I am a grieving widow, I shouldn’t be alone with single men, for propriety. Even you, though you are like family.”
He brightened. “But we are family, Francesca. What I have to say doesn’t concern any other.”
After a tense pause, Chivington stood. “I’ll excuse myself.”
He strode to the opposite end of the room to the hallway leading to the bedroom, where the door was already cracked a little. As he suspected, Ana was listening behind it. Neither of them were willing to leave Francesca alone.
“Mi amor,” Diego said, and Francesca jerked back. He’d walked around the grand table to stand beside her. He took her hand, holding it too firmly for her to pull away. “The time for playing games is over. If you think you will make me jealous with that English fool, then you can stop now. I already desire you.”
“Diego…”
“Hush. I know it is too soon after my brother’s death. You cannot begin to think of your feelings for me. You’ve spent many years suppressing them. But you don’t have to think about it anymore. Come. Let us be wed. I will take care of you, and the farm.”
“Diego.” She stood, pushing away.
His dark face, so handsome to her as a girl, had no attraction for her now. Instead, she wished it was fair and freckled, with blue eyes that sparkled in perpetual amusement.
“I know there have been feelings between us in the past. But that was in the past. I cannot do this now. Cyro is gone, my father is dead, and I must make my own way. I will keep their legacy alive, but I must make my own. I cannot marry you.”
“Of course you can, Francesca. You feel guilty because you were married to my brother, but now there is no one standing between us.”
“There is the fact that my father chose Cyro for me. I know you offered for me and my father refused.”
Diego’s face darkened.
“When I was younger, I didn’t understand, but now I do. We are not suited for each other.”
“How can you say that? You love me.” For all his suave good looks, he sounded like a petulant child.
“If I did, it was the love of a naive girl. I need someone to balance me. We are too much alike, ruled by our passion.”
Diego pushed up, angry, pacing. Francesca felt drained and a little sad, but also like a great weight had been lifted off of her.
“I do love you as a brother. You have always been in my life. I wish us to continue like that. I will need your help—”
“You dare…you ask me for help after you reject me. I am trying to offer you everything.”
“I know you would soon tire of me. We would make each other unhappy. Please trust me on this.”<
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“Francesca, how can you say this? It is that Englishman, turning your head.” Diego cursed in Spanish. “He has confused you.”
“Do not question my intelligence,” Francesca flashed. “I know my own mind.” And she did, she realized. Sebastian might be a confusing case in his own right, but Diego was a separate matter. She did not love her brother-in-law, and even if she had feelings for him once, they weren’t the sort to base a relationship on.
“You will regret this. I have wanted you since…” he broke off. His face flushed, turned ugly with anger. She had never seen him like this.
He gripped her. “If you would just give us a chance, Francesca, it would be right. I know it would be.” His fingers bit into her arm.
“Diego, you are hurting me—”
“Francesca—”
“Hey,” Sebastian’s long shadow fell between them, “I believe the lady made herself clear. Let her go.”
“Sebastian—” Francesca shook her head, but Diego was already rising to confront him.
“You stand in my brother’s house, and tell me what to do?”
As tall and striking as Diego was, Sebastian was taller. And calm. “You need to go.”
“Francesca?” Diego asked without pulling his eyes away from the towering Brit.
“I think it is best. Go sleep on what I said, Diego.”
The man’s skin flushed.
“I will see you out, Señor Montoya.” Ana stepped into the room.
Diego looked from one to the other, vibrating with anger. His gaze rested on the slender señora. “Whoring yourself out to a British lord for help—Your father would be ashamed of you.”
Francesca flinched, and Sebastian started to move, but Ana pushed between him and Diego.
“Enough,” the matron snapped. “Señor Montoya, it is late. You should be getting home anyway.”
With a final glare around the room, Diego left, herded by Ana’s small round body. They could hear her scolding Diego all the way to the door.
“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked.
Her cheeks flushed and breath coming fast, Francesca put her hands to her cheeks and nodded.
Ana came back, clucking. “Ay Dios mio, that man. Still a boy with a temper. Do not listen to him, Francesca. Your father would be very proud of you.”
Francesca still hadn’t moved. She nodded, and let Ana hug her. Sebastian thought she looked distraught.
“Right,” Ana said briskly, releasing her mistress and fixing Sebastian with a stare. It’s up to you now, Englishman. “I’m going to bed.”
Sebastian held the door for the matron, then crossed to the bar to pour Francesca a drink. She still stood with her head downcast, rousing only a little when he offered her the glass. She shook her head, and he drained it, but poured another and brought it to her.
“Drink this. You need it.” He pressed the shot into her hand. She felt cold, so he went and closed the great doors overlooking the patio, and then stoked up the fire. It was a cooler night for summer.
When he rose from the fireplace, she still hadn’t moved.
“I’m serious, Francesca.” He moved closer. “Are you all right? That was very intense.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “You know it all. You heard. My father said Ana always knew everything because she listened behind doors.”
“Smart woman.” He let a smile surface then said more seriously. “I wasn’t about to leave you alone with him.”
“Diego is harmless. Hot headed, but…” She shook her head.
“You don’t believe his insult?”
“No,” she huffed. “Of course, my father was careful about the men I was around. You know he chose my husband for me. He respected the Montoya family. He would not want to see me dishonored.” But she looked so sad, he knew it bothered her.
He searched for something to say.
“Do you feel that you have done something dishonorable?”
“Dios,” she swore and turned her back on him.
“Is it me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not you.”
He didn’t quite believe her.
“Do you want me to go?”
“Yes, and no.”
He felt he couldn’t move closer though he wanted to. He backed away and studied her. He chose my husband for me. Steady Cyro, Diego’s older brother.
And then it made sense.
“You were attracted to him, weren’t you? Diego.”
“Madonna. Madre,” she whispered. “Dios forgive me. I was.”
He stepped forward, longing to touch her, but he refrained when he saw how she trembled. “Did you lie with him?”
“No. I was faithful to my husband.”
He heard her sniff, and he put a hand on her shoulder, turning her. The firelight shone on the tears tracking down her face.
“Francesca. It’s all right.” He fumbled with his handkerchief. “It’s understandable.”
She took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes, but more tears fell.
He felt helpless in the face of them. Any other woman could cry and he’d run for the hills, but not this one. Wild horses couldn’t pry him from her side.
“You were young,” he tried to reason. “Married to a man twenty years older. Of course you had desires.”
“I am a wicked woman. I betrayed my husband.”
“No.” He pulled her into his arms, unable to bear her sobs. His arms slid around her slender waist, his cheek rested against her fragrant hair.
To have so much passion, to contain it for so long. As much as she would’ve wanted to please her father and husband, Francesca lived in the grip of passion. It would be torture for her to wrestle with her feelings, and feel guilty year after year.
And he had stupidly mentioned it while belting her. As she cried into his shirt, body shaking in his arms, he’d do anything to take those words back.
“Shh, Francesca, it’s all right. You did the right thing. You did the best you could with the man your father chose. You were young.”
“I tried to be a good wife to my husband. I wanted to love him.”
“In your own way, you did. Did you lie with him often?”
She shook her head.
“He was your guardian, then. Not your lover. You were faithful, you gave him your love and respect. From what I’ve heard of him, he was wise. He would’ve understood. What would he say, if he was here now?”
“He would want me to be happy.” She slipped a hand between her body and his to wipe at her face. “He was a good man. He would understand.” She started shaking and crying again. “But my husband has not been dead more than a few months, and already I am thinking of another. What sort of woman am I? What is wrong with me?”
“You’re all passion and fire. It is who you are, and there is nothing wrong with you.”
His hands squeezed her arms. She was so small and slight, really, all her beautiful energy contained in a delicate vessel. He hesitated and then asked what he really wanted to. He hated himself, but he had to hear her answer. He had to know. “Is it Diego? Are you still attracted to him?”
It was only a few seconds before she answered, but it felt like an eternity. The crickets outside creaked through her silence.
“No,” her voice came muffled by his shirt, “there is another one I want.”
A thrill went through him, but he hid it. She sounded lost and forlorn, as if her feelings tormented her. It wasn’t time to celebrate just yet.
Sebastian shifted, freeing an arm. “Look at me.” His hand tipped her chin up to meet his gaze.
Her dark eyes were so sad.
“You are a widow now, and grieving.” He searched for words to reassure her, even though all he wanted to do was take her to his bed and comfort her there. “You have many emotions. You feel confused.”
“You are not helping my confusion.” A little furrow had appeared between her dark brows.
“Francesca.” He swallowed.
“I’d do anything to help you. Just tell me. I’m yours to command.”
“My ignoble noble.” She tried to joke, then sighed. “Padre Bernardo is right. I deserve hellfire, but I am already perishing there, because I burn day and night. I deserve punishment.”
Her comment triggered a cascade of desires he’d been holding back. Birching and belting her hadn’t been enough; he needed to take her in hand. She needed it too. His whole life seemed to rest upon this moment, and lead up to it.
He couldn’t stop his hand from pushing into her hair. With a swift, sharp pull, he drew her head back, exposing the smooth line of her neck. He was just the right height to look down on her and dominate her. His cock hardened as he watched the pulse flutter in her throat, her body relaxing into submission and desire.
“Now that, my lady, I can provide.”
She whimpered, and heat leaped between them. The world fell away, leaving them in a cocoon of summer breeze and singing crickets, a wild space where anything was possible.
Francesca stared up into her fair knight’s face. He’d taken control, but she was ready to give herself over without a fuss. “Sebastian.”
He kissed her, and her senses came roaring back. All the numbness Diego’s words inspired fled as Sebastian’s lips left her blood singing.
She tried to touch him and he caught her hands.
“You want to finish what we started this afternoon?”
She nodded and he stepped away. She didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t want to stop now. She couldn’t.
“Strip.”
Her chest heaving, she let her clothes fall into a heap. She undid her corset with trembling fingers, needing to be naked before him, to show him how far she’d go for his pleasure. When she was done, she stretched her lithe form, basking in the firelight and shadow.
Her knight leaned against a divan’s arm, hands at his pockets, waiting in a casual slouch while she bared herself for him.
“Now on your knees.”
Her eyes widened. She tossed her head nervously, not quite shaking no.
“You come for penance? You will kneel.” He pointed to the floor. There was no trace of levity in him. “You want to play a little game, Francesca? There’s a price you will pay. Submission, total and absolute, to me.” He spoke in a deadly whisper. “I can give you forgiveness. I can give you release. But in return, for the next hour, I own you. And I’ll take your very soul.” He stood. “Give yourself to me. The pain will strip you bare, wash your guilt. But only if it’s what you really want.”