Love Captive

by Jacqueline Hope

  Anne sighed. Well, who knew what the outcome would be once they arrived? Would Dorrie and Michael be able to persuade her family that he was not a thief and scoundrel after all but Dorrie's one true love, and that the two of them were determined to marry? Would Dorrie's elderly father relent and give the young lovers his blessing?

  But no matter what the outcome, Anne thought suddenly, her head suddenly aching, she would be leaving Carlos forever. Michael's chances of winding up happily married to Dorrie might be very slight, but at least some slight chance did exist, while her own chances of winning Carlos were absolutely nil. It was idiotic even to allow herself to think of him that way. She could see that even more clearly now that she was here in his home, and had met his father, aunt, and good friend Maria. Anne's head suddenly ached even more keenly. Who was Maria anyway?

  As she reached the downstairs hall, Anne saw in dismay that the object of her thoughts was rapidly approaching her.

  "Well, hello, again," Maria greeted her with cool condescension. "Weren't you hungry? You walked out earlier just as breakfast was being brought in. I'm looking for my fiancé. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

  Anne felt something heavy and cold drop down through her. "Your fiancé?" she echoed. "Carlos, you mean?"

  "Of course Carlos!" Maria snapped, with a look that said, Who else could it be, you idiot? "He left the dining room a very short time ago and seems to have disappeared. If you happen to run across him, you might mention that I am looking for him." Maria swung away and began ascending the wide stone stairs.

  Anne stood in the hall staring up after the departing woman. So—that's who Maria was. Carlos's fiancée. He could at least have told me, Anne thought sickly, then immediately scolded herself for daring to imagine that it was any concern of hers. Dorrie had warned her that very first day that while Carlos might become involved in any number of romances, he would never marry a woman who wasn't his social equal. Maria apparently was. And no matter how her heart might ache, it was absolutely no concern of hers.

  Seeing no one else around, Anne decided to go outside for a walk. After she'd pulled open the heavy carved door and stepped through it, she saw to her surprise that Carlos was striding energetically up the wide steps to where she stood. Her heart caught in pain at sight of him, his aristocratic face unfairly handsome in the midmorning light. As he caught sight of her, a smile curved his well-formed lips.

  Reaching her side, Carlos took hold of her arm. "Well, I've been looking everywhere for you. When you left the dining room earlier, I thought maybe you'd been offended."

  "And why would I have been offended?" Anne jerked her arm free of Carlos's hold and glanced angrily at him. After all, he was the one to blame for dragging her here and thrusting her into this totally impossible situation.

  Carlos's black eyes fixed on hers and in response to her obvious anger, he grinned even more broadly. "All right, all right," he murmured placatingly, "I know you were not treated with the greatest courtesy and I apologize for that, but try to see it from my family's point of view, please. In any case, let's forget it for now and go for a walk. I'd like to show you the gardens and the view."

  "But your fiancée's looking for you," Anne snapped tartly. "She asked me to tell you if I happened to see you."

  "My fiancée?" A puzzled look appeared momentarily in Carlos's eyes, then disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. "Oh, Maria, you mean. We'll have to postpone our walk then, but if you'll wait for me here, please, Anne—"

  "You didn't tell me you were engaged!" Anne snapped with even more obvious anger, her blue eyes spitting fury.

  Carlos had taken a step away, but he turned back at once, again looking surprised. As his eyes met Anne's candidly, he shrugged. "But we're not formally engaged yet," he responded matter-of-factly. "That Maria would even refer to me as her fiancé surprises me. I never refer to her that way."

  "But—are you engaged or aren't you?" Anne demanded, her pulse pounding hard. She told herself scornfully she had no right to ask—and no possible interest in Carlos's answer—even as she spoke these words.

  Again Carlos shrugged, his grin vanished, his expression growing increasingly guarded. "In a way, yes. In another way, no. From the day Maria was born it was agreed upon by our families that one day we would marry. I've always known this. Maria has always known it. In that sense we are already betrothed. At the same time, as I explained to you last night, I do not expect to marry for several years yet, possibly, like my father, not until I am forty. So why should we become formally engaged so many years before we intend to marry?"

  "And meanwhile," Anne lashed out with uncontrollable anger, "you enjoy yourself with an endless string of actresses and showgirls, right?"

  Carlos's face broke into a broad, surprised grin. "Showgirls and actresses? Wherever did you get that idea? Obviously you are confusing me with someone else, maybe the hero or villain of some movie you have seen. I'm a hardworking businessman, not a playboy. Ah, you Americans," he ended, shaking his head in deep amusement.

  "Confusing you with someone else indeed!" Anne flared furiously. "I saw how you eyed all those long-legged, painted, voluptuous women at the cafe you took me to in Paris. And the very first thing Maria asked me was whether I was an actress, proving she knows you all right, just as I do!"

  "She asked if you were an actress?" Carlos asked incredulously, then he burst out laughing, as though the idea amused him beyond words. "An actress? Oh, good heavens, couldn't she take one look at you and see that you aren't? An actress, indeed!"

  Carlos laughed again, almost as heartily, while Anne's cheeks flushed crimson. Was Carlos defending her against an insult Maria had thrown at her, or insulting her himself? She didn't know. She only knew she felt furious, angrier than she'd ever been in her life.

  "And as for that cafe we went to," Carlos added as his new burst of laughter died away, "have I not as much right as other men to look and enjoy? Does this make me a playboy? Certainly I enjoy looking at pretty women, actresses or not, showgirls or not. From the first night we met I have mentioned that you, Anne McCullough, are an extremely pretty girl, so I enjoy looking at you. If a man is to be condemned for that, how many would be left alive in this world, eh, tell me that?"

  Anne's blue eyes glared even more furiously into Carlos's amused black ones. And what of all the kisses, the embraces, all the soft words? she thought wildly, with terrible hurt. But those were her responsibility as much as his; she had allowed them. Having allowed them to happen, she had no right to reproach him now. Yet the pain was there, and she couldn't seem to push it away.

  "Well, your fiancée's still looking for you," she muttered, "and you shouldn't keep her waiting any longer." She swung her eyes away and began running down the steps. "And while you're talking with her, I'll go have a look at the gardens ray-self."

  "But—Anne, why don't you wait? You'll need a guide," Carlos called after her, his voice serious now.

  "Nonsense!" Anne called back, not glancing around. "I'm sure I'll do fine." Once I can make the pain of loving you go away—if I ever can.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two days passed with no sign of Michael. The third day dawned and Anne woke with a burning anger, an anger that had grown hourly since her arrival here. It wasn't that she was actively mistreated; she wasn't. At the same time she was miserably aware that she wasn't welcome, that she was barely tolerated. After that first flare-up in her presence when Carlos's father and aunt had learned who she was, they had not again, either one, been openly unpleasant to her. Rather, they neglected to speak to her at all. If she happened to run across them in the upper or lower hall, they would not even bother to avert their eyes; they would simply look right through her.

  Maria, on the other hand, looked right at her, spoke to her, even occasionally smiled at her, all with the coldest, most sneering condescension imaginable. Oh, I hate this place! Anne thought. She felt angry not only at Carlos for bringing her here, at his family for despising her, at Ma
ria for being the woman she was—a self-centered, unpleasant, incurable snob—she also felt angry at her brother, at Dolores, at the world. Where was Michael anyway?

  After lying in bed for quite some time staring up at all those round cherub faces carved into the ceiling, carvings she'd found charming at first sight but which by now she'd grown to loathe, Anne dragged herself out of bed and into her luxurious black marble bathroom to shower. She had slept as late as she could manage and her breakfast would be. arriving any time, brought by the elderly valet who seemed to be her one and only friend here. But as the man apparently understood not a word of English, and her Spanish was limited to buenos dias, buenas noches, and gracias, they really couldn't communicate too well. Still she sensed that the sweet old man was concerned for her and it made her feel just a slight bit less lonely, a slight bit less trapped. Oh, if only Michael would keep his word and show up with Dorrie!

  During the two days just past Anne had had her breakfast in her room alone each morning, her lunch at a table in the rose garden, also alone, but for dinner the kindly old valet had led her each evening to the dining room where the others sat at the table, waiting for her. Only at dinner had she seen Carlos, who had returned to work in the nearby city of Palencia and was gone all day. The first evening when she'd walked toward the table, trembling slightly, wondering how she'd be greeted, Carlos had risen at once at her entrance and smiled warmly at her.

  "Well, Anne, how nice to see you. I hope your day was pleasant enough. Will you sit here, please?"

  Carlos walked around the table to help her into the chair alongside Maria. Across from them sat Carlos's aunt, while his father was seated at one end of the table, Carlos at the other. Anne noticed that the elderly duke had also risen at her entrance, but he did not otherwise acknowledge her presence. With his narrow face sternly impassive, he seated himself as Anne sat down. It seemed to Anne that the chill in the air was so marked, so oppressive, that they might all suffer frostbite if they lingered over their dinner too long.

  The meal was served in several courses, by two quietly efficient waiters. As they were consuming their first course, a thick, delicious soup, Carlos tried to initiate conversation. He spoke briefly to his father about company matters, politely inquired of his aunt how she was feeling, asked Maria how she had occupied herself while he was gone, and facing Anne, smiling, asked her whether she was enjoying herself. No one answered his inquiries in more than a few brief words, and Carlos's attempts to force further conversation fell flat. Before long Carlos, with a sigh, gave up and turned his attention to the food, which was excellent. Anne, however, felt too angry and uncomfortable to enjoy a single bite she ate. She couldn't wait to be done with the meal so she could leave the room and be free of these insufferable people.

  As the dessert was brought in, Anne murmured that she didn't care for any and asked to be excused. Without waiting for permission to leave—she was no child to need permission!—she pushed her chair back, stood up, and hurried out of the room.

  She started up the stairs, then on second thought swung around and let herself out through the massive front door. During the day she had explored the area surrounding the castle and was now familiar with the various gardens, garages, tennis courts, and greenhouses. Relieved to be alone, she walked through the lovely cool of the evening and told herself a hundred times that Michael would arrive the following day with Dorrie, and she would pack and fly home. And what a relief that would be!

  But Michael didn't arrive the next day, nor phone, and Anne found herself growing ever angrier, ever more ready to explode. The day seemed endless. In spite of the lovely gardens where she spent hours strolling, she felt lonely, restless, stiflingly bored. In the late afternoon she saw Carlos's black Mercedes come speeding up the road and she felt her pulse give a happy leap. So hungry was she for companionship she almost headed toward the garage to intercept him. But almost at once she remembered the intense anger she felt toward him, and the million and one times she had vowed to herself to forget him. So instead of heading down to greet him, she swung around and hurried inside, breaking into a run up the stairs so that she would reach her room, and safety, before he had any chance to stop her.

  Dinner that night was a rerun of the evening before, with the air even icier, if possible. Even Carlos remained quiet, his dark eyes down as he ate, as though he now realized the futility of trying to enliven the meal with conversation. Again Anne excused herself early and hurried outside to go for a walk. Sometime later, as she was walking back to the castle, she saw Carlos step outside. He stood on the terrace for some time, frowning, glancing around, then he walked thoughtfully down the wide steps. Anne's pulse suddenly raced as she became convinced that he had come out here looking for her. The thought sent a spurt of pleasure through her, yet she felt instantly determined, perversely, to make sure that he did not find her. Like a child playing hide-and-seek, she hid herself behind a massive statue in the rose garden until Carlos had walked by and she could slip behind him into the castle without being seen. If he wanted company for his after-dinner stroll, let him walk with his fiancée!

  Once she was safely back in her room, alone, Anne began to feel restless and lonely again and half regretted that she hadn't allowed Carlos to find her, or hadn't walked out to greet him of her own free will. But loneliness is better than pain, she persuaded herself. If she had any sense at all, she would avoid Carlos as much as humanly possible until she was at last entirely free of him.

  As she lay in bed that third morning, Anne finally came to a decision. If Michael did not return today, she would leave anyway, regardless of the situation that would leave him in. He was her one and only brother, but the sacrifices she would make for him had to have a limit. Surely she had already done more than he'd had any right to expect. He knew the circumstances she was in, had acted outraged, had insisted he would come save her at once—yet here she languished, in this vile cold prison, waiting, waiting, waiting. Michael, if you don't come today, I've got to leave. Even if Carlos goes to the police and the police catch you and throw you in jail! Why should I rot in prison instead of you? I've been a prisoner long enough—it's your turn now!

  This is what Anne vowed to herself as she showered, dressed, listlessly ate the breakfast her friend the valet brought, and left her room to wander downstairs to somehow get through another long day. My very last day here, she told herself; this is it, this is it. But even as she thought this, she clung fiercely to the belief that Michael would show up.

  Evening fell, however, and there was still no sign of either Michael or Carlos's stubborn, selfish, self-centered sister.

  To avoid running across Carlos after his return from work, Anne climbed the stairs to her room early that evening and threw herself restlessly, miserably, across her bed. For two nights she had gone downstairs for dinner to be treated with icy disdain, as a cold silence enveloped the table. Tonight she wouldn't go down; she'd have her dinner alone here in her room. Or if her friend the valet didn't bring her anything, she would go without, which was all right too.

  When the elderly valet rapped softly on her door, then opened it to beckon her to follow him, Anne raised herself to a sitting position on her bed and shook her head. She repeated the word, "No," several times; then, because the sweet old man looked so perturbed, she pressed her hand against her abdomen and made an unhappy face, as though she preferred not to go down to dinner due to a digestive problem. At last the old man seemed to understand, and throwing her a sympathetic glance, backed out of the room again and closed the door.

  Within minutes there was another knock on the door, sharp and presumptuous. "Anne, this is Carlos. May I come in?"

  Anne, who had flopped restlessly back down on the bed after the valet's departure, instantly swung up to a sitting position. Her pulse raced. She had never supposed Carlos would come after her. "Go away," she called in a clear, cold voice.

  "I want to talk to you, Anne," Carlos spoke quietly, calmly. "I've got important news
for you. I heard from Michael today."

  As she heard these words, Anne's pulse seemed to stop, then the next instant it raced furiously again. She jumped off the bed and stood alongside it nervously biting her lip. At last she called back, "Carlos, I don't believe you. Just go away, please."

  "Anne, will you kindly behave yourself? Michael phoned me today. Besides that, Pedro said you were ill. Are you ill?"

  "No, I'm not ill! And I still don't believe you. Please go away."

  There was silence for a moment, for such a long moment that Anne half believed—feared?—that Carlos had taken her at her word and left. But then the door opened and Carlos stood in the doorway, black eyes glaring at her.

  "I'm not in the habit of entering a lady's bedchamber without invitation," he muttered angrily, "but when I'm up against a girl as stubborn and self-willed as you are, what choice do I have? Michael phoned me late this afternoon at the office. He said he was in Tangier. He is on his way and will catch the ferry to Algeciras in the morning. He should arrive tomorrow night or the following morning. He wanted me to tell you and to ask you to forgive him for not coming before now. He realizes that you may be so angry at him by now that you won't believe anything he says, but he wants you to know he feels dreadfully guilty and upset. He tried to phone you here at the castle but we have an unlisted number and Dolores refused to give it to him." Carlos paused momentarily, then added, with a little smile that somehow looked both terribly sad and a little smug, "They are not speaking to each other at present, have split up, as you Americans put it, and no longer plan to marry. So much for the wonderful romantic love they shared that you tried to tell me would last forever."