She was still enjoying her last cup of coffee when Carlos's aunt rose and with an arrogant sniff excused herself, glancing at Anne with an aggrieved expression as much as to say that her unwanted presence had spoiled the meal for her. As his sister left, the elderly duke rose and excused himself too. Left alone with Carlos, Anne felt suddenly rather embarrassed. She gulped down what was left of her coffee and rose to leave as well.
"Why the sudden rush?" Carlos asked. "It's still very early and we have plenty of time. Would you mind sitting down for a moment so that I might talk with you?"
Anne did as he requested, feeling suddenly breathless. Her eyes met his. "About what?"
Carlos's black eyes stayed on hers for several moments, then with a little sigh he glanced away. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I feel as though there is so much I wish to discuss with you, but when the opportunity presents itself, I—how do you Americans put it?—I draw a blank." His eyes returned to hers and he smiled, a bemused, half-regretful smile such as Anne had never seen on his lips before. One hand lay on the table top and Anne noticed in surprise, as her eyes lowered, that the hand was drawn into a fist.
He sighed deeply again. "Well, never mind. Once you have left, once you are actually gone, I know I shall curse at myself for not having spoken out, for remaining silent. We come from such different worlds"—as he said this, Carlos's eyes again met Anne's, and he looked at her with what seemed like infinite sadness in the black depths of those eyes—"do we not, mi querida?" His voice was so soft as he said this that Anne, though she sat only a few feet away, had to strain to hear.
"Yes, Carlos, we do," Anne agreed, unwelcome tears coming into her eyes. "Yet at moments, at certain moments—"
"Yes?"
Anne shook her head nervously, glancing away. "Well, never mind, I have drawn a blank too. I just want you to know, Carlos, that—well, that"—she glanced back, daring to meet those black eyes again —"that at certain moments I've felt extremely close to you, and that no matter how long I live, or who I marry, there will always be a special place in my heart reserved for you. I know so well that I'll never forget you."
"Nor I you." Carlos reached out to press his hand over Anne's, still smiling the same bemused smile. "And now I suppose you'd better go up to finish packing before we depart."
"Yes, I suppose."
After she rose, Anne stepped over to Carlos's side, leaned down and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "In many ways I'm grateful to you, Carlos, and in many ways I—" She couldn't complete the sentence, say the words "I love you." Straightening up quickly, she hurried out of the room, not once glancing back.
She was descending the stairs a brief time later, carrying her one case, when the front door was thrown open and Dorrie walked in, followed by Michael. The sight of the two of them so startled Anne that she dropped her case and stopped walking, frozen to her spot on the stairs. Not only Michael, Dorrie too! The prodigals had returned.
Carlos was walking down the hall toward the front entry and saw the young couple almost at the same instant that Anne did.
"Dolores! I can't believe it!" In a few long strides he reached his sister's side, grabbing hold of her by the shoulders. "Dolores, are you well? Are you home for good? Father will be so happy to see you! And this is Michael, I presume?"
As Carlos turned to face Michael, his handsome face hardened, his expression becoming impassive, and Anne thought for a moment that he was going to refuse to shake the hand that Michael nervously extended. But good manners prevailed, and Carlos put his own hand out to momentarily shake the one offered to him.
"I was just preparing to drive your sister into the city," Carlos told Michael, cool arrogance in his voice. "She had despaired of your keeping your word and returning as you had promised to do."
By then Anne had picked up her case again and descended the last few stairs. Michael's green eyes swung around to gaze beseechingly at her.
"Anne, I'm so dreadfully sorry." As he stood gazing at her, blinking nervously, he looked and sounded extremely fatigued. "I told Dorrie a hundred times I was coming here no matter what, but she found a thousand ways to delay me. It's been a constant, never-ending battle, which doesn't excuse me, I know. I'm sure you must be terribly angry at me now, but I only hope that someday you'll get over your anger and forgive me. It's been such a frightful mess."
Suddenly, to Anne's eyes, Michael looked about five years old, a brave little boy doing his best not to cry. As he hung his head, she rushed to him, gave him a hug, and assured him she was no longer the least bit angry.
"It's just that I was so terribly worried," she told him, forgetting for the moment that she'd ever felt any anger. "And now that you're here, I'm so relieved. But, Dorrie, how are you? It's wonderful to see you too," Anne added, swinging to face the girl Michael loved, extending her hand as she smiled.
Dorrie thrust her chin a little higher into the air and for a moment angrily ignored Anne's extended hand. But then, as with her brother, training prevailed and she resentfully put her own hand out, slipping her slim, smooth palm into Anne's.
"I'm well enough," she answered coolly, "considering that I gave my heart to a man who soon proved that he felt no love for me at all. It seems that everyone else in the world matters more to him than I do."
"Dorrie, that's not true," Michael protested, his eyes fastening beseechingly on Dorrie's pale face. "You know I love you, that I'm so crazy about you—"
"Crazy, yes!" Dorrie snapped back, blinking against the sudden tears that had appeared in her eyes. "But actions speak louder than words, you know, and your actions prove what a liar you are! If you loved me we'd be in America now, we'd be married! We wouldn't be here where my father and brother can lock me up and make me their prisoner!"
In a fury Dorrie swung around and stepped toward her brother. "Here, jailor," she cried, grabbing a package out of her coat pocket and slapping it into Carlos's hands, "here are the jewels you said we stole. Now you've got what you want, Michael's got what he wants, Anne's got what she wants, everybody's got what he wants except for me!"
Saying this, Dorrie broke into tears. Dropping her face into her hands, she cried heartbrokenly, shaking with her sobs. When Carlos, looking stricken, stepped forward and tried to comfort her, she pulled angrily away. Michael, who put his arm around her, murmuring soothing words, fared no better.
"Just leave me alone, both of you, just leave me alone!" Crying, she hurried across the vast entry hall and began running up the stairs. Three pairs of eyes watched her departure, but no word was said. Only after Dorrie had disappeared down the upstairs hall did Carlos speak.
"Excuse me, please. I must go find my father and aunt to let them know that Dolores is home."
Anne and Michael sat out on the front steps, on the warm stone, quietly discussing everything that had happened. Around eleven Carlos stepped out through the heavy carved door and asked them courteously if they would please come inside.
"We're having a family conference in the sitting room," he explained, "and Dolores insists that Michael be there."
Anne rose nervously, feeling a bit unsteady. "And —you want me there too?"
"Yes, Anne, please, if you wouldn't mind."
The sitting room was very large, decorated in muted tones, a room heavy with tradition and repressive breeding, a room where loud voices and shrill argument had no place. But there's a first time for everything, Anne thought wryly, as she and Michael followed Carlos inside.
The elderly duke stood by a huge, open-hearth fireplace, his gray-streaked, immaculately trimmed Vandyke beard giving his stern face an even sterner look. He stood magnificently erect, as always, gazing across at them with arrogant impassivity. His tall white-haired sister sat at one end of a brocaded sofa, her dark eyes gazing regally right through them. Dorrie stood within a few feet of her father, her carriage as erect as his, her head thrown back, firm chin thrust defiantly into the air. With a quick, unexpected spurt of amusement it occurred to Anne that Dolores, for all h
er youth, would possibly prove to be a match for both her father and brother, even with her aunt thrown in. There was something so stubbornly self-assured, so stubbornly willful, about her slim young body, her lovely young face, it was hard to believe that she couldn't wrestle from life absolutely anything she wanted. But apparently, Anne thought with a sigh, she no longer wanted Michael. Or—did she?
Carlos walked over to stand near his father and quietly took charge.
"Anne, Michael, we've asked you to join us here as father wishes to discuss what actions we ought to take against Michael for my sister's lengthy absence." Dorrie here interrupted with a loud, contemptuous snort, which Carlos ignored. His voice stayed even, calm, and cool. "My own feelings are we should simply forget this unfortunate affair ever took place. My father, however—"
"—stupidly insists that Michael should be arrested and thrown into jail," Dorrie threw in.
Carlos's head whipped around as he glared at his sister. "Dolores, watch your tongue," he commanded. "It is insufferable that you should speak to or about your father in such a way."
Dorrie's eyes glared back at her brother with equal anger. Instead of flinching, she thrust her chin even higher into the air. "Well, when he insists upon something so stupid, so utterly stupid—"
"Dolores, I'm warning you—"
"One more word out of you, young lady, and I'll have you sent to your room and locked up again," the elderly duke announced, gleaming dark eyes fastening coldly on his daughter.
"For how long?" Dorrie cried, challenging her father.
"For as long as it takes to teach you proper respect!" her father snapped.
"The rest of my life, you mean? Well, just remember what happened the last time you tried that—I managed to get away, didn't I? And I will again. This isn't the Middle Ages, you know. You can't just put people under lock and key and keep them prisoners forever. I'll find some way to get word out to Michael, as I did last time, and off we'll go again, only next time we'll get married at once and then you'll never be able to drag me back. Never!" Dorrie glared triumphantly at her father.
Her aunt broke in, pouring out a torrent of words in Spanish that Anne, of course, couldn't understand. To her surprise Michael responded to Aunt Isabel, also speaking in Spanish—apparently Dorrie had taught him more than how to get involved in a miserably mixed-up love affair. Carlos spoke angrily to Michael, the elderly duke had his say, Aunt Isabel spoke again, Dorrie argued wildly, angrily, gesticulating—all of them speaking in Spanish. The angry confrontation grew even louder, with shrill voices breaking in, interrupting, overriding, trying to silence the opposition. As the noise swirled around her, streams of angry argument that she could not begin to follow, Anne realized suddenly that she had a terrible headache. Everyone was ignoring her and she could not possibly contribute anything to the discussion as she hadn't the least idea who was arguing what. Abruptly she felt too frustrated, too incensed, to be a mute witness any longer. Let them rant and rave all they liked, but without her. She swung around and walked hurriedly out of the room, instinctively holding her breath until she reached the hall and could relax and breathe again. She'd go outside, into the lovely quiet garden, and wait out the storm.
She had just stepped onto the graveled path of the front rose garden when she heard a rapid stride following her. She glanced around and saw in surprise that it was Carlos, his handsome face shadowed. He approached to within a few feet of her, then stopped and stared insistently at her, his black eyes grave.
"Why did you run out just now? Have you no interest in your brother's fate?" As Anne started to protest that of course she did, she saw the incipient twinkle in Carlos's dark eyes. "Or were you perfectly sure that this was another argument full of sound and fury, signifying nothing?"
Anne felt her lips twitch into an amused little smile. "Well, yes, I suppose I felt reasonably certain that now that you have both your sister and the jewelry back, there'd be no particular purpose in charging my brother with a crime you've already agreed he didn't commit. In that sense, Dorrie was surely right that any other course was rather, if you'll excuse the word, stupid." Anne paused momentarily, her smile dying away. "How soon do you suppose the confrontation will end and we can be on our way?"
The suggestion of an amused smile on Carlos's lips instantly died away. An oddly intense look came over his face, a look that frightened her a little. As warm as it was in the late-morning sun, she felt herself shiver slightly. Instead of answering her question, Carlos stepped toward her.
"Despite her youth and willfulness, Dolores was right about other things too." Carlos spoke in an oddly tense voice. "I've only just realized this. When she found a man she loved, a man who gave great joy and meaning to her life, she didn't try to fight it, to reason it away. From the very night we met I knew how I felt about you, that I enjoyed looking at you, being with you, as I've never enjoyed being with any woman before. I couldn't bear the thought of having you leave, yet still I was going to let you go, even help you to go, without telling you how I felt, without admitting how much I love you and asking whether you would possibly do me the honor of being my wife. Will you, Anne?"
Momentarily Anne felt too stunned to answer, then with an irrepressible smile she moved forward and the next moment she was joyfully in Carlos's arms. "Oh, Carlos, yes. I love you too."
"As my sister loves your brother, that is how I love you," Carlos murmured, then pressed his soft, full mouth tenderly down on hers.
After the kiss ended, Anne inquired curiously, "Then you think Dorrie still loves my brother, in spite of what she has said?"
Carlos, drawing Anne even closer, burst out with a brief, happy laugh. "But of course. Can feeling a little anger at someone, even a great deal of anger, kill off love? You saw how she was, ready to battle our father, our aunt, me, battle the world to save Michael trouble. Isn't that proof of love?"
"Well, I suppose," Anne murmured, laughing too.
A minute later she and Carlos started back toward the castle, his arm around her, while Anne gazed with utter contentment into the wonderfully handsome face she so loved. "Do you think there's any chance that your father will withdraw his objections and allow them to marry? And, oh dear, what about us?" Anne stopped walking. "Won't he object strongly to me? And—what about Maria? Oh, Carlos, are you sure you meant what you just said?"
Carlos stopped walking, swung to face Anne, and gently pushed a lock of golden brown hair away from her brow. "With my entire heart and soul I meant it," he said softly. "About Maria, I told you before we were never formally engaged, it was just an understanding. She'll have no choice but to adjust, to realize that I've reached a new understanding—of myself, of my heart—with someone else. As for my father"—Carlos shrugged lightly, smiling—"well, I'd be lying if I told you he will be pleased. He won't be. Neither will my aunt. They are old, as you've seen, and set in their ways. But while I owe them both respect and love, I don't owe them my life. I'm free to marry whomever I please. And with your permission, I am most wonderfully pleased to marry you."
Carlos kissed her with greater tenderness, with greater love, than ever before.
"And—Michael and your sister?" Anne asked a moment later as they walked on again.
Carlos grinned. "Oh, Dorrie will get her Michael, don't worry about that. When I take my sister's side and urge father to consent, he won't be happy about it but he'll be forced to give in. What else can he do? As Dolores reminded him so rudely just now, we no longer live in the Middle Ages. This is twentieth-century Spain, and we shall all marry our heart's desire and live happily ever after." Carlos stopped walking, caught hold of Anne by the shoulders, and his black eyes gazed intently down into hers. "Won't we, my love?"
He did not wait for her answer, but leaned quickly, urgently down to kiss her, while Anne's heart raced and she told herself that surely, surely, it was so—they would live happily ever after. With a soft, happy little sigh she slipped her arms around Carlos's neck as he held her close against hi
m for a solemn betrothal kiss.
Love Captive Page 14