Her heart thudding in her breast, Elizabeth leaned as far away from him as he would allow. "No, no, of course not," she muttered, adding with a flash of temper, "And I wish you wouldn't call me 'English'! My name is Mrs. Ridgeway, and you would do well to remember it."
He didn't like that, she could tell from the tightening of his mouth, but as the waltz was ending, he shrugged and a few seconds later deposited her near Stella. Mockingly he remarked, "Muchas gracias, Mrs. Ridgeway. And Stella, amiga, you can stop fretting, I have returned your lamb—unharmed."
"Only because it suited you," Stella replied dryly. "And perhaps," she added, "because your wife is here?"
At the word "wife" Elizabeth felt her heart plunge to her feet, but she wasn't exactly sure why the news that he had a wife should have that effect on her. She was a married woman herself and she shouldn't be having romantic notions about another man, but to her astonishment she discovered that she disliked the thought of his having a wife. Stop being such a witless fool, she told herself, what does it matter if he is married? In a week or two you'll be in Natchez and will never see him again.
Rafael did not answer Stella's challenge, but only smiled and stalked away. Watching him as he crossed the room, Elizabeth commanded herself: Forget Rafael Santana!
Elizabeth tried to do just that. But regrettably, it seemed that Rafael Santana's features had been printed on her brain, and if she let her concentration slip for the briefest second, his dark mocking face was there before her. Fortunately though, she did not have to endure his disturbing presence for very long. Stella let one more waltz elapse before she said, "I think we should be leaving now. If you will find a servant to bring us our cloaks, I shall attempt to find my wayward husband."
Glad to leave, longing to be alone to examine the bewildering emotions that had been stirred by Rafael Santana, Elizabeth departed from the ballroom. She found a servant with little trouble and a moment later was shown into a small room where the guests' outer garments had been placed. The servant hesitated, and Elizabeth, guessing she had more tasks to do, dismissed her with a smile. "Thank you. I can find our cloaks and things. You may go now."
The black face softened with a smile, and the servant was gone. Elizabeth turned away and looking for her cloak and Stella's. She found her own immediately, but it took her a few seconds longer to find Stella's India cachemire shawl. She had just discovered it beneath several other garments when a sound made her glance up.
Seeing Rafael Santana lounging with careless grace against the closed door, she froze. That door had been open a moment ago, and it must have been the sound of it closing that had made her look up. Forcing herself to act calmly, she demanded, "What do you think you are doing? Open that door immediately!"
Those smoky gray eyes moved slowly over her face. There was no trace of mockery in his voice when he said abruptly, "I wish to see you again. Will you meet me?"
Elizabeth swallowed. What he was asking was unthinkable, and even she, as young and naive as she was, knew that. A married woman did not make an arrangement to meet a man other than her husband. Deliberately misunderstanding him, she said, "I shall be staying with Stella until sometime tomorrow—I don't think that she would object if you came to call."
Dryly he murmured, "Querida, I do not want to see you under Stella's watchful eye. I want to see you alone, and you damn well know it. Tell me where we can meet privately."
"Why?" she asked breathlessly, fencing for time, wanting someone to come and open that door and disrupt this meeting between them, and yet at the same time terrified that someone would do just that.
"I think you know why," he stated bluntly, almost angrily pushing himself away from the door.
At his first movement Elizabeth stepped back, clutching Stella's shawl to her breast as if it would offer her some protection against the tall man who loomed in front of her. She was frightened and at the same time nearly dizzy with dangerous excitement. "D-d-don't come any closer," she stammered as he slowly walked up to her.
"Oh, but I will," he threatened softly, as his hands reached out to close around her slender white shoulders. "I intend to come a great deal closer, English."
Mesmerized, her eyes clinging to the gray ones above her, she watched helplessly as he bent his head, and then, unable to help herself, shut her eyes, blotting out the sight of that harsh face.
His mouth was warm and demanding as it took hers, and Elizabeth made an involuntary attempt to escape. Feeling her resistance, Rafael's hands tightened, pulling her next to his hard length, deepening his kiss. He kissed her a long time, an endless time, during which Elizabeth learned that there are kisses and then there are kisses. Later she was to remember shamefully that he never forced her after those few first seconds in his arms.
His hands slipped to her waist, bringing her closer, closer it seemed than when she and Nathan had been in bed at night, and she was shamefully aware that this was what she had wanted from the moment she had seen him. Rafael had wanted it too, it seemed, for as she melted into him, her soft young breasts crushed against his chest, his mouth hardened into passion, and his lips forced hers apart, his tongue urgently searching her mouth.
No one had kissed her like that before, and helplessly she moaned at the unexpected pleasurable ache that hit her loins as Rafael's mouth continued its hungry assault on her lips. Giddy, plunging into a new world of physical sensations, she didn't stop him when he lowered his head to gently kiss the soft flesh that rose above the silken gown, nor did she stop him when his hand cupped her breast and his thumb brushed across her nipple. His mouth founds hers again, his tongue seeking the inner softness, and what little sanity Elizabeth had vanished. This was what she had wanted for too long—someone to want her!—she was oblivious of everything—Nathan, marriage vows, their surroundings, everything but this tall, dark, dangerous man who held her in his arms and whose mouth was teaching hers passion and desire.
It was Rafael who tore himself away from her. Lost in her own world of dreamy sensuality, Elizabeth stared at him in bewilderment as he abruptly stepped back from her. The violet eyes, dark with virgin passion, clung to his face, and Rafael's mouth twisted. Breathing heavily, he said thickly, "I think you now know why I want to see you alone."
Cold, icy sanity returned to Elizabeth, and, mortified at her own actions and unwilling to even think about his, she whirled around and with her back to him choked out, "I think you have forgotten that we are both married... and not to each other."
There was a muttered curse from Rafael, and then with ungentle fingers he spun her around to face him. "What has that to do with us? You do not love that husband of yours... and don't lie to me that you do. My wife was chosen for me by my grandfather, and she has as much love for me as I have for her. So tell me, who do we hurt by wanting each other?"
Stubbornly she whispered, "It isn't right!"
"Right?" Rafael grated. "What has right to do with it? English, I want you and a moment ago you wanted me. I don't intend to be denied because you don't think it's right!"
He was very attractive as he stood there across from her. His hair was ruffled, falling rebelliously onto his forehead, and his silvery gray eyes were alive and filled with more expression than she had seen so far, but his face was angry, the heavy black brows scowling and the full mouth taut with suppressed emotion. Incredibly, she longed to throw herself into his arms and smooth away the anger. But one time in his arms had taught her that he exercised a frightening power over her, and she resisted that mad temptation. Staring at him, she asked, "Do you expect me to believe you have fallen in love with me?"
"Love you?" he snarled. "No, English, I do not love you—I do not love anyone. But I want you, and wanting works as well as loving."
Stricken and not certain what she would have done if he had said he loved her, Elizabeth's eyes dropped. "Go away," she said in a soft shaken voice. "I don't ever want to see you again. You are a dangerous man, Mr. Santana, and I think you should find your wife and tel
l her that you want her."
A bleak slant to his mouth, he retorted, "If I did, she would run screaming for her priest. You see, Consuela only endures the marriage bed—she does not enjoy it, nor does she make any attempt to hide the fact that she finds me abhorrent." He gave a wry smile and added, "That Comanche blood, you know. Consuela does not feel it is worthy of her noble birth." The smile left his face and in a different tone of voice, almost with a note of confusion, he admitted, "English, I do not do this with every woman, despite what you may have heard. You are very beautiful and I am—"
Whatever else he might have said was lost, for the door was flung open so violently that it banged like a cannon against the wall. A woman, her Spanish black eyes gleaming with malice, stood on the threshold. She took a brief comprehensive glance and shrieked, "Aja! I knew it! Ay de mi! That I should be so shamed!"
Rafael, his face white with fury, leaped across the room and dragged the screaming woman inside. Ignoring her struggles to free herself, Rafael held her prisoner. His voice a whiplash of sound, he snarled, "Stop it, Consuela, before you make a scene that even you will regret."
"Ay! Ay! Tell me why you are here with this woman!"
"If I do so, will you stop your screaming?" he asked.
Sullenly she shook her head yes, twitching herself free of his loosened grip. Drawing herself up with pride, she looked contemptuously at Elizabeth, who had stood frozen in the center of the room. "You are a poor, pale little thing, aren't you?" she sneered. "So pale and like milk-water that you stoop to entrapping other women's husbands."
"That's not true!" Elizabeth gasped. She had been wrong to let Rafael kiss her, but she hadn't entrapped him. Beseechingly her eyes flew to his.
He sent her a comforting look and in an icy voice said to Consuela, "Leave her out of this, senora! She has done nothing, and if you must vent your anger, vent it on me. She is innocent, and I do not want her slandered by your evil tongue."
Consuela sniffed, not liking what he said, but also not inclined to argue the point. "Bah! What do I care what you do—but I will not have you shame me. If you wish to have your little putas, do so, but keep them away from me."
"Consuela, say one more word against her, and I will slit that long, white throat you are so proud of," Rafael murmured with deadly softness.
"Ha! I expected you to threaten me—what else could I expect from a barbarian like you? It is despicable that I, with the most noble blood of Spain flowing in my veins, should be so humbled and so degraded to have a husband like you."
Watching the two of them, Elizabeth had the feeling that Consuela frequently threw that statement at Rafael's head, and she pitied him. He caught the look of pity in her eyes and a muscle bunched in his jaw.
"Don't," he said. "Don't ever look at me like that again."
Elizabeth dropped her gaze, appalled by the rage that had lit those gray eyes. He would hate pity, she realized with a pang. Hate it and anyone who offered it.
"What in the world is going on in here?" Stella demanded from the doorway. "I have been waiting for ages for you, Elizabeth. Didn't the servant find our things?"
"N-n-no. I did. They are right here," Elizabeth answered feebly, wondering how much Stella had overheard and what conjecture she put on the three of them here in the room.
"Oh, hello, Dona Consuela. Did you enjoy the soiree?" Stella murmured.
Consuela shot her a look of venom, and as she was not a beautiful woman, with a prominent nose and a thin mouth, it made her appear almost ugly. "I might have known she would be a friend of yours!" Consuela snapped. "Is there no one in this benighted land who is not common or vulgar?"
"What do you mean by that?" Stella demanded, her dark eyes narrowing with quick temper.
"As if you didn't know! You probably encouraged her, hoping I would be humiliated."
Stella smiled sweetly. "Oh no, senora, you do that often enough all by yourself—you don't need any help from me. And I would thank you to leave Beth out of any argument you may have with me or your husband."
"If this were Spain," Consuela began angrily—but Rafael's furious "Basta ya!" stopped her from saying anything further.
Glancing at Stella, he said, "Stella, amiga, will you take the little one away?" With difficulty he added, "I am sorry this had to happen."
"You apologize to them!" Consuela burst out. "What about me? Am I, may God have mercy on me, not your wife? It is I who deserve an apology from everyone in this room. I demand it!"
"Leave it, Consuela!" Rafael said icily. "Don't make this any more unpleasant than it already is."
"Ay! Ay! I should have expected that from you. You will allow me to be insulted in this fashion and then you will do nothing to alleviate my shame, my pain. You are truly a savage, Rafael. A dirty, thieving Comanche savage like your grandmother!"
"Stop it, Consuela," he said quietly.
"And if I don't, what will you do—kill me? You would like to do that, wouldn't you?" she spat out viciously. "I wonder why you have not hired some of your filthy, estupido savages before now to rid you of a wife like myself!"
The gray eyes black with fury, he bit out, "I might just do that. I'm surprised that I hadn't thought of it before now." As if unable to bear the sight of her another moment, he spun on his heels and flung out of the room.
Chapter 5
Elizabeth was never certain what happened next; her jumbled thoughts didn't untangle themselves until an hour later when, wearing a soft nightgown, the silvery hair in two long braids resting on her breasts, she sat on the bed in the house on Esplanade Avenue sipping hot chocolate. Stella was with her, also partaking of a cup of chocolate as she lounged on the corner of Elizabeth's bed.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Stella asked quietly.
Elizabeth gave her a wan smile. "There isn't anything to talk about. Mr. Santana followed me into the cloakroom and his wife found us there, and you know the rest."
Not looking at Elizabeth, Stella inquired carefully, "Did Consuela have a reason to fly into a rage?"
A guilty expression on her face, Elizabeth admitted, "I suppose so. Mr. Santana did kiss me, but how she could know that I don't know." Her eyes troubled, she added softly, "It was wrong, I know, but I've never met anyone like him before, Stella. I couldn't have stopped him, and the simply horrid thing is that I didn't want to stop him." She gave a sad little sigh. "I must be a wanton woman—why else would I allow a stranger such intimacy?"
"I doubt that you allowed Rafael Santana to do anything. Knowing Rafael you didn't stand a chance if he had made up his mind to kiss you. I'm sorry that he took such a liberty, and especially sorry that Consuela caused an ugly scene. By tomorrow Consuela will be screeching out the story to everyone who will listen, and unfortunately, there are more than a few who will listen. Knowing what a witch she is, quite a few embellishments will be added to the story. I just hope that your husband doesn't challenge Rafael to a silly duel. That would put a cap on the whole affair."
Elizabeth's lower lip trembled. "Oh, Stella, what a wretched tangle!" she admitted unhappily. "I don't want to be the subject of gossip, nor do I want Nathan to fight a duel over me. I would give anything if Mr. Santana had not followed me. More than that, I wish Nathan had been there with me, and that he and I had the sort of easy relationship you and Juan share."
Stella sent her an affectionate smile. "Now, honey, don't carry on so. You and Nathan will do just fine. Time is all that you need to make a happy marriage. Why, I'll wager that in a few months you'll look back on this conversation and wonder how you could have been such a ninny. As for Consuela, let's just hope Rafael can convince her not to create a full-blown scandal. If anyone can, it'll be Rafael." Stella hesitated before going on in a worried tone of voice. "I wish that Juan and I were not leaving day after tomorrow. With us gone there'll be no one except Rafael to countermand what I'm sure will be Consuela's vicious lies. We don't need her to make so much scandal that it follows you to Natchez."
Appalled, Eliz
abeth stammered, "B-but why would she do that? She hates Rafael, even I could tell that. Why would she slander me and expose the fact that her husband finds other women more appealing than herself? If I found Nathan in a compromising situation, I wouldn't want it to be broth for all the scandalmongers!"
"Nor would most women. But then, you would have to understand Consuela Valadez de Santana."
"How he could have married such a woman?" Elizabeth asked. "How could he love her?"
Stella's mouth twisted wryly. "That, my pet, is most of the problem. Rafael and Consuela's marriage was arranged for them. You see, despite the Comanche half-breed grandmother, Rafael's family is wealthy and aristocratic. Unfortunately, Rafael and his mother, Dona Faith, were captured by the Comanches when Rafael was about two years old."
Elizabeth's cry of distress caused Stella to stop and look at her. "Honey, don't be so shocked—the Comanches always take captives, and women and children are stolen regularly. No one knows how many white captives the Comanches have, and it is the one thing on the frontier that every woman dreads. Few if any are ever heard of again, but occasionally, as in the case of Rafael's mother, word does come back." Stella frowned as she tried to remember the sequence of events. "I've heard the tale from my mother often enough, but I can never recall how long afterward a Comanche half-breed came into San Antonio and told of Dona Faith's death. I think it was about two years later, and he said that she had died the previous year. At any rate, she was dead, but he had seen the boy, Rafael, and said that the child had been adopted by a Comanche family and was thriving."
"Didn't anyone try to find him? They didn't just leave him there, did they?"
"It's difficult to explain—there are so many bands of Comanches and they move about constantly," Stella said. "The distances are great, some areas not yet explored by white men, and it is almost impossible to meet with them... under friendly circumstances. It's as if the captives disappear off the face of the earth—some are traded to other bands and tribes and some simply die. The Santanas were lucky to even know that Dona Faith was actually dead. Sometimes years pass before anyone knows for certain the fate of a captive." Her voice gloomy, she added, "Sometimes never."
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