A wry twist to his mouth, he admitted that Beth's presence had put an end to any thought of sleep. He was smiling when he entered the austere quarters set aside for his personal use. But the smile faded when Rafael discovered Sebastian seated in a squat, wooden chair, his booted feet propped on a leather-bound chest, and one of Samuel Colt's new and deadly revolvers pointed directly at the doorway where he stood.
His face expressionless, Rafael halted and, half-hidden by the shadows, with the wariness and stealth of an animal scenting danger, he slid the bowie knife into his hand. He didn't think Sebastian meant to shoot him in cold blood, but just in case...
Sebastian had obviously been waiting for him, and as Rafael lingered in the shadows, his voice heavy with aggression, he drawled, "Entrez, mon ami. You are wise to hesitate—my feelings for you are not friendly." He paused, examining his emotions, and added, "Hostile comes nearest to describing them—that or murderous."
Eyeing the Colt revolver, Rafael eased into the room, taking his time, seeking a method to defuse the potentially deadly situation. If it had been any other man than Sebastian Savage pointing that pistol at him, there was no question what he would have done—one of them would be dead by now, and it wouldn't have been Rafael Santana.
There was only one reason that made any sense for Sebastian's attitude. "The woman? You saw us earlier?"
"How clever of you to guess. Did you also guess who she was? Is that why you seduced her? To make me think ill of her? I would like to hear your explanation before I send you to hell on a bullet."
Rafael's temper was uncertain at the best of times, and he was in no mood to indulge Sebastian's hurt, angry pride. He was, in fact, deathly tired after several days of hard riding to reach the hacienda; the interlude with Beth had not been restful, nor had it improved his frame of mind. Finding one of the few people that he cared for holding him at gunpoint did nothing to improve an already frayed temper. Sebastian's demand for an explanation was the final straw. Ignoring the pistol aimed at his heart, he snarled, "I don't give explanations. Not to you or anybody else. If you're hell-bent on trying to kill me, go ahead. But rest assured, you young fool, that I'll take you with me."
Taken aback at the vehemence in Rafael's voice, Sebastian, his aggression fading, blinked at him. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"I never bluff, Sebastian. Never. So shoot me or put it away."
Sebastian shifted uneasily on the wooden chair, wishing he had thought deeper before plunging headlong into a confrontation with his much-admired cousin. Wounded, furious, and feeling betrayed by what he had seen, after dragging on his clothes he had stormed down to Rafael's quarters intending to do God knows what when Rafael entered them. An uncomfortably romantic young man, Sebastian was determined to uphold his lady's honor and avenge the insult done to her by Rafael. But face to face with an angry and implacable Rafael, he was caught in a precarious position—he didn't intend to kill his cousin, but neither could he back down—besides, Rafael did owe him an explanation. His face a study of conflicting emotions, Sebastian lowered the pistol and muttered, "I don't want to kill you, but I think you should tell me how it comes about that I find you and Beth in the situation I saw not long ago."
Rafael relaxed, the knife disappearing into his waistband. Absently he reached for a thin cigarillo from the pocket of his jacket, and when he finished lighting it from one of the whale-oil lamps, Rafael looked at the younger man. After inhaling deeply and expelling a cloud of smoke, Rafael asked, "Why don't you ask the lady? I'm sure she could explain it to your satisfaction."
Sebastian was outraged. "Why, you bastard! I wouldn't dare discuss such a thing with her."
Rafael looked amused. "Why not? You might find it illuminating." The amusement vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, he said thoughtfully, "I am not used to explaining myself to anyone, but considering the fact that Senora Ridgeway does have some special meaning to you, I will make an exception." He paused, not certain how much to tell, or how much he wanted to tell; finally he said, "You could say that there is a previous—ah—bond between us—one that not only supersedes your attachment, but which makes your suit unlikely to prosper." The moment the words left his lips he was aware he had been clumsy. All he had accomplished, he could see from Sebastian's stiffening form, was to make Sebastian more determined to prove him wrong. It had been like waving a scarlet cape in front of a young bull. Picking his words with great care, Rafael explained, "We met four years ago in New Orleans, when I came to talk to Jason about the possibility of the annexation of the Republic to the United States. You remember the time, don't you?"
"Are you trying to tell me that you and Beth have a long-standing liaison—one that started when she was barely seventeen and had been married only a matter of weeks?" Sebastian asked incredulously, making no attempts to hide his disbelief.
Sebastian wasn't to know it, but his words shocked Rafael. He had known Beth had been young when he had met her, but not that young, nor that her marriage had been that recent. He frowned, aware that there was something about what had happened that afternoon in New Orleans that he should have questioned. But he dismissed it. This was not the time to examine something that had happened four years ago; moreover it changed nothing—no matter how young she had been or how newly married, she had been Lorenzo's mistress: he'd seen it with his own eyes, heard her cries of encouragement to the other man before he had broken them apart. Memory of her with Lorenzo made it easier for him to give Sebastian an erroneous view of his relationship with Beth Ridgeway, that and the strong desire, for Sebastian's own good of course, to make his cousin realize how foolish this attachment to a married woman was. Coolly he queried, "What difference does that make? Since when has a young age or a new husband kept lovers apart?"
Sebastian swallowed thickly, feeling as if the ground was opening up under his feet, revealing an awesome black pit. He could have sworn that Beth was not the type of woman to be any man's mistress, yet he had seen her in Rafael's arms, had seen Rafael carry her off into her rooms; even more damning, Rafael had just admitted that they were lovers, had been lovers for some time. Chagrined and sick at heart, Sebastian glared at Rafael, wanting to call him a liar, but afraid that Rafael might be telling the truth—just because Beth had resisted his rather cautious overtures didn't necessarily mean that she was not open to the lures of other men. But he did not or would not believe it of her, and stubbornly he said, "I don't give a damn what you say, she is not that type of woman. I may be young and I may not have your experience, but I can spot a soiled dove as well as the next man—and that is one thing that Beth Ridgeway is not!"
Regarding the tip of his cigarillo with interest, Rafael asked, "Then how would you explain what you saw tonight?"
Sebastian's fists clenched and he almost threw himself at the other man. There was no other explanation for what he had seen, at least none that made any sense. But even if Beth had been Rafael's mistress for years, it changed nothing in his heart, she had come to mean too much to him for him to dismiss the tenderness and affection he had for her.
Knowing that he had dealt Sebastian a blow and not wishing for an estrangement between them, Rafael walked over to where Sebastian sat and, putting a friendly hand on the other's shoulder, he said gently, "Whether she is my mistress or not makes little difference, amigo—she is not for you. Would you be satisfied to have her only as a mistress? Do you want a woman you had to steal from her husband?" His dark face intent, his voice deepening with emotion, he asked, "If you could steal her from him, what would stop another man from doing the same to you? Could you live with that for the rest of your life, never knowing when she could be tempted away from you? I think not."
Everything Rafael said was true, but Sebastian fought against it, not willing to renounce his claim to Beth's affection. Some of his reluctance to relinquish any claim he felt he had on Beth had to do with pride, but his heart was also involved. He had enough confidence in his physical attributes to know that if he d
id capture Beth's affections that he would never fear another man taking her away from him—but that was before he had known that there was another man involved. Nathan he had always discounted, but Rafael was another story, and if Beth loved him, and she must in the face of Rafael's startling revelations, then he was fighting a losing battle. Painfully he said, "Perhaps you are right, but don't ask me to stop loving her because you say she is your mistress." The green eyes full of anguish, he glanced away and said in a muffled tone, "She is one of the loveliest women I have ever seen, and I find it hard to believe that she has been having an adulterous liaison behind her husband's back for years."
Rafael's features were purposely blank in the face of Sebastian's unhappiness, but if he'd had Beth's slender neck in his hands, he might have snapped it. He detested the role he was forced to play, nor did he like lying to Sebastian, but feeling as he did, thinking he was protecting him from a promiscuous little bitch, it was a grim necessity. Attempting for a light comment he murmured, "At the risk of finding myself challenged, I think, amigo, that your conception of the beautiful Beth is distorted. She is not, my young friend, the angel you perceive... believe me, I know."
Flashing him a look of dislike, Sebastian snapped "And I think you are the one who has the distorted image. Consuela filled you with such hatred for all of her sex that you would not recognize a good woman if she walked up and slapped your arrogant face for you."
A bitter smile curving his mouth, Rafael admitted, "Perhaps. Before we come to blows over her, I think it would be wise to drop the subject, si?"
Sebastian agreed, aware that nothing could be gained by further discussion. Manfully he gathered himself together, determined not to reveal, any more than he had already, how devastating Rafael's disclosures had been. Rising to his feet, the pistol still clasped in his hand, he said quietly, "There seems to be nothing more to be said between us, so I shall bid you good morning." The young face stiff and proud, Sebastian added, "I trust you have no intention of seeking satisfaction for my attempts to purloin your mistress?"
Angry and showing it, Rafael growled, "Don't try those dandified airs with me, joven! You know damn rightly I have no intention of doing such a thing."
Some of his own anger boiling to the surface, Sebastian shot back, "It might be better if you did!"
His eyes narrowing, the handsome nose flaring at the nostrils, Rafael asked softly, too softly, "What the hell do you mean by that?"
His mouth sulky, Sebastian muttered, "You know very well what I mean. I find you with the woman I love in your arms, the woman I told you I planned to marry, and you tell me she is your mistress and has been for years. Like some lapdog you expect me to just shrug it off and continue as we were. Well, it won't wash, cousin. You may have the woman, but I don't have to like it... or you!"
"Now goddammit, listen to me—" Rafael began, only to stop when Sebastian stalked out of the room, slamming the door with force as he went.
Fury and dismay tangled in Rafael's throat as he stared at the shut door, realizing with a fierce sorrow that the affection he and Sebastian shared might have been shattered irreparably. He considered storming after Sebastian and telling him... what, for God's sake? That Beth Ridgeway was the "angel" Sebastian thought? That he had taken advantage of her virtue and innocence? Hardly. Not when he had seen her with his own eyes in Lorenzo's arms; not when she had offered herself to him immediately after Lorenzo's taking of her. What kind of a friend would he be if he allowed Sebastian to become entangled with a woman like that?
His eyes bleak, he stared blindly around the room. Far better to have Sebastian hate the sight of him, he decided grimly, than to stand by and watch Beth work her wiles on the younger man. But that didn't lessen the pain he felt as he remembered Sebastian's final words to him.
More weary than he could ever recall, Rafael walked into his bedchamber and, sitting on a huge bed with decorative iron posts, he removed his boots, letting them drop where they may. He flung himself back on the bed and stared at the open-beamed ceiling before reaching over and yanking on the bell rope that would summon one of the servants.
Not many minutes later there was a soft tap on the outer door of the rooms and not moving from the bed he barked, "Entre!"
A Mexican of an undeterminable age appeared in his bedroom. The fat brown face broke into a wide grin at the sight of the dark, lean figure on the bed. "Senor Rafael! You are here at last. I could not believe my ears when I heard your bell ring."
Rafael smiled. "Buenos dias, Luis. I know the hour is unreasonable, but could you arrange a bath for me? I feel I have half the dirt of the Republic on me."
"Si, senor. Of course, for you anything is possible." The dark eyes sly, he asked, "Shall I rouse Juanita to serve you? She has been most persistent in wanting to know of your return."
His mouth wry, Rafael shook his head. "Luis, I need a bath, not a woman."
Shortly, he was sitting in a brass tub filled with hot soapy water, having Luis shave off the grubby beard that had grown over the past several days. The beard gone, Rafael scrubbed his entire body hard with the long-handled bristle brush that Luis passed to him, and, after washing the dark, unruly hair he rose in naked splendor from the water. A thick white towel was presented by the hovering Luis and, drying himself, Rafael said, "Wake me at one, if you will, Luis. In the meantime, let Don Miguel know that I am here and that I don't want to be disturbed until then." He paused before saying, "Ask the cook to pack enough food for two men for an overnight trip, and see that two horses are saddled and ready when I awake."
"You are leaving again? So soon? You have just arrived, senor!"
"Just overnight, Luis. There is something I have to take care of, and it won't wait. Now, off with you. Oh, and Luis, keep my request a secret from the family, will you?"
Puzzled, the little man shrugged. "Si, senor, if you wish."
Rafael smiled. "I do. Two last things, though, that I would like done—deliver the note I am about to write to Sebastian as soon as possible. The message for my father I want delayed until the evening."
The notes were written and dispatched, and not more than five minutes later Rafael was sprawled beneath the covers of his bed. He had to mend the breach between him and Sebastian, and suggesting that they ride out this afternoon and view the unclaimed land that adjoined the rancho's eastern boundary had been the only thing that he could think of to allow the two of them privacy and time to begin healing the rift. It was flimsy and weak, he admitted, but it seemed the only course open to him. Now, if only his affronted, hot-tempered cousin didn't rip the note in shreds and toss it in his face.
Beth Ridgeway he ruthlessly shoved to the back of his mind. First, Sebastian, then English.
Sebastian didn't rip Rafael's note to shreds, although that was his first inclination. Staring at the thick black strokes on the heavy paper, he hesitated before deciding to accept the invitation. He held his older cousin in too high a regard to be able to put their affection for each other aside without a struggle. His heart ached, though, as much from the estrangement with Rafael as the knowledge that his love for Beth was fruitless. Like Rafael, did not want the breach between them to be impassable. Even if he did not have the enthusiasm or spirit for a short sojourn with Rafael that he might have had only hours before, he was willing to accept his cousin's offering of the olive branch.
Of Beth Ridgeway and her connection with Rafael, he found himself numb after the first ugly shock had worn off. Numb and disillusioned about Beth, he still fought against that disillusionment, feeling there was something about Rafael's tale that didn't ring true. Something that, if he could just put his finger on it, would give him the answer—and he was positive it wouldn't be the answer Rafael had given him. For a moment he considered doing just what Rafael had suggested—asking Beth for her version of what had happened. But, while Sebastian was a brash young man, he couldn't bring himself to demand an explanation from her. Because he feared her answer? Even he wasn't certain why.
<
br /> Tiredly he banished the subject from his mind. He couldn't change things, and somehow he didn't think hearing Beth's answer was going to make him feel any better.
* * *
If Beth had known that Sebastian had been a witness to that shameful meeting with Rafael, or of the half-truths Rafael had spun out for Sebastian's edification, she would have been divided between mortification and a strong a desire to part Rafael's thick black hair with a bullet. As it was, she was filled with guilt and fury as she lay in her bed torturing herself by remembering how easily Rafael had overcome her protests. Writhing with angry remorse, she stared around her room, unable to bring herself to face the day... and Nathan... and worse, to look into the knowing gray eyes of Rafael Santana.
Pride would not allow her to hide away either, and common sense told her that she would have to leave the sanctuary of her rooms eventually. Her self-pitying mood lasted through the china pot of hot coffee that a bright-eyed, beaming Charity had served about nine o'clock that morning. By the time Beth finished the last cup and had dressed and Charity had arranged her hair, her spirit was roused and seeking a way to defeat Rafael on his own ground.
A finger on her lips, her mind busy on finding a way out of her dilemma, she sat in one of the chairs of her sitting room. Outright defiance of his order not to leave hadn't occurred to her yet. At the moment she was more determined to make certain that there was no repeat of last night, and the only way she could be assured of that was to have someone else with her. Sleep in Nathan's rooms? No! That would involve too many explanations, explanations she didn't dare give, if she wanted her husband alive and not dead on the dueling field.
Thoughtfully Beth watched through the doorway into her bedroom as Manuela, acting as Charity's assistant, helped the younger woman hang a few of Beth's gowns in a massive mahogany wardrobe. Her gaze sharpened, and when Manuela prepared to leave the room, Beth called to her.
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