Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  Senora Lopez, at sixty-two years of age, was still a romanticist. She had been a widow for over twenty years but she could still remember clearly her own courting days—the storms, the misunderstandings, and the tempestuous reconciliations. Discreetly, remembering Dona Madelina's advice, she withdrew from the room, mentioning some minor errand that the remaining two never heard, their engrossment with one another too keen, too intent to be disrupted by softly spoken words.

  The moment Senora Lopez left the room, though, Rafael turned away and, pouring himself another glass of tequila, he said sneeringly over his shoulder, "I see that you and Lorenzo have managed to renew your acquaintance. Tell me, is he as satisfactory a lover as I? Or are you still making comparisons?"

  His eyes damning her and his mouth curving dangerously, he flung himself down on the sofa he had so recently vacated and stared at Beth contemptuously.

  When she remained icily silent, the increased brightness of her eyes being the only sign that she had heard his words, he demanded in an ugly tone, "Well? Haven't you any answer? Or is your silence meant to be an answer?"

  Like an alabaster-and-ebony statue Beth faced him, the sheer fury that was scalding through her veins making her earlier rush of anger seem like tepid milkwater. His unfair taunts were the final insult. Deep inside of her a flame of rebellion flickered, and then suddenly, like an explosive prairie fire, it burst into a fiery conflagration that swept through her entire body. Something happened to Beth in those few fleeting seconds as she stared across at her dark-faced tormentor, changing her from the woman she had been to the vibrant, scintillatingly beautiful creature who now faced Rafael with wrathful fury. The white-hot rage that consumed her woke the sleeping tigress that had always lain within her breast, and gone forever was the shy, apprehensive girl who had married to escape an indifferent father and cold stepmother, the gentle compassionate girl who had placated and soothed a selfish, impotent husband, and the gullible girl who had gone to make peace with Consuela only to be so cruelly used. Even the reserved, outwardly composed young woman Rafael had discovered at the Rancho del Cielo had vanished, leaving this defiant, passionate woman who stood in front of him now. Beth wasn't aware of the change within herself, at least not at the moment. At the moment all her energies were directed at Rafael's arrogantly lounging figure, and through a red mist of fury she regarded him balefully. Words fought in her throat for utterance, but they were too hot, too angry to make any sense, and with the newly aroused spirit and rebellion driving her, she searched for some physical means of giving him the answer he deserved.

  Without thinking, moved by some inward turbulent force, Beth crossed swiftly to where Rafael had put down the crystal decanter and with a strangled snort of fury she snatched it up and spun around to face him. The crystal felt cool under her fingers, the tequila sloshing about and giving it a satisfactory weight as she held it

  in her hand. The violet eyes nearly incandescent with wrath, she flew across the few feet that separated them to stand with a heaving bosom in front of Rafael. In a voice shaking with temper she spat, "You insufferable beast! You dare to condemn me with no knowledge of the truth, and yet you tell blatant lies about me that are even more vile than anything I could ever do!"

  He cast a watchful eye toward the crystal decanter that she held so threateningly, but demanded just as angrily as she, ''What the hell do you mean by that?" His eyebrows met in a black scowl above his nose and the aura of explosive anger that radiated from him was almost tangible. Tightly he added, "I don't tell lies about anyone—not even you!"

  "Liar!" Beth returned hotly, the violet eyes flashing. "You lied to Sebastian when you told him I was your mistress and had been for a number of years!"

  A mirthless sort of smile crossed the lean features, and infuriatingly he murmured, "Oh, that."

  Beth nearly choked on her rage and a gasp of outrage escaped her before she could prevent it. But then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she suddenly smiled— rather sweetly too, which should have warned him, but unfortunately he was enjoying this new Beth, this enchanting spitfire, and his guard was down. "Yes, that!" she said dulcetly and, with all her strength behind it, brought the crystal decanter unerringly down on his dark head.

  The sound of the decanter connecting with Rafael's head gave a gratifying thud in the quiet room before the fragile crystal shattered and shards of glass and splatters of tequila went flying in all directions. With more satisfaction than she had felt in a long time, she surveyed Rafael's astonished features. Pieces of broken crystal sparkled in the thick blue-black hair, the hair itself was wetly plastered against his scalp, and his white silk shirt clung damply to his shoulders as he sat there staring up with narrowing eyes at her unashamedly pleased expression.

  But only for a second. Then like an enraged black panther he erupted from his seat, swearing and shaking his head violently, drops of tequila and even tiny splin-

  ters of glass hitting Beth. ''Why, you damned little hellcat! I ought to throttle you and be done with it!" he snarled, the gray eyes hard and threatening.

  But Beth wasn't about to be intimidated by him this time, and even when he loomed up so darkly dangerous in front of her, she didn't back down. Almost enjoying their confrontation, a feeling of throbbing excitement flooding her body, with arms akimbo she faced him and said belligerently, "Just you try it! Lay one hand on me and I'll scratch your eyes out!"

  From under heavy black brows he glared at her, knowing that strangling her was the last thing he wanted to do. Sweet Jesus, but she was beautiful, he thought foolishly as his gaze wandered from the shining coronet of silvery braids to the soft, coral mouth. Some of his earlier anger was fading and he was very much afraid that no matter what she ever did, no matter how many lovers she had, either in the past or the future, she would always have the power to touch him, to shatter the cold, defensive shell he kept around himself. The thought terrified him, to think that one slender woman could destroy a lifetime of carefully erected protections against., .love. Instantly he shied away from that idea, unwilling to admit such folly, and angry again that she could make him, even for one brief second, consider such a thought.

  For a long moment their eyes clashed and fought across the small space that divided them, neither willing to make the first move, neither exactly certain what the next move was. The ridiculousness of the situation struck Rafael, and a glint of laughter flickered in the gray eyes as the minutes spun out and they continued to stand staring at one another like two arched-backed cats.

  Not so with Beth, however. She was too angry and had too much justification to find anything remotely amusing in the current confrontation. Seeing the laughter in his eyes, she exploded again. With a cry of rage she launched herself at him, her fists striking at his chest. "Don't you dare laugh at me!" Nearly crying with frustration, she got out furiously, "You've used me from the moment we first met, and now you're laughing

  about it! You lied to Sebastian about me and he thinks I am a creature without redemption, and you laugh! I am not your mistress!" Her fists pounding and hitting wherever they could against Rafael's seemingly unfeeling body, it was almost like an incantation as she cried, "I am not your mistress! I am not! I am not!"

  With humiliating ease he captured her flailing fists and jerked her roughly next to him, the dampness of his shirt staining the taffeta gown where it touched. An odd expression on his arrogant face, he looked down into her stormy features and said with a queer note in his voice. "But aren't you? Aren't you the mistress of my heart?" **

  The words were said so low 4:hat in her anger Beth nearly missed what he had said, but then she had no time to ponder it, because Rafael's mouth swooped down hard on hers in a hungry, urgent kiss that blotted out everjrthing but the dark magic he could arouse so effortlessly. She fought against it—and might have won if he had merely kissed her with passion, but as his warm lips deepened their pressure against hers, sonie indefinable element entered into the kiss, and Beth responded to it blindly.
There was passion in the kiss, but there was also tenderness and a hungry yearning that, as the minutes passed, drained away her anger until she didn't even remember the reason for it—she knew only that she was in Rafael's arms and it was where she wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world!

  His hand came up and cupped her face, holding her still as his mouth moved across her cheeks and brows before it came back and settled urgently on her lips once more, and, with a small moan of defeat, Beth leaned weakly into his hard, warm body, unable to fight against her own inclinations or the wishes of her heart any longer. At her surrender the kiss changed imperceptibly, his leashed desire struggling to snap the control Rafael had on it, and demandingly his lips explored hers, taking now where before they had only tasted.

  Lost in the sensuous web Rafael was weaving, Beth made no demurrer when he swept her up in his arms and carried her over to a wide velvet sofa. As if she

  were made of delicate china he gently laid her down on it, his mouth never leaving hers. Kneeling beside the sofa, his dark head bent to hers, his hands now persuasively touching and caressing her small breasts, Beth felt her nipples go tight with longing and giddily she felt desire stir deep within her.

  Rafael knew desire too, his entire body filled with a gnawing hunger to feel her soft white body beneath his, and with a strange, trembling eagerness his fingers sought the fastenings of her gown. It was the touch of his hand undoing the back of her gown that suddenly brought Beth back to reality and made her realize with a sickening lurch of her stomach how easy it was for him to make her act the part of a wanton.

  With a little cry of anguish and fury she pushed him violently away and leaped to her feet. ''Don't!" she half commanded, half implored, torn between the urgings of her heart and the commonsense dictates of her brain. Her eyes shimmering behind a veil of tears, she said thickly, "Don't do this to me! Don't berate me one minute for my supposed failings, and then in the next, take advantage of the very thing you condemn me for! Stop using me!"

  His eyes bleak and barren, the expression on the dark lean face remote, Rafael gracefully stood up in fi:-ont of her. Startling her, he said simply, "I'm sorry. Where you are concerned, I seem to act contrary to my own principles."

  Beth gave a bitter little laugh. "Do you have any principles? I sometimes wonder. Certainly I've never seen you exercise any of them."

  His voice dangerously quiet, he said, "Haven't you? I thought leaving you in New Orleans was rather high-principled of me—I didn't want to, you know. But amongst other things, it went against the grain to let you in for the kind of life I could have given you then—a runaway wife kept by a married man with a not-so-savory reputation—so I denied my own desires and left you." Beth's face went white, but Rafael went on expressionlessly, giving her no chance to speak, "Your husband didn't die by my hand, but he could have so easily. I told you I wanted him out of your

  life, and it would have been the simplest thing in the world to challenge him to a duel at any time I felt like it." His eyes boring into hers, he added coldly, "I would have killed him, too, had we met on the dueling ground. But when he died, I don't remember that I immediately forced myself on you, which I would have done if I had listened to just my own wants." The gray eyes suddenly icy, he snarled softly, "You don't know how damned lucky you are, English—I could have ruined you any number of times since we first met, but I didn't. Oh, I wanted you, believe me! I wanted you badly enough to steal you from your husband, and the scandal be damned! —and i could have made you the talk of New Orleans and even the Republic of Texas, simply by reaching out and taking you." Unkindly he continued, "Can you imagine the talk, the whispers, the scandal there would have been if I had done as I wished, and kidnapped you out from under your husband's very nose? I can if you can't, so the next time you think of me as completely unprincipled, just remember I could have destroyed your reputation anytime I chose. But for whatever reasons—and I'm not even certain of them myself—I didn't."

  Looking into those cool gray eyes and seeing the reckless slant of his mouth, Beth realized with a queer, shameful thud of excitement that he meant exactly what he said, and she swallowed, painfully aware now of how many times she had hovered on the brink of disaster. But then she was disgusted with herself. So what if he wanted her—she already knew that! And it was disgraceful of her to feel an5^hing but revulsion to his admission, yet while she felt a great many conflicting emotions, strangely enough none of them was revulsion.

  Eyeing him uncertainly, she clutched at the one thing she knew for a fact. "You lied to Sebastian!—you said I was your mistress when you knew it was a lie!"

  Rafael shrugged his broad shoulders. He had handled her gently for the last time, his patience, never very great, was exhausted, and he wanted this fencing between them over with. English was his and it was time she learned it—learned it and realized that where

  she was concerned he could be very unprincipled indeed. Legs slightly spread, his arms folded across his chest, he stared at her for an unnerving second and then said sardonically, "I never precisely called you my mistress—I merely said we had a long-standing liaison—which is true." His eyes slid over her with an inscrutable expression in their depths and harshly he said, 'Tou're mine, English, you have been since the moment I laid eyes on you, and you know it!—if you're honest within yourself." He smiled cynically, adding, "Something most women, I have discovered, are not! I can and will claim you by whatever name I choose, and whether it be mistress or woman, you belong to me!''

  I

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  With something between a cry of fury and the spitting sound of a thwarted kitten, Beth fled the room, certain that if she stayed one second longer she would do something more drastic than merely break a decanter of tequila over his head. How dare he! she thought wrath-fuUy as she sped up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room. / belong to him! Ha! We'll just see about that, you arrogant devil. Call me your mistress, will you?

  Reaching her room, she spent several minutes pacing the floor, her thoughts furiously concentrated on finding a way of defying Rafael, of making him choke on his words. Even possibly of humiliating or embarrassing him. He had said he never embarrassed; well we'll just see about that, Beth decided spiritedly. He had practically thrown down a challenge to her, and it was up to her to meet it. And by Heaven she would, she vowed stormily. And it was only when Manuela came in to see about her bath and to prepare whichever gown she wished to wear that evening that an idea came to her.

  Manuela was busy seeing that the bath was set up and the hot water procured, when Beth said suddenly, "Manuela, I want you to get me a gown."

  "Why, of course, senora, which one would you like to wear this evening? The black silk or perhaps the new black muslin?" Manuela asked sedately.

  A hard sheen in the usually soft, violet eyes, Beth said succinctly, "None of those. I want a harlot's gown."

  "A har—! You mean a whore's gown?" Manuela squeaked with astonishment, her large brown eyes nearly starting from her head.

  Beth smiled a grim little smile and nodded her head. "And I want it tonight. Can you get one?"

  Manuela spread her hands helplessly, her lined face the picture of disapproval and bewilderment. "I don't know. I-I-I'll have to ask around." Looking a bit affronted, she added stiffly, "I am not in the habit of consorting with such women!"

  "Neither am I!" Beth retorted sharply, feeling very sensitive on the subject. But then, ashamed of herself, she said with a note of pleading, "Please, Manuela, it's important to me! Very important, and I need it this evening—I don't care what it costs, just get me one." Tightly she finished, "And the more outrageous the better!"

  Deciding the American senora must still be suffering from a touch of the fever, Manuela agreed, not knowing what else to do. Having been a servant since childhood, it never occurred to her to do anything different from what her mistress had asked. And so with great reluctance she sought out one of the young men who worked in the stabl
es, and from him was able to get the necessary information she needed. Discreet from the years as Consuela's servant, she undertook to carry out the task herself, telling no one why she needed to run a sudden errand across town.

  The bordello was a shock to Manuela, but nothing compared to the amazement of the madam when she discovered what this very proper and respectable servant wanted. The sight of gold, though, made her shrug her fleshy shoulders above the indecently low-cut scarlet gown she wore, and she and Manuela after inspecting several garments, each more outrageous and vulgar than the last, finally struck a bargain.

  The gown cost more than Manuela had wanted to pay, her thrifty soul revolting at being charged an exorbitant price for the cheaply made gown, but with Beth's words ringing in her ears she reluctantly paid the sum. Hurrying back to the house, she consoled herself with the knowledge that at least the gown was new, and so possibly it was well worth the price she'd had to pay. There were others she might have chosen, but she simply could not bring herself to buy for her lady a per-

  spiration-stained, tobacco-smelling gown which had been worn by another woman, and a whore at that— no matter what Senora Beth had said!

  Beth had already bathed and was restlessly lying on her bed in a soft, silky lavender peignoir when Manuela returned with an obviously hastily wrapped package. At Manuela's entrance into the room, she jerked upright and asked with a determined eagerness, "Were you successful?''

  Manuela nodded her head and grimaced disapprovingly. ^Si, senora, I was able to buy one, but..."

  ''Don't scold me," Beth interrupted her pleadingly. "I know you think this is all very scandalous, and it is, but don't desert me now, Manuela."

  "Very well, senora, but I think you are playing a dangerous game. Senor Rafael," she said repressively, "will not like what I think you are planning."

  If Manuela had wanted to insure that Beth continue with her madcap plan, she could not have chosen more inflaming words. Beth's wavering resolve hardened in that instant. Slipping from bed, she said with a hint of defiance in her voice, "Let me see it."