Juanita smiled again, a lovely, gentle smile. There was an air of innocence about her, a childlike acceptance of things as they were. Though she knew what Black Hood and her fiance did, she seemed to consider it a perfectly natural way of life. I said nothing more as we moved around the verandah. Strings of red peppers and onions hung from pegs on the wall, as did an occasional dried gourd, and plants in bright Mexican pots were placed here and there on the stucco bannister. Juanita finally stopped in front of a beautifully carved door and, pushing it open, led me down two steps into a long, spacious room with a low, beamed ceiling. The whitewashed walls were covered with deep shadows, and I could smell ancient wood and beeswax polish mingled with the scent of lemon.
“I will light the candles,” she said.
At the fireplace, she took a long match from the jar atop the mantle and struck it, touching the flame to the wick of a candle in a brass holder. Carrying the candle from place to place, she used it to light candles standing in heavy brass candelabra that sat on intricately carved wooden chests. The room soon glowed with soft golden light, and I saw the dark red tile floor, the bright colored rugs hanging on the mortared white walls, the long tan sofa with a lovely black and white striped rug draped over its back. A small dining table stood at the far end of the room, chairs with high carved backs on either side. Windows looked out over the gardens, and an open archway at one end led into the bedroom.
“You will want to bathe at once,” Juanita said. “Your bath is waiting. I brought the hot water only a few minutes ago.”
Still holding the candle, she led the way into the bedroom, and as she lighted the candles there, I saw that the room was dominated by an enormous brass bed covered with a beautifully woven blue spread. A large tin tub of steaming water stood in one corner, near a dark oak dressing table, towels, washcloth and a bar of scented soap on the stool beside it. Juanita unfolded a tall screen and placed it around the tub.
“Leave your clothes on the bed,” she instructed. “I will see to them while you bathe.”
She smiled once more and left the room. I undressed, stepped around the screen and climbed into the tub. I soaked for a long time, reveling in the luxury of wetness and warmth and scent, finally climbing out of the tub with great reluctance.
I dried myself off and, when I stepped around the screen, I discovered a pale blue dressing robe on the bed. I slipped into the robe and tied the sash securely, admiring its long sleeves that ruffled at the wrists, and the full skirt which was ruffled as well. Sitting down at the dressing table, I was pleased to see that Juanita had set out a brush, a comb and a small brass tray of hairpins. I had started to brush my hair when she came back into the room accompanied by a handsome Mexican youth.
“My brother Pedro,” Juanita said. “We won’t disturb you.”
The boy grinned, clearly embarrassed. Juanita folded up the screen and handed soap and towels to Pedro, and then the two of them carried the tub out. I heard a splash in the other room. Pedro laughed. Juanita scolded. The door to the verandah opened, closed. I continued to brush my hair until it was completely dry and gleaming with blue-black highlights. Then I pulled it back and arranged it in a sleek, elegant French roll, turning my head to one side in order that I might inspect it in the mirror.
Satisfied, I examined my reflection thoughtfully. I didn’t need make-up tonight, I thought, and I wondered what Juanita had been able to do with my gown. I doubted that it could be salvaged, satin torn and stained, lace ruffles all ripped and covered with dust. I stood up as she entered the room. She was laden with boxes, and there was a sly smile on her lips.
“For you,” she said.
Placing the boxes on the bed, she opened one and removed a white silk petticoat, skirts spilling out like the petals of a white rose. She put it down and took out a creamy white satin gown completely overlaid with exquisite lace, pale pink lace flowers scattered over the skirt. It was a sumptuous creation, and I knew it must have cost a fortune. Holding it up in front of me, I saw that it was going to be a perfect fit.
“There are undergarments, too,” she told me. “Shoes as well.”
“They just happened to be here?” I asked.
“He brought them back from San Francisco. A lady in one of the shops helped him, he said. He told her he was buying the things for his sister.”
“I’m sure she believed it,” I said wryly. “Just when did he do all this shopping.”
“Over a week ago.”
“I see.”
I did indeed, and that put a whole new interpretation on that afternoon’s adventures. He had been planning to abduct me all along, I realized, and he had purchased these things well in advance. Juanita gathered up the empty boxes and left the room. The mellow, sympathetic mood I had felt earlier was completely gone now. Black Hood had gone to an awful lot of trouble in order to have an evening alone with me. He had made very careful plans, had thought of everything. But he was going to be very disappointed.
I dressed slowly, carefully, filled with cool resolve. The gown was one of the most beautiful dresses I had ever worn, its pale pink flowers scattered over the skirt and delicately woven into the white lace. As I studied myself in the mirror, I knew that I had rarely looked more alluring. I wanted to be alluring tonight, if only to make his disappointment all the keener.
I stepped into the front room, my skirt rustling softly. Juanita had been busy in there, too. The dining table was set for two, china and crystal gleaming, wine chilling in a silver bucket. At least half the candles had been extinguished, leaving all but the dining area hazy with shadow. Very romantic, I thought. The only thing missing was music in the background. I had hardly stepped across the threshold before guitars began to strum in the gardens. I almost laughed.
“I’ve been waiting,” he said.
His voice startled me. I hadn’t seen him sitting there on the sofa. He got slowly to his feet and moved toward me, wearing a fresh outfit identical to the one he’d worn earlier. He carried a single pink rose, the velvety petals just beginning to open.
“For your hair,” he said, handing it to me.
Accepting the rose, I fastened it over my right temple and looked into those dark brown eyes peering at me through the mask. I could understand why he wanted to keep his face hidden, but I wondered why he continued to disguise his voice with that soft, husky rasp. It suddenly dawned on me that I might have met him before, perhaps at one of the hotels, perhaps at the theater. I had been introduced to a great many men since my arrival in California. Many of the prominent men in each town felt obligated to come backstage and pay their respects. Black Hood might well have been one of them.
“The dress fits perfectly,” I said. “Thoughtful of you to have purchased it for me. I wonder how you knew my size.”
“I have means of obtaining such information.”
“I’m sure you do,” I replied. “I also wonder why you bought it over a week ago.”
“You found out about that, I see.”
“You planned to kidnap me from the first.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“The money—”
“I knew your manager had gone on ahead last night. I could have waylaid him quite easily.”
“But you didn’t. You wanted me.”
“Surely you can’t blame me,” he said. The dark eyes seemed to smile. “What man wouldn’t want an evening alone with Elena Lopez?”
“When Anthony brings the money tomorrow, you’ll take it, though, won’t you?”
He nodded. “I hate to, but I need it. You’ll make five times that amount in San Francisco. You won’t miss it.”
“Bradford said you only hold up the exploiters, the men who’ve cheated and robbed the defenseless in order to achieve power. I see he was mistaken, or perhaps you consider me an exploiter, too.”
“I’m making an exception in your case. I trust you won’t blame me too much.”
“You could have taken my jewelry,” I said, truly confused. “But you
didn’t. I suppose I should be grateful for that.”
“Indeed you should.”
“You wanted an evening alone with me—well, you have it, but I might as well tell you that candlelight and guitar music and—and romantic atmosphere leave me cold. If you intend to sleep with me, you’ll have to use force, and I promise you I’ll fight like a tigress.”
He chuckled softly, highly amused. “I’ve never had to resort to rape yet.”
Tilting my chin haughtily, I moved over to the window to look out at the gardens. They were dark and shadowy, a few rays of moonlight gilding the exotic leaves. The musicians were invisible, and the music seemed to materialize of its own accord, lilting across the air, the Spanish melody soft and lovely. There were at least three guitarists. One of them was singing in a rich, low voice, the words barely audible. I could hear Black Hood uncorking the wine. A few moments later I felt him standing behind me. I turned. He handed me a glass of wine.
“Relax, Elena,” he said. “Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen.”
“You think I’m afraid?”
“I think you’re extraordinarily brave. I also think you’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.”
I sipped the wine, unmoved by the compliment, unmoved by the husky, caressing voice that was like a seductive whisper. The wine was rich and mellow with a taste that brought sunlight to mind. I finished the glass. He stood very close, watching me with those luminous brown eyes that were really quite the most attractive eyes I had ever seen. Once more I wondered what the rest of his face looked like, and I longed to reach up and pull the hood off.
“Must you wear that?” I asked.
He nodded. The black silk wavered.
“I suppose you’re afraid I’d be able to identify you later on. Or perhaps we’ve already met.”
“Perhaps we have.”
“So many men have come backstage to meet me. Rich and powerful and prominent men. They—they say you’re prominent, too. They say you’re a highly respected citizen when you’re not marauding.”
“I’d like to think so. But I own no gold mines. I do own this valley, or will as soon as I make the final payment.”
He took my empty glass and led me over to the sofa. I sat down and arranged my skirts, while he went to fill my glass again. I smiled to myself. Obviously, he planned to get me drunk, hoping that would make me more susceptible to his masculine allure. I had to admit that he was appealing, his genteel manner and that caressing voice most pleasing, the black silk hood over his face adding a strange titillation. Appealing or not, he was an outlaw, and he was going to cost me twenty thousand dollars.
I accepted the glass of wine. Black Hood sat on the arm at the other end of the sofa, looking at me with tender brown eyes.
“Aren’t you going to have any wine?” I inquired.
“I dined earlier, while you were bathing and dressing. I just came to keep you company.”
“The table is set for two.”
“Merely for symmetry.”
“I see. Of course. You can’t eat without removing your hood.”
“Drink your wine, Elena.”
I obeyed, sipping slowly. I felt very peaceful, at ease with him. I knew he was a villain. I had seen him kill a man before my very eyes. Somehow that made no difference.
“Why did you become an outlaw?” I asked.
“Out of anger and frustration, necessity, too. I arrived in California just a few months after the first gold strike. Like the others, I was struck with gold fever. I knew nothing about mining, but I became partners with a rugged old-timer who knew all the ropes. We bought provisions and went out to make our fortune. It took six months, six months of grueling work and incredible hardship, but we finally struck gold.”
“Then why—”
“We filed our claim. We sold a few nuggets to buy equipment and hire some men. There wasn’t much gold at first, just a small vein, just enough to make it profitable. Until one day Jake came tearing into the shed, so excited he could hardly speak. He took me into the mine, his hands shaking. We had worked it for days, and everyone was convinced the vein had played out.”
He paused and shook his head, remembering.
“Jake handed me the candle and took up the pick one of the men had left behind. He began to hack at the muddy rock. It fell away in flakes, and in less than ten minutes I was staring at a wall of gold. Jake couldn’t control his excitement. That night he went to the saloon and bought drinks for everyone and got very, very drunk and bragged about that wall of gold. We were going to be millionaires, he claimed. Our mine was going to be one of the biggest in California.”
Again he paused, and I set down my empty glass, sensing what was to come. When he continued to speak it was quietly, without emotion.
“The big money men came in then. Our claim was discovered to be invalid, somehow. It hadn’t been filled out properly, hadn’t been filed correctly. Someone had gotten to the original document and substituted a forgery. We fought it, of course, but the others had too much money, too much power. Petty officials were paid off, and in the end we lost the mine. The night after we got the news Jake took down his rifle, went out to the mine and blew his brains out.”
He was silent for a long moment, staring across the room without seeing, and then he sighed.
“What happened to me and Jake was an old story by that time. A month before I had been on the verge of becoming a millionaire. Suddenly I was penniless and out in the cold. Literally. I vowed I’d get revenge. I vowed I’d get back at them somehow. I suppose you could say Black Hood was born the night Jake died.”
“I—I’m glad you told me all this,” I said.
“I wanted you to know, Elena.”
There was a soft knock on the door. Black Hood opened it, and Juanita came in with a tray of food. She placed the dishes on the table, removed the lids and left quietly. Black Hood took my hand and led me over to the table. He sat across from me, watching me toy with the food. For some reason I was no longer hungry. The candlelight flickered, and the music continued to float through the windows. When he refilled my wine glass, I accepted it without protest.
“How is it you’ve never been caught?” I asked.
“Black Hood has many friends. Not one of them knows my true identity. Not one of them knows I work from this hacienda.”
“What about your men?”
“They’re unquestionably loyal. Each was victimized by the exploiters in one way or another. Even Rico. That’s why I took him on. There’s not a person in this valley who hasn’t got strong reasons to hate the people I rob. That includes the household staff and everyone who works at the hacienda.”
“Even Juanita and her brother?”
“Their father was a Spanish aristocrat, a widower who owned an unpretentious hacienda and two hundred acres of land. An up-and-coming politician took a fancy to the estate. But their father, Senor Hernandez, refused to sell. He had an unfortunate accident a week or so later, and the estate was appropriated. Pedro and Juanita were suddenly homeless.”
“And you took them in.”
He nodded. I could understand Juanita’s attitude now, and I could understand why this man inspired such loyalty and devotion, why many considered him their champion. I felt bewildering emotions beginning to stir inside me, and I put down my fork, no longer pretending to eat. I wished the music weren’t so sad and lovely. I wished the candlelight weren’t so soft and golden. I wished he wouldn’t look at me with those luminous brown eyes that seemed to glow.
“What about you, Elena?” he asked quietly. “Are you happy?”
“Happy? I—I suppose I am. I have success and fame and I’m making money and—”
I hesitated, frowning. I didn’t really know how to answer that question, perhaps because I didn’t really know the answer. Was I happy? I enjoyed what I did, and I wasn’t unhappy, but still.… Sometimes there was an empty feeling inside, the old feeling that had caused so much anguish in the past.
I took another sip of wine, remembering. Remembering wasn’t good for me. It suddenly seemed that the past five years had been nothing more than a whirl of activity deliberately planned to help me forget an inn in Germany and the young man with a grim expression who drove away and left me alone.
“I’m happy,” I said.
“Your eyes tell me otherwise.”
“I have everything a woman could want.”
“Love?”
I didn’t answer the question. I got up from the table and walked over to the window. I gazed out at the gardens, angry with him, angry because I had allowed old feelings to surface, because he had been able to read them so easily. I stood there for a long time, and the anger melted and tremulous emotions replaced it. I heard him leave the table and turned to watch him step into the bedroom. He lighted candles there and then came back to extinguish the ones in the living room.
As he put out the last candle, the room became a haze of semi-darkness, a soft golden glow coming through the archway. I could hardly see him as he came toward me. He stopped in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders, gently squeezing the flesh, and when I tried to pull back his fingers tightened. There was just enough light for me to see his eyes and see what was in them.
“No,” I said.
“I want you,” he told me. His voice was a soft murmur, a silken caress. “You want me, too.”
“No.”
He squeezed my shoulders and touched my throat. His thumb pressed the hollow of my throat, his fingers stroking the side of my neck. He murmured my name. Familiar sensations welled inside, and his hand slipped down to cup my breast beneath the layers of cloth. He squeezed the soft mound, and I tried not to gasp as the flesh responded, the nipple thrusting against his palm.
“I want you,” he repeated.
He took me into his arms. It seemed right and natural. He looked down at me, the mask of black silk hanging loosely, dark eyes filled with tenderness and desire. I struggled. It was happening, and I had vowed it wouldn’t. I tried to pull free, but his arms tightened and the music continued and the ache inside grew and I knew I was lost. I knew I wanted him as much as he wanted me. I wanted his warmth, his strength, his love. I grew breathless, poised on the brink of an abyss that beckoned, drawing me nearer and nearer the edge.
Dare to Love Page 45