And she was beautiful. Right down to those stunning emerald eyes and those unruly curls.
“Sabine,” Michael announced from the doorway, “it’s late. I’m going upstairs for the evening.”
“Yes, Mr. Pierson,” she returned meekly, her gaze still fixed on the china plate in her hands.
“And, Sabine…”
“Yes, sir?”
Finally she looked up from her dishpan.
“If you going to remain here, I’d prefer you address me by my given name. I’ve been trying to get you to do that since I came home.”
“Yes, Mr. Pierson.”
“I don’t think I’d ever get used to all that formality, anyway.”
“Yes, Mr. Pierson – I mean, Michael,” She corrected hastily.
He liked the way his name sounded when she said it – all soft with a whispery touch of the South in her tones. And she even smiled at him – tentatively – but it was a smile. A smile that finally reached those sad, serious eyes of her.
Had he actually been able to win one of the battles in this war of trust?
He gave her a wink of encouragement as he left the room.
He certainly hoped so.
Chapter Fourteen
“I should’ve given you these last night,” Michael said, placing the five paper-wrapped packages on the table as he sat down. “I don’t know. They slipped my mind, I guess.”
“What are they?” Sabine asked as she crossed the kitchen and set a cup of coffee before him.
“Well, open them and find out,” he replied, a mischievous grin spreading across his features.
Releasing the string that held them closed, she caught her breath in astonishment as the paper fell away. Dresses. Two of them; one a red-sprigged calico, the other blue. And stockings. And shoes. And a generous length of pale green muslin, complete with enough notions to create a wonderful gown.
“Mr. Pierson, I – “
“Michael,” he reminded her, and took a sip of coffee, watching, with interest, the delight that shone so plainly on her face.
“Michael, I – “ the words stuck in her throat, stammering as she ran her hand over the skirt of the blue-sprigged calico. “You didn’t have to. I mean, they’re beautiful, but – “
“The dresses aren’t new,” he apologized, “but they’re all I could afford. And, besides, I couldn’t last another day with you in that outrageous contraption you’ve got on now.”
“You’re the one who gave it to me,” she replied tersely.
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “My fault. Now get in there and change out of that thing, and give me the rest of those monstrosities in the wardrobe.”
Delighted, she almost wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. He had thought of her – really thought of her – and brought these lovely things for her to wear.
With a wide grin, she snatched up her presents and darted into the bedroom.
Michael watched her over the rim of his mug, his eyes shining with satisfaction. She’d been grateful – honestly and truly grateful; he’d never had that happen before with a woman. Nothing he had done after their marriage had satisfied Julia, and after a while he gave up bringing home surprises for her. She wanted roses, jewels, furs. The prairie flowers he brought home didn’t interest her. Neither did the beauty of a newborn calf or a sunrise. Nothing satisfied her unless it smelled of money.
But Sabine was a different matter entirely. Hadn’t he seen her eyes light up when he had brought those packages in to her? And she hadn’t asked, not even once, for anything from him…especially when she knew how outlandish she looked in that wretched getup.
He was even willing to bet that she’d be interested in that calf Sukey was about to drop.
Sabine stepped into the doorway, a smile brightening her countenance as she smoothed a hand across the topskirt of the blue calico.
“How do I look?”
Michael glanced up from his coffee, nearly choking. She looked…incredible. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile before. He liked it. And she had pulled her hair back from her face with a ribbon she had managed to find somewhere. Now there were those sculpted cheekbones for him to reckon with. And those eyes again. Those incredible green eyes that captured his soul every time he looked into them.
She was, in fact, honest-to-God gorgeous. Never before had he realized how slim her waist was; how her breasts curved just so – how they seemed precisely the right size to fit into his hands.
What in the hell do you think you’re doing? His conscience snapped angrily. We’re talking about a respectable woman here, not some two-bit whore from Havana.
Sabine smiled at him, her head cocked to the side inquisitively, her smile wavered somewhat under the scrutiny of his gaze.
“Well? Look,” she commented, grinning again as she lifted her skirts to show of her black boots. “They even fit.”
“You look beautiful,” he managed as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not looking at her, but, intently into his cup.
Maybe the other dress wasn’t so bad after all, he decided quickly. Life would be much simpler with all that lace hiding those curves; he wouldn’t feel so…tempted.
“What am I supposed to do with those other gowns?”
“Just put them out on the front porch. I’ll – I’ll take care of them later.”
He rose, rapidly finishing his coffee before heading to the door.
“You haven’t even eaten yet,” Sabine insisted as she moved to the stove. “Where are you going?”
“I’m late,” he told her uneasily as his heart jumped wildly in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he opened the door.
Damn, what was it about her that did this to him? He wanted to get out of here; get as far away from her as he could…before he did something he’d sorely regret later.
“It’s only half past five, Michael.”
“There’s a lot to do today,” he called out as he moved across the yard toward the barn, thankful for escape.
Sabine followed closely on his heels, his hat held firmly in her hands.
“Will you kindly tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
She caught him by the sleeve of his tan work shirt and pulled him around to face her.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted irritably. “I just have to go, is all.”
“’Just have to go,’” she echoed. “Is this going to be a repeat performance every day, Mr. Pierson? If so, then I see no reason for me to be up at the ungodly hour of four o’clock in the morning to prepare a breakfast you’re not going to eat.”
Michael ran a hand through his hair impatiently. She wouldn’t understand, and there was no reason for them to be standing here listening to his lame excuses as to why he wasn’t going to stick around this morning…or maybe every other morning until he got these feelings under control. He could get sent to Hell for the thoughts he was having!
“I’m sorry,” he said softly and took his hat from her. “I knew yesterday that I had to be over at Roderigues’s early today. I forgot.”
The crestfallen look in her eyes struck him square in the gut. He hated lying to her, but what was he going to do? Tell her the truth? That would go over real well. In fact, chances were pretty good she’d dispense with the tongue-lashing altogether and smack him so hard on the side of the head that his ears would ring for a week.
“What time should I expect you home then,” Sabine asked, inspecting the toe of her boot as she idly scuffed it in the dust.
“Half past seven or so,” he replied and turned into the barn.
Damn, he hated leaving her like this. And she didn’t even move; she just stood there like she had something more to say, but couldn’t quite find the words.
“Michael.”
Her soft voice hesitantly filled the silence of the barn, and he looked up at her from across his horse’s back. She stood in the doorway, eyes downcast, her small hands twisting aw
kwardly in the folds of her skirt.
“I don’t believe I thanked you for the gifts. They’re beautiful. Really.”
“It was nothing, Sabine.”
He backed Red out of his stall and led the chestnut gelding outside.
“I’ll make it no later than seven,” Michael amended as he mounted. “Promise.”
All she did was nod in response. Damn, she was doing a good job making him feel like dirt, and she didn’t even know she was doing it.
But he couldn’t stand here all day wrestling with feelings he had no right having, and every time he looked at her, it seemed, he wanted to get a lot closer than simply helping her off her backside in his garden.
It wasn’t going to happen – not today, not tomorrow, not even next year. She was going back to the States. She would be out of his life.
Frustrated, he jerked Red around more harshly than he had intended, and urged the horse into a canter, heading towards Roderigues’s. The sooner he got out of here, the better.
XXX
Sabine didn’t know which hurt worse – the fact that he had left without saying goodbye, or that he had charged out of the house without so much as a reasonable excuse.
And she didn’t buy the flimsy one he had given her for even a second.
So what was wrong with her? All she wanted was to thank him, and he had bolted like a frightened rabbit. Had she said something, done something she shouldn’t have?
She’d never be able to figure him out. Not in a million years.
But she wanted to. She couldn’t bear living every single day with him knowing she had to walk on eggshells whenever he was around. He wanted her trust. Now he had it, and it was obvious he didn’t know what to do with it. What did he expect her to do? Turn it on and off according to his temperament?
She sat down in the settee in the sitting room, her eyes softening with remembrance as she smoothed her skirts with a loving hand. Michael wasn’t so awfully bad, she reasoned. Hadn’t she seen his face this morning when he came in the kitchen? Of course! He had been so excited when he gave these presents to her; and he didn’t even ask for a single thing in return.
It was the first time in a long time someone who had ever offered anything without expecting a payment she was unwilling to remit.
All he wanted was for her to believe in him.
She could do that, she supposed, rising to her feet as she picked up her dust rag, if he’d give her a chance.
That was the problem. Now that she was willing…he wasn’t; not in the least.
Chapter Fifteen
“So tell me about this woman.”
Michael turned to Enrique, Luís Roderigues’s only son, and released an irritated breath. He’d been harping on him these last two days about Sabine, and frankly, his unceasing questions were starting to wear on his nerves.
“She’s maybe seventeen. Dark hair. Green eyes. Beautiful.”
Michael turned back to the standing sugar cane and hacked at the base of it with his machete before tossing the cut sections to the side.
“Then you are only ten years her senior, perhaps. This will be a good match for you. Maybe you will start acting twenty-seven again, instead of sixty-seven.”
“Don’t start,” Michael warned as he straightened, wiping the perspiration from his brow with his shirt sleeve.
“Is she Cubana?” Enrique asked.
“American,” Michael grunted in reply, and heaved a stack of cane onto a nearby oxcart.
“You really should let the workers do that you know,” Enrique commented offhandedly as he looked down at him from astride his horse. “That is what we pay them for.”
“We’re about a month behind on this field because of the rain earlier in the season, so I thought I’d pitch in. Besides,” he added in a good-natured jab as he buried a portion of his machete’s blade into the dark soil, “I can’t spend all my time on top of a horse. I’d get soft.”
Enrique shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and removed his hat, using it to shield his eyes as he surveyed the half-cut field around him. The sounds of machetes slicing methodically into the vegetation, interspersed with the sporadic folk sounds of the emancipado workers, filled the silence between them.
“Will you be bringing her to the baile then,” he asked casually, turning his attention back to Michael.
“Hadn’t really thought about,” he replied shortly as he picked up the machete and resumed his task.
“Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I went over and took a look at her,” Enrique questioned with a laugh. “Perhaps I will bring her instead of Ysabel.”
“Over my dead body,” Michael snapped more viciously than he’d anticipated, and shot Enrique a murderous look.
Enrique regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.
“You have continually denied any feelings for her, but they are plain on your face, my friend, and in your words. I do not know why you try to hide them.”
“She’s going back to the States as soon as I can get the money together.”
“And if you truly wanted her to leave, you would have approached my father for a loan. You know he would gladly offer it.”
Enrique was right, about the money and all. And Michael couldn’t refute his attraction to Sabine, either; no matter how many times he had tried to run from it, it would always be there; she would be there – all fresh and full of life.
He had seen her smile again today, he recollected fondly, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Hey, Enrique,” Michael called out as his friend turned and began to ride back to the main house. “If I did bring her – and I’m not saying I’m going to – do you think Marta would having some paper patterns lying around? I picked up some material for her the other day, but – “
“I’ll ask Mamá. I’m sure she does. Come up to the house and get them before you leave.”
Michael waved in compliance as Enrique set his horse into a canter, and he shook his head in disbelief. What in the world had he managed to get himself into? Now Enrique had him going against his better judgment.
Well, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Women liked parties. They laughed and smiled and had a grand time.
But would she? Would Sabine feel the same way if he brought her to Luís’s annual fiesta? He wanted to see her smile, hear her laughter ringing in her ears. Perhaps feel her against him when they danced…if she danced. Ah, hell, what was wrong with him? They all danced, didn’t they?
There was only one way to find out. And standing around her wondering about it wasn’t going to get him any answers.
XXX
“So, how long do you think it’ll take you to make a dress out of that muslin?”
Sabine dried her hands on her dishrag and brought the coffee pot to the table, filling Michael’s cup a second time.
“A couple weeks, I suppose, with paper patterns,” she considered thoughtfully as she placed a slice of pie before him. “You wouldn’t happen to have any lying around, would you,” she said with a smirk.
“Actually, yes,” he said matter-of-factly as he picked up his fork. “On the table near the door,” he motioned, “compliments of Marta Roderigues.”
He smiled at her, and Sabine’s heart nearly burst as his blue eyes settled on her comfortably. So different he was from the other morning when he had run out on her – again. And he didn’t try to shy away – not even as she now laid a hand on his shoulder in gratitude.
Tentatively she smoothed a wrinkle in the fabric of his shirt before moving away, the muscles of his arm rippling as he moved to capture her hand with his own.
“Sabine, I – “
Sabine jerked away before he touched her, her face flushing hot with disconcertion. The way he looked at her. It was as though he – no, it couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.
Quickly she crossed the room and resumed washing the dishes. Oh, God, he looked at her as though he wanted her. Wanted to touch her and make her feel things sh
e had no right to feel…things she found herself wanting to feel.
“Thank you for the patterns,” she said, clearing her throat awkwardly as she plunged her hands into the soapy water. “And please thank Señora Roderigues as well.”
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him knowing his smoky blue eyes were still fixed on her, and heart pounded out a wild tattoo in her chest as she felt his stare burn into her back.
“Luís is holding his annual baile before the fall planting starts. Two weeks.”
He stood close behind her, and the nearness sent her emotions racing. Was it fear? Longing? Sabine swallowed, not daring to face him as shivery rivulets danced lightly along her spine.
“Will you be attending then?” she asked hoarsely. ”I’m sure there are a number of ladies who would be honored to be on your arm.”
Sabine cringed inwardly. Why had those words slipped so unthinkingly from her mouth? She didn’t mean to say that; her comment sounded catty, or worse yet, that she expected him to bring her along.
“I’ve considered it.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”
Why did she sound so stiff, formal? As though someone else was saying the words while she looked helplessly on?
“Ever dance?” he questioned, his voice husky as he stood behind her, closer now.
His hands rested lightly on her waist, and Sabine started, the china plate she held in her hands shattering, punctuating the tense air as it hit the floor. She turned to him, her breath arrested within her as she stared at him, wide-eyed, her emotions stirring a whirlwind of fear and yearning inside her.
She wanted to be near him.
‘No, she didn’t. He would only think she was willing to give in to the desires – the ugly desires – that men insisted on having fulfilled. And she didn’t want that. Not to be treated as a whore, a piece of property. She wanted to be loved, needed by a man who desired her in the same way.
“Do I frighten you?”
Surrender to Love Page 16