Unwilling to waste more time in useless speculation, Sabrina finally compelled herself to leave her room. Hiding her turmoil with a smile, she hurried downstairs and rejoined the guests.
Sabrina was not the only one to wonder what Brett had meant by his display this afternoon. Ollie was damned curious about what the guvnor was up to. Naturally, Ollie had his suspicions, but he wanted them confirmed before he made any plans of his own. And Ollie did have plans of his own—little Lupe from the kitchen had caught his eye, and these past few weeks, he had begun to think that if the guvnor was considering getting himself leg-shackled, it couldn't be such a horrible state after all. Besides, he told himself happily as he laid out Brett's clothes for that evening, Lupe was young enough to be properly trained in her duties to her husband. Drifting off into a pleasant dream about a future enhanced by Lupe's dark, nubile charms, Ollie sat holding the boot he had been polishing, a beatific smile on his ugly little face.
It was only Brett's voice asking dryly, "Have you grown particularly attached to the object? Must I wait indefinitely?" that brought him back to reality with a sharp bump.
Ollie hastily handed Brett the boot. "Excuse me, guvnor—was, um, thinking about other things."
"Obviously!" Brett returned with a teasing glint in the green eyes as he pulled on the gleaming boot. "Other things being that shy, deer-eyed little girl in the kitchen?"
Stunned, Ollie stared open-mouthed at Brett. "How did you?" he began, only to shut his mouth with a snap. How could he have forgotten that nothing slipped by the guvnor? Sheepishly he admitted, "Aye, sir, she's the one."
"Well," Brett said lightly, "that explains why whenever I need you lately, I only have to go as far as the kitchen to find you!" A faintly quizzical expression on his lean face, Brett inquired, "Am I to wish you happy, Ollie?"
Ollie hesitated. "That depends, guvnor," he said uncertainly.
"Oh? On what? Shall I present myself to her parents and vouch for you?" Brett asked mockingly, tying the black silk sash that Ollie handed him snugly about his waist.
"Well," Ollie finally said cautiously, "you could say it all depends on you, guvnor. Especially it depends on exactly what you meant by kissing Miss Sabrina this afternoon. Now if you was considering walking into the parson's mousetrap ..."
Brett's teasing air vanished, and his chiseled mouth tightened. There was a sudden, grim silence in the room as he shrugged on a black velvet bolero. He made a romantic figure, his scarlet silk shirt a vivid slash of color against the black of his clothing, the gold filigree of the tight-fitting calzoneras glittering in the candlelight of the room. His face was bronzed and vital; the blue-black hair was overlong, waving near his temples, just brushing the collar of his sc£irlet shirt; and the green eyes were as hard and mysterious as jade as he turned to look at Ollie.
"You have your doubts?" Brett asked silkily, his face devoid of expression.
Ollie swallowed. There were times Dangermond made him distinctly nervous, and this was one of those times. There was an air of suppressed violence radiating from the tall, dark figure, and Ollie had the unpleasant feeling he was facing a keg of black powder with a very short fuse.
Uneasily pulling on the lobe of his ear, Ollie confessed with his usual candor, "Two weeks ago, I would 'ave said no. But these past days ..." He shot Brett a troubled look. "The thing is, guvnor, you don't act like a man in love! Sometimes you act as if you'd like to strangle Miss Sabrina, and lately you've been like a bear. Never seen you like this, and I can't figure it out. Either you love 'er or you don't! And if you don't, why did you act like you did this afternoon?"
"Love has very little to do with marriage, my small friend," Brett said wearily, the dark green eyes bleak.
"A marriage of convenience?" Ollie burst out, shocked.
Brett gave a bitter laugh. "I've thought of nothing else these past few days," he said grimly. "It's all very simple. I admire Alejandro a great deal. Alejandro has a daughter, a daughter who has an unworthy suitor, a suitor who, if successful in gaining the daughter's hand, would make Alejandro very unhappy. Do you follow me?"
Ollie nodded slowly. Frowning he asked, "But what does that 'ave to do with you marrying Miss Sabrina? You surely ain't the unworthy suitor?"
Smiling wryly, Brett admitted, "No, I don't believe I am. And I'm certain, though he has said nothing, that Alejandro would be delighted if I were to offer for Sabrina." His smile vanished, and his face hardened. "So that's what I'm going to do. At least married to me, Sabrina will have a husband who will not bring her to ruin, nor will Alejandro have to sit by and see everything he has worked for fall into the hands of a wastrel."
Ollie regarded him cynically. Shaking his head, he muttered, "I never thought I'd see the day you'd gammon yourself, guvnor!"
Brett's hand clenched into a fist, and a muscle twitched in his lean cheek. "And I think you're becoming even too impertinent for me!"
"Oh, am I now?" Ollie replied, completely unperturbed by Brett's words. "You know what I think? I think you don't like the truth! If you think you're going to marry Miss Sabrina simply to save her from the likes of that Carlos fellow, or even just because Don Alejandro will be delighted, you're fooling yourself, guvnor! Damn me for a saint if you ain't!"
Brett was silent for so long, his dark face so remote, that Ollie didn't think he had heard him. Then Brett looked at him, the expression in those jade-green eyes so full of tormented fury that Ollie dropped his gaze. Softly Brett snarled, "Don't you think I know it?" and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sabrina found the remainder of the afternoon unbearably frustrating. Everywhere she went there were misty-eyed, knowing smiles from the women and hearty innuendos from the men. She could have stamped her foot with rage, and when Alejandro came over and patted her affectionately on the shoulder and murmured, "A wise choice, chica, a wise choice. It makes me very happy," she could have exploded with fury.
Even Bonita was no help as she fussed and worried over Sabrina's attire for the evening. "It is such a special evening, is it not, my dove?" Bonita murmured, her fat face wreathed in a huge smile.
With an effort, Sabrina swallowed back the scathing reply she would have liked to utter and said instead, ''Si, it is. After all, eighteen comes only once—I am very fortunate that everyone has been so kind to me today."
It wasn't quite the reply that Bonita wanted, but she shrugged her plump shoulders. If the little one wanted to hug the not-so-secret love affair to herself a bit longer, who could blame her? To love at eighteen is such a delight. And to be loved by a man like Senor Dangermond . . . Bonita closed her eyes and sighed blissfully.
Despite having found the afternoon an ordeal, as the time passed and she bathed and began to put on her clothes for the evening, Sabrina was aware of a bubble of rising excitement in her chest. Time and time again she tried to quell it, to tell herself that she was going to have a miserable time, that Brett would continue to ignore her as he had after his puzzling display in the bull ring, and yet, as she slipped on a petticoat of frothy lace and fastened the lacings of her satin slippers, she was conscious of an overriding sense of adventure, of a delirious feeling of anticipation.
From down the hall, she could hear the laughter and chatter of the other guests as they, too, changed into their finery for the evening entertainments, and suddenly the last of her anger and confusion disappeared. How could anyone be moody and troubled on a night like tonight?
A full, silvery moon could be seen barely rising above the tips of the trees; the air was warm and soft like silk, the scent of jasmine and roses teasing the nostrils, stirring the senses; and the sultry, throbbing notes of the guitars and marimbas could be heard drifting up tantalizingly from the courtyard. It was a lovers' night, a night that fairly surged with promise, the very air almost pulsating with expectancy.
The amber-gold eyes shining like stars, her cheeks flushed with hectic color, Sabrina dressed with increasing feverishness, eager, impatient to b
e downstairs—to see Brett. Her gown was a gift from her father, a gorgeous creation of fine silk from Spain. The lavender-blue color was a surprisingly effective foil for Sabrina's red-gold hair and apricot-tinted skin. The neckline was rounded and low-cut, her breasts swelling temptingly above the fabric; a wide sash of deep purple circled her midriff just under her breasts; and the full skirts were trimmed with a narrow flounce of delicate blond lace. The sleeves were very little puffs near her bared shoulders, and gazing at her reflection in the cheval glass, Sabrina gave a pleased gurgle of excited laughter.
Her bright hair fell in natural, wavy ringlets halfway down her back; the candlelight turned it to molten fire as she moved about the room. Bonita's silver bracelets tinkled merrily on her wrists, huge hoops of silver glittered between the strands of fiery hair, and whenever she walked, the faint scent of lemon blossoms lingered in the air. Tossing Bonita a kiss, a smile of anticipation on her full mouth, Sabrina hurried out of her room, eager to face whatever excitement and adventure the night might bring.
And it was an evening to remember, Brett looming up suddenly out of nowhere as she reached the bottom of the stairs. For a long, timeless moment they stared at one another, the stunned expression in the jade-green eyes making Sabrina strangely breathless and exhilarated. Those feelings never seemed to leave her that night. Nor did Brett.
He was never far from her side, and though they spoke little, it was as if they communicated without words: a look, a lift of the eyebrow, a smile, and the other seemed to understand. And yet Brett did not monopolize her attention; she was the belle of the ball, and he seemed content to watch her whirl around the courtyard in the arms of her various partners, his gaze never leaving her as he stood near one of the pillars of the archways. The instant the music ceased, he would materialize at her side, making it abundantly clear that while he was willing to share her for the dances, beyond that his tolerance did not go.
Alejandro watched the proceedings with an indulgent smile, and gently he fingered the turquoise and silver bracelet that Elena had given him so long ago. "She will be safe, my love . . . safe and loved!" he whispered softly to himself.
Carlos and Francisca were not so pleased, but even their snide comments couldn't prick Sabrina's bright bubble of happiness. Even when Carlos twirled her around the courtyard and hissed angrily, "He has bewitched you! Listen to me. Follow this course, and it will bring you disaster!" Sabrina smiled vaguely at him, not really caring if disaster did loom on her horizon. She would have tonight!
But Carlos was not one to give up easily, and seeing that his words were having no effect, he said slyly, "I see that Senor a Morales is not here tonight. Your doing ... or his?"
For just a moment, an icy blast seemed to cut through her warm cloak of bliss, and the soft glow that had shone in her eyes faded just a little. "I invited her," Sabrina admitted reluctantly, "but she sent a note declining the invitation. She said she hadn't been feeling well lately."
"And you believed her?" Carlos jeered. "You didn't question why she would avoid one of the premiere entertainments of the year?"
"No, I didn't!" Sabrina retorted stiffly. "And it doesn't matter one way or the other. Leave it be, Carlos!"
"I would like to, querida, but I don't want you to be caught in the same trap in which Constanza has found herself," Carlos persisted. "Shall I tell you exactly how your Senor Dangermond has treated her?"
"Hush!" Sabrina said sharply. "I don't want to listen to anything you have to say about him. You don't like him. You are jealous, and you v/ant to turn me against him. I will not listen to you one minute longer!" And leaving others to stare after her open-mouthed, she wrenched herself away from Carlos and left him standing in the center of the courtyard.
His face contorted with fury, he watched as she hurried to Brett's side, and then, aware of the spectacle he was making, of the sly looks and embarrassed laughs of the others, he stalked off the courtyard and disappeared into the night. For Francisca, that was the final affront. Her own features bristling with rage and hostility, she accosted her brother, saying in a low, vicious tone, "I hope you are satisfied now! You have brought my husband to ruin, and now you have shamed and insulted my son in front of all our friends. I will never forgive you for this, Alejandro. Never!"
Placing his hand under Francisca's elbow, Alejandro said softly, "You are unduly distraught, my dear. Come, let me find you a place of quiet so that you may recover yourself." And quickly and efficiently, he whisked her into the hacienda.
Once they were alone in the small sala at the rear of the hacienda, Alejandro faced his sister, his amber-gold eyes glittering with anger. "I hope," he said grimly, "you have a very good reason for nearly disrupting Sabrina's fiesta this way."
"A good reason!" Francisca fairly screeched. "I should think the humiliation my son has suffered this day would be reason enough! First you allow that . . . that gringo to take unwonted liberties with Carlos's novia, and now—!" Fury choked her voice, making speech impossible.
Almost wearily, Alejandro muttered, "Francisca, Sabrina is not, nor has she ever been, Carlos's novia. It is what you long for, but it is not a fact, and you delude yourself in believing that there exists between your son and my daughter anything but friendship." His tone adamant, he finished, "Sabrina does not love Carlos! And I have no intention of seeing her wed a man she does not love. Cease your foolish daydreams!"
It was almost too much for Francisca. The black eyes burning with rage, her hand clenched into a fist as she pressed it dramatically against her full bosom. "You will regret this, mi hermano!" she spat. "I have forgiven you much, but this, this is unforgivable!"
There was a rap on the door, and with relief Alejandro opened it to find Luis on the other side. His pleasant face full of concern, Luis asked, "Is she all right?"
Alejandro nodded and invited him into the room. Luis hurried to his wife's side murmuring, "My dove, my dove. I know you are upset, but to almost cause a scene! It is not like you. What has come over you?"
Sullenly Francisca regarded her husband. "You can ask?" she managed. "Didn't you see the gringo shame Carlos's novia today? Didn't you see what she did to him just moments ago?"
A gentle soul, ruled by his wife, Luis said softly, "It was nothing, querida Our son is not the first young man to encounter the whims of a spirited young woman. He will recover, and no one will think anything of it—you are the only one who is making much of it." Throwing Alejandro a helpless look, he added, "As for the other, well, our dream of seeing Carlos marry Sabrina is not to be. And it was only a dream, querida Do not be overly distressed that it did not come true." Taking encouragement from her silence, Luis took her hand and dropped an affectionate kiss on it. "Come now, smile for me and make your peace with Alejandro."
That was asking too much of Francisca. Coldly she said, "I have nothing to say to him! He has betrayed me! Take me home, Luis! I cannot bear to remain here longer."
Luis hesitated, but then seeing the implacable expression on his wife's face, he sent Alejandro an imploring glance.
Alejandro met that glance with a commiserating smile. "Take her home, amigo. Tomorrow we will talk and find that this has been merely a misunderstanding."
Luis nodded his head, and murmuring coaxingly to Francisca, he urged her away.
His expression thoughtful, Alejandro rejoined his guests, mentioning casually that Francisca had felt unwell and that she and Luis had left.
Unaware of what had happened after she dashed off the dance floor, Sabrina took refuge a short distance away from the hacienda. The music of the guitars floated softly to her, and the lights from the lanterns created a faint golden glow in the silvery darkness of the moonlit night. Her lavender-blue gown rustling gently about her ankles, she rested against the mottled bark of a huge sycamore tree, letting the tranquility of the night seep into her thoughts.
And such tangled thoughts went through her mind. Brett's attitude was totally incomprehensible to her, and yet she couldn't help re
sponding to him. She wanted to believe that some miracle had taken place, that all the past misconceptions were somehow^ erased, that the night's actions were a true indication of his feelings. Of Constanza she didn't want to think—she had been almost pleased when Constanza had written declining to attend the fiesta, but now Carlos had destroyed some of her joy. At the moment, she bitterly resented Carlos's constant meddling, but she was also angry with herself for allowing his vexing words to reawaken her own doubts.
A slight sound made her turn her head sharply, and she sighed with a curious mixture of relief and trepidation when she recognized Brett's tall form in the shadows. He was smoking an aromatic cheroot; the pleasing scent of the tobacco drifted on the air as he slowly approached her.
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