The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  A mocking smile on his mouth, he stopped just inches from her and asked lightly, "The belle of the bail in hiding? Or have I interrupted an assignation . . . again?"

  She didn't like the expression in the jade-green eyes when he uttered that last sentence, and a little twinge of anger shot through her. Bluntly she replied, "There is no one else about—you may scour the area if you like. I didn't come out here to meet anyone, and even if I did"—she shot him a challenging look—''it isn't your concern, is it?"

  There was silence for a moment as he pensively regarded the tip of his cheroot before tossing it away. Then, leaning his hand on the trunk of the tree near her head, he said softly, "Perhaps I want it to be my concern. What would you say about that?"

  Sabrina's throat suddenly went dry, and she was aware of the crazy leap her heart gave. Mutely she stared at him, mesmerized by the potency of his gaze as it roamed over her face.

  Gently his other hand moved along the column of her throat, the long fingers caressing the soft skin. Sabrina felt as if she were suffocating—he was so close, and she was trapped by the tree, his powerful body blocking any escape. But escape was the last thing on her mind. Helplessly she closed her eyes, unable to bear his intense scrutiny, afraid he could read what was in her heart.

  "Sabrina?" he murmured huskily, his lips barely touching her ear. "No answer? Or am I to take your silence for encouragement of my advances?"

  With difficulty she managed, "And if it were?"

  A great sigh seemed to escape him, and she felt a feather-light kiss brush across her closed eyes. "If it were, then I would do this." And his mouth closed hungrily over hers, his arms pulling her against him.

  He kissed her a long time, a deep, probing, urgent kiss that left Sabrina's wits swimming. She made no attempt to resist him; she couldn't have if her life depended upon it—this was Brett, and she loved him. Passionately she yielded to him, not only pressing herself ardently to him but allowing and encouraging him to deepen the kiss, her lips parting sweetly, her tongue seeking his.

  Groaning softly, he tore his lips from hers and muttered into her ear, "This is madness, infant—but I cannot seem to escape it!" He crushed her slender form closer against his tall length, and in an oddly thick voice, he confessed, "I didn't want this to happen. I have fought against it since I held you in my arms that first day in the meadow. It seems it's a hopeless battle that I cannot win—no matter what I do!"

  Reveling in his embrace, thrilled by his words, she asked softly, "But it it such a terrible thing? Is there some reason why you should fight against it so?"

  He gave a mirthless laugh. An ugly tone to his voice, he demanded, "You ask that of me? Me, who has known nothing but treachery at the hands of women?"

  "Don't be a fool!" Sabrina said urgently. "Things may have happened in your past that are painful, but they have nothing to do with us! Nothing!"

  He lifted his head and gazed down at her upturned face. Almost reverently his finger traced her features, lingering on her mouth. "I want to believe that," he said at last. His voice deepening, he muttered, "I have to believe it, for I am bewitched by you, Sabrina." He smiled grimly as if some macabre jest had been played on him. "I dream of you—you haunt me, and though when daylight appears I can tell myself it is folly, when night falls . . ." Compulsively his mouth sought hers, all his torment and fury obvious from the nearly brutal way he kissed her. Lifting his lips from her bruised mouth, he murmured, "When night falls, I ache for you. You are like a fever that has entered my brain, and though I try to escape you, though I tell myself I am mad, that nothing good can come from it, that you are like all the others, that you will betray and cause me nothing but pain, in the end I am left with only a gnawing desire to have you in my arms, to kiss you ... to make love to you."

  The last words were uttered so softly, Sabrina barely heard them, but she did, and gently she caressed his dark head, her fingers moving lovingly through the thick black hair. Her own mouth almost touching his, she whispered, "And is that so very bad? So very wrong?"

  "Oh, Jesus!" Brett burst out explosively. "I don't know anymore. I only know that when I found you with Carlos, I could have killed him then and there—and strangled you for what you were doing to me. No woman has ever aroused such jealousy within me."

  Sabrina started to protest, to explain, but Brett hushed her. Placing a finger on her mouth, he commanded, "No! I don't want to hear anything about what happened there—it is over and done with and behind us. You said the past has nothing to do with us, and so even your past will have nothing to do with us!" The dark green eyes glittering fiercely, he said with barely suppressed savagery, "I want you. Every instinct I possess urges me to mount my horse and ride from here as if all the demons in hell were after me, but I cannot. I find myself deliberately walking into the web of your spinning." His fingers tightened painfully on her shoulders, and he gave another mirthless laugh. "By God, infant, but I am mad! I delude myself into believing that I am doing this to save you from Carlos, but we both know that is a lie, don't we?"

  Unhappily, Sabrina's eyes searched his. For so long she had yearned to have him confess that he cared for her, but this wasn't quite the way she had imagined it—nor had he admitted that he loved her. Wanted her, yes. But love? Of love he did not speak. But wanting, she thought optimistically, could become love. Perhaps to a man like Brett, it was love. But there was such tormented fury in his voice, such bewildered frustration, that her heart ached for him. And maybe a little for herself—it was obvious that he was a very reluctant lover. He wanted her, but it was insultingly clear that it was greatly against his will. Yet she knew that she could not let this moment escape, that even if he had not said the exact words she wanted so desperately to hear, she would take greedily what he had offered. In time she could prove him wrong, prove that while other women may have hurt and betrayed him, she never would, that he would never find treachery in her arms. Only love. And he would love her—in time. Time was all she needed. ...

  When she remained silent, he shook her urgently. The jade-green eyes narrowing, he asked roughly, "No answer? No glib reply? No satisfied smile now that you have me groveling at your feet?"

  Inexplicably her mood lifted, and she was filled with a sudden confidence, a growing certainty that all would be right. A tiny smile curved her mouth. "Groveling?" she repeated in a teasing tone. "I hardly think so, querido! Demanding is more like it!"

  He relaxed slightly at her reply, and a mocking light suddenly dancing in his eyes, he murmured, "I have always understood that meek lovers are either fools or fops—I am neither, as you will soon discover!"

  A glint of daring in the amber-gold eyes, she said recklessly, "Will I?"

  His mouth took on a frankly sensuous curve, and bending closer, he promised huskily, "Oh, yes, infant. Oh, yes!" And once again he swept her up into a dizzying embrace, that hard mouth seeking and demanding as it closed over hers.

  There was a slight titter of laughter nearby, the intrusive sound of quickly smothered voices, and with obvious reluctance Brett slowly lifted his lips from hers. He sent a smoldering look across his shoulder and muttered with suppressed violence, "I seem to have chosen the wrong place and time for what I want to say." A sleepy fire flickering in his eyes, he added, "And do."

  Sabrina laughed breathlessly, the blood singing in her veins, excitement coursing through her entire body at the expression on his face. He must love her! And if there had not been the interruption, she was positive he would have admitted it to her. Provocatively she threw him a kiss, and then dancing away from him, she murmured, "But there will be another time . . . won't there?"

  He made no move to stop her, and there was almost a tender smile on that chiseled mouth as he drawled softly, "Of that you can be certain!"

  The remainder of the evening passed in a happy blur for Sabrina. She danced, she ate, and she laughed with gay abandon, the sound of Brett's words a joyous refrain in her brain.

  Such was not the case for
Carlos. Stalking furiously off the courtyard after Sabrina had left him so summarily, he had immediatedly left the hacienda and ridden to Constanza. Leaving his horse behind her house, he had stomped across the patio only to stop abruptly when he found Constanza sitting there alone.

  It was not late, and she had come outside to enjoy the warmth of the night, the house still too stuffy from the heat of the day. A lantern hung nearby, casting a golden pool of light over her; a pitcher of sangria and a glass sat near her hand, and upon seeing Carlos, she murmured, "Shall I call the servant for another glass? Or would you prefer something stronger?"

  "Stronger!" he snarled.

  Constanza clapped her hands, and a few minutes later, Carlos was sprawled in the chair next to Constanza glaring wrathfully at the amber liquid in his glass. He drank the whiskey in one gulp and then poured himself another from a decanter. His voice surly, he demanded, "Why didn't you attend the fiesta today?"

  Constanza smiled faintly. "Because," she said dryly, "I did not want to be as you are now—furious and filled with frustration. Am I to understand that things did not go as you wished?"

  "Dios! I have never been so enraged in my life!" Carlos burst out explosively, his black eyes glittering with anger. "I have had to watch the gringo lay claim to Sabrina and have been insulted by Sabrina myself! I could kill them both!"

  Her face carefully bland, Constanza asked, "What happened? Nothing you cannot undo, I trust?"

  Briefly Carlos gave her a summary of the day's events. When Carlos spoke of the bullfight, of Brett's kiss to Sabrina, Constanza's composure slipped, and her face paled. Noticing it, Carlos smiled nastily. "Disturbs you, does it?" Baring his teeth, he growled, "Think then, how it made me feel! Por Dios! But I could have slit his throat then and there! As for my beloved tto , . ." Eyes narrowing, he said softly, "Some day he will pay for this."

  With difficulty, Constanza asked, "You have given up then? You no longer hope to marry Sabrina?"

  Carlos laughed, an ugly sound that shattered the quiet night air. "Give up? Never! I cannot—without her fortune I am ruined! I must have it or be reduced to thieving to keep myself!"

  Constanza relaxed. "What do you plan to do? How can you stop what is happening? If Alejandro approves and Sabrina welcomes his suit, what can be done?"

  "I could kill him," Carlos offered levelly.

  Constanza's dark eyes dilated, and leaning forward, she said passionately, “No! Harm him, Carlos, and I promise you that you shall live to regret it!"

  His face tightened, and he demanded in a dangerous tone, "Are you threatening me, querida? You will let this gringo drive a wedge between us? We, who have shared so much together?"

  Forcing a conciliatory smile on her lips, Constanza said slowly, "I would never threaten you, Carlos . . . but tell me—if I planned to deprive you of Sabrina, wouldn't you try to stop me?"

  Reluctantly Carlos nodded his head, a gleam of respect flitting through the black eyes. "So I would, querida. So I would." Some of his fury lessening, he said admiringly, "We are so alike. So perfectly matched that nothing will stop us from gaining our goals—Sabrina and her fortune for me, and the gringo and his fortune for you!"

  The dangerous moment past, Constanza smiled at him, this time more naturally. "You are a rogue, Carlos. Tell me, what do you plan?"

  Moodily Carlos stared out into the night. "Bah! I have no plan! I can think of nothing . . . yet." Slanting her a glance, he asked, "Have you thought of something?"

  "Perhaps," she began coolly. "But it is going to cost you a great deal of money."

  Carlos made a face. "You know that our finances are not overabundant at this time."

  "Do you want Sabrina or not?" she asked levelly.

  "I want her!" he snapped in reply.

  "Then you will find a way to give me what I want, won't you?"

  "Yes!" Carlos snarled, his mouth tight.

  Constanza looked down at her hands as they rested on the pine table. Her voice curiously husky, she said, "We may gain Sabrina for you—she is a woman and can be controlled by her father ... or guardian. But as for my becoming Senor a Dangermond, I rather doubt it. A man cannot be coerced into marriage the way a woman can." She lifted her eyes, and Carlos was startled at the depth of pain he saw there.

  Moved, he reached across the table for her hands. "He means so much to you?"

  She smiled wryly. "Oh, yes. So much that while I know I cannot have him myself, I cannot bear to see him wed another."

  Her voice hardening, the fine jaw rigid, she added, "I will do anything to stop him from marrying Sabrina! She has everything—money, youth, and position—while I have nothing! I will not let her have him, too!"

  "And you have a way to take him away from her? To stop the announcement of their betrothal that is sure to come soon?"

  "Perhaps not stop it, but certainly destroy it and make her look at him with loathing, if she is the woman I think she is. ..."

  Carlos regarded her thoughtfully, noting the grim line of her mouth, the unusual hardness of her eyes. "How?"

  Constanza smiled. "I will not tell you now. First you must provide me with gold—a great deal of gold, Carlos, for when I am through with your Sabrina, I will not be able to remain here in Nacogdoches. I will have to leave forever, or she will learn the truth and know that we lied to her. And so, when you have given me enough money to pay my passage to Spain, to keep me in luxury for the rest of my life, then I shall tell you of my plan."

  "We do not have a great deal of time," Carlos persisted. "Something must be done immediately."

  A steely smile on her lips, Constanza answered, "It can be done just as soon as you keep your part of the bargain—a fortune in gold. When I have that, I will deliver Sabrina into your arms."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It had been hours past midnight before the last guest had left the hacienda and Sabrina had bidden her father and Brett good night. She had laid her lovely gown on a chair near her bed and with a sigh of contentment, had slipped naked into the bed, certain she would fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

  Such was not the case. Too much had happened, the future beckoned too alluringly, and there were too many tantalizing moments to remember for sleep to overtake her. She tossed and turned, longing to sleep, to wake and find that it was morning; she burned with eagerness to see what the day would hold.

  Eventually she gave up trying to sleep, and after wandering restlessly about her room for several moments, she stepped onto the balcony and stared out into the night. The gleam of the moonlight on the water caught her attention, and suddenly she knew what she wanted to do. She found an old gown, and not bothering with undergarments, she put it on. Quietly she opened her door and with light steps hurried down the silent, darkened hallway to the stairs. Seconds later she was outside, running without a sound on bare feet toward the lake.

  The lake was streaked with silver from the moon overhead, and Sabrina gazed at it with wonder as she walked aimlessly along the rippling shoreline, the water still warm from the heat of the day. The night air was calm, not even the cry of an owl breaking the peaceful silence. To Sabrina it seemed as if she were the only person in the world awake, and she found that the night suited her mood, soothing her turbulent anticipation of the morrow.

  But Sabrina wasn't alone, nor was she the only person awake. Brett, too, had found it impossible to sleep, and though Sabrina had passed by his room on cat feet, he had heard the slight sound she had made. He had partially undressed, and wearing only his calzoneras, he had been impatiently pacing his room when he heard her pass by. His thoughts had been bitter at that moment; he was unable to believe that he, Brett Dangermond, had fallen in love.

  He did not want to admit it, and for weeks now he had deliberately avoided looking into his own heart. To love was weakness and insanity, and like an animal caught in a trap, he was fighting desperately to escape. Tonight he had come dangerously near to committing himself, and he was furiously aware that it was only a ma
tter of time before he did commit himself.

  It was a painful situation in which he found himself. He hadn't lied when he had said that all his instincts urged him to flee. They did. But just the thought of leaving Sabrina filled him with a black despair, and he knew he was as trapped as any insect in a spider's web. No matter how he struggled, no matter how fiercely he fought, Sabrina's web held him fast, and demons he had forgotten now rose up to taunt him.

  The incident with Diana Pardee in London so many years ago had left him particularly sensitive about his own attraction for women. Without conceit, he knew he was a handsome man, an accomplished lover, but were those his real attractions ... or was it his fortune? And not even Sabrina could he acquit of the ugly suspicion that her response to his overtures was because she was even more attracted to his wealth and fortune than she was to him. Repeatedly he told himself that it was a ridiculous idea—the del Torres fortune was probably larger than his own—but his wounds were deep. And there was the knowledge that Carlos was no longer wealthy. If he knew about the de la Vegas' straitened circumstances, it was logical that Sabrina knew about them, too. Had she decided that Brett Dangermond might be a better bargain? It was a persistent thought, and perhaps more than anything, it was what had kept him from declaring himself. If he was to be married, even bitterly conscious that his bride came to him from the bed of another man, he had to be certain that it was not money that brought her into his arms.