Silver Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Two

by Vivian Vaughan

  “Then let’s do it again.”

  He grinned. “Not so soon. Even if I was able, we should let you rest.” As he spoke, his hand traced down her body. His fingers entered her once more, sending shafts of passion racing through her veins. His eyes bore into hers, conveying sensual messages of love and commitment and passion. “How does this feel?”

  “Wonderful.” Closing her eyes, she let the feeling swell inside her as he plied her to higher and higher peaks.

  “This is a taste of how it will be,” he was saying, while inside her great swells of passion rose and waned, rose and waned, spiraling ever higher and higher.

  Suddenly, the fire he had ignited exploded into a great ball of brilliant light in her brain and spread quickly like lightning through her body. She shuddered in his arms.

  He rocked her to him. “Next time that will happen while I’m inside you, and it will be even better.”

  “Then let’s do it again as soon as you are ready.” She snuggled into his embrace, where they both soon fell fast asleep.

  “What about Relie?” she whispered sometime later, rousing him.

  He grunted.

  “Relie? What kind of problems must they work out?”

  “The church,” he mumbled. “Papá will likely give them trouble over the church.”

  Pia curled into the lee of his enormous body. She smiled. And to think she had been afraid of him.

  She thought of Relie’s apology for encouraging her to seduce Santos before the wedding. Had Relie been speaking from experience? Quite possibly.

  If so, would she regret not saving something so special until her wedding night? Probably not, Pia decided. With the right person, the magic would be the same.

  With the wrong person…A chill coursed through her body and she snuggled closer to Santos. The story Relie had related about Nuncio Quiroz filled her with anguish.

  Santos gathered her into his encompassing embrace, bringing a catch to her throat as she realized that even asleep, he wanted her near.

  With the wrong person, it would have been a nightmare.

  “What were you and Papá discussing at the baile tonight?” Aurelia asked after she and Carson returned to the Mazón mansion.

  Although her parents had gone straight to bed upon arriving home, she and Carson remained behind in the patio. Not that her parents approved, she knew, but they hadn’t actually said as much. Nor had they awakened Lucinda to chaperon.

  The first thing her mother had done when she stepped inside the patio was to remove her shoes. “I’m going straight upstairs,” she said. “No nightcap for me.”

  She kissed Aurelia, who sat on the fountain’s edge.

  “You, too, dear. You must be as tired as I am after the week full of parties—and our other difficulties.”

  “Sí Mamá.” Aurelia watched her mother bid Carson good night. Although she neither offered her hand nor went so far as to touch his shoulder, Doña Bella did acknowledge his expertise on the dance floor.

  “You made Santos a fine best man, Señor Jarrett. And thank you for that lovely turn about the floor.”

  “It was my pleasure, señora,” Carson replied.

  “Buenas noches.” Her father kissed her cheek, then shook Carson’s hand. “Good night, Jarrett. Thanks for your help.”

  Aurelia watched her parents climb the wide staircase, her mother’s shoes dangling from two fingers. Suddenly, she thought of Tía Guadalupe, who never emerged from her chamber with so much as a hair out of place, much less barefoot.

  “I have been such a fool all my life,” she muttered.

  “Not since I’ve known you,” Carson said quietly.

  From the landing, her father turned to look at them. Aurelia still sat on the edge of the fountain. Carson sat in a chair, a guitar resting across one calzonera-clad knee.

  “Coming?” her father called.

  “Sí Papá.” She watched her parents top the stairs, heard the door to their chamber close.

  Carson rose, setting the guitar aside. “Guess we had best hit the hay.”

  Tears rushed suddenly to her eyes. Without replying, she dashed across the patio, not stopping until she reached the privacy of the drawing room, where she turned to wait for him.

  He came into her arms, his lips meeting hers, hungrily acknowledging the yearnings that had built inside him. His arms drew her near, nearer, closer to his aching heart. He felt her heart throb against his chest, tasted her salty tears.

  Finally, he pulled her face from his, dabbing her tears with his thumbs. “We can’t get carried away, angel. Your father could return any second.”

  “Let’s go someplace else, then,” she begged. “Please.”

  He pulled her close, nestling her head to his chest, rubbing his chin across the top of her head. “That might be foolish on both our parts, considering I haven’t asked him for your hand yet.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. She wanted to cry, Don’t ask him. He will say no.

  With his hands to her shoulders, he guided her to the settee, where he deposited her, then turned to light a lamp on a side table.

  She heard him find matches in the enamel box, heard him lift the chimney from the lamp, heard him strike the match. A small halo of golden light cast a shadow about her face.

  When he sat beside her, his head blocked the light. He took her face gently in his hands and wiped away her tears with his thumbs. “What’s got you runnin’ scared?”

  “What if he says no.”

  “Who?”

  “Papá. What will you do if he refuses to give his permission?”

  Suddenly, Carson felt the earth drop from beneath him, leaving him suspended above a vast black void. A heavy, sickening emptiness engulfed him at the thought of living without Aurelia. With great difficulty, he kept his hands from trembling on her face. Bending forward, he kissed it—her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. “You expect him to refuse, don’t you?”

  A sob rose in a choking tremble up from her chest. She nodded.

  “Then the question is, what will you do?” he responded in grave tones.

  “I will marry you anyway.” She pulled her face from his hands, burying her head in his shoulder. “Nobody can keep me from marrying you.” His gentle hands stroking her head and back only intensified her sobs.

  “Why will he refuse?” Carson enunciated his words carefully.

  “The church. You don’t…you can’t be married there.”

  He heaved a heavy sigh.

  “And anything else is…”

  “I know, angel. Anything else is not considered a valid marriage.”

  Of all the problems he had anticipated coming between them, he had never thought of this one. Now he wondered why. A girl raised in a convent school, from a strict, religious home. Why hadn’t he thought to expect this? And if he had expected it, what the hell could he have done about it, anyway?

  With gentle hands he drew her shoulders back and again tried to dry her tears, this time with his lips. Their saltiness seemed to sting his very heart, bringing moisture to his own eyes.

  “I know how important the church is to you and your family,” he said at last. “But I also know how important you are to me. Whatever I have to do to marry you and make you happy, I will do.”

  “Do you mean?…”

  He grinned. “It isn’t like we don’t believe in the same God. No matter what we call Him, you can’t tell me He doesn’t want us to be together.”

  For a moment she let the simple truth of his observation wash over her, dissolving her fears like a heavensent rain cleanses the earth, allowing her euphoria to return.

  She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Carson, why did I doubt you?” Her lips found his.

  “Beats me,” he mumbled into her mouth, just before he sealed their lips, their loves, their very souls. But again he drew back, feeling the torturous plea of her body, the uncomfortable warning of his.

  “But I will have a hard time convincing him if he throws me out of
the house for seducing his daughter.”

  “I’ll come to your room.”

  “No.” Awkwardly, he turned her so her back rested against his chest. Lamplight played off the yellow satin and lace of her gown, casting her in a golden radiance. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against him, clasping his palms over her breasts, feeling his body react as he did so.

  He knew they should head upstairs, but he hadn’t held her in so long. A few minutes more, he promised himself. A few minutes to hold her, to talk to her. To hear her voice and fill his senses with her.

  She snuggled against him. “What do you think Pia and Santos are doing right now?”

  He grunted. “Let’s not think about that.”

  She wriggled against him, snuggling closer. “I hope it worked out.”

  “Worked out? What?”

  “Their wedding night.”

  He chuckled. “Why shouldn’t it work out?”

  “Because she was frightened. You know, her being so small and all.”

  He tightened his grip on her breasts, kneading them sensuously through her layers of clothing. “Don’t worry about it, angel.”

  “I can’t help worrying. I want it to be good for her, like it was for me.”

  His hands stilled. “Like it is for you,” he corrected. “It will be good for her. Santos will see to that.”

  “I hope so. It’s…”

  “Aurelia, I am in no condition to discuss someone else’s wedding night. Trust me, just because a man has long legs and broad shoulders, it doesn’t mean…ah…what I’m saying is…”

  “You mean he—?”

  “Shh,” he cautioned. “Santos will be able to handle the situation without our involvement.” He stirred. “Maybe we should hit the sack.”

  “Not yet.” She squeezed his arms, hugging them to her. “We can talk about something else. You choose the topic.”

  He relented. Her body felt so good against his. Too good. “How ’bout the letter I received from my sister Ginny today?” he suggested. “From the sound of things, I need to go see what the family is up to.”

  She struggled to turn in his arms.

  “Hold still,” he instructed softly. “Do you think I would head out for Texas without taking you along?”

  She settled down again, and he chuckled. “Seems my brother Kale up and married Ellie.”

  “Ellie? Isn’t she the new widow of your other brother? Benjamin, wasn’t it?”

  “Hmm, and Kale is—was—the biggest rounder of us all. How would you like a wedding trip to Texas?”

  She struggled to turn around. “Sí, Sí, Sí.”

  “Hold still. Can’t you see I’m courting you?”

  “I liked my way better.”

  He chuckled again. “Maybe I’ll surprise you before long.”

  After a few minutes of glorious silence, she recalled the question she had asked when they first returned. “Tell me what you and Papá were discussing so seriously.”

  He hesitated, then answered. “Nuncio Quiroz was seen at the mine late today.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing yet.” He fluffed a hand through her hair. She had removed the tall comb while they were still in the carriage, draping the mantilla about her neck. Now she was swathed in layers of lace. “Your father expects him to be gone tomorrow. Likely he returned to fetch personal things he left behind. He worked in that mine a long time.”

  “Close to twenty years,” she responded, tightening her hold on Carson.

  Rising then, he pulled her into his arms. “That’s a sour note to go to bed on.” He kissed her soundly, while holding her at bay. One more nuzzle from those aroused little nipples, and he knew he likely wouldn’t be able to resist a taste—and one thing always seemed to lead to another.

  “By the way,” he told her when they reached the stairs, “Rodrigo and Zita want us to go riding with them after breakfast.”

  Her tired eyes lit up.

  “A late breakfast.” He kissed her one last time, then swatted her bottom. “Get some sleep now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Dawn had not yet broken over the ragged hills of Catorce when María shook Aurelia awake with a message that set her heart to racing.

  The gray vellum notepaper embossed with a silver crested “M” had come from the downstairs library desk. She did not recognize the bold black scrawl, but her heart fluttered at Carson’s signature.

  He meant it. He said he would surprise her and he meant it. But she had not expected it so soon.

  Meet me outside the kitchen, same as Guanajuato.

  In the back of her wardrobe, Aurelia found the maid’s costume she had worn to sneak into his room that morning so long ago. Quickly donning it, she had to stop twice to peer in the looking glass and pinch her cheeks. Where would he take her?

  Never mind where. If he couldn’t find a secluded place, she certainly could. She considered leaving her undergarments at home.

  But what if she was stopped by one of the real maids? No, she would let him remove them this time—one by one. As long as he was quick about it. Her skin tingled at the mere thought of lying in his arms again.

  Aurelia slipped through the house without being seen, out the back door, around the corner.

  Blood pounded in her temples, at the pulse point above her collarbone and low, deliciously low. Anticipation ran high.

  Fear fell hard, like a boulder from the mountain peaks surrounding Catorce.

  Like the hand Nuncio Quiroz clamped over her open mouth, lifting it only to stuff a filthy gag inside. Her inferior strength was no match for his brawn, although that did not stop her struggling until he bound her, hands and feet, then stuffed her inside a canvas bag, just like those used at the mine. She thought she might suffocate from the ore dust.

  She thought how that might be the best thing for her.

  Her body, which had wept with joy in anticipation of Carson’s loving touch, now recoiled in parched, stiff fear of this demon’s promise—a promise of torture and pain, of humiliation.

  A promise he would keep this time, for bound and gagged as she was, she could offer no resistance other than in her heart.

  By the time she was thrown unceremoniously onto a hard surface, her fear had grown so all-encompassing that she did not at first recognize the next voice she heard.

  “Careful there.”

  Tío Luís? From long-standing habit, her spirits lifted at his familiar voice. Here was a savior, a member of her family. Then her head cleared, allowing harsh memories to rush in. Tío Luís was no friend.

  “Remove that sack,” he was instructing. “Careful now, careful. If she is marred, there will be questions.”

  Although she could see nothing, she knew the hands that obeyed her uncle belonged to Nuncio Quiroz. They were large. They were bold. They slithered up her legs, sliding her skirt before them, lifting the sack by degrees.

  Never had she been so glad of anything as that she had worn undergarments, even though she knew these simple garments would not protect her from vicious men.

  His hands struggled to work between her legs searching for the opening in the crotch of her bloomers, hindered by the bonds he himself had tied. She rocked her body back and forth, cringing at the touch of his hands, at her memories of his hands.

  Suddenly, she heard a slap, as though someone had been backhanded, and Nuncio Quiroz’s hands fell away from her. Aurelia crumpled to the floor with the sack still covering her upper body.

  “What’d you go and do that for?” Quiroz demanded.

  She visualized the difference in size between her uncle and the mine superintendent. No doubt who would win a physical struggle between the two men.

  Evidently, this was not a physical struggle—for anyone except herself. The sack was jerked from her body.

  She lay sprawled on the floor of a hut she recognized. Back of the fire pits, behind the mine, she thought.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Tío Luís b
arked into her face. “You have only yourself to blame.”

  If the gag in her mouth had not tasted so foul, she would have been grateful for it. She had no desire to speak to this despicable man other than to demand he set her free, which she knew would be futile.

  “Leave her with me,” Quiroz argued. “Let me take care of her until time to leave.”

  Her heart beat so fast at the fear of finding herself alone with this beast that she thought she might expire before Nuncio Quiroz could get his hands on her again.

  “Not on your life,” Tío Luís barked. “She must remain unmarked.”

  “I wouldn’t mark her so you could tell,” Quiroz grumbled. His eyes held a promise she had no trouble interpreting.

  She turned her face.

  “No one saw you leaving the mansion?” her uncle demanded of Quiroz.

  Squatting on his haunches nearby, Quiroz shook his head.

  “How did you get the message inside the house?”

  “That kid, the one from the village.”

  Tío Luís checked his gold pocket watch. “Figure we have three…four hours until the household awakens. Santos was the early riser and he’s out of the way.”

  “If that Ranger hombre gives us trouble, he’s mine,” Quiroz said.

  “Fine. Only wait until we get her away from here before you tackle him. Enrique will meet us in Matehuala. He is bringing a judge.”

  Luís smiled down at Aurelia, a self-satisfied smile full of malice. “Thought you got out of marrying him, did you? You didn’t count on the determination of your old uncle.”

  Marry Enrique? She struggled to speak.

  “Rest assured, I have my reasons,” he told her. “Before I finish, you will be the only heir to this business. With your marriage to Enrique, it will all belong to me—the mine, the mint, the rancho.”

  Quiroz grunted from across the room.

  “Other than what it costs to take care of…details.”

  Details? Her family? Mamá? Papá? Santos? Pia?

  And Carson was to be left to Nuncio Quiroz.

  Suddenly, she knew that if she had the choice, she would prefer Quiroz’s manhandling, even her death at his hands, to what this uncle by marriage planned for her family.