His breathing was harsh, the rise and fall of his chest under his bandaging rapid. Concern touched Pilar. With a frown gathering between her eyes, she reached out toward him, placing her cool fingertips on the pulse at the strong hollow of his throat.
He shot out his hand to catch her wrist in a bone-wrenching grip. His voice hoarse, grating with anger, he demanded, “Why?”
Triumph moved deep inside her, a counterpoint to the strained terror that gripped her. She had to moisten her lips before she could speak. “Vanity, what else?” she answered with more bravado than she felt. “What woman could resist the possibility of bringing a man back to life?”
“Try again. Try maudlin self-sacrifice brought on by pity in barrels, topped off with a layer of compassion.”
“Oh, no, I've discovered the price for pitying you already. As for the rest, I wouldn't dream of trespassing on your territory.”
His eyes narrowed. “I have my reasons for what I'm doing. They have nothing to do with self-sacrifice or compassion. Or with you.”
“But they must if I'm required to play handmaiden and nursing drudge, not to mention sleeping on the floor.”
“The floor is hard, as I have reason to know, but that doesn't explain what you're doing here beside me.”
“Will you accept curiosity?”
“You are here to try whether what you guessed the other night was right? You could have done that from across the room just now, if you had cared to look. Perhaps you are concerned for your safety? Surely you know that my men will protect you. Indeed, after watching and listening to them with you these last few days, I'm not sure they wouldn't protect you before me.”
“Maybe I object to being set up as bait with you?”
“In that case you should go elsewhere.”
“And leave you defenseless? How could I? Besides, you are supposed to be my protector.”
“So you play at being the mistress, all hovering concern and sympathy, while plotting to undermine whatever I might be doing out of sheer interference and juvenile revenge.”
She met his gaze without flinching, though the pounding of her blood in her veins made her feel ill. “You are trying to insult me so I will leave you alone. What is it you're afraid of? Is it what I might do, or is it just me?”
“Take care, cara. There may be more life than you bargain for left in me, and less judgment. I warn you that I have a headache like a Norse god's own hammer beating in my head, and inclinations that if turned to wind could blow this ship to Havana by morning. And I have never been more your protector than at this moment.”
“I'll take care,” she said, her voice low and soft, “if you'll rejoin the living.”
Refugio stared at her for long moments, while inside he felt the slow loosening of the bindings of his will. This sweet temptation was more than a man should be expected to resist. That he had scant strength to try was not due to his injury so much as to the long days of living close to Pilar. It had been purgatory to be so close, to watch her dress her hair while the movements stretched her bodice across the fullness of her breasts, to catch her delicate female scent as she brushed past him, to lie and listen to her soft breathing as she slept and know that to touch her was forbidden to him by every rule of decency.
She had breached those rules, deliberately discarding them. He understood the reasons she gave, but though he doubted they were the only ones, did not dare ask for more. What she was doing was not lightly undertaken, of this much he was certain. Nor could it be lightly dismissed, not without causing her great humiliation. She might be able to bear that; he could not.
It was possible he was weaker than he knew, else surrender would not have so potent an allure. He was defeated. He had known it from the moment she turned and walked toward him, the moment he realized that she had not forgotten he was there. Dear God, but the imprint of that moment would be burned forever into his mind.
She was magnificent in her determined seduction, lying there with conquered fear and some strange exultation in the dark and mysterious depths of her eyes. Her skin was like rare pink marble in the dying light of the day, her breasts as perfect as small sweet melons, her waist slender and sculpted as if to fit his hands, her hips gently curving with their own delicious symmetry, beckoning with every rise and fall of the ship. The rich, wild silk of her hair gleamed, enticing where it lay over her shoulder, shimmering with the quick beat of her heart. So enticing.
He drew a ragged breath, letting it out on a slow, soft sigh. Lifting a hand, he closed his fingers in the skein of her hair, winding the silken strands about his fist.
“Is it stalemate, then?” he whispered in aching tenderness as be drew her nearer. “I could also protect you by holding you naked in my arms. I could say it was to improve both our disguises, could I not? Did I warn you about my impaired judgment? I'm awash in sophistry and excuses and passionate good intentions, or else good, passionate intentions—”
The last word was smothered against her mouth. The touch of his lips was warm and a little dry from the fever, sweet and tender and rigorously restrained. He molded her mouth to his, tasting the moist honey, tracing the tender curves with the tip of his tongue while he released her hair and encircled her with his arms. With soft hesitation her lips parted under his. His grasp tightened and a shudder ran over him. Raising himself on the pillows, he shifted so she was rolled to her back. Delicately invading, he touched the small, sharp edges of her teeth with the tip of his tongue, then pressed deeper as if seeking the source of her sweetness.
Pilar strained against him, sliding her arms upward to clasp them around the strong column of his neck. Her breasts pressed against his chest, flattened on the hard planes and the rough swath of his bandaging. Fueled by urgent need and vestiges of the self-sacrifice she had denied, she felt the swift rise of ardor. It burned along her veins so that her skin seemed heated from the inside, glowing with awakening sensitivity. She curled her fingers into the dark waves of his hair with a soft murmur in her throat of confused and flustered desire.
She accepted his tongue, twining it with her own in sinuous exploration. Then, in growing boldness, she followed his retreat to taste the smooth inner surfaces of his lips. Lost in a wondrous blossoming of the senses, she felt time and place recede. All that was left was the descending darkness and the man who cradled her to him.
His hold loosened. For an instant she knew a fluttering disappointment, then her breath caught in her throat as she felt the open palm of his hand on the skin of her abdomen. He spanned its flatness, smoothing the firm, fine-grained skin in gentle circles before trailing his fingers inexorably downward toward the soft triangle at the apex of her thighs. At the same time, he bent his head and pressed the wet heat of his mouth to her breast.
The nipple tightened under his circling, smoothing tongue. Her breast swelled toward that ravishing caress. The tingling pleasure spread through her in waves. Her heartbeat quickened, throbbing in her chest. The lower part of her body grew suffused and heavy. Then she felt the first shock of his intimate touch.
Her abdomen muscles contracted in spasms and she caught her breath, but did not move, did not draw away. Inside she could sense the unleashing of incalculable impulses. She wanted him, wanted to know what it was to make love with this man. Had she fooled herself with her reasons and causes and sacrifices? Did it matter?
His shoulders under her clasping hands were wide and strong, the muscles supple as they glided with his movements. The aura of power he carried with him, unquenchable even in injury, surrounded her. It affected her with an odd weakness, a languor that urged her toward a surrender of inescapable completeness. There was more than the loss of her virginity at stake, and well she knew it.
She was not the kind to forget, neither was she the kind for half measures. Whispering his name, she touched his face. As he took her lips once more, she gave herself in fervent and silent offering, a gift without encumbrance.
Tenderly marauding, Refugio explored the curves
and hollows of her body, always returning to the seat of her utmost delight. She drew her hand down his chest, touching the flat nipple of one pap tentatively with just her fingertips. His rib cage swelled with his indrawn breath, and he adjusted his position to allow greater access. She spread her fingers wide, feeling the strong beat of his heart, the bands of muscle that encased his ribs, skipping lightly over his bandaging to the flat expanse of his waist. Greatly daring, equally dexterous, she unfastened his underbreeches.
He skimmed from the hampering garment, tossing it aside. As he drew her to him once more, he spread his hand over her hip, drawing her against his hard length.
She was beguiled, and suffused with moist, pulsating heat. But she was not quite without concern. She whispered against his neck, a catch in her voice. “Is it — will it be all right?”
“It will be glorious,” he said with shivers of laughter in his voice. “It will stupendous, a bright reflection of heaven, but it won't be all right, ever.”
“I mean — can you . . .?”
“Who can say? But I must try, or else give you leave to take my guts for leading strings for the idiot I must become, and bid you be a gentle keeper—”
“There is no danger,” she said.
“And yet,” he went on as if she had not spoken, his voice low and not quite controlled, “bid me cease, and I will. I promise I will.”
She did not doubt it. “It's I who need a gentle keeper,” she said.
“Why,” he said, “when I am here?”
And he was gentle. He was also firm and springing and resilient. There was hardly an instant of pain at his entry, and it was eased by myriad caresses and the free flowing of beatitude. She held her pent breath while the core of her dissolved, coalescing around him. She drew him to her with a hand at his waist, pulling him deep and deep and deep and even deeper, as if there was no end to her depths.
He whispered her name, brushing her eyelids with his lips, then he lifted himself higher above her, preparing for the deepest plunge.
It came, and she cried out his name. In rising and falling tumult he gathered her close and swept her with him into rapture. With tightly closed eyes she reveled in the closeness of the union, felt the mounting ecstasy of it vibrating through her, recognized her own sensual joy in his desire for her. There was no fastness left unbreached. She gave herself without stint, enclosing him in vibrant heat. So intense was the ecstasy that the sudden spiraling pinnacle of it caught her by surprise. She cried out again, and his hold tensed while he filled her, prolonging the pleasure to the edge of infinity.
Then, dynamic and elemental, they soared, locked together in promised grandeur. Vivid with perception, they plumbed sensation and found it immense enough to fill the world. There was only the two of them, unclothed, splendid in their communion, unheeding, unneeding, sufficient in their glory.
Pilar felt the rise of tears. In the midst of their liquid heat he plunged into her once more, twice, then gathered her to him, holding the bond as he rolled to his side and was still, deathly still.
Their chests heaved, their hearts thudded together in double time. The ship under them seemed to plunge with them in remembered rhythm, rocking them in soothing reassurance. Refugio, his hand unsteady, brushed her hair from her face so she could breathe more easily. She clenched and unclenched her hand on his arm. Then slowly, by minute degrees, they began to subside.
Concern shifted inside Pilar. With a small exclamation she lifted her hand, reaching to press it to his brow as if testing for fever. He closed his fingers about hers and brought them to his lips. His mouth warm against them, he said, “I'm as peaceful as a twice-shriven monk and blithesome as a petted puppy, with good reason. And you, cara?”
“The same,” she said, her lips curving in a hidden smile.
“Then sleep while I watch for a change.”
She did as she was bid, and did not wake until Enrique came pounding on the door and shouting about breakfast.
They arrived in Havana on the island of Santiago de Cuba some three weeks later. The remainder of the crossing had been without incident and blessed with unusually fair weather. Under the endless parade of sunny skies and days of brisk salt-laden winds, Refugio, had made rapid improvement. He had abandoned his near catatonic state without apparent effort and with little explanation. His manner casual and his dress neat and even lordly, he had sauntered into the salon in mid-afternoon of the day following his night with Pilar.
“My dear count!” Doña Luisa said, rising to her feet and hastening to take his arm. “Welcome, welcome, how we have missed you! Tell us, if you please, to what we owe this miraculous recovery?”
“Why, what else except sea air and the solicitude of friends, and that sovereign remedy for all ills of the flesh, the care of a beautiful woman.”
“You were certainly in my prayers,” the widow said, “but I fear you flatter me.”
“Not at all,” he answered, and as he bowed, turned his gaze to exchange a long and faintly smiling glance with Pilar.
He entertained the company with stories of cunning and wit, with music from his guitar and soft songs that flowed in endless succession far into the evening. If the unaccustomed exertion tired him or pained his wound, there was no sign. The following morning he changed his bandaging himself, then spent the hours before noon strolling the deck with Doña Luisa on one arm and the merchant's young wife on the other. By the end of the week he was exercising with swords with his men on deck while entertaining the watchers with caustic quips.
His temper had not mended with his body. There were times when nothing seemed to suit him. On such occasions his words and phrases had an edge that sliced to the bone. Small things irritated him beyond bearing: a sloppily fastened line, the way the cook had with beans, the scent of Doña Luisa's handkerchief as she flapped it in his face, the sight of Pilar playing at cards with Charro and Enrique. He could not be satisfied until he had tied the line again, decreased the amount of grease in the beans, thrown the widow's handkerchief overboard, and broken up the card party with a spate of orders that sent Charro to one end of the ship and Enrique to the other. The result was that there were long hours when both passengers and crew left him alone. That, at least, suited him.
A certain amount of restlessness was natural for a man like Refugio, one used to action and broad spaces, not only cooped up on a vessel at sea, but haunted by fear for his brother. There was also the specter of his failed duties, the strain of the masquerade, and the constant arch comments and calls upon his person and his patience of Doña Luisa. Another reason, Pilar thought, was the headaches which remained with him. She learned to recognize their symptoms, the heavy-lidded eyes, the tightness at the corners of his mouth. She learned also that it was possible to withstand both his cold manner and his cutting words. All she had to do was ignore them, she found; there was seldom anger behind them, and they were never personal. At least with her.
His followers realized that she had less to fear from him than others; still, they rallied around her, deflecting as many of his barbed comments as possible. Sometimes they even protested at what they felt to be his cavalier treatment. They meant to help, but Pilar thought it only made matters worse. He accused her, in his more savage moods, of beguiling them. It smacked of jealousy, these comments. She would have liked to believe it. It would have been so much more satisfactory than supposing they stemmed from mere irritation of the nerves.
Sometimes at night she massaged his temples and the taut muscles of the back of his neck; it seemed to help. He swore it made it better, also, to have her sleeping beside him. Once when he had made her angry by some comment about her propensity for the company of Charro, she had moved her blankets back to the corner of the cabin. By the time he returned from a late téte-à-tête with the widow, she had finally managed to drop into restless slumber. She was awakened, however, by a sudden jolt as she was lifted against his chest. Carrying her to the bed, he sat down with her in his arms and set himself to cajol
e her with honeyed words and beguiling caresses until she joined him once more on the mattress.
Afterward, as he lay holding her in the hard circle of his arms, he said, “Count Gonzalvo was a wise man.”
“Was he? How so?” Somnolent with content, she smoothed the dark, curling hair on his chest with one finger to keep it from tickling her nose.
“He kept his Venus safe, and his own mind at ease.”
“But what of her?”
“He worshiped her, or so they say, and provided everything she could desire for her amusement.”
“Is that supposed to be enough?”
He bent his head, trying to see her face. “Do you think it's not?”
“To be loved and left free seems better.” She kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet his gaze.
“What, no purdah for you, no harem with high walls? Have you no desire for safety?”
“If I did, I wouldn't be here. I would be in the convent where my stepfather wanted me.”
“True.”
“Besides, if women can't keep men in towers, why should men be allowed the privilege of keeping women there?”
“Why, indeed? Would you like to keep a man in a tower?”
A smile curled her lips. “It sounds dangerous to me, though there is a certain appeal.”
“You would, then,” he said, his voice low and deep. “Shall we go in search of a tower and keep each other there?”
She raised her eyes to meet his then, expecting to see the light of laughter. Instead she saw herself reflected in their gray darkness. There was also a line between his brows, one etched by pain. She lifted her fingers to smooth it, then trailed them down the contour of his cheek to the rigid turn of his jaw. He reached to catch her fingers, carrying them to his lips.
“No?” he said, his breath soft and warm against their sensitive tips. “Then I will make a wall of kisses around you and let it keep us safe for now, if not forever.”
Louisiana History Collection - Part 2 Page 15