Sweet Savage Love

by Rosemary Rogers

  During the short time that Steve stayed, having performed the necessary introductions in his usual negligent manner, Renaldo found himself observing them both. His cousin’s dark face was unreadable, his manner towards the girl light, and almost teasingly affectionate. But there was something there, beneath the surface. Steve never showed anything that he did not want to show, except for occasional flashes of anger.

  Ginny Brandon was more transparent. She had been horribly embarrassed at first, although she had bravely tried not to show it—later, Renaldo could see her begin to relax; once or twice she even smiled at him gratefully and he could feel his anger at Steve begin to rise again.

  In the days that followed Ginny and Renaldo found themselves thrown together more and more. Steve was staying officially with his grandfather, although he sometimes contrived to “visit Renaldo” and spend a night with Ginny. Occasionally, he took her riding, always insisting that Renaldo accompany them too. They fenced, he noticed, almost like strangers who disliked each other. And yet—he was only too much aware of those nights that his cousin spent in the little house. There were no screams, Esteban bore no more scars, and Ginny always seemed quieter the following day, her eyelids heavy, a warm glow underlying her apricottinted skin. So she accepted the situation…but what, he’d ask himself fiercely, was her alternative? His unpredictable cousin had taken her as a virgin, had taught her body sensuality, no doubt. Steve had a way with women. And now, even though her mind might hate it, he was sure that Ginny’s passionate female body could not deny its own urgings.

  What a situation! He wondered if, in spite of the brave and sometimes shrewish front she showed she was actually in love with Steve. Poor girl! He hoped she was not. At the moment, because she was like a wild thing not yet quite tame, Steve desired her. But later? What would become of her?

  Ginny had almost stopped wondering that herself, except when she would catch Renaldo’s sorrowful, sympathetic dark eyes on her and sensed his concern for her. She threw herself into the lazy, unhurried pattern of her days in the little house, not daring to think of the future.

  Her days were no longer ruled by haste—she had all the leisure in the world. Renaldo seemed always to be there when she needed companionship; at other times, there were the books in his library, discussions that touched on almost every subject possible, games of chess. It seemed an unspoken agreement between them that they not discuss her relationship with Steve, although from time to time Renaldo would relate incidents from their boyhood. She wondered rather bitterly at times if Renaldo hoped to teach her to understand Steve better. If he only knew how pointless that would be, how impossible!

  Steve had told her he must go to Mexico City soon, but he stayed for over a week—almost ten days, in fact. It was because of this mysterious grandfather of his, of course—he seemed to be the only person in the world that Steve respected enough to be considerate of. And yet, she could hardly reconcile it with what Renaldo had told her of the Senor Alvarado’s sternness and insistence upon discipline—the way Steve had kept running away as a boy. Why, now that he was a man, did he come back? She was curious about Steve’s grandfather, but dared not ask too many questions, even of Renaldo, who was growing more and more into a friend. She imagined the old man as being stern-faced and rather frightening, and wondered how he had allowed his only daughter to marry an Americano.

  And as for Steve Morgan himself—she could not help noticing that in some subtle, almost indefinable way, he had altered. He came very seldom in the daytime, and when he did come at night she was usually asleep already—would wake to find him beside her, his hands caressing her, his lips on her temples or her breasts. She’d be too sleepy to protest, and he knew it. Her guard down, her body responded to his without reserve—almost by instinct. And when she’d open her eyes in the morning, ready to quarrel with him, he’d be gone.

  When they were together, he was polite to her, but almost absentmindedly so. She supposed that she ought to be relieved he left her to her own devices so much, and had forced no added humiliations on her, but as the long, languid days passed Ginny found herself wondering what he did with himself all day, and where he went.

  “Where is your grandfather’s house?” she asked him carelessly one day when they were out riding together, and he pointed behind them.

  “Several miles away. It takes me quite a while to get back down here.”

  “I suppose I should be honored?” she queried sharply.

  She saw the grooves in his lean face deepen as he smiled.

  “You don’t know my grandfather. It takes a lot of evasion and quite a bit of lying to get away from him. In fact he’s been hinting that I should decide to stay and help with—some of the chores around the place.”

  “You’re quite good at lies and evasion. No doubt you must keep in practice.”

  He laughed outright this time.

  “Touché!” With a touch of his knees he brought his horse closer to the mare he’d borrowed for her from Renaldo. “But I’m going to miss you when I leave tomorrow, and that’s the truth.”

  “Tomorrow!” For an instant her voice was unguarded, betraying something like dismay.

  “I’ll be back in two weeks—if all goes well. Try to miss me a little, Ginny.”

  He put his hand on the back of her neck and turned her head, kissing her half-open mouth.

  Afterwards, when she knew that he had really gone, she remembered that his kiss had been tender, and his words, although teasingly uttered, had sounded almost regretful. But what had he been regretting?

  26

  With Steve gone on some mysterious errand to Mexico City, Ginny had almost too much time in which to think and torture herself with questions and doubts. She hated him! She had told him so, crying with vexation, when he had stopped by the little house very early in the morning, dressed quite incongruously as a Mexican peasant.

  Why did he always have to be so mysterious? And if his business concerned her, why couldn’t he tell her about it? What did he intend to do about her? She stormed him with questions, none of which he would answer. He told her to be patient, and finally, driven into a rage, he had told her coldly that she was turning into a shrew and he would be glad to be rid of her.

  “Unfortunately,” he said between clenched jaws, “my cousin Renaldo has reminded me that I am, in part, responsible for you. He agrees with you that I’m a dishonorable wretch for having kidnapped you in the first place. Well, believe me, I’ve had time to regret that precipitate action of mine! I’m afraid I’ve lived away from civilization too long, I’m used to taking what I want.” His hands had bruised her shoulders. “As soon as I return, Ginny, I’ll see about taking you back. You’ll finally be free—and by God, so will I!”

  Even Renaldo’s quiet presence was no consolation to Ginny that day. She hated Steve—she hoped that he would never return—she hated herself for her own body’s sensuality and weakness. He hated her too, of course! Obviously, it was only physical desire that formed the strange, unmentionable bond between them. It had been that, and nothing else that had attracted her to him in the first place. But how dared he deposit her here so casually and then ride away? Why decide to set her free only when he had already brought her into the very heart of Mexico? For what secret purpose had he planned to use his captivity of her?

  By the afternoon of the second day, the tumult in Ginny’s mind had subsided into a sullen resignation. There was nothing to do now, but to wait. How she hated it, having to endure everything he forced upon her. She was reminded of the endless-seeming days she had spent in El Paso, locked in the small room above Lilas’ fancy saloon. Here, at least, she had freedom of a sort, and Renaldo’s companionship, but how, and when would it all end?

  Ginny had taken a book out into the patio, but it was impossible to concentrate on reading, and besides, she had read this book, a novel by Alexandre Dumas, before. She needed movement, the blowing of fresh air against her face. If only she could persuade old Manuel to saddle
up the mare! Ginny frowned, then, thinking with a feeling of annoyance that he would probably stammer and hang his head—make some excuse. He’d probably tell her again that it was dangerous—she did not know the country, and besides the Señor had expressly forbidden that she go riding alone.

  She’d been told this before, but when she’d protested sharply to Renaldo, he had, for once, agreed with Steve.

  “It’s not proper for a young lady to go anywhere alone. This is a country of duennas, I’m afraid!”

  Only consideration for Renaldo’s feelings had prevented Ginny from retorting bitterly that she would hardly be considered a lady if her real position here were known.

  Now, she wished that Renaldo were home. But this morning he had explained rather apologetically that he would be busy all day going over accounts. She had seen him leave, and had wondered rather curiously whose books he was going over. But then, Renaldo was kindhearted, helping everyone. Look how much he had done for her, and for her drooping morale!

  I suppose, if I put my mind to it, there are any number of things I could find to occupy myself with, Ginny mused. Soon afterwards she thought impatiently that she was really far too lazy, and it was too hot. I’m going to end up fat and lethargic, insisting on my siesta each day, if this goes on much longer! she scolded herself. She had laid her book on the wooden table beside her chair, and now, determinedly, she picked it up and began to read. But in a short while her mind had begun to wander again.

  Renaldo had many books written in French in his library. She remembered that he had told her he’d visited France some years ago. “I had to take the grand tour,” Renaldo had said deprecatingly. “My father was alive then, and he insisted upon it.” Ginny wondered if it had been Renaldo who had taught Steve French. In some ways, Steve reminded her of the character D’Artagnan—but then he was by no means as polished a gentleman, nor gallant. He was not a gentleman at all; his manners were like a very thin veneer, cracking easily and often to reveal the savagery underneath.

  The sound of horse’s hooves, pounding at a furious gallop and obviously coming closer, startled Ginny into dropping her book again. Her eyes widened curiously as a horse dashed into the small clearing and its rider began to give a demonstration of fine horsemanship as she controlled the animal with her gloved hands, finally bringing it to a rearing halt only a few feet away from Ginny, who had instinctively risen to her feet.

  The rider, a girl, smiled down at her rather mockingly.

  “Were you afraid that Ilario would crush you with his hooves?” she demanded in heavily accented English. A look of barely controlled disappointment flashed in her dark eyes when Ginny shrugged and shook her head coolly, studying her unexpected visitor with some curiosity.

  “Was I supposed to be frightened? You appeared to be an excellent rider, and perfectly able to control your animal.”

  “Yes, I do ride well. Everyone says so!”

  Laughing a little in a pleased fashion, the girl dismounted gracefully, and stood facing Ginny, her eyes openly appraising.

  Something about her bold, almost rude stare made Ginny uncomfortably aware of her own rather dishevelled appearance. Because of the heat she had dressed casually this morning, finding the loose camisa and colorful skirt of Mexico far more suited to its climate than the voluminous skirts and long sleeves of her other clothes. On her feet, she wore huaraches; again, the coolest and most comfortable footgear she could find.

  Her visitor, on the other hand, seemed almost overdressed in her dark purple riding habit that was exquisitely cut to show off a figure of almost voluptuous maturity. And yet, close-up, the girl was much younger than she had appeared even at first. She appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen and had dark, wide-set eyes and straight, dark brown hair that was tied back with a wide velvet ribbon that exactly matched her riding habit. Privately, Ginny considered the color far too old for a girl so young…almost in self-defense she was studying her as openly as her visitor studied her own appearance.

  “I am Dona Ana,” the girl said abruptly. She gave an unexpected, short laugh, and looked more like a child for a moment. “I’ve run away from my duenna—on purpose, so that I could see you!”

  Without ceremony she perched herself on the edge of a chair, not bothering to hide the look of open curiosity on her face.

  “You are not in the least as I expected you to be,” she went on, pulling the small, flat velvet hat from her head and tossing it carelessly on the table. “In fact, I might as well tell you that you are very different from the way I’d pictured you!”

  Ginny forced herself to sit down, and answer the girl calmly, feigning a composure she hardly felt.

  “Oh, indeed? And may I ask what you expected to find?”

  The girl put her head on one side and seemed to consider.

  “Well, for one thing, you are a little younger than I’d expected. And you don’t paint your face. But I suppose Renaldo would not like that. He is such a stuffy and conventional type of man!” She burst out giggling. “At least, that is what everyone thought up until now, of course. Who would have thought it of Renaldo!”

  Ginny’s fingers curled in her lap from the sudden desire she felt to slap this girl’s impudent, smiling face. But she forced herself to speak calmly.

  “You seem to know a lot about me. Suppose you tell me who you are? All I can assume, of course, is that you’re very young indeed, and that you must have come here for some reason besides idle curiosity. Surely you don’t intend to keep me in suspense?”

  A trifle disconcerted by Ginny’s unexpected attack, and the coolly controlled tone of her voice, Ana had begun to flush rather angrily, and to look disconcerted.

  “I’ve already told you my name, and why I came. Hasn’t Renaldo told you anything at all about his family? I must say, he’s surprised and shocked everybody! Who would have thought that Renaldo would suddenly decide to keep a mistress, and particularly a gringa!”

  For a moment, Ginny was too angry and too dumbfounded to speak. Her green eyes narrowed dangerously, and her hands clenched into fists. This girl was not only rude and mannerless, but her contemptuous insinuations were too much to bear! To think that she thought Ginny was poor Renaldo’s light of love! And how like Steve, to arrange things so cleverly that everyone would think thus!

  Ana seemed pleased at Ginny’s sudden and unexpected silence. Clearly, she thought she’d thrown her into a state of confusion by her bluntness. Now she leaned forward, her voice condescending.

  “You need not fear that I’ll tell el patrón. I can be discreet, sometimes! And besides,” she said carelessly, “I’m sure he would not approve of my being here, and nor would my duenna.”

  “And who,” Ginny’s voice was only barely controlled, she felt that her whole face had gone stiff with anger so that she could hardly produce the words, “is el patrón?”

  She saw Ana’s stare of surprise.

  “You ask me that? Why, everybody knows Don Francisco! You’re living on his land, after all, and lucky for you that he…oh!” Childlike, her attention was easily distracted, and she had snatched up Ginny’s book and was staring at it, frowning.

  “You were reading a book written in French?” Her voice sounded incredulous; looking up she caught Ginny’s flashing eyes and her own became rather spiteful. “Oh, perhaps at one time—before—you were a governess? Is that how Renaldo met you?”

  “Perhaps if you had had a governess she might have improved your manners,” Ginny said forcibly. She jumped to her feet, too angry to stay seated. “You really are a most provoking child,” she went on, not caring that Ana’s eyes had slitted, almost like a cat’s. “But then, I suppose you were deliberately trying to be so. Why? Don’t they teach children their manners here?”

  “How dare you speak to me like that!” Like an angry feline, Ana, too, sprang to her feet. She faced Ginny with her eyes spitting fury. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m no child, I’m betrothed already, to the heir of el patrón. Why, I’ll be the r
ichest, most envied woman in the whole province when we marry—which is more than you can ever hope for, a woman of your type.”

  “You insufferable, spoiled brat! It takes a woman to recognize what type another woman is, and as for being married, believe me I feel nothing but pity for the poor man who’s forced to marry you!”

  Ginny felt her cheeks burn with rage, and she wasn’t in the least bit afraid when she saw Ana’s gloved hands tighten over the handle of her braided leather riding quirt.

  The girl’s voice shook with uncontrollable rage.

  “Why you—you puta! Yes, that is what you are, I heard tia say so! A fallen woman, she said—a gringa puta—to think I had actually begun to feel sorry for you!”

  “Well, don’t waste your pity, little girl,” Ginny snapped. She drew in a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “I really am surprised that an apparently well-brought-up child should use such language, and especially to a guest,” she went on more coolly than she felt. “Why don’t you make sure of the facts before you start flinging your ridiculous, insolent accusations around? I might as well call you a little trollop because you’re here unchaperoned, and show an obvious lack of breeding and manners as well!”

  “Oh, oh! How dare you?” Ana’s voice was shrill with rage, she looked like an angry tigress. “When I tell Don Francisco, he’ll have you whipped! Yes, and your precious Renaldo will be in trouble too, for bringing you here and flaunting you in the faces of everyone as his mistress.”

  The girl’s rage gave Ginny the advantage and she pressed it home with a small, sarcastic smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Since I don’t know who this mysterious Don Francisco is, I see no reason to be afraid of him,” she said reasonably. “But since you appear terrified at the thought of his rage, perhaps you’d better leave before someone catches you here and gives you the spanking you deserve.”