by Anne Gracie
“So, I’ve graduated from being a rat?”
That reminded her. “You did make provision for me in your will, didn’t you?”
“Not a single penny do you receive from me,” he said softly.
But she wasn’t deceived. She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “But I won’t be dependent on your mother and sister, will I?”
His eyes gleamed. “No.”
“I knew before dinner it was a lie.” She lay back down on his chest and idly twirled a small curl of chest hair that peeked from the neck of his shirt.
He stroked her shoulder. “How did you know?”
“When you told me your mother was a very kind lady, I knew then you were lying.”
“But my mother is a kind lady.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. She tweaked his chest hair.
“Ouch!”
“So, what provision have you made for me?”
“I told you, none.”
She smacked him lightly on the chest.
He kissed her. “I’ll tell you when we get to England.”
“Why not now?”
“Because, my dear, you are a terrible liar, and we don’t want to get Cousin Twice-Removed all het up and murderous again, do we?”
“Tell me or I’ll make you bald in the chest.” She slid her hand inside his undershirt and encountered a patch of hard-ridged skin in the hollow beneath his shoulder. “What is that?”
He jerked her hand away and sat up roughly, spilling her back on the bed. “Nothing,” he said brusquely.
“But—”
“Siesta is over.” He flipped back the bedclothes, pulled on his drawers and breeches, and dragged his shirt on over his head. “Do you want to stay at Valle Verde and sort out something with your sister, or shall we leave now and kidnap her for her own good?” He grabbed his neckcloth and tied it with deft precision.
Bella sat up, pulling the bedclothes around her, watching her husband pretend nothing had just happened. What was hidden under that shirt he wouldn’t take off? He wasn’t shy. When she’d first met him he’d taken off his shirt in the heat. He had no problem going bare-chested then. He had a rather beautiful chest, as she recalled.
Was that it? Some hideously ugly war wound he felt he had to hide from her? What kind of a shallow person did he think she was? Did he think she didn’t know that soldiers could be wounded and scarred?
He avoided her gaze and finished dressing. She could tell by the set of his mouth that he wasn’t going to talk about it.
But she wasn’t going to let it go. She wasn’t going to go through her marriage with a man who slept in his shirt. But now was not the time.
“I’d like to go for a ride later, if Ramón will let us,” she said. “I would like to show you the home of my childhood. I will ask Perlita.”
She glanced at the looking glass on the dressing table and remembered what she’d been doing before Luke had distracted her. She pulled her chemise on and ran across to the dressing table.
“What are you doing?”
She slipped her fingers into the open side drawer. “There’s a secret compartment and I hid them here before I left. At dinner I got such a fright realizing Ramón had sold furniture—that he would do that never occurred to me. Thank God he didn’t sell this.” She grimaced, trying to move the hidden lever. “I didn’t know I’d be gone for eight years, and Papa had said not to risk them on the journey. Besides, I would have had no use for them in a convent.”
“Use for what?”
“Mama’s pearls—oh!” The secret drawer sprang open and she stared into it, dismayed. “It’s empty. Mama’s pearls are gone.”
Luke made as quick an exit as he decently could from the bedchamber, leaving Isabella to dress by herself and speculate some more on what had happened to her pearls.
Luke wasn’t surprised they’d disappeared. It was naive of her to imagine they’d be where she’d left them, secret drawer or not. Ramón would have gone through this place with a fine-tooth comb, stripping it of anything worth selling. The pearls were long gone, he imagined. Pity, but there it was.
He’d buy her more pearls when they got to London.
In the meantime, he needed to get away. He was starting to feel… he wasn’t sure exactly what. A bit out of control, perhaps. Usually he liked the feeling that anything might happen, but this was different.
He walked out onto the terrace. It was lined with scraggly weeds. Ramón didn’t waste a penny on anything that was not productive.
Luke breathed in the cool air sliding down from the mountains. Times like this he almost wished he’d taken to cigarillos, as so many men had during the war. He imagined it would be a soothing thing to be able to step outside and blow a cloud. A kind of declaration of privacy.
But he hadn’t picked up the habit. And his privacy… well, the less said of that the better. It was very much under threat.
Luke strolled along a pathway that led around the back of the house. Stupid idea to come to Spain on his own. He should have brought a companion, or at least a manservant, someone to keep them from being alone together all the time. He should have hired her a maid.
He could do that now, hire someone from Valle Verde, someone she could talk to, someone from home. Brilliant idea. He strode along, feeling better.
It would help if he could keep his hands off her, he thought. But he couldn’t. Her slender, lissome body, all silken skin and warm, responsive eagerness. He recalled the feeling of her limbs twining around him, the blind rapture of her face lifted to his as he entered her, the feeling as her body closed around him and clenched tight… He groaned. He was ready, right now, to turn, march back to the bedchamber, and bed her all over again.
Control. He needed more control.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it was only her body that obsessed him, but she had an… allure about her that he couldn’t resist; an honesty, a zest for life that entranced him.
And she was very good company. He enjoyed talking to her almost as much as bedding her. Almost.
God, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d lost control so completely with a woman. Lost all awareness of who and where he was. Never before…
He shoved the thought aside.
Luke walked past the stables. He would have liked to go in, see what was happening there. Ramón had an eye for good horseflesh, he could see, but a man’s stables were private. One needed an invitation.
He walked on. There was a spring in his step that hadn’t been there for… he didn’t know how long. And the bouts of restlessness and gloom that had plagued him ever since…
His headstrong little wife kept him busy, that was all. Careering all over the country.
His nightmares, too, were less severe. Isabella woke him almost as soon as they started. She seemed to know, even in her sleep, that he was dreaming again.
All this time he’d never realized the solution was not to sleep alone. Simple, really.
In many ways marriage suited him surprisingly well. It was just a little too… intimate.
He could still almost feel her fingers touching that damned scar. Blast it. She’d see it eventually. And then the questions would start. Stripping him bare.
Behind the stables half a dozen women sat around by a trestle table laughing and chatting as they stripped the husks from cobs of maize. They smiled at Luke and bobbed their heads. Luke greeted them and walked on, his thoughts miles away.
He’d had a wound once that had been treated and bandaged and left to heal. The bandage had become glued to his wound. It had been quite all right; there was no pain, just some throbbing, which was quite bearable, and a faint smell, but only if you sniffed it up close.
Finally Rafe and Gabe insisted he remove it. It was crusted on, part of his flesh. He’d tried soaking it, but it wouldn’t come off. Luke was all for leaving it as it was; no harm, it would eventually fall off of its own accord.
But Rafe had fetched a physician, and the fellow had t
aken one look and ripped the bandage off, painful, tearing the old wound open again and releasing a flood of pus.
The healing had to start all over again, and yes, exposed to the air it healed quickly, but to this day Luke was sure if left alone it would have healed by itself. And far less painfully.
He wasn’t going to let anyone rip off his protective covering again. Not even his wife.
Especially not his wife. She still had… illusions.
Vanity, thy name is Luke, he thought ruefully. But he’d deprived her of her home, her country, and any choice in marriage, and he didn’t want to rid her of her last illusions about her husband.
Vanity? No, he decided. Cowardice.
So be it. A man was entitled to his privacy.
He would get her a maidservant to talk to. That would put an end to this… galloping intimacy.
Bella sought out her sister and broached the matter of the pearls.
“And so is revealed the real reason you decided to ‘drop in’ to Valle Verde,” Perlita said in a hard voice. “Those pearls.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Bella protested. “It was just… while I was here, I thought—”
“You would get what you could. Well, you won’t. Whatever was left in this house eight years ago now belongs to Ramón and is his to do with what he chooses.”
“I did not come here to get what I could. Besides, those pearls belonged to me, not the estate.”
Perlita shrugged. “What do you care? You are married to a rich man; he can buy you more pearls.”
“It’s not the same. They were a wedding present to my mother from her mother and father. My grandfather collected the pearls himself from the South Seas.”
“Too bad. You should have taken them with you when you left.”
“I suppose Ramón sold them. He’s sold everything else of value.”
“Ramón does what he must to make the estate flourish.”
“Including marrying the first heiress who comes along? And what of you, Perlita? Where will you and your loyalty be then?”
“Do not look down your nose at Ramón,” Perlita flashed. “He is no different from your father—our father.”
Bella was outraged. “Papa was nothing like Ramón! He—”
Perlita made a sharp gesture. “Hah! Papa married your mother for her fortune, did he not? For the sake of Valle Verde, no? It is exactly the same.”
“It is not the same!”
“No, because Papa’s sacrifice was in vain. Your grandfather cheated him by making sure he could not use most of the money, by ensuring most of the money went to the children of the marriage. To you.”
“My grandfather did?” Bella knew nothing of this. She’d always known Mama’s fortune would come to her and not to Papa’s heir, but not that Papa felt he’d been cheated. He never discussed such matters with her, and she’d been too intimidated—and probably too young—to ask.
“It’s why he would never let your grandparents visit.”
“They didn’t visit because they died shortly after Mama died.”
“Did they?” Perlita said incuriously. “It’s not what my mother said.”
“Anyway, I would have given Papa whatever he needed—”
Perlita snorted. “He tried to get his hands on some of it during the war. I heard him and Mama talking about it. Neither you nor he could touch it. It’s in some kind of trust until you turn one-and-twenty, or were married.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I suppose, being rich and spoiled all your life, you never think about where the money comes from.”
Bella gave her half sister an incredulous look. Rich and spoiled all her life? She’d been rich only in theory, and as for spoiled, Papa had been a harder taskmaster than the most severe of the nuns at the convent. And for a good part of the last eight years she’d lived on the verge of starvation. That’s why she was all skin and bones.
She wasn’t the one with the lush figure. Or the beautiful dresses. Perlita had changed into another dress after the siesta. This one was shimmering gold. It brought out the gold in her hair.
Ramón might have to sell paintings and other people’s pearls to raise money for the estate, but he didn’t stint on Perlita’s clothing.
She opened her mouth to explain to Perlita just how rich and spoiled she hadn’t been, when Perlita turned and walked onto the terrace. Bella hurried to catch up with her. “I didn’t know anything about it,” she repeated. She felt so foolish, discovering all this from a younger half sister.
Perlita glanced at Bella over her shoulder and asked, “Did you never wonder why Papa hated your grandfather?”
“Not really. Most of the time he never even spoke of him. One time I heard him say Mama’s father was a pirate and a thief, like all the English.”
Perlita curled her lip. “Because he tricked him in the marriage settlements and robbed him of his pride. Papa should have had all the money. It’s why he married your mother, after all. God knows he never loved her, plain little dab of a thing that she was.”
“Do not dare to insult my mother!” Bella flashed, her fists clenched.
There was a short silence. “I apologize. It is how my mother spoke of her. She was… envious.” Perlita laid a hand on Bella’s arm and said softly, “I’m sorry. I did not think.”
Bella forced herself to unclench her fists. She gave a curt little nod, accepting the apology. It was the first time Perlita had made any gesture toward her, and she wasn’t going to rebuff it.
Still, it outraged her that her father had discussed these things with his mistress in front of Perlita but never bothered to explain anything to her. No doubt because she was a plain little dab of a thing, too.
Perlita said, “All I know is that it galled Papa terribly that all he had was a daughter who would bring a fortune in marriage to some other man.”
Bella knew that. It was why Papa had planned to marry her to Felipe. Except Felipe had died, and the heir became Ramón. And that was a very different matter.
For the first time it occurred to her to wonder why Ramón was such an impossible match for her. Despite his crudeness and lack of polish, he was still the heir.
“Papa didn’t want me to marry Ramón,” she said. “When he knew Ramón would inherit, he sent a message to me to go to the convent in the mountains, to escape him. Now I’m wondering why.”
Perlita gave a cynical laugh. “Did you not know? They were on opposite sides, politically. Papa led his own band of guerilleros; Ramón remained loyal to the Crown—”
“But the Crown was held by Napoleon’s brother!” Bella exclaimed, shocked. “He was a puppet!”
Perlita waved an indifferent hand. “Ramón does not care for politics. He did what he thought best for Valle Verde.”
And whatever Ramón did was obviously all right by Perlita, Bella thought. She was infatuated with the man. Why, she couldn’t imagine.
They strolled on, out past the pond that had once been filled with water lilies and was now choked with weeds, past the rosebushes that straggled, unpruned and neglected. Bella tried not to think about how much of the beauty of her former home was being let go in favor of what was practical. The orchards, fields, and kitchen garden were well tended and productive. She might not like the choices Ramón had made, but it was becoming clear he did care a great deal for Valle Verde. How much he cared for her sister was another matter.
“I didn’t come to Valle Verde for my pearls,” she told Perlita. “I came for you.”
Perlita stopped and swung around to face her. “You said that before, but still I do not believe you. Why would you come for me?”
Bella took a deep breath and made her confession for the second time. “Eight years ago, when I left Valle Verde to take refuge in the Convent of the Angels, it was on Papa’s orders.”
“So?”
“So I should have taken you and your mother with me. It was what he wanted. And I have always felt terrible that I disobeyed—”
&nb
sp; “He told you to take my mother and me with you?” Perlita interrupted.
“Yes.”
“To a convent?”
“Yes, where you would be safe.”
“With nuns?”
“Of course, with nuns. My aunt was a nun there. She is now Mother Sup—”
Perlita burst out laughing. “Lord, I would have liked to see you try. Take Mama to a convent? She would rather have died.”
Bella blinked. It was the last reaction she’d expected.
“And me, I would have hated it, too.” Perlita spluttered with laughter. “The clothes for a start. And then there’s all that chanting and praying and kneeling.”
“And sewing,” Bella added balefully.
Perlita stopped laughing and eyed her shrewdly. “You hated it?”
“Every minute I was there,” Bella admitted. “And most of the praying I did was to be let out.” They both burst out laughing, and at the end they looked at each other with a new understanding.
“All this time, I’ve felt so guilty,” Bella confessed. “I was angry with Papa because he was more worried about you and your mother than me. I left you behind because I was so jealous of you. I have felt so guilty about it since.”
Perlita made a careless gesture. “We were children. I was jealous of you, too.”
“It is the only time I ever disobeyed my father.”
Perlita gave a little huff of laughter. “Nonsense.”
Bella gave her an indignant look. Perlita said, “You were often disobedient.”
“I was not!”
“What about the time you rode the black stallion bareback?”
“Oh.” She’d been severely beaten for that.
“And when your menses began and Papa told you that you had to ride sidesaddle and must learn to be a lady and the very next day you—”
“All right, I didn’t always obey Papa in every single little thing. But I still should have—”
Perlita shook her head. “What? Carried Mama and me—kicking and screaming—to a nunnery? And you a child of thirteen? The whole idea was ludicrous from the start. Forget about it, Isabella. Get on with your life.”
And with those matter-of-fact words, the burden of guilt and self-recrimination Bella had been carrying all these years lifted.