by Henke, Shirl
Father Salvador coughed delicately, breaking into his ruminations. “Er, what are you going to do, patrón? Your lady mother would be greatly upset if this child were to arrive in such a public manner.”
“The child is her own granddaughter,” Fortune said coldly.
“The child is the get of a sinful young woman you flaunted in front of God and your family,” Father Salvador said in confusion. “When she confessed her fall to me, you wanted no more part of her than did your father. Surely that has not changed. I will go to Hermosillo and take her to—”
“No!” Nicholas interrupted furiously, then clamped a rein on his temper and continued calmly, “You will do nothing. I was planning to ride into the city myself on business. I will see to my daughter.”
The look of incredulity on the priest's face indicated how out of character such a statement was for a man like Lucero Alvarado. Did he suspect that Nicholas was an impostor? He had known Luce since his half brother was a boy, although Luce had made it clear that he had always heartily detested the priest and stayed as far away from him as possible. Don Anselmo had even brought in tutors for his son so his wife's confessor did not have to soil his holy soul by teaching a son of Satan like Luce.
No, the sour old priest disliked him, but that only aided Nicholas’ masquerade for Father Salvador expected the patrón to behave scandalously. He gave the priest an insolent grin and sauntered past him as if he had not a care on earth.
While he prepared for dinner, however, Nicholas felt anything but carefree. What would he do about the complication of females in his life? If he brought Rosario home, not only would it infuriate Doña Sofia, it would also humiliate Mercedes. She had already inadvertently betrayed how shamed and inadequate her husband's affair with Innocencia had made her feel. Bringing the physical proof of his philandering to raise as his own child would no doubt build a wall between them he could never breach.
And he did want to breach the defenses of this proud and lonely woman who had become his wife. His wife. When had he begun thinking of her as his instead of Luce's? From the moment you laid eyes on her and smelled her lavender scent and knew he was mistaken about her passion, that's when.
Damn. What could he do about Rosario? Follow Father Salvador and the Mother Superior's suggestion and salve his conscience by sending her to Durango with a sack full of coins? That was certainly an easier way to handle matters than claiming her as his own at this late date. Yet the idea sat sour on his gut, eating at him like a canker. He knew all too well what it felt like to be shipped off, to live with people who wanted you no more than had those who already deserted you.
“She's my blood. I can't leave her with strangers,” he muttered grimly, wondering how disastrously his decision would affect Mercedes. Bringing home a bastard child would be uncharacteristic enough for the patrón. He dared not defer to her wishes and avoid his duty to provide a legitimate male heir. Anyway, the sparks between them this afternoon had been undeniable. The lady may have thought she wanted to sleep alone, but he knew women. And he knew damn well she was mistaken. If he had the time to woo her slowly he could convince her of the truth, but that was not an option.
Cursing the rotten timing, he slipped on his jacket and inspected the elegantly clad stranger in the mirror. Luce's suit of charcoal gray wool fit him with the grace only bestowed by custom tailoring on a man of superb proportions. A white silk shirt and snowy ruffled stock accented his sun-darkened face. He studied that face, feature by feature, as if discovering it for the first time.
My father's face. Hispanic, haughty and hawkish. Yet did it hold the indolent decadence that he detected in Don Anselmo's portrait, hanging in the sala? He hoped not, although he had certainly never taken any pride in his mother's heritage. He had seen firsthand the stock from which she had sprung. Perhaps there was some distant ancestor on the Alvarado side who had character and integrity.
Sliding a sapphire signet ring on his finger, he grinned sardonically at the reflection in the mirror. Here he was wearing another man's clothes and jewelry, living under false pretenses in his house and planning to seduce his wife tonight—and he dared to think about integrity! He had done many things to survive over the years, things of which he was not proud. Perhaps rescuing Rosario would erase a few of the sins weighing on his soul, not the least of which would be his enjoyment of the beauteous Mercedes.
She was waiting for him in the dining room, dressed in a demure-looking little gown of sprigged muslin in various shades of rose and pale pink. “You look like a concoction of sugar candy,” he said, causing her to turn suddenly and face him. She clutched a glass of wine in both hands. “Of course, the neckline is rather...concealing, but the way you fill out the bodice almost makes up for that deficiency. Anyway, since I'll soon see what lies beneath the layers of clothing, it doesn't really matter, does it?”
“You delight in tormenting me with your crude sexual taunts, don't you, Lucero?” Her tone of voice indicated it was a rhetorical question. “I used to shiver and blush and stammer when you made remarks like that.”
He stalked closer. “Oh, I can still make you blush, as pinkly as your girlishly sweet dress. Did you choose it to make me feel I was robbing the cradle again—taking that insipid little virgin who bored me so four years ago?” Two could play at rhetorical questions, he indicated with a smile. “As you've already made quite clear to me, you aren't that fainting miss any longer.” His eyes swept to the glass in her hand. “For courage? Surely the patrona of Gran Sangre doesn't need it.” He took the heavy crystal glass and raised it to his lips, turning the rim to drink from the exact spot where her lips had touched. “You may not faint, but I promise to make you shiver...in satisfaction.”
His low, sibilant words sent a frisson of white heat coursing through her like a bolt of lightning. He was standing beside her now and she could feel his warm breath on her cheek as he bent down and pressed his mouth to the curve of her throat. Blessed Virgin! She had thought his words had scalded her. What did the fiery burn of those beautiful lips do?
She would not flinch away like the insipid little virgin he named her. But neither could she stand as unresponsively still as she wished to do. The strange, mesmerizing combination of his sexual hunger and his tenderness made her ache to melt against him.
He could feel her sway imperceptibly toward him. Sitting through a formal dinner at the large oak table would only allow her more time to think of what lay ahead and resurrect all sorts of long-buried fears. The way she studied the wine bottle on the sideboard indicated her need for its false courage. Best he strike now. She was showing some promise of giving in to the naturally passionate instincts he sensed.
Suddenly her husband's arm swept around her. He picked her up and pressed her against his chest in one fluid motion that left her so breathless with surprise all she could do was let out a small gasp. “Lucero—”
“To hell with dinner. We'll eat later. I've plans for us that will work up sufficient appetites for Angelina to roast us two fat chickens!”
Just then the old cook stepped through the heavy doorway to the kitchen, carrying a steaming tray which she almost dropped in amazement. Her meaty reddened hands tightened on the handles as she set it on the sideboard, then watched the carry his wife from the room. Her expression was impassive but for the sadness in her dark eyes.
Nicholas half expected Mercedes to struggle or scream out in protest as he carried her across the foyer to the wide curving stairs.
Instead, her voice was low and rigid with controlled fury. She hissed in his ear, “Do your worst. I cannot stop you. Father Salvador would only remind me that it's my duty to submit to my husband.”
The bitterness in her voice almost made him relent. She sounded so desolate. Again he cursed his brother for treating her so shamefully, then vowed to show her how different things could be between a man and his woman.
And she is my woman, my wife. Or, she would be after tonight. When he reached the door to his bedchamber, Ba
ltazar stood inside it, a set of clean towels on his arm. Like Angelina and the rest of the old house servants, he had learned to school his emotions, revealing nothing to his master. Yet there remained a silent reproach in his eyes. He held the door ajar for the , then stepped outside it so Don Lucero could enter with his wife in his arms.
Mercedes could not bear to look at the dignified old servant who had always been so kind to her. She stared over her husband's shoulder as he turned to step through the door with her. That was when she saw Innocencia. The other woman stood at the top of the staircase staring at them. Her whole body was rigid with rage and her face was contorted with hate. The venom in her black eyes was a palpable thing.
Just as quickly as her rival's face flashed before her, it vanished as she was carried into the softly lit bedroom, his room. In her four years on Gran Sangre she had never set foot inside it, although she knew his mistress often had.
It should be Innocencia, not me, in his arms. All too soon it would be again, she was certain.
Unaware of Innocencia's presence outside, Nicholas strode toward the bed as Baltazar quietly closed the door behind them. He could feel a renewed stiffness in her body as he neared the big canopied bed, but he attributed it to the proximity of the bed and all it must symbolize to her. Slowly he set her on her feet beside it, still holding her closely against his body.
“This is your bed,” she said coldly. “You've never brought me here before because you always have other visitors in the night after you've finished with me.”
After you've finished with me. The words spoke volumes to him. “Ah, wife, but I don't plan to finish with you until first cock,” he whispered with a chuckle at the pun. First cock was a Mexican idiom for the rising sun.
Fury sluiced over her in fresh waves. At least before he had strode through his door under the cover of darkness and done the hateful act quickly, then left her alone while he cavorted with his harlot. “What cruel new game do you play, Lucero?”
“Not cruel at all, but a very delightful game, I promise,” he whispered, ignoring her frosty facade and her anger. He stood back and studied her with the deliberation of an artist examining a potential model for a nude painting.
Her heart came leaping into her throat when she divined his intent. “Surely you don't...you can't expect me to...”
He let his hand graze her jaw, then brush down the curve of her breast. “Yes, I can...and yes, you will.”
“The candles—at least douse the candles.” She broke out of her horrified trance and tried to step around him and seize the silver snuffer lying on the table beside the freshly turned back bed.
Nicholas reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, holding it firmly but gently, preventing her from achieving her goal. “We would only fumble around and get tangled in our finery if we attempted to undress in the dark.”
Such reasonableness. Such sadistic pleasure. No doubt Innocencia loved to undress for him! Mercedes looked at his restraining hand, so large and dark, enveloping her slender golden arm. Then she forced herself to look up into his face. His eyes were hooded but she could see the eerie silver lights that sparked in their black depths. His features were taut with hunger. Male predatory hunger. She could not escape, but she determined at least to salvage a shred of her pride.
“You must allow me the courtesy of summoning my maid to help me undress. A gentleman—”
“I'm afraid you'll find me no longer a gentleman—if I ever was one. War does bring out a man's true colors,” he added wryly. Mine and Luce 's. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “I'll be your maid, for tonight, beloved.”
She allowed him to handle her. What choice was there? To fight and claw, kick and scream? Humiliate herself by letting his mistress and all the other servants hear how he forced her? No, but neither would she cringe and shiver. No, damn him, she would not shiver—in fear or pleasure. Least of all pleasure!
Yet the gentle urgency of his touch, the way he breathed low and raggedly, had a peculiar effect on her. She felt wanted, cherished as his hands deftly unlooped the long row of tiny buttons down her back and then slid the frothy pink dress from her shoulders. His lips were warm and firm as they trailed soft, moist kisses over the skin he bared, inch by inch until the gown and its petticoats fell to the rug, pooling around her ankles. Then he turned her until she faced him and he cupped her breasts in his hands.
Mercedes knew she was far less well-endowed than Innocencia. Was he making invidious comparisons? Her face flamed in embarrassment when she felt her body betray her, reacting with a strange new volition to his caresses. Her breasts seemed to swell and grow taut, and her nipples burned as his fingers circled them through the silk and lace of her camisole, teasing them to pucker and stand in hard little points. Sweet Mother of God, what was happening to her? She wanted to ask him where he had learned such devilish tricks, but perhaps he had always known them, just never showed her before. And how she wished he would not do it now!
Nicholas felt her response and smiled inwardly as he pulled her to him and lowered his head to kiss her throat, pulling the pins from the heavy mass of her perfumed hair and running it across his face so he could inhale the fragrance and feel the silky softness. Slowly he slipped her camisole straps from her shoulders and then tugged the lacy undergarment down until her breasts were free. They were perfect pearl-white globes that stood up proudly with their palest pink nipples at rigid attention. His mouth went dry just thinking of feasting on them. He lowered his head and suckled greedily, one hand splayed across her back, holding her to him while the other tore the front lacing loose and tossed the frilly thing to the floor.
Mercedes stood still as the room spun around her and her knees turned to jelly. His hands and his mouth were everywhere, leaving her naked, exposed and wanting him to continue. She clenched her fists at her sides to keep from burying them in his dark shaggy hair and pulling him closer to her for more of the sweet torture. No! Any overt sign, any move on her part to show she wanted this would only lead to shame when he left her. And he would leave her for Innocencia. She felt her nails bite into her palms and was grateful for the distraction of the pain.
She did not fight him as he untied the tapes of her lacy pantalets and slid his hand inside. But neither did she touch him of her own volition. Her arms remained stiffly at her sides. He cupped her soft buttocks and kneaded them gently, pressing her hips against his lower body, willing her response, knowing she felt the heat building between them. Her breasts gave that away. So would her soft moist nether lips, he was certain.
Go slow, give her time to become accustomed, his mind hammered out, but his body craved nothing so much as to throw her on the bed and plunge inside of her sweetness. Instead, he gently took her into his arms and laid her on the bed. Then he began to undress himself, forcing his hands not to tear the buttons from his shirt or rip the carefully tied stock off his neck. All the while he looked at her, lying bathed in the pale golden light, willing her to return his gaze, to watch him as he had watched her.
She could feel his eyes scorching every inch of her half-naked flesh. The rustling sound of his clothing sliding off made her burn to look at his body. But she dared not. Yet even with her eyelids lowered discreetly, she could envision him as he had been that afternoon, with the clever patterns of black hair that covered his wide chest and narrowed in a vee over his hard flat belly. The dull thud when he tossed his boots away was quickly followed by the sharp snap of his trousers being yanked down and kicked off.
When she sensed him standing completely naked beside the bed, staring down at her, Mercedes could no longer continue the pretext. Her eyes flew open and locked with his. Hungry black wolf’s eyes glowed silver in the dim light. A feral grimace distorted his perfectly chiseled features, giving them a satanic cast. She had never seen him naked before, had never in her wildest imaginings thought she wished to, but she did now. Her eyes, like the rest of her body, seemed to have a will of their own as they swe
pt down the hard dark planes of his face to his shoulders and that hairy powerful chest, then lower to where the sun had not touched his skin, to where his male organ pulsed like a great living spear, ready to impale her and put his seed in her womb. He had caused her such pain and degradation in the past, yet in spite of that, she recognized that he was beautiful, a splendid male animal.
With his eyes still gazing into hers, he lowered one knee into the soft mattress and slowly sank down beside her. She remained rigidly still, her hands lying at her hips, small fists balled up tightly. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he reached down and removed her slippers. Her feet were small with delicate bones. He caressed her instep and watched her toes curl in reflex. Smiling he slid his hands up her shapely calves and thighs to pull down her garters and then peel the sheer silk stockings from one sleek leg, then the other. Taking a slender ankle in his hand, he raised her leg and trailed kisses along her calf up her inner thigh until he felt her quiver. More progress.
“Raise your hips,” he commanded hoarsely as his hands grasped her pantalets and began to pull them down.
She would be as stark naked as he! Fighting down the panic that flared up again, she did as he demanded. Even the lace of her undergarment felt erotic as it scratched her skin sliding down. Then he threw the frilly thing away and replaced it with the heat of his hands. Long fingers teased and pressed, glided and stroked until she was desperate to remain passive beneath his ministrations. She was certain she could bear no more without writhing in delirium. Through clenched teeth she bit off the words, ‘‘Get on with it and be damned!”
Nicholas felt a stab of fury at her sudden outburst. Every fiber of his body screamed at him to do precisely that. But he knew her fears made her lash out. He rolled down and covered her with his big body.
Heat enveloped her as he pressed her into the mattress. In the past her husband had never undressed her, only pulled up her night rail to plunge into her, but at least this contact was more familiar. She dug her nails into the mattress and waited for the dry rasping pain to begin. It did not. Instead he rolled to one side of her and kissed her cheek and ear, then buried his face in her hair to breathe in her fragrance. Murmuring low love words, he teased the inside of her earlobe with his tongue. His scorching hot mouth placed light brushing kisses across her face, on her eyelids, nose, then her lips.