The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection)

by Blake, Jennifer

  “Time. I will gain time in which to prove myself as sane and well as anyone of my age. Time to show him I do not need a watchdog. Time is always an ally. Much can happen if there is time...” A faraway look had crept into Doña Isabel’s eyes.

  Gently Anne said, “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  “Then, you will do as Ramón has suggested?” the old woman asked, clasping her fingers together. “You will explain to him that you have changed your mind and now agree?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” she said. It was not something she looked forward to doing.

  “It would be well to tell him as soon as possible, before he has had a chance to reconsider or to see to the details of your flight back to the United States.”

  “You wouldn’t like to tell him, I suppose?” Anne asked with a wry smile.

  “I could,” Doña Isabel answered slowly, “but I do not think it would be best. As I said, I believe I am involved in Ramón’s reasons for his proposal to you. I am not, you remember, to know this engagement is not real. Naturally, you will accept my congratulations when the time comes without any indication of this little talk we have had.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Anne agreed, though privately she was already beginning to wonder what she had let herself in for.

  She was not left long in doubt. The moment she left Doña Isabel’s room, Carmelita seized upon her. “Señorita, you must hurry. Don Ramón is waiting for you in his library — has been for this half-hour while the chauffeur sits in the car outside the door.”

  Anne felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

  Smiling over her shoulder, Carmelita said, “María has told me Don Ramón has asked you to be his novia. It is not good for a woman to run when the man she is to marry calls. It spoils him as a husband, no?”

  It was impossible to explain. Anne only shook her head, hoping that Señor Castillo shared Carmelita’s attitude.

  The library was a surprising room, more modern than Spanish colonial in character. It was fitted out like an office with an enormous desk fronting a matching chair in green leather, a dictating machine, typewriter, and double row of file cabinets. There were bookshelves stretching to the ceiling with the bright covers of American editions among the somber leather-bound volumes. On the wall facing the door was a mural in vivid turquoise, cream, black tan, and terra-cotta. Seated at the desk in front of the colorful painting, Señor Castillo seemed almost a part of the parade of bronze Aztec warriors depicted in a geometric swirl of ancient symbols amid the small figures of houses, horses, scorpions, and angels.

  “So,” he said, tossing aside a sheaf of papers and waving her to a chair, “you did not run away.”

  “No,” she replied when it seemed he expected her to comment.

  “They were so long in finding you that I was beginning to think you had taken fright and run screaming to the American embassy.”

  The suggestion was not very flattering. Her voice was cool as she answered, “As you can see, I am still here.”

  He was silent, as if waiting for her explanation for keeping him waiting. Remembering Doña Isabel’s admonition that it would be unwise to let him know they had been talking, she was just as silent. She even felt a perverse satisfaction in thwarting him. It was short-lived, however.

  “I hope,” he said at last, “that you have been using the time to reconsider your answer to my offer.”

  Now was the time to agree. Here was the opportunity. “I have been thinking about it, yes.”

  “Conclusively?”

  When she did not answer at once, a grim expression appeared about his mouth. Before she could frame reply, he spoke again.

  “I have tried persuasion. I have tried bribery. I think now the time has come to use blackmail.”

  The words of acquiescence she had been about to speak left her. “Meaning?” she asked in a voice that sounded thin to her own ears.

  “The catering firm of Metcalf’s is a fine organization, but a small one. I wonder what the effect would be upon its finances if I were to withdraw my account?”

  Anne stared at him. “You wouldn’t.”

  “You think not? There is one way to be certain that I do not.”

  “I thought you were a man of — of honor,” she said slowly.

  The blood receded from his face. There was a dark glitter in his eyes and his voice was soft as he answered. “Instead, you find that I am a man who likes to have his own way. You would do well to remember it.”

  “I will try,” she said, “since it seems I must. I will do as you ask, but only for two weeks. After that, you will have to make some other arrangement.”

  “We will see,” was his only reply to her ultimatum. It was not completely satisfactory.

  Possibly her quick agreement took him by surprise, for he seemed at something of a loss, drumming his fingers on the desk, staring hard at a leather-encased calendar before turning his attention back to her.

  “Would you like to see about the time away from Metcalf’s or shall I?” he asked abruptly.

  “If you don’t mind, I would like to speak to Iva Metcalf personally.”

  “Why should I mind?” he said irritably. “I presume you would like to discuss your wardrobe with this roommate of yours also, though it would be more economical, probably, to buy what you need here. However, I will leave that to you. The telephone is at your disposal. Also, Pedro, my secretary, will be available this morning if you need to make some arrangement to fly your baggage here — anything else will be too slow to be helpful. You will need summer-weight clothing, remember, and evening wear.”

  “Evening wear?” she queried in surprise. The only thing suitable for evening in her closet at home was a long velvet skirt she had bought on impulse at a sale and never worn.

  “Don’t trouble yourself over it,” he said, making a note at the same time on a pad before him. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

  “You intend to make this engagement public?” Something Doña Isabel had said had indicated that it might be so, but Anne had somehow doubted it.

  “Yes, of course. Why not?”

  Anne shook her head helplessly. “Señor Castillo, don’t you think this is carrying things too far?”

  “Ramón. You must learn to call me Ramón if you are to be convincing as my fiancée,” he reproved her as he got to his feet and moved around the end of the desk to lean against it, standing over her. “And, no, I don’t think it is. Half-measures never serve.”

  “But, señor—”

  “Ramón,” he insisted.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to think of you in that way,” she said, her head coming up sharply in an instant reaction to the trace of command in his tone.

  “Perhaps this will help you,” he said, and bending over her, captured her upturned lips with his own.

  An odd warmth stole along her veins, sapping her strength. The sudden play of something like flame along her mouth made her draw in her breath sharply. Smooth, sensuous, his lips held her poised on the brink of an unknown pleasure; then abruptly, he raised his head. His eyes, dark and unreadable, burned into hers for an instant before his lashes came down to shield his expression.

  A lower timbre than usual in his voice, he said, “Between a man and woman who are to be married there should be an impression of intimacy. I don’t believe it will be hard to counterfeit, given a little practice.”

  Anne swallowed, her gaze dropping to the sheen of his silk shirt collar. “I expect not,” she murmured, and wandered at the sense of anticipation she felt drawing as tightly as a wire within herself. Whether it was composed of dread or excitement, she could not say.

  Four

  The day passed slowly. Anne spent the remainder of the morning trying to get in touch with Judy and talking to Iva Metcalf on the phone. There was no difficulty in getting a two-week absence from the catering firm. Iva demanded to know what Anne thought she was up to, but there was no anger in her
voice, only an intrigued curiosity.

  “It’s the most romantic thing I ever heard of,” she said, her voice coming clear and sane over the wire. “You could have knocked me over with the proverbial feather when we heard from Señor Castillo that you were with him on his plane. But you will be careful, won’t you, Anne? I don’t know what you think you’re doing — and I’m not asking — you’re a big girl now, and I don’t have any right to play mother hen. Still, you head for home quick if things get too rough down there. You’ve got a week’s salary coming and I’m sending it along, just in case, You never know when a little extra might come in handy.”

  Anne thanked her, and after promising to see to it that Judy got her message, or herself go over and pack the things Anne needed, Iva hung up. Talking with her disturbed Anne, however. Iva represented the normal, everyday routine. Before speaking to her, the position she was undertaking had seemed unusual, but not unreasonable. Afterward, it appeared fantastic, if not downright foolhardy.

  During the afternoon she walked for a time in the garden, enjoying the warmth and the scent of the flowers. Beneath the shade of a strange tree that reminded her of a cypress she discovered a chaise of wrought iron fitted with cushions. She sat down and leaned back, lulled by the soft caress of a breeze on her face. For a long time she lay in drowsy content, not really asleep, yet not awake. It was there that Carmelita found her.

  An excited light shone in the maid’s round black eyes. In her arms she carried a dress box while she held an envelope between the fingers of one hand. “There you are, señorita,” she exclaimed. “I have been looking for you everywhere. This box, she come for you by messenger, and there is a note also, from Don Ramón, I think.”

  There was indeed. The heavy cream-colored note-paper crackled under Anne’s fingers. The slashing, upright letters in black ink were instantly recognizable as the kind of handwriting she would expect of Ramón, even without the initial with which he had signed the short message. There would be guests for dinner, she read, Ramón’s sister and her husband, and also a business associate and his wife. The occasion would be formal. Since her own luggage would be unlikely to arrive in time, he had directed that a selection of suitable evening wear be sent to her. His own choice was the turquoise, but she was free to choose as she wished. If she should have scruples about taking the clothes, he invited her to consider his position. “I have no liking for the idea of appearing as King Cophetua to your beggar maid,” he wrote.

  How was she to take that last, she wondered? Was it intended as sarcasm, or as it sounded, a wry joke?

  Carmelita, unabashedly reading the note over her shoulder, was in no doubt as to what should be done with the contents of the box. “Come, señorita,” she urged. “Let us go and try on everything.”

  The temptation was too great to resist. When the box was emptied, three ensembles were spread out upon the bed. There was a dress with an old-fashioned look in blond lace, salmon muslin, and rust velvet, one in a softly flowing gold knit with a matching sham trimmed in silk fringe, and last of all, there was the turquoise. Though definitely not mentioned in the note, there was also a small handbag containing a makeup kit, a complete set of underclothing, hosiery, and a pair of evening sandals in silver, gold, and tropical white. Everything was perfect, right down to the sandals. Giggling at her surprise, Carmelita admitted to providing Ramón with a list of her sizes taken from the clothes she had been wearing. There should be an air of intimacy between them, he had said. He was creating that with a vengeance.

  The first two dresses were, as Ramón had said, suitable, but his final choice was also hers. The turquoise dress was simple in style with a softly draped neckline, cap sleeves, and a full skirt falling to the knee. It was the material that made it special, soft, lustrous tissue silk that shaded from deep sea blue to a gentle green with every movement. It was an enchanted dress, lending the wearer a mystic, illusive charm. Anne, staring at herself in the mirror, felt suddenly as though she had stepped inadvertently into a fairy tale, one it might be difficult to step back out of again.

  It may have been that she and Carmelita took longer than she thought over trying the dresses, or maybe her dread of the evening was to blame, but the rest of the afternoon seemed to fly past. Dinner would be late, nearly two hours past the time she was accustomed to eating; still, before she realized it, it was time to begin to think about getting dressed.

  Letting the water run hot and deep, she sprinkled the bath salts into the tub, breathing deeply of the smell reminiscent of gardenias. She had shampooed her hair that morning while she bathed, and now lacking pins to put it up out of the way, she wrapped her head turban fashion in one of the soft, thirsty towels, then stepped into the tub and lay back with a sigh. She tired easily, one of the effects of her concussion. That, she told herself, was the reason for her unaccustomed languor. Nevertheless, at this rate she would soon be spoiled. It would be fatally easy to grow used to having her every wish anticipated. It was with difficulty that she had convinced Carmelita that she was capable of dressing herself. She thought the friendly young maid had been disappointed that she was not wanted.

  Anne was halfway down the stairs before she glanced up. At the foot stood Ramón, leaning with one elbow on the carved newel post, an odd expression on his face. Her nerves gave a tiny jerk, but she let no hint of her agitation show on her face. Head high, she continued to descend until she stood just above him.

  “Chalchihuitlicue,” he said, his tone registering satisfaction.

  “What?” she asked, at a loss.

  “Chalchihuitlicue,” he repeated, “Our Lady of the Turquoise Skirt, an Aztec goddess who presided over lakes and rivers. She is always represented as a young girl of charm, beautifully dressed. I had not realized why the dress you are wearing attracted my attention until I saw you in it.”

  It was a skillful compliment, but compliments were something she was too unfamiliar with to be certain it was sincere. On the chance that it was, she thanked him in a low voice, then continued hurriedly, “But you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble and expense.”

  “I thought I had explained that,” he said with an impatient gesture.

  “I know,” she answered, a slight frown between her eyes, “but that doesn’t keep me from feeling uncomfortable about it.”

  “You feel more attractive in this dress, do you not?”

  She had to admit she did.

  “Then that is enough. If it is the morality of accepting such things that bothers you, put it out of your head. I am your fiancé, am I not? And I assure you, I require nothing of you in return.”

  Before she could recover her breath to reply, he turned sharply away. “Come, I would like a few minutes alone with you before we join the others.”

  He held the door of the library for her, closing it behind them as she passed through. Before moving to his desk, he indicated a chair for Anne, but she elected to stand.

  From the desktop, he picked up a small, velvet-covered jeweler’s box and, springing it open, held it out to her. Tucked into a bed of white satin was an oval-shaped diamond solitaire in a platinum setting.

  When Anne looked from the ring to him without making a move to take it, Ramón asked, “Well, don’t you like it?”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Perhaps you expected something more elaborate? But your hands are so slender. Anything else would have looked clumsy, overpowering.”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that. The ring is all any girl could wish for. I just—”

  “There must be some outward sign of our engagement, you will agree to that? People will expect it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then — it is the cost again?” he said, a hard look descending over his face.

  She nodded.

  “There is no necessity for you to feel that you must protest every cent spent on you merely because I suspected you of being interested in my money, my dear Anne. I am not impressed.”

  Anne felt a coldness settle a
round her heart. Without a word, she turned making swiftly for the door. He caught her before she had taken three steps, swinging her to face him, his hands on her forearms. His face was tight with rage. A threat seemed to hang in the air. Suddenly, Anne remembered Metcalf’s and this man’s power to harm Joe and Iva. Fear invaded her mind and she raised wide eyes to search Ramón’s face.

  He stared down at her, his fingers biting into her arms, a muscle corded along his jawline. Then with an abrupt movement, he released her.

  “I’m sorry, Anne. I should not have said that. We will forget it, please.”

  The apology was so unexpected that she could make no answer. But neither did she object as he took the ring from the box and, picking up her hand, pushed it smoothly onto her finger. Her hand was cool in his warm grasp and he did not immediately let it go. He stared down at the pale oval of her face while tension grew between them. His hands moved to cup her elbows, drawing her close against him. She could feel the hardness of the planes of his chest and the muscles of his thighs.

  “Anne,” he said, a questioning note in his husky voice.

  A knock, loud in the stillness, sounded on the door. Before they could move, the panel opened and a woman stuck her head into the room.

  “May I come in? Whoops! Sorry, Ramón, but you shouldn’t hide away with your fiancée when you have guests, especially a guest like me. You should have known I would chase you down, even in your sanctum.” “Anne, may I present my sister, Estela,” Ramón said dryly. With a show of reluctance that may or may not have been real, he dropped his hands from Anne and stepped to the door, ushering the small, vivacious, dark-haired girl into the room.

  “It is a great pleasure to meet you,” Estela said, casting a sparkling look at her brother. “We were beginning to despair of Ramón’s ever succumbing to the lures of matrimony. I hope you will be happy here in Mexico with us.”