Captive Innocence

by Fern Michaels

  “The girl is an unsuitable match!” the Baron had objected. “Find yourself a rich wife, one who’ll bring her bounty to the Reino!”

  The plantation, always the plantation! How could he measure the value of a damned lot of humid air, sodden ground, and a forest of trees, compared to sweet arms clinging tenderly, moist, fragrant breath against his cheek, and warm, promising lips?

  “What better solution?” the Baron’s argument continued. “Royall Banner is just the rich wife you need!”

  “Why do I need a rich wife?” he’d railed. “The Reino has everything, gives us everything!”

  The Baron’s face became muddied, almost black with rage. “If you weren’t such a dolt, you would have seen it for yourself! Richard Harding, Royall’s father, has been partner in this plantation since I was only grown halfway to my own father’s knee. Now his daughter has inherited, and if she demands an accounting of her holdings, she will discover that it is her money that’s been used for administration and for these luxuries that you find so enjoyable! Over the years I’ve been sending false reports to Mr. Harding while our profits have been mounting in the bank. If the girl were to ask for an accounting, to which she has every right, the game would be up. Paying her rightful share would pauperize us, Carl,” he told his son, a slight curling of his lip to show his scorn, “and then where would the Newsomes be? We, the ones who have built this land into the little kingdom it now is?”

  Carl was speechless. He’d always known his father was less than honest in business dealings, but he’d never suspected that the Baron was no better than a thief.

  “Now you see why you will obey me. You will court this Royall Banner and make her your wife. Call it a business merger, if you like. Either way, the Reino will belong totally to the.Newsomes. As I see it, your duty is to me and the plantation, leaving you no choice.”

  Carl inwardly cringed at his own cowardice, pleading with the Baron to allow his marriage to Alicia. “Never!” the Baron had roared. “Never will I permit a son of mine to neglect his duty to the family, to himself, and to Reino Brazilia. If you must have this little chit, then have her. Take her, love her, keep her. Surely, in her desperate circumstances Alicia would invite a bit of assistance from you for something so trifling as her virginity. Do what you will, but if I were to disinherit you —for any reason—do you still feel Alicia would welcome your attentions? I think not, my boy. She’d soon hurry on to greener pastures.” The Baron allowed himself a smile, seeing that he’d already won the argument. Carl would do as he was told, just as he’d always done. In his victory the Baron couldn’t help turning the knife a bit further. “Son, a beauty as fragile as Alicia’s can’t be counted upon to last past her mid-twenties. No, son, however I see it, you’re the loser.”

  An icy stare descended on Carl, and he was frozen by its calculating coldness. He knew the Baron wasn’t making idle threats. Disinherit him he would; then how could he help his Alicia?

  While Royall continued playing at the spinet, Carl’s thoughts were rioting through his head. His hand wandered again to his pocket, which held a note from Alicia, and his hand felt as though it held fire as his fingers touched the crisp, scented paper.

  It was an answer to a note he had sent her explaining that they had a guest at Reino, so he wouldn’t be able to see her until the next week. In the note he had expressed his love for her and promised the days would drag until he saw her again and held her in his arms.

  Carl watched his father rise and applaud Royall’s excellent touch at the piano. A quick glance in Carl’s direction, and he found himself moving toward her, offering his congratulations and inviting her for a stroll on the veranda.

  Jamie made a move to accompany them, but the Baron called him back, explaining that tomorrow his younger son was to accompany him to the rubber tradings held at the river wharf.

  Jamie wasn’t impressed with the invitation; he was still hearing the lovely music Royall had created, and he wondered if his own mother had played the same songs and somehow believed so. He’d finally been rewarded for coming to the conservatory, where he’d always felt close to her.

  Carl and Royall walked in companionable silence around the great veranda, and he graciously asked if she’d care to ride to Mrs. Quince’s plantation later in the week. “In the trap, of course. But we’ll have to leave early to get ahead of the day’s heat. We can return at night, if that meets your approval.”

  “Why, thank you, Carl. I’d love to see Mrs. Quince again and see how her ankle is mending.” She liked Carl but suspected that something was deeply disturbing him. There was something in his eyes, a certain loneliness, that kept his face in shadows.

  “Then it’s settled,” Carl said briskly. “What do you think you’d like to wear to the masked ball in Manaus? Or are you going to be like the other women I know and keep it a secret until the last?”

  “I have no idea, really,” she answered truthfully, trying to keep her mind from Mardi Gras in Rio and Sebastian Rivera’s hot, flaming embrace.

  Royall looked at the star-filled night and suddenly thought of the heavy rains Elena had predicted. “Elena said there was going to be rain tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Carl asked, puzzled.

  “Yes, she told Jamie to take his soldier collection from the veranda because it was going to rain before dinner.”

  “I see,” Carl murmured. “In two or three days the rains will hit, making it steamier and hotter than before. But it won’t rain tonight. It’s time to go in,” Carl remarked as they found themselves before the French-paned doors. “Good night, Royall.” Quickly, before she realized what was happening, she felt a gentle kiss on her cheek. Then Carl turned on his heel and motioned for Jamie to follow him. Royall watched the brothers leave the room, and a strange dread descended over her. Something was off center here, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Picking up a lighted lamp, Royall started down the hall to her room. She was surprised to find her bed turned down and her nightgown laid out. The little girls had been at work again. There was a fresh bowl of cut flowers on the small table by the bed, and she wondered which of the children had picked them. She knew it was Moriah—plump, little Moriah with the dark eyes and the fat pigtails.

  Chapter Six

  In his townhouse in Manaus, Carlyle Newsome looked into the mirror over his massive dressing table and worked his features into something resembling a smile. Deftly, he smoothed the iron gray wings at his temples and frowned slightly. He would find time during his trip to Manaus to visit his barber for a trim. He drew his upper lip down to see how much of the short hairs of his moustache had grown, anticipating a quick clip with the tiny scissors. Amazing how the wealth of hair atop his head was turning gray while his moustache remained coal black. He did look the distinguished plantation owner, he told himself smugly. Gentry, quality, and wealth always showed on a man. He was all that and more, he thought with a grim satisfaction. Perhaps he wasn’t as wealthy as some of the other plantation owners, but he soon would be, once Carl married Royall Banner. Then it would all be his own, to do with as he pleased. A vague stirring in his loins at the thought of Royall made his neck warm.

  She was a beautiful woman, too beautiful for Carl. He himself could appreciate her to the fullest. Carl could never even dream to attempt to unleash the passions beneath her golden facade. After all, he thought complacently, hadn’t he trained Elena in the bedroom arts? And scores of others besides, white as well as dark-skinned, women who were only too eager to please him? Only his wife, of all the women he had known, had been less than enthusiastic in her bedroom duties.

  The Baron’s fingers, when they withdrew his pocket watch from his trousers, were trembling. He always knew this excitement when about to make a new conquest. He liked to think of it as a game with himself the winner. Carlyle Newsome always won, and it would be no different with Alicia.

  Straightening his cravat over his fine lawn shirt, he expertly centered his diamond stick pin. Alicia.
Always a lovely girl, even if he’d always considered her frail, with hardly a mind of her own. Yet, he’d noticed the alluring curves beneath the stylish gowns she wore, and there was no doubt concerning her fine breeding. With a churlish grin into the mirror as he slipped into his tropical weight white suit, he considered that he was being disloyal to Carl. Immediately, he negated the idea. Loyalty was for sons to demonstrate toward their fathers, not the other way around. Besides, Carl should have no complaint. Hadn’t he seen to it that his son was made the better of the bargain by allowing him to console himself with Royall’s golden promise?

  Alicia Stanhope was not the girl to enhance the Newsome fortunes, but the Baron had contemplated other uses for her. The first opportunity had been seized upon months ago when he had first learned that Richard Harding’s widowed daughter would come to Reino Brazilia. That was the day the Baron had deliberately set out to ruin Leslie Stanhope. One of the traits he most respected about himself was that he could think quickly in a crisis and act accordingly. And have an alternate plan, should something unforeseen spoil his original thought. Nothing in life could be left to chance. He smiled urbanely at his reflection, satisfied.

  Before leaving the townhouse the Baron paused for a moment in the handsomely appointed foyer, then stepped out into the cobblestoned street that was lined with tall palm trees and gave a welcome show of green against the pink brick buildings that were so familiar in Manaus. He was right in deciding the time had come to take a mistress. After all, he was still a young man by most standards. Fifty-three was hardly the tip of the crest.

  A mistress would solve many problems, especially intimate ones, ones that had been plaguing him for this past year. Any fool could see that what he needed was a steady woman, not these hasty alliances with the whores on Viajar Arbol or quick trips across the compound to his bedroom by some slave girl whom Elena sent according to orders. Giving his shoulders a mental shake, he left the townhouse in search of the apothecary shop where Alicia had an upstairs apartment.

  When the carriage stopped in front of the meager little apothecary shop, the Baron stepped down and ran a delicate finger over his moustache. So, this was what the lovely Alicia had been reduced to—living in a furnished apartment above a shop. The building itself appeared neat and even quaint, but in a year or two there would be rubble piled in the alley with half-dressed, screaming children with running noses, milling around outside, begging for coins. The shop was just two blocks outside the lowest quarter of the city, and it wouldn’t be long before the neighborhood caught up with it. Alicia Stanhope deserved her circumstances, if for no other reason than being born into a spineless family. The girl was stretching beyond her station in life to suppose she was good enough for the heir to Reino Brazilia. She could never be woman enough to carry on the responsibilities as mistress of the Casa. The time had come to settle the matter irrevocably. Carl was so besotted with her fragile beauty, he couldn’t see beyond the end of his nose. It was up to him, the Baron, to take matters into his own hands and see to it that Carl would never again want to set eyes on Alicia Stanhope.

  Nonchalantly, Carlyle looked over his shoulder, striving to give any passersby the impression that he was waiting for someone. Quickly, he opened the street level door and climbed a steep, narrow flight of stairs to the second floor. With the head of his walking stick he rapped several times on the door at the head of the stairs, listening for sounds within. It would be just his misfortune that Alicia wasn’t at home. He rapped again, impatiently, and then kicked the door. It swung open, taking him by surprise, leaving him feeling foolish with his foot still in midair.

  Alicia Stanhope stood there, her hand clutched to her throat, her mouth opened in a frightened silent scream.

  “Don’t just stand there, Miss Stanhope, aren’t you going to invite me in?” His voice was as smooth as oiled silk, disarming her, bringing color back into her cheeks.

  Alicia stepped backwards, her breathing quickened. What was Carl’s father doing here? “Of ... of course, please come in. It’s just that ...”

  “You weren’t expecting anyone, especially me, is that what you were about to say?” the Baron said coolly, enjoying her discomfort.

  Alicia’s shoulders squared imperceptibly. Her pansy blue eyes took on a glassy appearance, as though brimming with tears. “More or less,” she answered, turning her back on him, allowing him to follow her into the scrupulously neat but poorly furnished apartment.

  The Baron was aware of the defiant turn of her head and her stiffly held back. Who did she think she was, to present this attitude to him? She should be licking his boots to get him over to her side of things.

  She led him into the front room that faced out onto the street. Worn red velvet draperies shunned the sun, dimming the room and making it cool. Several pieces of furniture that he recognized from the Stanhope household were attractively placed around the small room, along with bric-a-brac and books, also, no doubt, saved from the auctioneers.

  “Please sit down, Baron. May I offer you a cool drink? I have papaya and lime. I usually don’t have visitors, so I don’t keep spirits in the house.”

  “House?” the Baron sneered incredulously. “I hardly call this a house, Alicia. And you say you don’t keep spirits? Why, dear child, my information tells me you entertain quite frequently. Or do your clients bring their own refreshment? Let’s not fence, Miss Stanhope, I know that since you’ve found yourself reduced to this ... this hovel, you’ve had to survive by whatever means presented themselves to you. I think they call it the oldest profession. No, no,” he raised a hand to stay her objections. “Prostitution has its merits in every society, even our own.”

  Alicia’s face drained of all color. Had she heard him correctly? Where had he gotten such an idea? Her tongue felt thick in her mouth when she tried to object. “You’re a cruel old man, Baron Newsome. I refuse to listen to this slander, even if you are Carl’s father!”

  “Come, come, Alicia. Why not admit that you’re no longer that simpering, overprotected daughter of that whimpering fool, Stanhope. You’ve become a woman of the world, and we should be able to discuss matters coolly and logically.” His gray eyes fell on her, covering her from head to toe. It was plain to see why Carl thought he was in love with her. Smooth, burnished dark hair was pleasingly arranged about her pale and delicate features, and those remarkable pansy blue eyes flashed from behind incredibly long black lashes. She was taller than most women he knew, aside from some of the Indians, and she carried her height well, with a fluidity of motion that was emphasized by her long, slender limbs, gracefully rounded arms, and a high, girlish bosom. He had always thought her to be in delicate health, but she was showing her strength by glaring at him, daring him to continue with this conversation. Looks could be so misleading.

  “There’s nothing to discuss, Baron. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my home before I repeat this conversation to Carl.” Her voice broke and a tear slipped down her cheek. She’d always known the Baron objected to her match with Carl, but this went beyond the common grounds of decency.

  Carlyle settled back in the overstuffed horsehair chair, crossing his legs, demonstrating his intention to stay. “Dear Alicia, I have no intention of leaving, so save your hysterics for some of your gentlemen callers who might find them fetching. Now, listen to me very carefully. I’ve forbidden Carl to see you ever again, so you will not have the opportunity to tell him of this dilemma you find yourself in. And, dear girl, I want you to know that I mean what I say. To show you what lengths I will go to to prevent your marriage, allow me to tell you that I am the one who is responsible for your living in this rat trap. I alone am responsible for your financial problems. I am responsible for your father’s lost fortune; however, I refuse to take the blame for his death. That he did by his own hand. He was a weak and ineffectual excuse for a man. Weak, ineffectual men breed weak, ineffectual children.”

  Rage swelled in Alicia. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Let him say
and think what he would about her, but not her father. Her father had been a caring, generous, loving man. Perhaps he hadn’t had the cold, ruthless business sense of the Baron and some of the other plantation owners, but she wouldn’t have wanted him any other way. She held his memory dear and close to her heart. “You are a vile excuse for a man,” Alicia screamed. She leaped from her position on the love seat to pummel his chest with clenched hands. “I don’t care what you say about me, but I won’t allow you to slander my father. Do you hear me?” she continued to scream as she pounded away at the Baron’s chest.

  Carlyle grasped both of Alicia’s flailing fists and held tight. Slowly, he forced her heaving body closer to him, bringing her face to within inches of his own. Cold, slate gray eyes stared unblinkingly into soft, moist velvety ones. His voice was low, almost a caress, when he spoke. “I’ve come here to right the wrong I’ve done you. I plan, along with a little help from you, to take you from these wretched surroundings and permit you to live in my townhouse. I plan to settle an allowance upon you so that you can once again have the necessities of a decent life. There’s no point in even thinking about Carl. My son and I have come to a complete understanding. He has given me his word that he will not set eyes on you again. You see, Alicia, he knows where his place is, and it’s at Reino Brazilia. Shortly, the banns will be announced and he will wed my ward, Royall Banner. Carl is used to the good life, fine food and wine, elegant homes, and a woman that hasn’t been tarnished as you have. In other words,” his voice dropped to a husky whisper, “if you don’t agree to my suggestion, Alicia, you will find yourself not only without clients but also without a place in which to entertain them. You’ll be walking the streets like the other ladies of the evening. I trust we understand each other.” Gently, he released Alicia’s hands. He smiled to himself as she went limp and fell to her knees at his feet.