Tides of Passion

by Sara Orwig

  “Juan, Juan…”

  His hand lifted her skirt, caressing her smooth, shapely thigh, and she moaned in ecstasy as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him in wild abandon.

  “Tonight,” he whispered.

  “Quita!” a strident voice shrieked.

  Quita gasped and jumped away, turning to face her mother as she pulled her blouse over her breasts.

  “You filthy…” Señora Bencaria shook her fist at Juan, who rushed past her through the open door. She snatched up a broom to swing at him, hitting him across his back as Quita cried out.

  “Mama! Stop!”

  “You rutting goat! You lout! Go work elsewhere and ravage another, but leave my daughter alone, son of a dog!”

  Juan escaped from the shed and rode swiftly down the lane, while Quita snatched up her basket of eggs.

  Her mother blocked the doorway to the shed, shaking her fist at Quita. “You’re a wench! How dare you bring shame on the name Bencaria!”

  Quita lifted her chin. “I love Juan.”

  Her mother caught her hair in her fist and jerked until Quita cried out. “Has he possessed you?”

  “No!” Quita burned with embarrassment, and her head hurt where her mother gripped it tightly.

  “Are you a virgin? I demand the truth!”

  “Yes!”

  “You’re trash, Quita! Trash, do you hear?” She released her, and, sobbing, Quita ran to the house. She was aware of neighbors staring at her. Señora Quesa held her baby on her hip as she stared at Quita.

  Quita put the eggs away and went to her bed to sit down and cry. In seconds her mother was in the doorway.

  “You bring shame on your family.”

  “All he did was kiss me!”

  “Because I stopped you. I saw his hand on your leg, your dress half torn off. I won’t have it, Quita! He will not marry you.”

  “He will! He loves me and I love him.”

  “Bah! He’s a young man feeling the blood surge in his veins. He’ll get you with child before deserting you!”

  “No! Juan would never do that!”

  “You stay away from him! Your father told me you’ve grown up. He told me what I should do with you, and I could not do it, but now I will.”

  “What’s that, Mama?” Quita said, suddenly puzzled by the turn in the conversation.

  “Shut up and get to work. You have clothes to wash and yarn to spin.”

  Shrugging aside her curiosity and convincing herself that her mother’s words meant nothing, Quita went to work. The thick adobe walls shut out the heat; the cool earthen floor was packed hard from years of wear. She gathered up all the clothing and began the wash. Since there were ten children in the family, the chores were endless. She glanced at her mother as she fed Manuel, spooning the thick porridge into his mouth, dabbing at it as it dribbled down his fat baby chin. Her mother seemed old beyond her years—her body was shapeless, her hair dull. Uneven black strands hung onto her shoulders, and her faded cotton dress was pulled taut over her large belly. Quita felt revulsion rise in her throat—she could hope for little more if she weren’t careful. Yet Juan—Juan was an imposing man with a father who owned two acres of land. Juan dreamed of traveling, of leaving La Coruña to seek his fortune—and he had once talked of taking her with him. He was a man above other men, the strongest she knew. He could beat Garcia in a fight as no one else in La Coruña could!

  Her spirits lifted slightly, and she was determined to slip out at night and meet Juan—if he returned. She smiled, her heart beating faster as she imagined riding with Juan astride his horse down by the river at night. She yearned for him to hold her in his arms at night and dreamed of stolen kisses. She looked down at the wash and searched until she found her red dress. It would highlight her flawless body, and she would wash her hair at the fountain so that it would glisten in the moonlight.

  Humming beneath her breath, she left the house to go to the large fountain in the center of town, where women washed clothes. Hours later, she turned in the dusty path to the front door and saw her father sitting on the porch, his burro tethered to the fence beneath the shade of an olive tree. A fine black carriage also stood in the lane. “Buenos días,” Quita said in greeting.

  He nodded, his white straw hat bobbing as he motioned for her to go inside.

  Her curiosity aroused, Quita entered the crowded main room of their house, and a strange man rose from a chair. Startled because visitors were infrequent, she felt suddenly uncomfortable. He was dressed in a fine suit of gray cloth and he was lighter than the citizens of La Coruña. Three of her sisters and her brother Pepe stood watchfully in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at her with their round black eyes while Manuel continued to play with a trinket. With Florinda asleep on her shoulder, Señora Bencaria smiled, and Quita’s heart began to beat in fear. Something must be wrong for them all to be staring at her. Something had happened, and she wondered what, realizing they had been awaiting her arrival.

  “This is Señor Larkin, Quita. This is our daughter Quita Bencaria. Quita, Señor Larkin is in the employ of a fine Englishman, Señor Melton.”

  Quita’s puzzlement deepened, and she wondered why the Englishman was a guest in her home. Her mother continued to explain, and Quita recognized a note of satisfaction in her voice. “Señor Melton needs a maid. We have learned of this through Aunt Amparo, who contacted Señor Larkin.”

  Quita’s blood began to run cold as it dawned on her what lay ahead. Resignation and relief were evident in her mother’s expression. Beside her a shadow appeared, as her father joined them, standing quietly by the door.

  “You’re grown now, Quita,” Señora Bencaria ventured. “This is a good position and will teach you much. You will go to England to be Señor Melton’s maid.”

  “To England!”

  “You will return in a year, and perhaps you will find a suitable position in Spain.”

  She could hardly believe her ears as she stared at her mother. “No, Mama! I beg you, no!”

  “Quita!” Señor Bencaria snapped while Señor Larkin frowned.

  “If the girl doesn’t want to come—”

  “Of course she does. It’s simply a surprise,” her mother explained smoothly. “If you’ll excuse my daughter and me for a moment, we shall talk.”

  “Of course,” said Señor Larkin, and left the house to stand outside.

  “Please,” Quita gasped, “don’t send me away.”

  “You’re a difficult girl, and this position will be good for you. The pay is generous; they will supply everything you need, and you’ll return in a year.”

  “No, please! I won’t go!”

  “You have no choice,” her father said.

  Quita began to cry. “Please…”

  “Your things are tied in a bundle, ready for you,” Señora Bencaria said. “Señor Larkin said they will furnish you with new clothes—Señor Melton is a wealthy man.”

  “You would send your own daughter away?!” Quita gasped, gripping her mother’s arm. She looked into Señora Bencaria’s black eyes, only to come up against firm resolution—there would be one less mouth to feed, and her mother wouldn’t have to worry about her virtue.

  “They want a willing worker,” her father said quietly.

  “You won’t let me stay?” Quita persisted. “Juan—he will—”

  “He has announced that he will marry Omayra Gomez,” Señor Bencaria said in a flat voice.

  Quita stared at him in disbelief. “It cannot be!”

  “Arturo told me this afternoon. It is the truth—Juan intended to tell you himself. He told me of the dowry the couple will receive, and how Omayra’s father needs a strong hand on the farm. I do not lie to you, but Juan will come if you must hear it from him.”

  Quita stared at her father, feeling as if someone were grinding her into the dust bit by bit. Knowing her father never lied, Quita now understood why Juan had insisted on speaking with her later that night.

  �
��I will go,” she agreed, seeing no escape but to yield to their wishes. She would not stay and watch Juan marry Omayra.

  Her mother stepped forward to hug her; then her father took her arm. “The Englishman will take you in the carriage to the ship where your new employer is waiting. You will sail for England today.”

  “Here are your things,” her mother said, handing her a small bundle. Quita looked around at her younger brothers sitting on the dirt floor, her shocked sisters who leaned against the wobbly, crudely built wooden table covered with crumbs and corn. Suddenly the girls ran toward her for a final hug. Squeezing them, she bid farewell and swiftly left her home, blinking in the bright sunshine.

  Down the lane, she saw a solitary figure astride a horse. Juan watched her, turning away as she came outside. Fighting back tears, she was determined not to cry over the man who had deceived her, kissing her passionately when he knew he was betrothed to another. Each breath hurt as she walked across the dusty yard to climb into the carriage, her chin raised as high as she could manage. She didn’t look back, but stared ahead, unseeing, too numb to cry.

  Within the hour she was presented to Señor Melton, a cold, blue-eyed Englishman who barely gave her a glance, having heard her qualifications from his valet. “You’re willing to journey to England?” he asked in fluent Spanish.

  “Sí, Señor Melton.”

  “It’s Mr. Melton. You must learn to speak English. It is said that you know a smattering of English from your aunt, who worked for an Englishwoman.”’

  “Yes, sir. I know a little English.”

  “Very well. Your family agrees that you may go with us. Mr. Larkin will tell you your duties and go over the employment with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and curtsied before she left the room to wait in an anteroom with a woman and man who were also being hired. The man was called in next and the woman glanced at Quita. “You look ill. Are you all right?”

  “Sí.”

  “I’m Conchita,” the older woman said. “Do you speak English?”

  “A little.”

  “I will teach you, if you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  “They say England is beautiful, and Squire Melton is a farmer.”

  Quita nodded, her attention drifting back to Juan, attempting to shut out his laughing black eyes and, in his stead, to picture an English farm.

  3

  Wiltshire, England

  1815

  Lianna and Edwin

  Lianna Melton slid out of her saddle and sank down onto the green, grassy bank of a stream, relaxing in the cool shade of a beech tree. The musical gurgling of the stream was interrupted by the snorting of Edwin Stafford’s horse as he tethered it. Edwin’s gaze swept the glen, well-hidden by trees and undergrowth, and he felt a surge of satisfaction. He and Lianna were well out of sight of his father, who was working at the stable, and Lianna’s father wasn’t yet home from Spain.

  Edwin dropped down beside her, folding his long, booted legs beneath him.

  Gazing at each other, they laughed simultaneously. “I win again,” he said triumphantly, searching her wide blue eyes, yearning to thrust his hands into the disheveled tresses of raven hair, and feeling a familiar stir of desire.

  “And you have never claimed the prize, Edwin, in all the years you have been besting me in races. How very foolish!” she teased.

  Her eyes sparkled, and he could detect the faint scent of rosewater on her creamy skin. His gaze swept over her swiftly, taking in her slender body and waist that looked as if he could span it with his hands, crowned by the lush promise of the curve of her breasts. He knew what a sheltered life she led; her father seldom let her off the farm, and just as seldom allowed visitors. Edwin was certain that she had never been kissed. His gaze lowered to her lips, and he could barely restrain himself from reaching out to crush her in his arms. She was beautiful, and reminded him of all that he was denied in the world.

  “Perhaps today I’ll claim that prize,” he said softly.

  Her brows arched, and she looked at him quizzically. “What will you claim? We didn’t wager.”

  She was a child inside a woman’s body, ripe and ready for the first man to awaken her. He reached out to tilt her face upward to his own. He saw the sudden flicker in her eyes, knowing that with his touch he had crossed an invisible boundary that had separated them all through childhood, the division between landed gentry and servant.

  Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, inspiring a flash of heat in his loins. He wanted to tumble her in the grass and take her, but he knew she was as forbidden to him as royalty. Being a stablehand, he wasn’t allowed to think of her on equal terms.

  He leaned closer, his pulse pounding as she gazed at him in innocence. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to hers, fighting the urge to thrust his tongue into her mouth.

  Her lashes came down and for an instant she allowed the innocent kiss, before abruptly pulling away. “Edwin!”

  He clenched his fists, admonishing himself for lack of control. “Sorry, Lianna. I couldn’t resist. You’re so beautiful.”

  Pink stained her cheeks. “Edwin, really!”

  She breathed deeply, causing the riding habit to hug her rounded curves. His gaze swept over her again, and he threw caution to the wind, leaning forward to kiss her lightly again. “I think I’ve wanted to do that for years,” he whispered.

  “For years?” Lianna’s eyes widened in surprise. Behind them twigs snapped, and Edwin straightened, turning swiftly in alarm. He relaxed as he recognized the long narrow face and sandy hair of his friend Byron Cleve, another groom. Byron said cheerfully, “There you are, Miss Melton! Your father’s carriage has been spotted approaching the manor.”

  “Papa’s home!” she said, and stood up, brushing the twigs off her blue velvet skirt, but gazing at Edwin with an expression filled with unspoken questions.

  Silently Edwin damned Byron for the interruption, though he knew it was just as well. He shouldn’t have kissed Lianna, because he knew how vulnerable she was, but his blood had pounded with desire. Edwin untied the horses and lifted her into the saddle. She paused before she mounted, her blue eyes sparkling as she said, “I can’t wait to show Papa the jumps I can take on Midnight.”

  “Lianna, don’t expect too much,” Edwin prompted gently.

  Her features clouded as her smile vanished. She blinked as if to dispel gathering tears. “I know, but I always hope he’ll care.”

  She mounted quickly and urged the horse forward More slowly, Edwin climbed into his saddle and turned toward home as Byron rode beside him.

  “Damn you for your interruptions,” Edwin said calmly.

  “You prefer to get caught by Squire Melton? You risked your neck—but was it worth it?”

  When Edwin looked around sharply, Byron grinned. “I saw you kiss her. Squire Melton would send you and your father packing if he knew.”

  “He won’t ever know, and it was only the first time.”

  “Lots of good it’ll do you. You can’t get any closer than you did today.” Edwin stiffened, hating to hear the truth. Byron glanced at him sharply. “You let your station in life eat at you.”

  “I won’t live like my father—I’ll have riches.”

  “You must be daft. How can you possibly help yourself by kissing the lady of the manor? Even if she were in love with you, Squire would send you away, or worse. Those books you read won’t change your fortune, either.”

  “No, but they’ll help me speak like a gentleman instead of a lackey.”

  “Look at Squire Melton—he never has the attention or friendship of the noblemen in the county, something you know full well he wants.”

  “The man doesn’t know how to be a friend to anything except a gold coin,” Edwin said bitterly, and urged his horse into a canter. Resentment built inside him when he thought of how simple life was for Lianna because she was born into wealth. Edwin had decided he would one day be rich regardless of how he attained
his wealth. If only he could wed Lianna! The man who became her husband would possess the land, ships, and riches that she stood to inherit. There would also be a sizable dowry for the man who bedded her legally. He ground his teeth together, knowing that his chances of marriage to Lianna were as likely as the sun falling from the sky.

  When he slowed and Byron caught up again, Byron persisted, “You might as well cast your eye on your own level—there be a few in the kitchen who would be more fun to tumble than that Miss Melton.”

  “Watch your tongue, Byron!”

  “Ah, your hide is thin. She’s most likely as cold as her stone father.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  Byron shrugged his thin shoulders, his hazel eyes assessing his friend’s reactions. “Perhaps not, but cold or warm, he’ll marry her off where it best suits his pocket. You can count on it.”

  “You’re right about that,” Edwin agreed angrily. He lashed his horse in frustration, urging him forward, wanting to beat Byron back to the stables, attempting to burn off his anger in a race.

  Lianna dismounted and handed the reins to a servant before rushing upstairs. Edwin’s words echoed in her mind; over and over she heard his whispered voice: “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

  Her heart raced as she remembered his lips pressed to hers, his deep gray eyes that darkened like storm clouds.

  “Edwin!” She spoke his name softly, stepping into her room and closing the door behind her. Her cheeks were pink, and she felt a warm glow when she imagined his kiss. She touched her lips, recalling the sensations she had felt.