by Meg Hennessy
His father’s expression changed only slightly, but for a man who had lived behind a facade his entire life, that was an unusual show of emotion. For a second, Donato caught the sight of moisture reflecting in his father’s dark eyes before the man turned away and collected himself.
“As I said, son, do not be foolish. I’ve spent many years answering to the whim of kings, whether Spanish or French, and have survived with my family and fortune intact. The king wanted to send the flotilla to bring you back, but I convinced him to allow me. I didn’t want the king’s men snooping around that area looking for you because of what they might find out. Your actions would put me at risk, Rayna, and my entire household. Yes, I financed the journey, at great cost, but it was to protect you and all associated with the House of Roche. You had to come back. You are a subject of the Crown, as am I.”
Donato felt the blood leave his face and pool around his heart, which seemed to pump beyond what his body needed. A cool sweat broke out over his forehead. He wiped it dry with the back of his hand. The condition of the House of Roche, it looked deteriorated and neglected; now he knew why. “You spent your fortune on protecting me?”
“I have seen how you look at your wife, your son. Would you not do what you must to protect them?”
Donato nodded, feeling off-balance with this discovery about his father. “I would.”
“Then spend this reprieve wisely, for the king is suspicious of you. Your young family will be in danger if he thinks you are not the man whom I have presented. I will not be able to protect them or you.”
Donato’s mind reeled, unaccustomed to the political dance of keeping one’s life, but his father had done it for his entire adulthood. Donato nodded that he understood, though at the moment it was all he could muster. Having hated his father for years, this newfound alliance made Donato uncertain of everything.
His father started to walk again, but it was Donato who stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Why? I have to know why, if answering to the whims of kings, why not leave as I did?”
“I chose another way. We are not that much different, son. Sometimes the best place to be if one wants change is in the ruler’s pocket. Come.” His father motioned to the spiral staircase that would take them to the lord’s hall. “Let us die together or walk away as free men. It is upon you I place my life, as does your family.”
The weight on Donato’s shoulders grew a hundred times. “I will succeed, Father.”
His father’s expression changed the moment he heard Donato address him as such. It was a slip of the tongue, a mistake that he could not undo. He only hoped he made no such mistake with the king. He swallowed hard and motioned for the two of them to continue.
Donato and his father entered the lord’s hall, but waited to be announced.
King Ferdinand was sitting on the dais in a large ornate chair with his back to the wall, facing the entry. A long red carpet reached from him to the door, trimmed in gold cording to keep the traffic in place. There was no one else present, and for that Donato was grateful.
To one side of the wall was a large cast stone fireplace with andirons and a hand-wrought iron fire screen. Carved into the mantel was the profile of a knight in armor with shield and sword in hand, surrounded by a family crest.
The king had dark hair, short and combed forward in the Napoleon style. He was wearing a black velvet mantle encrusted with gold embroidering and jewels, reminding Donato of the ostentatious wealth of the monarch. He might have included his father in that assumption of the wealthy until learning he had spent his fortune to protect his only son.
The king wasn’t a tall man, but had an imposing figure. He had dark eyes, and his nose was round and large. He wore black velvet breeches and white stockings. Donato thought he looked more French than Spanish.
King Ferdinand’s expression brightened the moment Donato came forward. “Ah, approach, primo mio.”
Being called his cousin was a good start. They were both from the House of Borbón. Donato walked forward, and though not required to bow before the king, he thought it might help show his loyalty. He held his hat in hand. His father kept his hat on, for his rank allowed him to do so. “I am humbled, Your Majesty, that you would request my presence.”
“Rise, rise, let me look at you. I’ve heard much about you. Tell me, Donato, do you like living near Cuba on that island I granted you?”
That was a gentle reminder that the island had become possible because of the Spanish Crown and his father’s rank. The transaction was an investment in Donato as a loyal subject.
“I appreciate the king’s generosity.”
“And what do you hear, living so close to Cuba? Is there talk of revolution against the mother country of Spain?”
And the trap closed.
…
“This appointment, Virrey de Nueva España, is an honor, son,” his father said the moment the carriages were free of the castle yard.
“I did what was asked of me, Your Most Excellency. Now I ask, what would you have done if I refused to return?”
“I left it up to Rayna to ensure that would not happen.”
“If she had failed?” Donato knew he was pushing the issue, but he had to know the answer to one question. Before he released the resentment he had held for years over his father, he had to know the truth. “What were her orders?”
“None,” his father answered. “For I would not put your sister in such a place.”
Then it all fit together in Donato’s mind. The chain of events leading up to his arrival in Spain all fell together into a master plan.
“The American, a sailor, who approached me in New Orleans and helped hide my men. He works for you, doesn’t he?”
His father sighed and looked away from Donato. “It is politics, son.”
“Dead or alive, I was coming back to Spain. The American, was he to kill me?”
“It would be better to honor your death as a nobleman than watch your execution as a traitor.”
For a moment, Donato had felt his heart soften slightly toward his father, only to harden again, confirming his belief that his father put politics above family.
Conversation halted and the air tensed as they both remained silent for the rest of the trip.
The carriages rode through the large iron gates of the Roche estate. Donato stepped down as soon as the brakeman had locked the brake. His father disembarked and disappeared behind the door of the great hall.
Donato hesitated, hearing a horseman ride up the drive. From the distance, the man’s blond hair was obvious. It was the American, pushing the mount he rode at a fast gallop. As he approached, he swung down before the horse came to a halt.
“What is it?” Ramón met him first.
The American pushed back the mammoth cap he wore over his head. “Being American, I don’t know how this royalty thing works, but an American ship sailed into port last night. It was the Lady Tempest.”
An icy chill raced the length of Donato’s body. The Lady Tempest was the ship he had used to take Colette’s ship. He had convinced the captain, Edgar Bennett, to take the Loirie for the reward of gold. In taking the ship, the king’s spy had been disposed, keeping Donato’s involvement with the revolutionaries secret.
Unable to quell his anger over learning this man was a spy sent by his father, Donato glanced around to see if anyone was about. Seeing no one, he grabbed the American by the shoulders and pushed him against the outside of the barouche and had a knife to his throat before he could protest. Ramón, though surprised, covered the other side to ensure no one could see.
“I know who you are,” Donato whispered in his ear, piercing his throat with the sharp point of the weapon. “Now let me inform you of your situation. You work for me now, not my father. Do you understand? Or do I have you thrown in the king’s tower? I am a marquis. I have been appointed viceroy of New Spain. You don’t know how these titles work? It’s enough to have you killed without so much as a question. I have not decide
d what to do with you, but right now, who do you work for?”
“The viceroy of New Spain.”
Donato had to give him credit, for the American never lost his composure, nor showed fear, but listened and listened well.
“I understand, Your Excellency.”
Donato released him and as he did, he noticed a crooked cross attached to a chain around the American’s neck. It seemed familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he had seen that. There was something about the American he liked, maybe his efficiency, his calm under fire, his loyalty to his father; regardless, Donato considered him a valuable asset. He hoped he wouldn’t regret that conclusion.
Unsure of how much his American sailor knew, Donato asked again, “What of the Lady Tempest?”
“I was suspicious of them, for they asked questions about you. I followed a couple of men and shared a tankard of rum last night. I learned their midshipman is on his way to see the king.”
“Why would he receive audience with the king?”
“He says he’s on a mission of vengeance. He’s the brother of Edgar Bennett. He claims to have evidence about you. They saw your sister’s ship in New Orleans, told her the story of taking another ship called the Loirie, she rejected their premise, but that gave them the idea of going to Spain. He’s here to give testimony to the king about the revolutionaries, about who killed the king’s spy. He bragged on his ship that he would take down the mighty pirate of the gulf waters, Donato de la Roche. I’m telling you this per your father’s instructions. I am to keep you safe. It is the deal made for what I want.”
“Protect me. For what you want?” Laying the cards out, Donato wanted no misunderstandings, but right now, he didn’t care what the American wanted. “Unless I showed my revolutionary colors, then you were to kill me, or try at least?”
The American’s face did alter a bit with that statement. “No, Your Excellency, I received no such orders.”
Donato glanced toward the door of the great hall. Apparently, there was much he needed to understand about his father.
Ramón’s face was ashen. “Let us leave, Capitán, leave today.”
The American looked surprised. “You are a man of power, as you just said. Can you not arrest them?”
“And raise suspicions? No. This has to be done quietly.”
“Give me orders, Your Excellency.”
Donato glanced around him, taking in the grounds of the Roche estate.
He had never wanted this for himself and cared little about his title, but his power to create change had been handed to him by the very man he had hoped to change. Working from the pocket of the king was the place he could do the most good.
As viceroy over New Spain, he would have the ear of the king and perhaps open his mind to the changing world around him. There was too much at stake to allow a common thief from the Lady Tempest to derail what would mean salvation to thousands of Spanish colonists.
He turned to the American. “Work with Ramón. The men on my ship are experienced soldiers. Warn Edgar’s delusional brother and the others to provision and set sail.”
“And if they do not?”
“Ensure Bennett never sees the king.”
Chapter Eighteen
Colette had waited by the window of the large bedchamber overlooking the Roche estate for most of the morning, terrified of what the meeting between a king and his not-so-loyal subject would bring. Packed and ready to go at any moment, all she could do was wait until shortly after noon when her husband’s royal entourage rumbled up the long drive.
Soon, she heard his footfalls ride each step toward their adjoined room. After what seemed an eternity, the knob turned and he stepped inside.
She never anticipated being so relieved to see anyone as she was to see Donato. He stood tall, handsome, and proud. His dress was impressive, if not exquisite.
He wore the clothing of a royal. A deep blue velvet jacket, decorated with gold embroidering and gold epaulets on his shoulders. He wore a cravat and ruffled shirt in white, a matching sash, white breeches, and glistening black Hessians. Rings were on all fingers, and a small gold hoop hung in his ear. His thick coal-black hair, neatly combed, hung to his shoulders.
Though his dress caught her attention, it was his eyes on which she focused. He glanced around the room and caught sight of her valise packed and ready to leave. Enio was dressed for travel, as was she.
She slowly stood to meet him.
His dark eyes, trimmed in heavy black lashes that normally hid much of him, carried a new light, one she had not seen before. In them, she saw victory.
She drew a deep breath, waiting for him to confirm.
He casually removed the cravat around his neck and folded it before setting it on the table. He turned to face her. “I have been named viceroy of New Spain.”
“Oh my Lord.” Her hand went to her mouth, for her words were little more than a gasp. “Then you did it, you fooled him. Did he not suspect?”
“A little, but he has little option. I am safe…for now.”
“Then we need not flee Spain now, but leave soon?”
“Si, cariño.”
She would never grow tired of hearing him say that. She had been in prayer during the early dawn hours after Donato had left for the castle. She had prayed for his safe return and for the right to choose a new life for herself. She had reconciled that she had indeed fulfilled her promise to God and that today was the first day of her new direction.
She had prayed for him and that her new life would be with Donato and not as a fugitive from the king of Spain. Surprisingly, she held no fear, for she knew with all of Donato’s planning she and Enio would escape the country should the need arise. Donato had seen to their safety, as he said he would on the island when the British attacked, and as he had when on Jordan’s ship. “I couldn’t be happier. We will go back…to the island…home…as a family.”
He looked at her as if he could not believe her words. “I am much pleased to hear you say that, but I cannot rush this. I must have permission of the king to depart.”
He ambled over to the window. As he stood looking out over his father’s vast estate, dressed in clothes fit for a king, she saw a new Donato. But his new appointment worried her. Would he forever travel from colony to colony, then back to Spain? Would he no longer have the same life he once offered her and Enio on the island? Had she lost Donato as quickly as she had won him back? Was this God’s plan, for her never to have him?
Defeated, she walked over and put their son’s blocks aside, handing Enio a book to look at. He didn’t much like it, and his frown brought his father over.
“Leave the child with his play, Colette.”
“I do not wish to hear the blocks anymore.”
Enio began to cry, betraying her further. Her body started to tremble, and water filled her eyes. She looked away from Donato, not wanting him to witness her faltering belief in them.
“Colette.” He reached over to still her busy hands. “Do not stop the boy.”
She looked down through her tear-soaked eyes to see his broad hand atop hers, feeling the warmth of his soothing touch before he turned his attention to Enio.
“You play, hijo mio.” Donato stacked the blocks into the wooden cart, then called for a servant to take the boy and his blocks to his own room.
“Colette…what is it?”
“I fear to have lost you…again.”
He reached out and wrapped his hand in her hair. Pulling her up to his chest, he forced her to look up as he towered over her. “That will not happen.”
He dropped his lips to hers. It was a kiss of sheer emotion and passion. He convinced her, because as always with Donato, his lovemaking was a language all its own.
With his kiss, he rolled her into his arms. It was a kiss meant to speak, meant to feel, meant to settle whatever burned between them. But as a French aristocrat in the arms of a Spanish royal, she felt lost, alone, wanting to believe the magic in that kiss.
&
nbsp; She inhaled the scent of him, the minty taste of his mouth, the soap residue on his hair, and felt the smooth skin of his neatly shaved face. The width of his shoulders dwarfed her body, and if allowed, she’d sink into them for refuge and safety. But those shoulders were draped in royal velvet and trimmed in royal gold, and emanated the aromatic scent of rich wine, enjoyed recently and wholly.
As if he sensed her doubt, he lifted her from her feet and carried her to the bed. There, as the night before, when she thought he might die and they’d never see each other again, his body draped hers, never allowing a break in the kiss that demanded her attention, demanded she listen to him, demanded she accept her own feelings and give her body permission to respond. She tried to hold her breath, stop the fluttering of her heart, the aching that pounded deep inside her belly, between her legs, a wanting fire she could not douse.
He broke the kiss, suddenly, nearly brutally, as if he had said enough on the subject and it was now closed. He unbuttoned the front of her dress, unlacing layers to find her breasts and kiss her flesh, until her nipples rose to his mouth and he nuzzled them between his lips.
She felt a shift in her body, abandoning all reason. She wanted him in any dress, with any title. She started to work on the jacket, unhooking each gold button as she did. His arms easily slid out of the velvet like a valiant soldier shedding his armor. Underneath, he wore the simplicity of a ruffled shirt, vulnerable and pliable. The turtle without his shell, he was a man of flesh and blood. A wanting man, who wanted her.
He continued his exploration down the curve of her breasts to her exposed ribs. She slid her legs apart, adjusting for his body to fit inside hers, aching for penetration, to feel his hardened strength meld with hers. He lowered himself between her legs and lifted her knees around his shoulders. She closed her eyes. Penetration would not be for a while, for he’d allow her to luxuriate in the sheer pleasure of his tongue inside her, moving, teasing, and forcing her body to beg for release.
Finally, he moved upward and slid inside her, slowly at first, then faster and faster until she thought they’d leave the comfort of the bed and land elsewhere. The movement against her body brought on wave after wave of spasms that left her breathless and exhausted. His body stiffened for release, then relaxed atop her.