Captive Heart

by Patti Beckman

  JoNell winced. "I know about his reputation," she said calmly. "But a lot of it is pure exaggeration."

  "Of course," Margarita smiled condescendingly. She paused. "If that is what you choose to believe."

  JoNell didn't quite know what to make of Margarita. Perhaps the blond Peruvian had been one of Del Toro's conquests. Or worse still, for Margarita, maybe she hadn't! How furious she must be if she couldn't land Del Toro, but another blonde had. Perhaps Margarita's helpfulness had been designed to win JoNell's confidence so she would be in a better position to strike at JoNell's self-confidence with subtle innuendos.

  JoNell experienced an overpowering urge to escape from the country club and get back to Del Toro's mansion. At least there, she knew where she stood. She had been bought and paid for, and there was no mistaking Del Toro's motives for marrying her.

  JoNell excused herself as civilly as she could and hurried out to find Miguel leaning against the Rolls, waiting for her. He greeted her with a warm grin, opened the car door for her, and set about transporting the bridal shower gifts from the club room to the car.

  That weekend, JoNell saw Jorge Del Toro in a new role, that of a polo star. She discovered that polo was a sport he pursued with great enthusiasm. Miguel drove her to the polo grounds where she had a seat that gave her an excellent view. It was the first time she had seen a live polo match. Whatever other feelings she had about Del Toro, she had to admit that he was a strikingly handsome figure astride a horse. His muscular shoulders and arms bulged against the white, tight-fitting polo shirt. He looked like a reincarnation of one of his fierce conquistador ancestors as he spurred his horse furiously down the field. She could see that he played the game of polo as he played the game of love and business—with ruthless determination to win. And win he did that afternoon. The other players were no match against the big, athletic conquistador who dominated his horse with fierce determination.

  And that night, when he came to her bedroom, flushed with victory, he was again the ruthless conquistador, conquering the cold rebellion of her body until hate was transformed into passion—but passion that was short-lived, leaving her only the cold ashes of bitterness and regret at this charade of a marriage.

  The next afternoon, JoNell sat half dozing on the veranda overlooking the garden, a magazine trailing from her slender fingers to the floor.

  "Good afternoon, seňora," a masculine voice suddenly said behind her.

  She dropped the magazine and turned to meet deep black eyes in an angular face. It was Rafael Garcia, the persistent young man who had so ardently pursued her the night of the party.

  "Seňor Garcia! This is a surprise."

  "A pleasant one, I hope. You are happy that I came?"

  JoNell hesitated, groping for a way to field the question diplomatically. "It's always nice to see a friend of my husband," she murmured.

  He indicated a black wrought-iron chair opposite her. "May I?"

  She nodded, and he sat in the chair. "Am I not a friend of yours, too?" His penetrating gaze made her blush.

  "We hardly know each other, seňor."

  "My heart tells me differently."

  "Did you come to see my husband on business?" she asked, trying to change the subject. She remembered how persistent his overtures had been the night of the party.

  "No, seňora, I came to see you."

  "Oh, that's too bad," she lied with a rush, rising from her chair, "I've just time to change before I have to leave for the country club. I have a golf lesson this afternoon."

  "Forget the lesson this once." His hand reached out for her. "I came on a matter of great importance."

  "Oh?"

  "JoNell—I want you to marry me," he blurted out.

  She stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded. Was he a mental case, she wondered with a flurry of panic. She could detect a slightly feverish look in his eyes.

  "Seňor, you know I am married," she stammered. "I have already made it quite clear that I am loyal to my husband."

  "But you don't love him."

  She stared at him with a blank expression, trying to maintain a grasp on the troubled emotions his words had stirred.

  "Seňor, this conversation has gone far enough. Now if you'll excuse me—" She rose to leave. "There is nothing more to discuss."

  "Not even Consuelo Garcia?"

  That stopped her dead in her tracks.

  "And, perhaps you would like to know why she told you Del Toro married you just to get into the United States?"

  JoNell sat down again, her knees weak.

  "I am sorry to be so crude and blunt, but you were on the verge of leaving before I had a chance to explain some things I think you should know."

  "What things?" JoNell asked faintly.

  "Consuelo is plotting to break up your marriage to Del Toro."

  "How do you know all these things?"

  "I am Consuelo's brother, after all."

  "Her brother!"

  "Yes. You did not link our last names?"

  "It didn't occur to me. Garcia is a very common name. And you look nothing like Consuelo."

  "That is true. Consuelo is fair and I am dark." He smiled. "We always said she inherited the royal Spanish blood from our ancestors while I inherited the Inca blood."

  JoNell tried to assimilate this bit of surprising information. "But why have you come here to tell me about Consuelo?"

  "Because I truly love you," he said with great emotion. "When Consuelo found out about Del Toro's marriage to you, she was beside herself with anger and grief. She vowed to stop at nothing to get him back. She even persuaded me to help her. That's why I sought you out at the party. I'm ashamed to admit it now, but I followed you to the balcony to woo you for my sister's sake. She is my own flesh and blood sister, but I have to be frank and say she is a determined woman who will use any method to get what she wants."

  "We'll agree on that point," JoNell said dryly. "And are you here now for her sake?"

  "Oh, no!" he said emphatically. "Consuelo would scratch my eyes out if she knew I was telling you the truth. You see, not only does Consuelo want Del Toro for herself, but our family needs his money."

  "His money? Whatever for? Your family is equally rich, is it not?"

  "That once was true, but sad to say, it is no longer that way. The family fortune has dwindled over the years. Our name and reputation have provided us with a mantle of artificial wealth. We have clung to the hope that our fortune would be restored when Consuelo and Del Toro married. But then you came along—"

  "And threw a monkey wrench in the works," she concluded in English.

  "I did not want to be a party to wooing a woman away from her husband so my sister could have the husband," Rafael continued, using his native language. "But Consuelo was very persuasive. I finally agreed to try—but I got caught in my own trap."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When I saw you on the veranda, how delicate and lovely you were, I was glad I had agreed to my sister's plan. Then, as we talked, I sensed a special quality about you that I have never before found in any other woman. What started out as stock flattering phrases that roll easily off the tongue of any Peruvian man, turned into true expressions of my feelings for you. JoNell, I have fallen in love with you. My heart bleeds because you do not return my love. I want you more than you can imagine. I cannot offer you the riches that Del Toro has, but I offer you something he can never give you. My love. Del Toro does not love you. He loves no one but himself."

  "Not true," she thought. "He loves Consuelo. And she knows it. But she is not content to wait out the year. Perhaps she's afraid he'll change his mind about her. She wants him now, and she wants his fortune for herself and her family. And she had the nerve to call me a gold digger!"

  A cloud of mental confusion swept over JoNell. Conflicting thoughts wrestled in her mind. She had to admit to herself that she was attracted to the young man sitting opposite her. He was sincere, compassion-ate and kind, nothing like the egotistical D
el Toro who thought nothing of buying another human being to serve his own purpose. With a man like Rafael, she would be loved for herself and cared for tenderly. It would be possible to grow to love a man such as this. But Rafael was not in a position to help her parents as Del Toro was. For their sake, she had to be practical and materialistic. Besides, she had made a pact with Del Toro, and she meant to keep her end of the bargain for the next year. Until the year was up, she would put all thought of love out of her heart.

  "Rafael," she said as kindly as she could manage. "In other circumstances, I would be happy to have you care for me. But it is impossible. I am not the kind of person you think I am. I am not nearly good enough for you."

  "Now you ridicule me," Rafael said sadly.

  "No—not at all. I am highly flattered by your attention. But you deserve a finer person than I am."

  "There is no finer person than you, JoNell!"

  JoNell flushed. "Rafael, thank you for what you have told me—about your feelings and about your sister, Consuelo. What you have told me is important to me. But now I'm dreadfully tired. Please be kind enough to excuse me."

  Reluctantly, he arose. "Very well. I'll leave you now. But I haven't given up. I'll be back. One day you'll realize the truth about Del Toro. When that time comes, I'll be there to claim you."

  JoNell heard the door behind her open and close. The air felt suddenly cold and damp. Feeling threatened, she went inside and sought solace in her large, comfortable bed. She had just settled comfortably under a large, white afghan woven of alpaca when the door of the room opened, and in strode Del Toro.

  His countenance looked dark and threatening. "I see you had company."

  "Company?"

  "Yes. Rafael Garcia. Don't deny it. I saw him leaving the house as I was returning from my business meeting."

  She shrugged. "Yes, seňor Garcia dropped by for a few minutes."

  Del Toro scowled. "I don't want you entertaining men when I am not home. Gossip starts easily in this city. Our servants gossip to other servants, and the next thing there is a full blown scandal."

  She raised her chin defiantly. "That is all you are concerned about—the honor of the Del Toro name? You are not interested in whether or not he made love to me?"

  The storm clouds in Del Toro's eyes grew darker. "Did he make love to you?"

  She met his eyes squarely. "He said he loves me. He wants me to divorce you and marry him."

  There was a long, tight silence. Del Toro's eyes were like scalpels probing her gaze. "And what was your answer? Do you love him?"

  She shrugged. "That's really no concern of yours, is it? That's my own private matter." She was silent for a moment, then added, "But you need have no fear of a scandal. You and I have a business agreement. You kept your part of the bargain—you ordered the cargo planes from my father and saved his business. I am grateful for that. And I fully intend to keep my end of the agreement. But after the year is up, who knows? Perhaps, after the divorce, I will marry Rafael. You will marry his sister, Consuelo. That would make you my brother-in-law. A relationship," she smiled, "that I would much prefer to the one you and I now have."

  Again there was a deadly silence. Del Toro moved away from her to the window and stared moodily at the garden below. "I want you to pack a few things. Tomorrow we will fly to a village in the mountains where I have a copper mine. We will be away two or three days."

  JoNell was surprised and pleased. It would be a relief and welcome change of pace to get away from his artificial social world and behind the controls of an airplane again.

  "Just take casual wear," he said. "And a warm jacket. It gets quite cool in the mountains in the evenings."

  "You do the navigating," she ordered brusquely as they buckled their seat belts in the plane. "You need the practice." She thrust into his hand a sectional map she had marked to show their course. "Are you sure there's a good place to land in this village?"

  "There's an airstrip of sorts, primitive, but adequate. I've had chartered planes fly me there many times."

  The flight to the village was breathtaking. She was used to the flatlands of southern Florida. Here the mountains rose majestically, the lofty peaks dissolving into mists. And below was the lush green jungle and rain forests. Fortunately, she had ferried some airplanes with her mother to customers living in mountainous regions, so she had learned the tricks of mountain flying. There were treacherous down-drafts swooping through some of the valleys, and it was crucial to fly high enough to avoid becoming their victim. She had to be alert not to let the awesomeness of the peaks fool her into thinking that she was further away from them than she was. Many an airplane had smashed into the side of a mountain from just such an error.

  "What was our last checkpoint?" JoNell asked, glancing at the aerial map to see if Del Toro was accurately interpreting the colored squiggles and symbols. He had picked up an amazing amount of navigational skill along with his flying instruction. Most students were required to spend a considerable amount of time attending ground school to labor over details of navigating that Del Toro picked up with ease. Whatever else she felt about him, JoNell had to admit he had a brilliant mind.

  "It's that mountain right over there," Del Toro replied to her question about the checkpoint. He nodded toward the peak and matched it up with its replica on the map.

  "That means our ground speed is very good," JoNell commented. "That tail wind is pushing us faster than I had anticipated. We ought to be there soon."

  The tension Del Toro had displayed during the first lessons had gradually eased until today she had found him almost completely relaxed on take-off.

  "I have never really understood why you wanted to learn to fly," JoNell said. "It would be a simple matter for you to hire a pilot to fly you wherever you want to go."

  "For a number of personal reasons," he shrugged. His evasive reply whetted her curiosity.

  "Learning to fly must be very important to you. You found time for your lessons in spite of your hectic business schedule."

  "Yes." His curt reply signaled the end of the conversation. But JoNell's frustration nibbled away at her. In spite of how she despised him, she could not stifle her curiosity. Why? At the moment, she did not know why. But something nagged at her to try and penetrate his exterior shell and get to the real man.

  "Do you go to this village often?"

  "From time to time," he said noncommittally.

  It was obvious he had no intention of allowing himself to be cross-examined, no matter how subtly she approached him. The situation was trying her patience. For some reason, his refusal to be open with her was maddening.

  She decided to be direct. "You are deliberately avoiding my question. Why?"

  Cold orbs of steely green raked over a pert, fair-skinned face. "You really want to know something about me? Why?"

  Why, indeed? Reason told her to let the matter drop. Instead, she persisted. "Why not? Like it or not, I am forced to play the role of your wife for the next year. I find it irritating when you are so darned mysterious. It might make things more comfortable if we knew a little more about each other."

  His chuckle had a mocking quality that irritated her more. But he said, "Very well. What do you want to know?"

  "First of all, why are we going to this remote village?"

  "I told you. Business. I own a copper mine there. I check on all my operations personally from time to time."

  "All right. Second, you have never given me a straight answer about why you wanted to take flying lessons when they made you so nervous. I asked you about that on the first lesson, and all you'd tell me was that it was a 'personal matter.' "

  "Well, it was a personal matter, though there's no big mystery or secret about it. I really didn't think it mattered that much to you. You see, my parents were killed in a plane crash."

  "Oh. I—I'm sorry," she stammered, at a loss to know how to respond.

  "It was a long time ago. I was only fifteen. An aunt and uncle finished rais
ing me. I was very young and impressionable. My parents were taken from me so unexpectedly, in the prime of their lives. They had so much to live for. Eventually, I learned to accept that they were gone. But I never got over how they died."

  JoNell cleared her throat. Embarrassment over her first glimpse of an unexpected side of Del Toro's nature stilled her tongue. For the first time since she had met him, he seemed genuinely human.

  Finally, her tongue came back to life. "No wonder you were so reluctant to have me teach you. You wanted more than just flying lessons. You had a crisis to resolve—a phobia about flying. When you saw what you thought was a mere girl, you couldn't even consider putting yourself in my hands."

  "Until you gave me that first plane ride and demonstrated your skill," he chuckled.

  "How did you have the nerve to go up with me?"

  His gaze became icy, aloof. "You are never to doubt my courage. Jorge Del Toro fears nothing. The 'phobia' I had about flying, as you call it, was a weakness left over from my childhood. I despise weakness in a man. I was determined to conquer the problem by meeting it head-on, and I have."

  JoNell decided it was a good place to drop the subject, though she was left with a grudging admiration for his courage. Del Toro was such an enigma. Just when she thought she was beginning to understand him, he showed facets of his character that surprised her.

  "There it is," Del Toro exclaimed, pointing to a small cluster of buildings. JoNell glanced at the sectional map, surveyed the ground, and agreed that they had arrived. She circled the small mountain village, eyeing the "landing strip" Del Toro had described.

  "That open stretch of meadow you call a landing strip is not very long," she said uneasily.

  "With your skill, I didn't think it mattered."

  "It matters, all right," she said curtly.

  She made a low pass over the open field. A man tending about a dozen llamas looked up and began pointing and shouting. Several other men appeared from a grove of trees and they prodded the slow-moving llamas off to one side of the field.