by Diana Palmer
“At least one of our female guests thinks it’s brazen and scandalous,” she confided. “Like wearing pants!”
His gaze fell to her long skirts. “You can wear pants when we ride together, if you like, and shock every hand on the ranch.”
She grinned. “Oh, Eduardo, it’s going to be such fun being married!”
He was beginning to feel that way himself. It was unexpected. His first marriage had been dull and cold and unfeeling. Consuela had left him with scars that had never healed. But Bernadette was fiery and outrageous. She appealed to him as other women never had, and her innocence had a special appeal. He was glad that he’d started off right with her. He could never have courted her with false passion or pretended love. It was better to have their feelings for each other out in the open. That way, they could deal honestly with whatever difficulties they encountered.
Bernadette saw his somber expression and wondered at it. “You aren’t having second thoughts?”
“About marrying you?” He smiled. “Of course not. I was only thinking how wise we are not to pretend love for each other. Honesty is always best.”
She mumbled her agreement, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. It wouldn’t do to tell him that she was head over heels in love with him and had been for as long as she could remember. He’d find it out one day. And hopefully, by then, he wouldn’t mind. He might even learn to love her...a little.
She followed his intricate steps with ease, but it was a relief when other couples began to join them on the dance floor. She found herself breathless all too soon, and she hated the idea of people staring at her as she struggled to breathe.
He noticed when she began to pant softly. He also noticed that she never complained. She smiled at him and would have continued. But he stopped in midstep and took her hand, placing it gently in the crook of his arm.
“And that’s enough for now,” he said with genuine affection. “We can sit on the sidelines and watch the others. Would you like some cold punch?”
“I would indeed!”
“You have a stubborn streak, Bernadette,” he mused as they walked through the crowd of dancers. “I’m not sure it’s a good thing. You push yourself too hard sometimes.”
His voice was soft with concern and her heart lifted. He had to care for her a little, just a little. Her face brightened and became radiant. He glanced down at it and couldn’t look away. Those eyes, those soft green eyes, had him all but hypnotized.
She was breathless all over again, but not from exertion this time. His eyes went from her face down to her white shoulders to the delicate cleavage between her pretty breasts.
It seemed that neither of them could forget those exquisite moments in the desert when he’d touched her in forbidden ways. It was in his face that he wanted that again.
Her fingers contracted on his sleeve, conveying her own inclinations.
He glanced at the patio doorway and back down at her. His face was hard, his black eyes glittering. He caught her gloved fingers in his.
“Shall we get a breath of air?” he asked evenly, surprised that his voice could sound so perfectly normal when he was churning inside.
“Yes, let’s,” she agreed at once.
He led her through the dancers again, smiling politely and not seeing a single face they passed.
The patio wasn’t deserted. There were two couples dancing very close together. Eduardo gave them a wide berth and led Bernadette to the rose garden that was her pride and joy. There were high hedges and two large shade trees just beyond it, with a stone bench under one.
He seated her there. In the soft moonlight, her face looked lovely. She was a little flushed, and her breathing was strained, but she was smiling.
“The scent of the roses isn’t too overpowering for you?”
She shook her head. “I’m all right. I just got a little tired while we were dancing, that’s all.”
He looked around them. “It’s lovely here. There’s a rose bower at my grandmother’s home in Granada, and a profusion of blooms swells there in the warmest month. There are orange and lemon trees.”
“Did you take young women there?” she teased.
“Only one, my distant cousin Lupe,” he replied lazily. “And her duenna,” he added with a chuckle. “In Spain, no proper young lady goes anywhere with a gentleman unescorted.”
“You told me that, once.”
“But we are to be married,” he reminded her softly. “And I hardly think this place is conducive to anything frightfully indiscreet. Although,” he added, slowly removing his white gloves, “one never knows. Does one?”
His long, lean fingers traced the delicate line of her lips and then the curve of her soft chin, down her throat along the throbbing artery to her collarbone. They rested there while his head moved closer to hers and she felt his breath on her mouth.
“Bernadette, you make me feel like a giant when I touch you.”
“Why?”
“You melt against me. Your lips lift for mine. Your body inclines toward me. You tremble, and I can hear the very tenor of your breathing.” His fingers trespassed slowly downward and he felt her jump under the intimate caress. “These are things no woman can pretend with a man. You want me very badly. It pleases me that you can’t hide it.”
She laughed nervously. “You are conceited.”
“Not at all. I am...perceptive.” His fingers moved again and his mouth caught the tiny cry that escaped her soft lips.
He kissed her with controlled ardor while his fingers trespassed inside her bodice and caught the hard thrust of her nipple between them. He caressed her. She leaned into him and moaned, clinging to him while his hand smoothed tenderly over the soft flesh.
When he felt her arch helplessly, he withdrew his invading hand and lifted his mouth from hers. He was having trouble breathing, too, and his body was telling him that this couldn’t continue much longer.
He caressed her cheek gently as he searched her misty eyes and found tears glistening in them.
“It will be a good marriage,” he said huskily.
“Yes.”
He stood up abruptly with his back to her as he slipped his white gloves back on. His heart was ramming insistently against his rib cage and he felt swollen. Probably it was visible. He didn’t dare go back into the ballroom until he had himself under better control. The thought of how easily he reacted to Bernadette amused him, and he laughed softly in the stillness of the garden.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked, rising to stand beside him.
He looked down at her. “I can’t tell you until we’re married.”
“Oh, I see,” she murmured, glancing down at him and then quickly away with a soft flush. “You think I’m blind.”
He burst out laughing. “You wicked girl!”
She grinned at him mischievously. “And you said that I was responsive.”
“And brazen,” he teased. He linked his hand with hers. “Come. We’ll stroll along through the roses until I can convince my starving body to contain its wicked appetite. I don’t mind you seeing,” he added gently, “but I don’t care to advertise my state to the world at large.”
She wondered at the camaraderie they shared. She’d never dreamed there was a man who could take her through the emotions Eduardo had. They’d been adversaries, friends, conspirators, and soon they would be lovers.
Lovers.
The word ricocheted in her mind, trailing forbidden images. It would be sweet to lie in Eduardo’s arms and let him do what he liked to her body. She knew already that he could give her pleasure in more than one way. But it was the consequence of intimacy that frightened her. It was the specter of pregnancy. She remembered her sister’s agony of long, painful, pitiful hours before she died. She remembered her father’s harsh reminders of her mother’s death at her own birth. The very thought of having a child made her terrified.
But when she looked at Eduardo, the thought of not having one was even sadder. He should h
ave a son to replace the one he’d lost. He was the sort of man who would dote on a child, male or female. He wouldn’t be like her father, blaming her and keeping her at arm’s length for something that wasn’t her fault. He was a fair man. He would be a good father. But she had to get past her fear to entertain even the idea of having a child with him. It wasn’t going to be easy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE REST OF THE EVENING WAS delightful and Bernadette moved through it like someone walking on air. Eduardo never left her side, not even when a pretty young Eastern socialite from one of the wealthiest families flirted with him.
Her father was obviously delighted at the number of monied and influential families who were enjoying his hospitality. He mingled, working so hard at trying to be one of them that his submissive attitude was almost comical. And it did seem to Bernadette as if the guests were only humoring him. They had nothing in common with him, something he didn’t seem to realize. He might have money, but his background, though an honest and hardworking one, was still common. These people were of a social class that had never known deprivation or hardship, coming from families with noble or wealthy lineage. They talked about golf and about estates in England and Scotland, about foreign dignitaries and friends with whom they often visited.
Colston Barron might own some railroads but all he could talk about was the building of them. He knew the subject well, because he’d started as a poor Irish laborer on the eastern leg of the Union Pacific, working along with both Northern and Southern veterans of the War Between the States for three dollars an hour. He’d been in his late twenties when one of the railroads had gone into receivership. Colston had persuaded two foreigners to invest in the venture with him, and he’d plunged everything he could hock and beg and borrow into the bankrupt railroad. With a natural ability to talk his way out of any crisis and coax work out of the laziest of laborers, he’d parlayed that investment into a fortune for his backers, and then he’d bought them out. In his middle fifties now, he was as wealthy as many of his guests.
Of course, none of his guests had worked their way to fortune by the sweat of their brow. And when he spoke of his climb up from the ranks, he made his guests uncomfortable. It was a reminder that they were descendents of men like Colston, men whose determination and steely strength had built empires. Like Rockefeller and Carnegie, he was an empire-builder with the sort of focused determination most of them lacked. And, more, he was a mirror, reflecting their own weaknesses and inadequacies. He might have rough edges, but he was unique. They were only facsimiles of the men who had carved fortunes from raw iron and coal and steel. Consequently, they congregated among themselves and smiled politely when he joined their circles, and tried to find some common ground on which to build a conversation. But there was little. Bernadette’s father seemed to realize it all at once, because he withdrew into himself and except for polite greetings as he passed his guests, he seemed very remote and unapproachable.
“He’s not happy,” Bernadette told Eduardo as they danced the last dance together, another graceful waltz that took her breath away.
“I know. He expects money to solve everything. It doesn’t.” He looked odd when he said that, and the glance he gave Bernadette was too complex to understand.
She didn’t know that he was feeling more guilty by the minute for marrying her, when what he most needed was a loan and not a wife. He could give her affection, certainly, and a grand passion. But underneath it, there was nothing. Hers would be a barren existence, wealthy and honored, but without true happiness. He wished he could love her. It seemed like cheating to marry her only for a loan, even if he had been honest about his feelings.
She saw his expression and smiled up at him. “There you go feeling guilty again,” she said with uncanny perception. “Will you stop worrying? I know what I’m doing, despite what you seem to think. I’m not asking for the stars, Eduardo. I’ll have independence and a roof over my head and a husband handsome enough to make other women green with jealousy.” She chuckled softly. “What more could I ask?”
“A lot, if you want the truth,” he replied quietly. “It bothers me, this bargain of ours.”
“It shouldn’t. I’m willing to settle for what you’ve offered me. You can’t let the ranch die. My father is your only hope of keeping it.” She stared at his shirtfront and decided that she might as well give him the option of backing out if he wanted to. “I think he might be willing to give you the loan without your having to marry me.”
He caught his breath. The scowl he bent down on her head was genuinely angry. “I would refuse any such offer,” he said curtly. “The bargain is that you marry me first. I have no intention of backing out of it. And neither,” he added firmly, “are you going to. It’s too late. You wear the family betrothal ring, and the bracelet. When I give my word, I keep it, Bernadette.”
“Yes, I know, but you were forced into this.”
“I was not. I could have gone to my grandmother. I could still go.”
“And sacrifice your pride,” she said irritably. “Go begging. I’d rather you starved.”
Her vehemence on his behalf amused him. His arm pulled her perceptibly closer. “Would you? And would you starve with me, my intended bride?”
“Of course,” she said with simple honesty. “That’s what marriage is supposed to be about.”
His face looked briefly drawn and solemn. “Consuela would have gone to her parents at once, rather than face such a comedown.”
She pinched his arm. “I’m not Conseula, nor am I likely to be,” she said. “Would you mind not comparing us? It’s uncomfortable.”
“Not half as uncomfortable as I would be should you become like her.”
She was remembering what he’d told her about the other woman in their moments of intimacy and she flushed uncomfortably.
He saw her expression and his was puzzled. “I should not have said such a thing to you. It was indecent. But I thought you should know the truth. It was hardly a love match, before or after. And no, I didn’t kill her.”
“I never thought you did. You need not have told me a second time.”
“Why do you always defend me?” he asked, his face hard and still. “You don’t really know me, Bernadette. There are dark places in my soul which are very seldom brought into the light. You may find it difficult to live with me.”
“I find it difficult to live with my father,” she reminded him. “You’ll be a picnic compared to my past life, however ungrateful that sounds.” She put her handkerchief to her mouth and coughed. The exercise of dancing was producing still more breathlessness and she was afraid she might have an attack.
“We’ll stop now,” he said gently, leading her off the dance floor. “You’ve done remarkably well tonight, considering the smell of all these heavy perfumes.” He frowned. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Certainly.” She coughed again. “I’ll have Maria bring me some coffee and I’ll sit quietly while the guests prepare to leave. Those who aren’t staying with us,” she qualified.
“I’ll see Maria. You sit here.” He eased her into a chair and walked off in the general direction of the kitchen.
* * *
THE GUESTS LEFT RATHER QUICKLY, all aglow with the latest news to carry back to their respective homes. Bernadette marrying a Spanish nobleman, and how exciting to have such a grand event held so near their homes!
Bernadette took the congratulations in her stride, but she noticed that her father was positively morose.
After the room had cleared of guests, Colston joined Bernadette and Eduardo in the parlor.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Father?”
He grimaced. “Sure and what a bunch of peacocks preening,” he muttered with a self-conscious glance at them. “I’ve never been so uncomfortable in me life. All that talk of golf and racehorses and tennis and fancy hotels! And such fine clothes and parlor manners, from men whose hands were as lily white as a rich woman’s!”
“
Those people didn’t make their fortunes, they inherited them,” Bernadette pointed out.
“So I see.” He turned to her. “At least it wasn’t all for naught,” he added, glancing at Eduardo with a smile. “I get a fine son-in-law for my pains, and someone to inherit this place when I’m gone.”
“What about Albert?” Bernadette asked, surprised.
“Do you think he’d ever come back here to live?” he scoffed. “His father-in-law has given him a ship and he’s become a fisherman. Says he never loved anything so much. He’d sell this place and never grieve. Eduardo wouldn’t,” he added, his gaze going to the younger man standing beside Bernadette. “He loves the land. He’d make it pay, just as I have.”
“I might not succeed,” Eduardo told him. “But it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.” He looked down at Bernadette’s wan face. “This child needs her bed, and I have to return home. It was a fine party,” he told Colston.
“Indeed, Father, and it was kind of you to turn your ball into our engagement party,” Bernadette added.
Colston shrugged. “I feel a fool. I’ve never swallowed so much pride in me life. I’m for bed and a hot toddy. Is Maria still in the kitchen?”
“Yes,” Eduardo said, indicating the cup of black coffee Bernadette was sipping, which Maria had made for her.
Colston shifted restlessly. “You’ll need to watch her around flowers,” he told Eduardo with surprising concern. “She loves them and spends too much time puttering about them, mucking in the earth. She’ll pay for it with several days in bed.”
“I’ll take care of her.”
“I’ll take care of myself,” Bernadette told her fiancé. “I don’t want to spend my life fighting my lungs. I won’t be any trouble at all.”
Colston looked guilty. He murmured a polite good-night and left the two of them alone.
Eduardo looked down at her with some concern. “I’ll have Maria listen out for you tonight, just in case. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She smiled at him. “Yes.”
He bent swiftly and brushed a soft kiss across her forehead. “Sleep well, Bernadette.”