“I will leave you to soak, senorita. Would you like me to wash your hair in a few minutes?”
Molly nodded, leaned against the back of the tub and closed her eyes. She sighed as the warm water caressed her. “This is wonderful. Yes, thank you, Angelita, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
After her shampoo, she dozed in the tub. Awakened by a sound that came from the doorway, she opened her eyes and gasped. Charles was standing there, watching her.
“Charles!” Frantically, Molly scanned the room for her towel. She stood, only long enough to grab the towel that was folded over the back of a chair. She tried to wrap it around her, but her broken wrist hampered her movements. “What are you doing here? Charles, this isn’t proper at all.” Fear and confusion tumbled over her.
He gazed at her, desire flaming in his eyes, his breathing erratic. “God, Margaret. You’re so beautiful…. Your breasts … so plump and sweet. I knew it…. I knew you’d be a seductress. Dammit, Margaret, I’m ready to burst, I want you so badly.”
With the towel pressed in front of her, Molly backed away from him. “Charles, please.” Panic seized her. She’d never imagined him like this.
He moved toward her. “Margaret, Margaret. It’s only a matter of time. Come,” he urged, his voice still shaking as he reached for her towel. “I want to marry you more than anything in the world. What does it matter if we jump the gun a little? God,” he said on a harsh intake of breath. “I want you. I don’t want to wait to bed you.”
His heightened arousal continued to frighten her. She hated what she saw in his eyes, that irrational, heated lust that made him too strong and determined to listen to reason. She tried to scoot around him, but he caught her and pulled her toward him. It was more than revulsion that she felt at his touch. A feeling more ridiculous than anything she could have imagined snaked into her thoughts. A sense of unfaithfulness to Buck.
“Charles, please. We have to wait. We … I have some things I have to tell you—”
He ripped off her towel and pressed himself against her, grinding his pelvis into her abdomen. He shook with desire. His hands were everywhere, groping her breasts, her back, her buttocks. She pushed at his shoulders with her good hand, anxious to be free of him. But he was too strong. He shoved her toward the bed, all the while trying to unbutton his fly. Molly continued to fight, but she was no match for him, not when he was like this.
Suddenly someone pounded on the door. “Senor Campion?” The knocking became insistent. “Senor Campion, por favor. Someone to see you downstairs. They say it is urgent.”
“Goddammit!” he roared. “How dare you interrupt, you stupid bitch!” he shouted at the closed door.
“Please, senor. They say it is urgent.”
Molly held her breath, quietly thanking Angelita for the timely interruption.
With another wild curse, Charles flung himself off the bed and buttoned his fly. He angrily pulled open the door and slammed it behind him, leaving Molly quaking with relief.
She rolled off the bed and slipped into her bedclothes, still shaking with fear. She’d very nearly been raped by her own fiancé. She wondered why fear had been her first response. Why hadn’t her body been aroused, just knowing she was arousing him? She shouldn’t have fought him. She wouldn’t have, if she were really in love with him. She’d have welcomed him into her bed, and her body—as she’d welcomed Buck the night before.
Crawling under her covers, she shuddered, the thought of sleeping with Charles suddenly repulsing her. But it was the shock she’d just experienced. That was all. Surely, once she and Charles were married, she would feel differently, and Charles would be different, too. He’d lost control, yes. But she knew it was because he’d been so worried about her. So concerned for her safety. Obviously, he’d just briefly snapped when he’d discovered he’d been worrying needlessly. And she would welcome him into her bed once they were married. She would have to. She’d do anything to purge her guilt for sleeping with, and loving, Buck Randall.
She had to face Charles with the truth. Everything had slowly become clear to her. Charles loved her and desired her. He’d been wild with worry during her capture; it was no wonder he’d lost control once he discovered she was all right. But now she knew what she had to do. The first thing tomorrow, she would tell him everything. If Buck was right, and Charles turned against her, she’d just have to return to San Francisco and find herself a better paying job so she could move her mother in with her.
She really hoped it didn’t come to that. From Charles’s response to her just a while before, she was certain he loved her enough to ignore her heritage. But the other thing Buck had told her still bothered her. She still didn’t want to believe Charles was involved with crooks. In that respect, she truly hoped Buck was dead wrong. But if he was right, her decision was made. She felt a strange sense of peace.
There was a quiet knock on the door. She held her breath, fear suddenly twisting inside her.
“Senorita?”
Molly relaxed. “Come in, Angelita.”
The housekeeper entered with a small splint and some clean linen. She came to the bed and quietly worked on Molly’s wrist.
“Thank you for that very timely interruption, Angelita.”
Angelita gave her a knowing smile. “Fortunately, Mr. Reno had to talk to Senor Campion immediately.”
“Maybe with some help from you?”
Her smile widened, and they exchanged wicked little knowing glances. “Maybe with just a little help.”
“I want to ask you something,” Molly said, resting back on her pillows.
“Si, go ahead.”
“Did … how did you know I wasn’t a White?” It was a dangerous question, but since Molly fully expected her secret to be out in the morning anyway, it made little difference.
Angelita gave her a soft smile and put her hand over her heart. “In here I know. I see in your eyes when you first come here that we are sisters, of a sort.” She shrugged slightly. “I have no logical proof; it’s just a feeling, and I’m never wrong.”
“And Buck didn’t … didn’t tell you about me?”
“Senor Buck? Why would he tell me anything about your?”
Molly tried to relax against the bed, but the memory of her shrewish behavior that day in the line shack came back to haunt her. “It isn’t important now.” She glanced down at the clean, fresh wrapping around her wrist. “Thank you, Angelita.”
“You want I should brush your hair to dry it?”
“Oh, yes. That would be lovely,” Molly answered.
While Angelita brushed her hair, Molly probed again. “Why do you stay here when Charles treats you so badly?”
“I come here after Nicolette’s mama died. The nina was only three years old.” She stopped brushing momentarily, as if remembering. “She was an angel,” she began, pulling the brush through Molly’s hair again. “Her papa, he don’t see how she turns to me for comfort. He had none to give her. He was a cold, heartless man. The boy, he didn’t seem to need or want anything from me. But Nikky … she needed loving. I gave it to her. I stay because of her.”
When Molly’s hair was dry, Angelita left her. She thought again about her behavior these past weeks. In many ways, she’d become a woman she didn’t like very much. It was partly because she felt guilty lying about her heritage, and partly because she hated herself for loving Buck. Hopefully, after tomorrow and her confession to Charles, she would like herself once again. She hadn’t realized how heavy a burden lying was. She was ready to stop lying—to herself and to Charles. But she wondered if she would ever stop loving Renegade Randall.
A brief picture of him with his red-robed whore burst before her, and she tried to rekindle the fires of her hatred. She couldn’t. All she felt was that tightness in her chest, and the sick, hollow feeling that had come over her when she’d known he’d left her to go see the other woman, and how easy it had been for him to do it.
Thirteen
The morning sun woke Molly, as did the throbbing in her wrist. She’d slept in spite of it. She slid from the bed and went to the wardrobe, rifling through her dresses until she came to the yellow embroidered silk-organza with the two-tiered skirt. She had to look her best for the difficult meeting with Charles.
Angelita came in and helped her dress and fix her hair, then left on a quick errand. When Molly was ready, she stepped to the mirror and scrutinized herself. She sighed helplessly when she looked at her hair. It had become sun bleached, much like it had been when she was a girl. And her skin … She gave herself a doubtful look. That, too, was a color she remembered well. While she was growing up, by the end of the summer season, she had been browner than her mother. Although she wasn’t that dark now, she certainly was not fashionably pale. She gave herself a wry smile. Not very stylish, Molly-girl. Bleached hair or not, she was beginning to look like a breed. She shook her head and shrugged. What did it matter now?
Taking a deep breath, she left her room, and, after a small breakfast of biscuits and berries with cream, she went to look for Charles. She found him in his office. The minute he saw her, he was on his feet, his face creased with remorse.
“Darling,” he said, taking her hands as he met her in the middle of the room. “Please, you must forgive me. My behavior last night was abominable.” He kissed her hands, suddenly noticing her splint.
“What happened?” He cradled her wrist in his palm.
“I broke it,” she said simply. She was tired of the inconvenience, and even sicker of explaining how she got it.
The concern he’d already shown deepened. “Oh, Margaret,” he said on a sigh. “What you’ve gone through … can you ever forgive me?”
She gave him a little laugh. “Forgive you, Charles? It wasn’t your fault I was abducted … was it?” She remembered clearly that the kidnappers had thought they’d taken Nicolette.
Unreadable changes crossed his face. “I … I hope not. But a man in my position, well, anything is possible. Blackmail is quite common when one has money and power.”
At least he hadn’t denied he could be responsible. But that didn’t mean he was a crook, either. “I do believe that’s what happened. They thought I was Nicolette.”
He groaned and led her to a chair by the desk. “If anything had happened to you—” He shook his head, unable to continue.
“I’m all right, Charles. And if someone had to be taken, I’m glad it was me and not Nicolette. I wouldn’t have wanted her to go through what … what I did.”
Charles slumped into the chair behind his desk and put his head in his hands. “I don’t deserve you, Margaret.” He looked up, his face filled with longing. “I hope my behavior last night didn’t ruin what we could have together. I want to marry you, Margaret, and the sooner the better. I promise I won’t dishonor you ever, ever again. You were just … just so beautiful, and I’d missed you and worried about you for days …”
His sincerity gave Molly courage. “Charles, please. I believe you. But … but I have something to tell you.” Even though her stomach twisted into knots, she knew she couldn’t back out now.
“Anything, my sweet. Anything.”
She took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I know you love me, Charles. And, love … love is a strong and wonderful thing.” Briefly, she thought of his mother’s tragedy, but she pushed it away. Sighing again, she said, “This isn’t easy, Charles.”
“Margaret, Margaret. Please,” he said with a nervous laugh, “you’re beginning to scare me. What is it? You don’t want to marry me after all? If my actions last night were to blame—”
“Oh, no. No, Charles, that’s not it at all. I’ve … I’ve just been keeping something from you, and I think you deserve to know the entire truth about me and my family before you truly commit yourself to me and … and to them.”
He tried to laugh, but it was strained. “Don’t tell me, Margaret. Is your father a politician? Or maybe it’s your mother. She’s an ax murderess, right?”
Her stomach quivered and the contents of her breakfast pressed up into her throat. She tried to give him an answering smile. “No, no, it’s not that.”
He leaned forward, concerned. “Well, what can be so awful that you can’t tell me?”
“It’s … it’s my … my mother. She’s a half-breed.”
The room was shrouded in silence. Molly stared at her hands, hearing only the thumping of her heart. She’d never been ashamed of what she was. She’d only been ashamed that she hadn’t told him sooner. She looked up to find him watching her. A shiver of fear turned her insides to ice.
Finally, he said, “That isn’t a very funny joke, Margaret.”
She glanced away, her apprehension growing. “It’s no joke, Charles. It’s the truth. Not only is my mother a half-breed, but she’s quite simple. She’s sweet and warm and beautiful, but she’s … she’s childlike. And,” she added, purging herself completely, “I’m a bastard. My mother was raped. Not by an Indian, but by a white soldier.”
She paused, waiting for him to respond. He didn’t, so she stumbled on. “I’ve heard about what happened to your mother. It seems … it seems we have something in common, after all. Don’t you think?” She didn’t know if she felt relief or fear.
Charles expelled a deep sigh, rose from his chair and crossed to the window. Molly followed him with her eyes, watching … waiting … holding her breath until her head throbbed. It was a long time before he finally spoke.
“Margaret, Margaret …” His voice was a whisper, but Molly sensed the strained energy behind it. “Just what is it that you think we have in common?”
Molly swallowed anxiously. “I think it’s rather obvious, Charles. Both of our mothers suffered at the hands of … of cruel and heartless men.”
He made a sound that she couldn’t identify. “Do you know anything about Texas law?”
She frowned, wondering what the law had to do with it. “Of course I don’t.”
He continued to gaze out the window. “It’s against the law for a white man to marry an Indian or a Mexican, Margaret.”
Her frown deepened. Was this true? She didn’t know. Maybe it was just an excuse.
“We could both go to jail. Did you know that?”
She laughed nervously. “Oh, Charles, really. Aren’t you exaggerating, just a little?”
He turned on her, his eyes snapping fire. “It’s the law. If you don’t believe me, check with someone else.” Suddenly he changed, his charm resurfacing. “I still want you very much, Margaret. My desire for you hasn’t changed.”
Want. Desire. Not love. She couldn’t believe how wrong she’d been about him. She hid her feelings, still foolishly groping for something she knew she’d lost. “But, surely, if we love each other, we can find a way around the law, Charles.”
He stepped closer, raking his gaze over her body. Desire flared hot in his eyes. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not now. But I do have a proposition for you.”
“A … proposition? Why don’t I like the sound of that?” She tried to act glib and casual, hiding her anguish.
He touched her chin, raising her face to meet his gaze. “Such beauty.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I wouldn’t have imagined you were a breed. But I think I can see it now. Yes,” he added, nodding slowly. “Your coloring from the sun is most unfashionable. But very, very … interesting.” Desire continued to flare in his eyes. “Stay, Margaret. Stay and become my mistress. I’ll give you everything you would have had as my wife.”
Mistress? She stood, listening to the pounding of her heart as she moved slowly away from him. Oh, no. She would be mistress to no man. If she had been good enough for marriage yesterday, she was good enough for marriage today, despite her confession. So. Buck had been right all along. Charles had no strength of character. He was weak, shallow and assumed that whatever he wanted, he could buy.
All
of the men she’d ever looked up to in her life—Nicolas, Sky, Jason and Buck—were breeds, like she was. But she’d been blind to their values and beliefs in her frantic race to become something she wasn’t. Something she could never be, no matter how hard she tried. And now, she realized it hadn’t been worth the effort.
She turned, noting the anger behind Charles’s suave facade. How had she allowed all of his material wealth to blind her so? She wondered if she’d known on some unconscious level that he wasn’t the man she’d hoped he was. She’d allowed her foolish dreams to interfere with reality. She, who’d always claimed to be so realistic.
His prejudices were too embedded. She knew that now. There was no way anyone would change them. Perhaps there was a law that prohibited marriage between Indians and Whites, but since no one else knew she had Indian blood, they could have married and kept her secret hidden between them. If he’d loved her as he professed he did, he would have moved heaven and earth to marry her, in spite of her heritage. Now she was relieved that he wasn’t going to try.
So, her blood in his precious family tree would be a disaster, would it? Ha! He should be so lucky as to have the blood of her proud ancestors flowing through the veins of his pale children. Yes, Buck had spoken the truth. Had he been right about the illegal cattle sales, too? She could find out. It was something she could do for Buck and Sage, as she had greater access to the house than anyone else. But she needed time. She needed a plan.
“Mistress, Charles?” She paused at the door, pretending a casual interest.
“Yes, Margaret. I can still make you happy.” He seemed eager, but his eyes were angry. She saw that clearly now.
Sighing dramatically, she said, “I’ll have to think about it. It isn’t exactly what I’d planned to do with my life.”
“But you’ll consider it?”
She opened the door, wanting more than anything to call him the sucking swine that he was. “Yes, I’ll consider it.”
Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three Page 19