Surrender by Moonlight

by Foxx, Rosalind

  Leonor stamped her foot. "No, I am not hungry. I want to see him now!"

  "I will tell him when he comes in. Is that all?"

  She clenched her hands in fury. "That's all!"

  She listened to his retreating footsteps and picked up the pitcher of water. At least she could remove the dust and grime from her face and hands. In a little while she had washed her face and hands and let down her long hair and brushed it until it was reasonably free of tangles and dust. But there was nothing she could do about her riding habit. It was streaked with dust from the road and brushing didn't seem to improve its appearance. She went over to the bed and picked up the nightshirt. It must be one of Dimitri's. For a moment she hesitated but it was clean and fresh and she was dirty and uncomfortable in the rumpled habit. Yet, when he came, she disliked the thought of facing him wearing a thin, overlarge nightshirt. He would be certain to laugh and that would not make her feel any better. With regret, she threw it back on the bed and settled down to wait. She had dozed off, tired by all the wearing activity of the night, when a shot jerked her awake. Another shot! What was happening? How long had she slept? She darted over and listened at the door but could hear nothing. Frustrated, she paced the room, hoping Dimitri would come soon. She was exhausted, bursting with curiosity and was at the end of her endurance. But she had no choice but to sink back in the armchair and wait.

  The key scraped in the lock again and she didn't bother to get up. It would be Sergei again, with more excuses. She started when Dimitri walked in, locking the door behind him.

  "You certainly didn't hurry," she told him sourly. He had taken time to wash up. His hair was damp and he looked clean and comfortable.

  "There were things that had to be done." He crossed the room and looked her over. "I'm sorry you had to wait. I know you're tired but we must talk." He pulled up a straight chair and sat down across from her.

  "Why can't I go home?" she asked militantly.

  He paused and seemed to choose his words carefully. "I questioned the man we captured, Leonor. Those two were paid assassins."

  "We had already decided that."

  He didn't rise to the bait. It was natural that she would be tired and irritable and he had promised himself that he would be calm with her and not allow her to stir him to anger. "Who," he asked quietly, "do you think would pay two men to kill you, Leonor?"

  Her expression changed to one of consternation. "I don't know."

  "You've thought about it?"

  "Of course I've thought about it. First those two men kidnapped me and now this. I'm not a fool, Dimitri. I have an enemy, yes, I know that. But I don't know who it is." She stared at him, suddenly afraid. "Do you know?" she whispered.

  "Let's think about it this way. Who would gain by your death?"

  The remaining color fled from her cheeks and her dark eyes widened. "My stepfather?" she whispered.

  "So you did suspect him?"

  "I did not believe he would go to such lengths. Why?" she burst out.

  "The estates. In two months you inherit them and his days of power are over. If you died, who would inherit them, your mother?"

  She swallowed the painful lump in her throat. "My mother, yes, but she would never agree to a plan to kill me."

  "No, she wouldn't. Her husband's guilt would not occur to her. She would find it unthinkable that her husband would conspire to kill her daughter. But it was indeed your stepfather. The man talked. Don Gilberto and Don Carlos hired them. Ah yes, Don Carlos was involved. I had already guessed that. He would have to be. They have shared their villainy from the first." He told her about their attempts to gain his land and the man admitting that he had been hired to kill Dimitri too. "You saved me from that and I thank you for it."

  "I would say we're even," she muttered, blinking back tears.

  "You stand between Don Gilberto and the estates. He enjoys power far too much to give it up. You were safe, Leonor, as long as he thought you'd be content to let him continue to manage things, to run the estates and wield the power. But, early last summer you challenged him and made it clear who would be in charge when you inherited. What would be left for him to do? He has nothing of his own. He does not even have a house to take your mother to."

  "I would not have thrown them out! I never thought of such a thing!" she protested brokenly.

  "But he thought of it. He couldn't stay there watching you in control and having nothing at all to do. Besides being greedy and unscrupulous, he is a proud man. So you had to go. First he tried to arrange a marriage for you with someone weak, someone who would willingly take orders from him. You refused." A grim smile touched Dimitri's lips as he thought of the weak-willed young caballero who had tried to woo Leonor. "After that, there was no alternative but to have you killed. There was no other way he could have the estates. If your mother inherited them, then naturally he would run them. To all intents and purposes, they would be his." He reached over and took one of her shaking hands in his. ''You have not yet inherited. He still has two months. He will try again."

  The slender hand in his grasp trembled harder.

  "If he knows you're alive, he will be forced to do something about it. No, I'm sorry, Leonor, but you can't go home. We have to conceal you, let him think this latest plot succeeded."

  "But my mother. She'll think I'm dead—"

  "I'm sorry. She can't be told. Do you want her to know that her husband is trying his best to murder you. This way, she'll only grieve for several months."

  "Once I am of age, I can go home?"

  He rose and began to pace the room. This was the most precarious part of his plan and he flinched from having to tell her, baldly with no flowers, no music, no romantic touches that a lovely young woman would expect. He turned back to her. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple. Think, Leonor. If you inherit and take your place there, running the estate, he will have lost . . . for the moment. But at any time, if he can manage your death, your mother will still inherit."

  "What can I do?" she cried. "I can't hide forever! If we told the authorities—"

  "The authority here is Don Carlos. He would pretend not to believe you. There would be no protection from him. Far from it, in fact. He helped to hire those two ruffians—"

  Her shoulders sagged. "It seems hopeless, then."

  "Not quite. Only one thing would safeguard you, Leonor. Only one."

  She glanced at him, tears swimming in her eyes. "What?"

  "Marriage. No, let me finish," he said as she moved to interrupt. "If you were married, your husband would inherit, so Don Gilberto would no longer have anything to gain by having you dead. And if you produced an heir, then it would be over."

  "And whom do you propose I marry?" she flared at him. How dare he calmly stand there and decide her future for her!

  "Me," he said simply.

  For a long moment she gazed at her hands, unable to understand the meaning of what he had said. Then her head snapped up and she looked at him wide-eyed. "You!"

  "Me," he told her firmly.

  "You don't want to marry me," Leonor protested. "And I don't want to marry you," she added hastily.

  "I do want to marry you."

  "Why?" she demanded suspiciously.

  "Several reasons," he said.

  "What are they?"

  He sighed but held on to his patience. "First, I'm in the same situation as you, don't you realize that? They went to considerable lengths to acquire my land and they failed. Tonight I was to be killed also. I have no heirs, Leonor. If I die, there is no one to inherit the estates and they revert to the Spanish Crown. The governor will undoubtedly sell them to that precious pair for a low sum, if, by doing it, he thinks he can buy their continued support. So I must have an heir. You would be my heir until we had a child, then it would revert to the child. Another reason, it is past time that I married and had that heir. I also have lands in Russia that will come to me when my father dies, as well as a small property I inherited from my grandmother. My father ha
s been pressing me to take a wife these last two years. It is my duty and I know it. Just as it is your duty to provide an heir for your estates."

  "There are other women you could marry."

  He smiled, his eyes serenely blue. "Certainly there are. Just as there are other men you could marry. But name me one whom you feel could protect you and your lands from your stepfather as well as I could."

  Leonor tried to think of one but could not. She was enraged that he would propose to marry her for duty, to produce an heir. "I have no wish to marry you," she said clearly. "I do not want to live without love for the rest of my life."

  He wasn't sure what he had expected her to say but her answer surprised him. "There is no reason why we couldn't have a happy marriage, Leonor. One cannot, of course, ask for everything, but we could be happy."

  "Happy!" she said scornfully. "I could stay at home having your heirs while you dallied with women such as Carlota Fernan."

  A flash of anger showed in his eyes, now deepened to a smoky charcoal gray. But his anger was tempered as he realized that she had noticed that little flirtation and been annoyed by it. "If I married you," he said deliberately, "I would be faithful to you. What I have done before is not your concern. But if we were wed, you would have no cause for complaint in that direction. I would keep my vows just as I'd expect you to keep yours."

  Unable to sit still for another moment, she jumped to her feet and went to the window, twitching aside the draperies. Her head was in a whirl. Marry Dimitri?

  He watched her for a long minute. "You're tired. You can't make a decision like this when you're too tired to think. Go to bed, Leonor. You can think about it tomorrow and we'll discuss it then. No," he raised his hand as she turned to speak. "Not now. We're both too tired. But think about this. I would be a good husband. We would build a life together that would content you. And I am fully capable of dealing with your stepfather. That's important. A weak husband would be of little use to you. He could not stand against Don Gilberto and could not even protect the children you would have. I will!"

  Leonor did not speak. She couldn't. The lump in her throat was so large and painful that she could not utter a word. She heard him cross to the door and quietly close it. The key grated softly in the lock.

  Leonor sank down on the side of the bed, her head whirling with exhaustion. Too much had happened too quickly for clear thinking. She felt buffeted, bruised from the shocks she had sustained during the night. First the riot, and then the men with their terrifying near-miss at killing her, and at the last to learn of her stepfather's villainy. She knew, with a sureness she did not question, that two truths had been voiced during her conversation, if such an encounter could be called that, with Dimitri. The first was her stepfather's guilt. She had been shocked but not surprised. Somehow she had known it and had added the pieces together just as Dimitri had done. His suspicion, by now a certainty, had been verified with a confession from the assassin they had captured. But she could not face it!

  She had avoided probing the possibility any more deeply than a vague wondering because of the anguish it would cause. Leonor was far from fond of Don Gilberto. She had detested him from the beginning, resenting, at first, the fact that he had presumed to take her father's place. Later, once she had grown to know him, it was easy to dislike the man for what he was. She had known he was hard, greedy and dangerously ambitious. He had risen far from the child of a poor government clerk to a respected, wealthy don and she alone stood between him and continued rank and power. But she had not wanted to see the truth. Not for his sake but for her mother's. What would Dona Juana do if she knew the truth? Leonor, weak with weariness and the aftereffects of shock, was determined to keep the truth from her mother if it were possible.

  The second truth that Dimitri had made her face was that of the future. He was quite right; only her marriage would stop Don Gilberto's relentless quest for the estates. And, if not Dimitri, whom could she marry? Who could stand firm for her and her rights? Leonor began going over the names of the eligible young men and, one by one, rejected them. None had the strength, the experience to succeed in this perilous situation.

  She pushed her hair back from her aching brow and decided that Dimitri was correct on another account: she was too tired to make any decisions tonight. She would think it through tomorrow and decide what was best. She pulled off the dusty riding habit, washed in the cool water in the basin and slipped the nightshirt over her head. It came nearly to her ankles and the cuffs covered her hands. She was surveying them with a wry twist to her mouth when a soft knock came on her door.

  "It is Sergei, senorita."

  Leonor opened the door, thrusting the sleeve away from her hand so she could turn the handle.

  "I came to see if you need anything before you sleep." His glance fell on the billowing nightshirt and Leonor held out her hands.

  "If you would turn back the sleeves for me?"

  Sergei set down the candlestick and deftly turned back the sleeves, rolling them up until her hands were clear. "Anything else?" he asked softly, eyeing her sympathetically.

  "No, thank you, Sergei."

  She watched him nod, pick up the candle and softly close the door. The key turned in the lock but she was past caring that Dimitri was still taking the precaution of locking her in. The feather bed looked too inviting for her to worry about anything else tonight. She needed rest, to be able to think, to make her plans and to deal with Dimitri. She would need all her strength to face that in the morning!

  Chapter Sixteen

  Andres was also tired but he could not yet seek his bed. He approached the kitchen door of the Hacienda de Reyes cautiously. Hesitating in the shadows, he looked about. The place was far too quiet. After the night's events, one would expect much more bustle and tramping about. He had seen no guards as he entered the estate and he had not been challenged on his way to the house. It made him uneasy. The kitchen door abruptly opened and Eva, one of the kitchen maids, came out. She stood there for a moment, breathing deeply of the air and stretching.

  "Eva," Andres hissed.

  She whirled around, saw him beckoning and hurried over to the thick cluster of fruit trees. "Andres! What—"

  "I need help, Eva." He moved out of the shadow and she saw his torn and bloodied sleeve and gasped. "Can you fetch Paquita to me without anyone knowing?"

  "Si," she stammered, her gaze riveted on his sleeve. "Andres, what—"

  "Not now, Eva. There's no time. Just fetch Paquita."

  She left without another word and Andres returned to the deep shadow. The wait seemed to last for an hour but it was no longer than a few minutes before Paquita came out and rushed toward the trees. "Andres?"

  He caught her arm and pulled her into the shadows, his touch urgent. "Did anyone see you leave?" he asked.

  "No. Eva said you were hurt! Let me see."

  "Not now. It's just a scratch," he said impatiently.

  She turned him so that the faint moonlight washed over his arm and she set her mouth. "We will take care of this now, before we talk, or we don't talk."

  He smiled at her stern face and voice. "It's stopped bleeding and I can't be seen here."

  "There's no one about. Come into the kitchen. Eva will stand guard and you can tell me about it as I clean that up."

  Andres' resistance was swept away as she pulled him toward the kitchen door. A willing Eva, the sole occupant of the kitchen, slipped out and took up a stance outside the door leading to the main house. Paquita gathered cloths, a bowl of water and bandages and began to clean his arm. ''Now, tell me."

  Andres winced and then told her of the riot, the attempt on Leonor's life and his instructions from Don Dimitri. "Can you do what he wants?"

  She secured the bandage and sat down on the edge of the table. "I can do it. Andres, the senorita—"

  "She's safe. That's all I can tell you."

  "I should be with her."

  "You cannot. We need to have you stay here and behave as
naturally as possible. We must know what is going on here and only you can tell us. Also, Don Gilberto would suspect something if you, too, disappeared. Fetch me the clothes now. And be sure to bring things that will not be missed."

  "You'll wait here?"

  "No, outside. Why is it so quiet? Where are the guards?"

  "I don't know. He came back and dispersed the guards and went to his office. He's there with Don Carlos. I know Don Carlos has not left yet because I have been watching. I was frantic with worry about Senorita Leonor but I didn't know what to do. He must have known she was at the riot but he said nothing when he returned and she didn't come back." Paquita, remembering the terrible fears and uncertainties of the last hours, shivered and Andres drew her close. "I just . . . waited," she continued, breathlessly. "If she didn't arrive in an hour, I was going to slip out and come to find you."