She stared blindly at her hands. "I wish you to do it." Her voice trembled and she steadied it. "Whatever his reasons, I will wed him."
He rose and laid his gnarled hand lightly on her head. "Love is a gift, Leonor. It must be given willingly to be of any value. And it also has the curious ability that few other gifts have. When given generously, it often generates a like response. Love brings forth love freely, he will love me? Oh, padre, one produces nothing of value. If you approach marriage to that young man with bitterness in your heart, it will be a bleak and lonely life for you both."
"You're suggesting that if I give him my love freely, he will love me? Oh, padré, one can't command love! Even I know that!"
"Command, no. Share, yes. Your love has flowered, Leonor. Give him time and opportunity for his to do likewise."
He rose and rested his hand lightly on her head. "Now, if I'm to get to San Juan Capistrano before dark, I must leave. Think wisely, child, and try to cultivate charity."
After he had left, Leonor thought about what he had said. Her heart lifted with a new, fresh hope. Was it possible that Father Bartolomé was correct? That if she met Dimitri halfway, his fondness for her might flower into love?
Leonor appeared at the supper table for the first time since she had arrived at Dimitri's house. She bathed and dressed in the other clean dress Paquita had managed to smuggle out to Andres. It was a simple, pale rose dress that warmed her cheeks and deepened the luster of her dusky hair. Dimitri was restrained but polite and she answered his manner in kind. Yet, she could not resist studying him through her lashes when his attention was elsewhere, surveying that strong face that she was coming to know. It was thinner, she realized, and more tired than she had ever seen it. She was surprised to discover that these events had obviously taken their toll on him, too. New lines were cut around his eyes and mouth and she felt guiltily that his worries about her safety had helped to put them there. A helpless rush of love swept over her and she longed to clasp his head to her breast and soothe away the lines of strain. She looked up from her plate to catch him gazing moodily at her, his eyes intent, as if he were memorizing the details of her face and dress. Something in the depths of those blue-violet eyes quickened her pulse and warm color swept over her face.
She missed the smile that curved his mouth as she hastily dropped her gaze to her plate and would have been both startled and overjoyed to know that he was savoring the endearing picture she made. Any doubts he might have had of eventually winning her love faded as he watched her confusion. He and no other had awakened her to love, to passion, even though she did not yet recognize it for what it was.
She resented him for forcing the decision on her. He could understand that and he was trying now to atone by being as patient with her as he could. He would not burden her with the knowledge of his love. She was not yet ready to accept it, he felt. He had no wish to add guilt to her burdens and she was not a woman who would accept love where she could not return it. Fiercely he longed for the moment that he could lavish all his carefully stored and treasured love on her, a love that he had held against all the disappointments and emptiness of the past. But he dared not rush her. She had to continue the journey from girlhood to womanhood and come to terms with it. He could only guide her and be there, ready, when the moment came.
After dinner he suggested they go to his study and there he showed her his grandfather's charts and where their two families had been joined in marriage.
"So you really are related to me," she murmured, painfully aware of his closeness as he leaned over her at the desk, his arm brushing her shoulder.
"I told you that I was. It is," he admitted with wry humor, "a very distant kinship, but one can choose one's friends but rarely one's relatives. I was delighted to find a relative whom I wanted to claim."
"But you must have a lot of cousins in Russia."
"None that I would freely choose as relatives, given the choice."
"There must be someone in your family that you're genuinely fond of, Dimitri!"
"I am very fond of my father and I frankly adored my mother."
"And your brother? Don't you have an elder brother?"
"I do. Sergei will assure you that he's a worthy man. He is, I suppose, but also dull and pompous and—"
She laughed up at him and his eyes darkened. He wanted nothing more than to catch her to him and kiss her until she trembled in his arms.
"But you're fond of him," she insisted, looking away from that disturbing gaze.
"Fond? I suppose I am. He is my brother, even if he is dull. He takes his responsibilities so seriously."
"Don't you?"
He held her gaze. "Some of them."
Leonor flushed and moved away. He was unsettling her resolve to show nothing but friendly politeness. "II think it's time I retired," she stammered.
A tender comprehension glinted in his eyes but he did not protest. Instead he took a leather covered book from the shelves along one wall and held it out to her. "Take this to bed with you. I think you'll find it interesting. It is the diary my mother kept when she brought me here for a visit. I told you about it. You should enjoy the description she gives of you as a baby."
The atmosphere in the study suddenly was tense. He watched her, observed her every move, her every word. Why, she did not know, but it unnerved her. And there was a powerful emotion behind it that she could not understand but could feel!
Later, curled up on the wide bed, she turned the pages of the diary. She read descriptions of places and people that she knew and she relished the affectionate account of Dona Alicia's close relationship with her mother and father. During the time that Alicia was gone, her father had met and married her mother and to his joy, his wife and dear friend, when they finally met, had become best friends. Leonor laughed aloud at the description of herself, whom Alicia had seen as an enchanting baby.
Bittersweet tears flooded Leonor's eyes. What would Alicia have felt about Leonor being her daughter-in-law? she wondered. Leonor would never know Dimitri's mother and Alicia, a laughing, spirited woman, to judge from her diary, would never have approved of this marriage that her son and Leonor were arranging. Alicia had adored her husband and would expect such a marriage for her beloved son. Leonor put the book aside, haunted by the feeling that she was letting this lovely woman down if she failed to give Dimitri the sort of love Alicia would expect for her son. Yet, how could she give him what he did not want?
Chapter Nineteen
The ceremony was a quiet one, not at all what Leonor had dreamed of. She had always imagined her father and mother joyous, a great crowd of friends and neighbors and herself arrayed in white lace with a long veil and train. She considered bitterly that, even if a white lace dress were available, she could not in all honesty wear it. She was not entitled to a virgin's raiment. Leonor was acutely conscious of Dimitri firmly holding her hand, his clasp warm and reassuring. Father Bartolomé spoke the vows and celebrated the sacrament solemnly and the very beauty of the words lifted the ceremony from the ordinary. With his gentle prompting, Leonor whispered the appropriate responses. Even as she said the words she could not quite believe she was standing in the sala, with a sombre-faced Sergei and a curious Cesar looking on as witnesses. Had she really promised God and the world to love, honor and obey this man until death parted them?
She had expected, one day, to stand before the altar in the Mission chapel and to make her vows to a man she loved and who loved her. She had never thought of the possibility of being married in a worn blue dress and to a husband who might promise to cherish and honor her but who did not love her. A tight band constricted her heart and she tried to push the sorrow away and concentrate on what Father Bartolomé was saying.
Dimitri glanced down at her pale, tired face, his own eyes shadowed. The portrait of his mother, gazing down at them from the wall behind the priest, seemed to be looking at him with reproachful eyes. But he was doing what he must do. Leonor might not realize that she l
oved him now, but time and patience and tenderness would change that, he vowed to himself. It had to change it! He would not, could not accept any other solution. Tonight, with the bishop's approval, he was making her his, legally. He could only trust that tomorrow she would become his, heart and soul, as well as body. None of his hopes and fears showed on his face. It was calm, purposeful and determined. If Leonor had lifted her head and met that intense gaze, however, she would have glimpsed his own pain.
Father Bartolomé, sharing their wedding supper, watched them with compassionate eyes. He was weary, bone weary. It was a long ride back from the Mission of San Juan Capistrano and he was much relieved to accept Dimitri's invitation to spend the night at the Hacienda Azahar. He was far too old, he decided wryly, bidding them goodnight at last, to do as much hurried travel as he had done these last two days. Now he had done all for them he could. The knot was safely, firmly tied and it was now their responsibility to keep it so. Leonor's pale face and haunted eyes had touched his heart but he could not meddle.
The strong-willed young man she had married would tolerate no interference, even if Father Bartolomé had wished to attempt any, which he did not. Dimitri Varanov was fully capable of dealing with Leonor and the priest knew in his soul that the marriage would succeed. He had no doubts of Leonor's love for her new husband. And after watching Dimitri's face during the ceremony, he had none of the state of Dimitri's heart. He could wish that they were both not so stubborn and full of pride, each afraid to expose to the other their great need and love. The discovery, he reflected, easing his aching old body into the warm bed, would be even richer when it did come to them.
Leonor curled up in the wide bed in Dimitri's room and waited for him to come to her. She felt cold with a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the bedroom. It came from the frigid shell that enclosed her heart. She had married Dimitri. She was his wife. For the rest of her life she would belong to him, bear his children, share his bed, his home and his life. The tears that had threatened her earlier were still rigidly suppressed. She could scarcely bear the thought that she would live with this man without love, without tenderness. Even worse was the thought that she might betray her own love and need and, by doing so, stir his pity. She had pride and self-respect and neither would allow her to accept pity from Dimitri. He would be gentle and considerate and affectionate, emotions that fell far short of the deep, poignant need of her that she so desperately wanted from him.
Her hands tightened on the covers as the door quietly opened and he came in. He glanced at her in the wide bed then, without a word, went to the chair where Sergei had laid out his nightshift and dressing gown.
Leonor watched, fascinated, as he undressed. The muscles rippled across his back as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it over a chair. In consideration of her modesty, he pulled on the dressing gown before he removed his trousers. She swallowed nervously as she saw them added to the growing pile of garments on the chair. Then he approached the bed and she tensed. He stood there, saying nothing, his eyes probing her face. Then he turned and blew out the candle. Leonor heard the swish of the dressing gown as he removed it and tossed it across the foot of the bed. Her small, cold hand gripped the neck of her borrowed nightshift. The bed sagged under his weight as he moved in beside her and turned over to face her.
''There is no reason to be afraid," he said gently. Her face gleamed pale in the moonlight and he reached out and touched her cheek tenderly.
"I'm not afraid." Her voice sounded tight and unconvincing, even to her.
He slid an arm around her and drew her to him and felt the tautness of her body. He did not remind her that she was no longer a shrinking virgin, fearing the unknown. He knew her apprehensions stemmed from a different source and reassuring words would not quell her doubts now. So, he remained silent, letting his hand gentle her. He stroked her hair and her cheek until he felt some of the tension ease from her body. He kept himself still, quiet, under tight control, not seizing her in his arms and pouring his passionate need over her. But her nearness intoxicated him and fought the curb he tried to place on his emotions. He began to make love to her, softly, gently, not asking for any response. He feathered kisses over her face and throat as he murmured reassuring sounds against her soft skin.
Leonor was nearly swept away by the conflict that shook her very being. She wanted to cling to him, to respond with ardor to his hands and mouth but she could not. Before, her defenses down, she had given him an ardent surrender. Now her anguish was too great to lower her defenses even the slightest. As he caressed her and stirred her body to life, she thought wildly that if he would only crush her to him, storm the barrier she had set around her heart, she would willingly give him everything he asked and more.
He continued to caress her with aching tenderness and patience and then, something snapped within her and a fierce surge of emotion washed over her. She twined her fingers in his hair and pulled his head up to hers. Then her lips were against his, exposing the violent need she could not express in words. She molded her body to his and her nails dug sharply into his shoulders. For a moment, stunned by this unexpected reaction, Dimitri froze. Then, with a gasp of relief, he crushed her to him, pressing his body against her body as if he would physically merge her flesh with his. His restraints fled and all caution and patience evaporated as his passion flowed over her like a raging sea. His mouth and hands explored every inch of her body, provoking hoarse moans from deep in her throat. She was on fire, every inch of her burning to his touch, and the hot ache spread, enveloping her, making her writhe under his hands. Her nails raked his shoulders as he moved to possess her and she rose to meet him, merging and blending until together, they soared into an explosive world of passion, ecstasy and fulfillment.
This depth of searing need and release astounded her. It had only been hinted at before! She was aware of nothing but Dimitri and the fire that raged through her, driving her to completion, leaving her weak and shaken in his arms. He kissed her gently, smoothing her tumbled hair away from her damp brow. He tried to speak but his throat was so tight with emotion that it was impossible for him to say the words he longed to say to her. Gradually her breathing steadied and when she half turned away from him and her eyes closed, he released her. She made no protest as he curled up behind her, pulling her against him.
"Leonor?"
But she lay still and did not answer. With a sigh Dimitri closed his eyes, not willing to awaken her. Tomorrow he would say those things that needed to be said.
Leonor listened to his breathing, hearing it slow into the even breathing of a deep sleep. She brought a trembling hand to her face and wiped away tears that still coursed down her cheeks. So, she had proved what? That he desired her? She had known that and reveled in it but desire could not replace love. Not once had he said a word of love and she had forced the betraying words from her tongue. It was enough that her body had betrayed her secret to him, yet he had not even shown any recognition of that blatant declaration of love. Did he think she could divorce love from the act of sex as he had done? Feeling chilled and incredibly bleak, she pulled the covers closely around her body and, much later, fell into an uneasy doze.
Chapter Twenty
Feet pounded on the stairs and down the hallway, skidded to a halt outside the bedroom door. Dimitri was half out of bed before the thundering knock sounded on the door. He caught up his dressing gown and struggled to get his arms into the sleeves.
"What is it?" Leonor gasped, as she sat up hurriedly and then pulled the sheet around her breasts.
"I don't know. Stay in bed while I find out."
He yanked the door open as he spoke and Cesar nearly fell into the room. "Don Dimitri," the breathless man gasped, "trouble!"
"I'll be with you at once," Dimitri shut the door and tore off the dressing gown and pulled on his clothes. Leonor watched silently from the bed. There was no sense in asking him what the trouble was. She knew as much as he did at the moment. He buckled on
his sword and stuck his pistol in his belt and strode to the door.
She could not let him go without a word! "You'll let me know?" she asked.
He turned briefly. "I'll send word."
As Dimitri entered the hall, Sergei burst out of his room, pulling on his jacket as he came and joining the two in the hall.
"What is it?" Dimitri demanded.
"Men have attacked the grain barns in the western section, senor. I've gathered up all the men we can spare and will take them over there."
Dimitri scowled. He had expected trouble and now it had come. "Is Andres still at the main gate?"
"Yes, senor. He has a dozen men there and I've left that many around the house."
"You stay here and guard my wife," Dimitri said. In spite of the urgency of the moment, he savored the word 'wife'. But immediately he returned to the problem at hand. "Sergei and I will deal with the attack. Are the men ready to ride?"
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