“There is one more advantage, querida. I have access to funds that will help your rancho recover. When he learns of your problems, Father will insist on providing money to tide you over until next year.”
“A loan, Gabriel, or I could not accept the funds.”
“Even from your husband?”
It was tempting . . . he was tempting. Could she adhere to such an arrangement when they would be living together in close proximity? She wasn’t sure. The greater question was, could he?
She rose but kept her distance.
“It’s very late. I’ll give your solution some thought, and we can discuss it further tomorrow.”
He picked up his glass and raised it in a salute as she left the room.
Chapter 15
What have I done?
The words had rolled out of his mouth without thought, and as soon as they sank in, he wanted to cringe. He should have known what Isabella’s reaction would be. Trust had to be earned. In her mind, he had once betrayed her and there was nothing to guarantee he would keep his promises this time.
Except he would.
And as soon he started explaining his plan, he knew it was the only solution. It would keep her and her ranch safe. It would preserve her independence.
It will drive me crazy.
Gabriel watched Isabella rush out of the room as if eager to leave his tainted presence.
He downed his port and held up his glass for a refill. The well-trained servant who had come into the room to remove the tea tray immediately appeared with the bottle, apparently oblivious to the conversation he must have overheard hovering just outside the open door. Thank God they had spoken in English.
Stretching his booted legs out in front of him, Gabriel relaxed back against the sofa. He needed to concentrate, marshal more arguments, appeal to her logical mind. Sorina would help, but she was still in Los Angeles, and there was no time to lose. There could be another attack soon.
He didn’t know when the treaty between Mexico and the United States would be negotiated, nor did anyone else. Once agreements were reached, documents would be sent to respective governments for ratification and changes would be made. After that it could take months for news to reach California.
Lance Grainger had assured Father and some of his friends that the Americans were honorable, that every effort would be made to honor boundaries and to uphold Mexican land policies. But once the treaty was submitted to Congress for ratification, anything could happen. Diplomats—many of whom Grainer knew—would be sent to negotiate the treaty. Politicians would have the ability to strike passages they didn’t like before they approved it.
There was the danger.
Mesmerized by the candlelight playing off the deep color of the wine, he swirled it, swallowed, and set it down. Bidding goodnight to the servant, he crossed the open courtyard and took the stairs two at a time. Energy and purpose flowed through him.
He knew what to do.
Miguel brought more water and laid out an old-fashioned nightshirt. Gabriel put it to his nose and stifled a laugh. It was freshly ironed. He hung it over the chair, not wanting to offend his young valet.
“Do you require anything else?” Miguel asked, his hands clasped in front of him.
“A bath, perhaps?”
“There is only one tub, señor, and it is in use.”
Gabriel smiled. He had guessed it would be.
“Then tomorrow, perhaps?”
“Sí, señor. In the morning.”
The servant left the room, and Gabriel paced. The thought of Isabella naked and wet down the corridor made his trousers tight. Steeling himself to put his plan in place, he opened the door onto the balcony and crept toward the far end. Isabella’s door was ajar. He felt like a voyeur and almost turned away, but then he heard a sound that strengthened his resolve.
The door along the inner corridor closed. It was time to act.
Taking a deep breath, Gabriel squared his shoulders and assumed the role of bored fop he’d been playing for the outside world since his return home. He strode through the balcony door, pausing when Isabella shrieked.
“Did I startle you?” Gabriel raised his brows, admiring the smooth white shoulders exposed above a layer of frothy bubbles.
“Get out.”
“But my dear, I only came to see how long you would monopolize the tub. I, too, am in need of a thorough cleansing.” He raised his forearm and sniffed the sleeve. “Eau de horse. Even through this clean shirt.”
“You shouldn’t be in here, Gabriel. What if the maid returns?” Her skin was flushed, her eyes blazing.
He sauntered over and leaned against the edge of the copper tub. Smiling, he reached out and scooped up a handful of foam. “You would tell her your husband-to-be is assisting you with those hard-to-reach places . . . the curve of your back, the plump cheeks of your derrière, your—”
“Stop! I don’t need to hear more.”
No, she didn’t. Her face was flushed as she looked everywhere but at him. Was she thinking about his hands on those places? Apparently she was. He grinned, skimming his hand along the top of the foam. He heard her breath catch.
He loved it when her eyes flashed in annoyance and she clenched her jaw. Tendrils of hair escaped the knot piled high on her head. She was utterly delectable, and vulnerable. She had enjoyed his attentions in the parlor earlier. Her lips had parted for him, her breasts straining against her bodice. He was hoping her body was still in need.
No, he was counting on it.
He slid to the floor, balancing on his knees so he could lean over her. “Now let me see. How can I help you hurry along?” He reached down into the water until he brushed her leg with his hands.
Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Merely looking for the soap.”
Running his hand over her knee and down her shin, he thought he saw a tiny change in her expression before she squeaked, “This is outrageous! Even for you, Gabriel.”
“Is it, querida?” His teasing tone disappeared. Instead he focused on her pursed lips and wide eyes as his hand changed course and moved back to her knee and along her thigh. Her skin was smooth and warm under the water, and as he inched closer to the juncture of her thighs, her eyes closed and her lips parted.
His audacity was empowering, and he was so hard he might burst.
Leaning forward, he closed his mouth over hers, and she made no effort to resist. She’d had several glasses of wine at dinner, and her defenses were still impaired.
It was time for him to make his most persuasive argument.
She sighed and shifted slightly in the water as his hand slipped to the spot he hoped was aching to be touched. She moaned and strained against his stroking fingers while he deepened the kiss, his lips moving over hers, their tongues touching, tasting. All the while he kept stroking her under the heated water, waiting for her to make a sound that told him she was nearing her climax, willing her to do it soon, before his control shattered.
He left her mouth and kissed the silky skin behind her earlobe, the seductive scent of jasmine drifting from the water.
He’d promised her a marriage of convenience, total independence, and an annulment when the danger had passed. How could he even consider it? He wanted to tear off his clothes and jump into the spacious tub, nudging her legs apart until he buried himself in her warmth. If he did that, his plan would fall apart.
Aware of her body’s sudden tension, he entered her with a wet finger and smiled against her skin as she whimpered, her hands tightening on the sides of the tub.
Groaning, he stroked her one last time and withdrew his hand and his lips. Her eyes flew open, and her look of disappointment almost made him reconsider. Instead he reached behind him, grabbed a towel, and handed it to
her.
“Your water is cooling. I don’t want you to catch a chill.”
She stared hard, her lips parting. Unable to resist, he kissed her one last time. “You see, querida? Marriage to me, even with our unusual agreement, would not be so bad. We could still do this and more without technically consummating the marriage.”
He stood, and she sank back into the water, annoyance on her beautiful face. “If we were married, querida, I would not have to leave you wanting. I could help you reach fulfillment night after night, using my hands . . . and my tongue.”
“I am not a maiden, Gabriel. I do not have to be left intact.”
“No, but you would have to lie to a priest when he asked if the marriage had been consummated, and you wouldn’t like that, would you, Bella?”
He moved toward the outer door and glanced back over his shoulder. She was utterly still, the bubbles dissolving, revealing her luscious body just below the surface of the water. “Think about it.”
He strode back down the corridor, eager to get to his room so he could relieve his discomfort before he went mad.
~ ~ ~
Isabella heard the door to the balcony close and sank back into the water. Closing her eyes, she relived the past few minutes, still aching where his fingers had stroked and teased, leaving her wanting and unfulfilled.
Gabriel is a devil.
If that had been his final act of persuasion, she had to admit it was effective. As soon as he kissed her in the salon she knew she still wanted him. But she’d blamed it on her fatigue, strong wine, and the momentary relief of still having a home. Trembling, she rose from the cooling water and draped the towel around her. For once she was grateful she’d dismissed the maid early, telling her to remove the tub in the morning.
Climbing into bed, she burrowed under the covers and thought about Gabriel’s proposal. No, she really couldn’t call it that. It was a proposition that clearly could benefit her if he kept his word. Drake Logan thought he could weaken her resistance because she was alone. If she had a husband, Logan would have to reconsider, perhaps bedevil some other poor widow if indeed gaining property for resale was his aim. What would Gabriel get out of it? She had already decided to forgive him for his long-ago desertion. Six years was a long time to hold a grudge. When she’d finally learned who actually had committed his supposed crimes, she’d secretly been glad Gabriel had escaped, even if it meant he hadn’t come for her as he’d promised in the message delivered by Pablo.
He only had one thing to gain—the reinstatement of his reputation. Even though officially exonerated, many in their society still secretly wondered if he had committed those unspeakable crimes. Even his father had believed for a time, although Isabella never understood why. Señor de la Vega should have known his own son better than that. But his accuser, Antoine Santoro, had been smooth and seemingly above reproach, while Gabriel had been a scapegrace who had been in some form of trouble all his life. When Santoro died, it was said he had been trying to save Sorina from a kidnapper. Only a handful of people knew the real story, knew Santoro’s true nature. If Isabella Fuentes—a respectable widow with a sterling reputation—married Gabriel, it would ease some of the speculation about his character.
What should I do?
She had enjoyed Gabriel’s attentions. What woman would not? He was young, handsome, and as virile as a stallion. His hands and mouth promised nightly pleasures, and his keen mind had figured out a way to keep her safe. If she married, all her property might someday belong to her husband, depending on the terms of the treaty. If the treaty recognized Mexican property rights, but the annulment was not recognized, she still could end up with nothing.
Nothing but a virile and blindingly handsome husband.
To be effective, Gabriel’s scheme would need to be implemented quickly in order to encourage Logan to go away and hound someone else. Then they would have to annul the marriage so her property rights would never be questioned. Lance Grainger believed the Americans would protect women’s rights. He’d told her to trust the system. But what if he was wrong?
Fluffing the pillow, she turned over on her side, stared at the outer door, and smiled in the dark. Gabriel was an audacious one, creeping into her room while she’d been in the bath. Had she told him she was going to bathe? If she had been abed, would he have joined her under the covers to persuade her further?
Ah, Gabriel, how different our lives would have been if you had come for me on the night of your escape.
Papa had been gratified that his friend Tomas, an older man of wealth, stature, and reputation, wanted his daughter. In those days Gabriel had nothing but prospects and was considered wild and irresponsible. Papa had known of her infatuation and Gabriel’s incarceration, and had most likely been relieved Tomas had asked for her.
Gabriel had been oh so dashing when he’d demonstrated his skills with a reata during exhibitions at fiestas. He could also ride a bull until it was as tame as a newborn calf. All the unmarried young ladies swooned when he smiled or winked at them, and he had chosen her for his undivided attention.
Turning over, Isabella pulled up the covers, unable to sleep. It was a perfect solution. A marriage of convenience. A few kisses, a little foreplay, but no penetration. At the end of the day, when they determined she no longer had anything to fear, an annulment. She would not have to lie to the church and find her soul in peril.
There was only one drawback.
What if Gabriel didn’t keep his promise when it came time for the annulment.
He’s changed, has he not?
She had much to ponder before she gave him her answer.
Chapter 16
The smell of smoke and charred leather rose from the ruins of the storehouse. Isabella held a scented handkerchief to her nose as she wandered among the remains. She stopped and carefully lifted a corner of a hide pile with her toe, hoping to find even one intact.
Not so. All were damaged. Nothing salable remained.
“You’re up early, querida.” Gabriel stood at the end of the corridor, gazing up into the sky. He looked fresh and rested, something she didn’t feel at all. The depression that had plagued her the day before had once again settled on her drooping shoulders. Hanging her head, she swallowed the tears that burned behind her eyes, determined to be strong. Especially in front of Gabriel.
“I wanted to see if anything remained. Apparently nothing does.” Her voice caught, and Gabriel was immediately by her side. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he guided her back toward the house.
“Let’s have our breakfast. Knowing Juan, he’ll be here shortly after noon.”
It was inappropriate for Gabriel to be touching her, but his arm on her back was comforting, and only a few vaqueros were around. She wanted to lean into him but fought the impulse out of habit.
Her people knew how deeply this loss affected her. They might gossip among themselves, but they would not spread tales to other ranchos. They were loyal to a fault, and she loved them for it.
Two places were set, one at each end of the table. She shook her head. Tomas had sat at the end of the table. Her kitchen staff had already made assumptions.
Aromas from an egg and sausage dish rose from the sideboard, where they could also choose from a plate of sweetened breads, fresh churned butter, and strawberry jam. A pot of freshly brewed coffee completed the morning’s offerings.
Gabriel stepped aside to allow her to fill her plate first, but her appetite was gone. She poured a cup of coffee, generously laced it with cream, and sat down.
“Are you sure you want me to sit there?” He pointed to the end of the table. “We’ll have to shout to hear each other.” Gabriel picked up his plate and set it down near hers. A servant waiting near the door rushed over to move the utensils and cup. Nodding his approval, Gabriel pulled out a chair and sat down.
“You must eat, Isabella. You need food to keep your mind sharp.” He sliced a large roll in half and reached over to put a piece on her plate. He smiled before he bit into his half, his eyes never leaving her face.
She looked away as memories of the previous night pushed their way into the present, memories that made her blush.
The impudent devil swallowed and cocked his head in mock innocence. “What’s wrong? Did you not sleep well?”
Isabella picked up a fork and turned it over in her hand, feeling its weight. Must he embarrass her like this? He’d known she would toss and turn after he left, her body burning for what he didn’t finish, burning for him. She did not need to be reminded.
But he wants me to be reminded. He wants me to say yes to his proposal.
Breathing deeply, she lifted her coffee cup and peered at Gabriel over the rim. “I slept very well, thank you. I am merely unsettled. I can’t understand what it is about my land that’s so important. Obviously it isn’t the hides. Perhaps you’re right about Drake Logan and his friends wanting the land to sell to others for cultivation. Some of the higher meadows would make beautiful homesites. Plus this rancho has ample water.”
“An enigma, to be sure. It is a puzzle we must solve . . . together.” He saluted her with his own cup and drank deeply.
They ate in silence while servants took away dishes. Isabella picked at her food, her thoughts on her future. She slanted a glance at Gabriel, intent on his breakfast. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Seeing Gabriel each morning across the table, watching him eat with the same gusto he did everything else. He was trained to run a large ranch, and, to be perfectly honest, he was ostensibly running his father’s operation. Although he wouldn’t inherit the property for years yet, and a man like Gabriel had excess energy. He had the ability to run both ranchos at the same time, ensuring that both prospered.
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