Savage Desire

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Ginny, I’m leaving next week for Mexico.”

  “Next week? Were you going to tell me as you walked out the door? Oh, God, Steve, I thought this time it would be different, that—Take me with you.”

  After a silence that seemed far too long, he shook his head, a faint smile crooking his mouth. “I suppose if I don’t, you’ll just follow me anyway.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I will. And I’ll make certain that I’m an inconvenience.”

  He laughed and hooked his hand behind her neck to pull her hard against him, his breath wafting across her cheek as he bent to kiss her.

  And then everything else was forgotten as Steve scooped her into his arms, carried her the few steps to the wide canopied bed against the wall and tossed her onto the mattress, his lean body following her down as he slid his hands beneath her silk dressing gown. She arched upward, hungrily, reaching for him and twining her arms around his neck.

  There was no more talk as they came together with a savage intensity. Lips and hands made new and remembered discoveries as their bodies moved apart, then joined again, the passion that was always between them reignited. The restraint of the past month was gone, replaced by the familiar need that always consumed them. And Ginny knew that she would do whatever she had to do to stay with him.

  He was her past, her present, her future….

  ROSEMARY ROGERS

  SAVAGE DESIRE

  To the Righteous and the Truthful and the Honest.

  May they always win out!

  WALK IN THE LIGHT.

  CONTENTS

  THE BEGINNING MAY, 1876

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  NEW ORLEANS

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  MEXICO

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  LA CORTESANA

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  THE JOURNEY

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  THE DESTINATION

  CHAPTER 42

  TURNING POINTS

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  THE PROMISE

  EPILOGUE

  THE BEGINNING

  May, 1876

  1

  Despite a cheery fire burning behind brass firedogs it was cold in the parlor, a chill that had nothing to do with the fusillade of rain blowing against leaded-glass windowpanes. Outside Steve Morgan’s London town house, gusts of wind swept around pink sandstone corners with a hollow moan that only added to the sense of gloom inside. Heavy velvet drapes of dark green shrouded windows flanked by Chinese pots of delicate ferns. Two wingback chairs of rich gold brocade sat on each side of the hearth, the sweeping lines of their ball-and-claw legs cushioned atop thick Turkish carpets patterned in green, gold and umber.

  Virginia Brandon Morgan perched stiffly on the brocade ottoman, with its dangling fringe, her hands clasped in her lap in an effort to appear calm under the unnerving, steady gaze directed at her from the man in the chair angled against the warmth of the fire.

  Tension hovered as if alive, as tangible and dangerous as a lion prepared to pounce. But then, Steve had always had the power to make her feel uncertain, ever since their first meeting nine long years before.

  The fragrance of roses was almost overpowering; a huge bouquet dripped loose petals atop a gleaming parquet table next to the ottoman. Velvety crimson petals lay like drops of blood against the wood. Ginny suppressed a shudder and glanced up, her eyes briefly meeting his hard blue gaze.

  Even while she struggled for words to break the sudden awkward tension between them, she resented the necessity for it. Why must he regard her so closely, his eyes shuttered, his face unreadable as if—As if she had chosen to stay away from the children? After all, she had been on her way to them when she’d left New Orleans and then had been injured before she could reach them. It wasn’t as if she had wanted to be taken so far away from them. And Steve knew that.

  But he had still taken them from France to England and hidden them in the countryside with his old flame, so Ginny could not see them without his permission. If not for this attempt at reconciliation, she would no doubt never get to see her children again.

  In truth, that was not the only reason she wanted to be with Steve, to try again. She needed to renew the love they had once felt so strongly for one another, and that fact was both frightening and promising.

  Could they renew the love they had once shared after everything that had come between them? There was hope….

  Yet now he regarded her so intently, his dark face set into harsh lines, black brows a straight slash over eyes that held volumes of unspoken censure.

  He had often told her how much he admired her ability to always survive. Yet there were times it seemed as though he resented that ability. Her throat tightened. The tension was so palpable it throbbed like a live beast.

  Across the room Steve sprawled in a wingback chair, his long legs stuck out in front of him and crossed negligently at the ankles. He looked far too comfortable when she was so ill at ease. Oh God, she was so nervous! Why? Why could she not be as unaffected as he obviously was? But she couldn’t be, of course, for this was too important.

  This first meeting, with children she had not seen since they were infants, terrified her. Laura and Franco—her own children—twins born when she and Steve had been separated by distance and conflicts. The children had been left in Mexico, then sent to stay with Tante Celine in France for far too long. It was unintentional, of course, for Ginny had never dreamed of all the events that would take her so far away from them….

  Hazy images danced in front of her eyes: the lush green beauty of the harbor town of Gibara in Cuba, the earthquake that had temporarily blinded her, Richard Avery’s rescue of her, his kindness and love on the journey that ended in the sultan’s palace in Dolmabahce, the dark days of blindness mixed with fear and relief and despair. All that was behind her now, part of her past. Her present was here with Steve and their children. Their future together stretched before her with bright promise if she could just grasp it and hold on.

  Childish laughter shattered her reverie, and for a brief panicked moment she caught and held Steve’s opaque gaze before the sound of the parlor door opening drew her eyes and riveted her attention.

  Ohh… They had changed so, these exuberant children with faces still round and cherubic. Gone was the light fuzz atop infant heads, replaced with thick dark hair that held only faint hints of copper like her own tresses. Chattering and laughing, they ran to their father, arms outstretched with joy despite the murmured reprimand of their nursemaid.

  And Steve—The cold mask he’d worn only a moment before had vanished, replaced by a softly tender light in his eyes and a genuine curve of his mouth into a smile that was at the same time loving and indulgent as he greeted his children.

>   All this Ginny saw in the space of an instant as the children heeded their nurse’s instructions and curbed their first wild joy into a more sedate greeting.

  “Good morning, Papa,” Laura piped, her childish treble quavering with suppressed delight as she strove for self-discipline. “It is very good to see you.”

  “And you, poppet.” An affectionate drag of his hand through her curls tousled them. Adoring eyes gazed up at her father, that love mirrored in the blue eyes so like hers.

  Laura Luisa Encarnaciόn Morgan—the name was larger than the child, Ginny thought irrelevantly. Her gaze shifted to Franco, who stood beside his sister with a grave solemnity that reminded her suddenly of Steve’s grandfather, Don Francisco, the old martinet who was the regal and demanding head of the Alvarado family. But, of course, he was named after him—Francisco Alvarado Morgan—so perhaps it was only fitting that he should remind her of the old gentleman.

  Already Franco was a bit taller than his sister, his dark head a shade above hers, his bearing that of a young soldier.

  Ginny’s heart lurched. She didn’t know them—her own flesh and blood. These children she had carried beneath her heart for nine months, had fought so fiercely to protect…and she did not know them.

  Steve was talking to them, asking questions and listening to their answers with an interest that could not be feigned, and they chattered without reservation. Ginny watched with her heart in her throat, aching to reach out but unwilling to intrude. She felt suddenly like an interloper in a clique that excluded her. Could this be the man she had always considered coldly dangerous? This man who had gone to one knee on the floor to help a child button her hightop shoes? Impossible to believe, if she had not witnessed it for herself. The ruthless gunman of her experience was a gentle, loving father to his two children.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she did not know if they were for her loss or the fact that Steve had finally become the man she had never thought he wanted to be….

  A soft voice murmured in her ear, “Be patient, Ginette, and they will learn to know you soon. After all, it has been so long since they last saw you, and they were so small.”

  Tante Celine. A gentle hand was on her shoulder, the soft squeeze familiar and comforting. Her aunt’s reminder eased some of the pain Ginny felt at the realization she was a stranger to her children, and she managed a nod. It was true, yet to wait, quietly watching while her children seemed oblivious to her existence, was the hardest thing she had ever done.

  Another rose petal fell soundlessly to the gleaming tabletop, a bloodred tear that felt as if it came from her heart. Would they accept her? Or had she been gone from them so long they would resent her absence? Oh, how could she tell them of all she had endured, the nights she had longed for them, planned their futures together?

  The enormity of her past soared like a specter to haunt her as she watched them quietly, regret deeply scouring her with razor-sharp talons. It was not regret for what she had done, but what she had not done—the nights she had not been there to tuck them into their beds, to sing them to sleep and to comfort childish tears. Oh, please God, do not let it be too late!

  Then finally Steve glanced up at her, his mouth slanted in the half-mocking smile that had the power to make her heart drop to her toes.

  “Laura, Franco,” he said, “we have a guest with us this morning.”

  A guest! Ginny’s eyes flashed, but she held her tongue and her breath as two pairs of childish eyes turned toward her with frank curiosity.

  “She is very pretty,” Laura blurted, then caught her lower lip between tiny white teeth. “I mean, good morning, madame.”

  Amazingly, Laura sketched a graceful curtsy, her hands even holding out the folds of her short dress as she dipped slightly. Franco matched his sister’s gracious gesture with a brief bow from the waist, and his gaze was just as frank.

  “Bonjour, madame,” he said, the French words smooth and fluid on his tongue, an obvious challenge to his sister. Green eyes flecked with gold regarded her gravely from beneath his lashes.

  “Bonjour,” Ginny replied just as solemnly. “It is very nice to see you both again.”

  She restrained the urge to go to her knees and gather them into her arms, uncertain how they would respond. Did they not remember her at all? Had they completely forgotten their mother?

  Then Laura took a step forward, placing her hands on Ginny’s knees, dark-blue eyes so much like her father’s staring up earnestly.

  “Madame, I do know you, is it not so?”

  “Yes, Laura, you do.” Ginny took a deep breath and put her hand over the child’s. “Though it has been some time since I was able to see you, or hold you…you and Franco have always been in my heart.”

  But will they understand why I was not with them, why it was better for them to stay in Mexico with Don Francisco than to be with me, when I am not certain I understand it myself?

  “But I have seen you—I know! You look just like the portrait that Papa has hung in his study.”

  Stricken, Ginny glanced up to meet Steve’s amused gaze, her first thought of the painting so recently done by Alma-Tadema that hung in the Royal Academy. Surely Laura had not seen that painting, the one of her as The Sultan’s Captive where she wore practically nothing save a few wisps of strategic gauze! Why had she not thought that one day her own children might see the painting?

  “Don’t worry,” Steve drawled, his amusement evident in the grooves that bracketed his mouth, “the miniature in my study is not too—revealing. It’s quite suitable for young children, and a good enough likeness. I had no idea Renaldo was an artist of sorts. It must be Missie’s influence.”

  Of course! His cousin Renaldo was a gentle, kind man who had been very generous to Ginny, and worried so that his wild cousin Esteban would actually kill her one day. It must have been his idea to send the painting to remind the twins they had a mother. How like him to be so thoughtful.

  “Did you like the painting?” Ginny asked, and Laura studied her with a slightly furrowed brow.

  “Yes, very much. But the painting is of our mother, Papa said. Did you know her?”

  “As well as anyone could, I think, though there are times I do not think I know her well at all….” She stopped and bit her lip, emotion making her voice quaver and her lower lip tremble slightly, uncertain what she could say to this child staring up at her with such innocent trust.

  It was Franco who stated the obvious, his tone flat. “You are the lady in the painting, so you are our mother.”

  She glanced at him, reminded suddenly of Steve by the wary, reserved gaze the boy directed at her, so different than his twin’s openness.

  “Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I am your mother.”

  “Where have you been?”

  Taken aback, she flashed Steve a rueful glance, saw from his face that he had no intention of helping her and said quietly, “I was on my way to you when I became very ill. As soon as I recovered and could travel again, I came to be with you.”

  Franco’s steady gaze did not waver. “It took you a long time, ma mère, to join us.”

  “Yes.” Her throat tightened so that she could barely force the words past her lips. “Far too long.”

  Silence settled briefly, broken by Laura’s impulsive forward motion into her lap, her small body squirming close as she said, “We are glad you have finally come! I have a new puppy. Would you like to see her?”

  “Yes…yes, I would like that very much,” Ginny got out past the lump in her throat. Laura’s sweet face was a blur beyond the hot tears that stung her eyes.

  Blindly she allowed the child to pull her up from the ottoman, watched as Laura remembered her manners and turned briefly to her father to ask permission to leave and heard his gruff consent. Her eyes swept over Steve, saw the faint smile on his hard mouth.

  “It’s always been easy for you, green-eyes,” he said softly. “Welcome home.”

  She caught her breath. Home. Strangely, sh
e always thought of Mexico when she thought of home, instead of France, where she had been brought up. Perhaps soon they could return, to bring up their children in the warmth and beauty of Mexico. After all, she still had the Hacienda de la Nostalgia, a marriage gift from Don Francisco, and of course Steve owned a house and extensive land as well. They could take Laura and Franco to Monterey, where the beautiful house overlooked the ocean and the slick black rocks along the California coast, where sea spume laced the air with salty tang and it felt so clean…. Yes, there was much they could do as a family now.

  Laura’s impatient tug on her hand reminded her of the new puppy, and with a laugh she followed the exuberant child from the parlor and down the hall toward the kitchen where she could already hear excited yaps. Franco was slower in following, his wary reluctance reminding Ginny so much of his father. There was so much of both of them in these children, and her heart leaped with the prospect of their future together. All would be well now. It had to be….

  “Maman!” Laura broke free and raced to kneel beside the small spaniel puppy that bounced enthusiastically against her. “Maman, come and see how soft Silky’s ears are….”

  It was the first time one of her children had called her Mother, and Ginny could not stop the happy tears that rolled down her cheeks as she knelt beside the child to stroke the spaniel.

  “Yes, my love,” she whispered, “they are very soft.”

  Laura slanted her a frowning glance from eyes that were slightly uptilted at the corners, unusual eyes like her mother’s, with the same gypsyish slant that made Ginny’s green eyes so remarkable and exotic.

  “But you are crying, Maman….”

  “Because I am so happy, my sweet. Only because I am so happy….”

  And I hope nothing happens to take that happiness away again….

  2

  Music swirled above the glittering jewels and gas lamps that brightened the vast ballroom filled with the elite of London. Aristocratic heads turned to watch the striking couple that seemed oblivious to the stares, though they were certainly used to them by now.