Savage Desire

by Rosemary Rogers

  Smiling, Ginny told her about Laura’s new puppy and how Franco had climbed to nearly the top of a huge tree, scaring her and Tante Celine.

  “He is so reckless, it frightens me.”

  “Like his father, it seems.” Missie glanced at the far end of the room where the men stood, and there was something in her eyes that reminded Ginny that once she had been in love with Steve, just a little. It had not been mentioned, but on occasion, a casual comment had reminded her that the girl had loved him once. Another ghost from Steve’s past; they were as numerous as her own, she thought.

  “Yes, I have thought the same thing myself. Tell me about your Alejandro. Does he have your red hair?”

  Laughing, Missie nodded, and for a time they discussed their children as easily as if they had been old friends. Perhaps they were in a way. Missie Carter had accepted Ginny without reservation, if not without a bit of shock. After all, to the innocent Melissa, Ginny had been a cosmopolitan creature far removed from her experience and world. She had been half fascinated, half afraid of the elegant young woman who seemed supremely confident.

  It had been a revelation to Missie to discover that beneath the facade she showed the world, Ginny Brandon was as uncertain at times as she was, and as unhappy. It was Manolo—Steve—who had made her that unhappy, of course, as once he had even made her.

  But that had been so long ago. She’d met Renaldo, and realized that the kind of man like Steve Morgan would destroy her woman’s soul if she fell in love with him. Oh, but he had been so exciting, so dangerous, and while she did not regret for a moment that he loved Ginny and not her, there was a bit of her that wondered with a delicious shudder what it would be like to be with him.

  It had almost happened once, but she had been so naive, expecting tenderness and starlight, not the kind of harsh, ruthless invasion he intended. Perhaps he had known that, had done it only to show her that he was not at all what she wanted. He was right, of course. He’d terrified her.

  But she never intended to allow Ginny to know any of that, for it was so long ago, and she’d been just a child playing at love, playing at passion. Renaldo, with his steady, honorable love and fierce desire to protect her, was what she had really wanted all along.

  “Do you travel to Mexico City often?” Ginny was asking her, and Missie smiled and shook her head.

  “Not as often as I would like. Oh, I love it here, you know I do, but there are times I want to see other places, go where I’ve never been before and see new things. I envy you your travels. You’ve been everywhere, and I’ve hardly left Texas or Mexico. Though Renaldo has promised me a trip to El Paso soon, as he has some business for his abuelo up there. Something to do with cattle.” She laughed. “I don’t pay much attention when they talk market prices, I’m afraid. I prefer to think of the hotels and shops and the theater. El Paso has a new theater and Renaldo has promised to take me. Why, they even have opera now, though not often.”

  “Why El Paso and not San Antonio?” Ginny asked. “It seems much too far to go for cattle business, when you’re much closer to San Antonio from here, or even Brownsville, where you can ship beef from the port.”

  Missie shrugged. “As I said, I don’t interfere in the business aspect. I just enjoy the few trips I get to make.”

  When Ginny nodded with a faint smile, Missie said, “Did you bring the new styles with you from France? Or the Lady’s Book? I’d love to wear something no one has seen yet, and be in fashion.”

  “Fashions don’t reach here for two years after they come out in France,” Ginny murmured, and her lovely green eyes were a little dark as she glanced across the room toward Steve. There was a pensive quality to her, though she attempted to hide it.

  Missie wondered what could be bothering her, or if they had quarreled again. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time!

  Ginny turned to her suddenly. “But I did bring some new gowns. Has our baggage not arrived yet? It should have been here long before now.”

  Missie shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Unless, of course, it has come and no one thought to tell me. We can ask Señora Armijo tomorrow. She will certainly know. She knows everything.”

  Ginny laughed. “I suppose she’s beside herself with the preparations for the fiesta.”

  “Oh my…” Missie spread her arms out, shaking her head. “It has been impossible while we waited for word from you that you were on your way. Now that you are here, she had no doubt gone into a complete frenzy. But it will all be perfect, no doubt. Have you seen Don Francisco yet?”

  “No, I imagine we will see him tomorrow. Is he well?”

  “He’s quite well, and I credit his wife for that. Doña Teresa is very efficient, and the only one I know who can deal properly with Señora Armijo.”

  “I suppose I’ll meet her tomorrow as well,” Ginny said, then rose from the chair with a faint smile. “It’s late and I really must go to bed. I’m afraid I’m not at all accustomed to traveling so much by horse. I miss a well-sprung carriage!”

  Early the next morning, Ginny and Steve rode up to the main house to visit with Don Francisco. They were greeted by Don Francisco’s longtime bodyguard, Jaime Perez, still imposing despite his age, with gray at his temples and sprinkled through his hair.

  “Don Esteban, your grandfather awaits you in his study. And Doña Genia, there are refreshments in the sala.”

  Ginny’s brow rose, but she did not comment as she took the hint and went to the tiled sala that was filled with light and lush plants. It looked different than when last she had seen it, with clearly a woman’s touch at decorating with greenery and pretty vases, and a few paintings by European masters on the walls. She paused before a huge oil painting.

  “Degas,” a voice said behind her, and she turned to see a dark, trim woman with vibrant eyes and skin approaching. “I find his work intriguing. L’Orchestre.”

  “Yes, he loves to paint everyday scenes of life.” Ginny surveyed the older woman, and returned her radiant smile.

  “I am Doña Teresa, though you may not recognize me, as you suffered from blindness when we first met.”

  “I would recognize your voice, Doña Teresa, for it is soft and lovely,” Ginny replied graciously.

  Doña Teresa smiled. “I am relieved to see you are so well. Francisco admires your courage and strength greatly, you know.”

  “Does he?” Ginny accompanied Teresa to the small patio off the sala where freshly squeezed orange juice waited in tall, frosted glasses of ice. Fruit overflowed a bowl; cakes dusted with thick sugar were arranged on a large flat plate.

  To her surprise, Ginny found Teresa to be very charming and not at all stiff, as Steve had once said she was. Their first meeting had been so brief, her mood then so dark, that they had spoken little. Now they spoke of the children, and of everything but where Ginny had been the past few years. It was difficult to reconcile the fact that this woman was Richard Avery’s mother, for she was so petite and fragile in appearance, with lustrous dark hair gleaming among the strands of silver, a reminder of her Persian ancestry. It was easy to understand why Lord Tynedale had rescued her so long before, and then married her, though she had been but a girl at the time.

  Easier still to understand why Don Francisco had fallen in love with her, as well.

  As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Teresa said quietly, “My son writes often. Before we met, he told me of you and what a lovely young woman you are. It is a pleasure to know that he did not exaggerate.”

  “Thank you.” Ginny took a sip of juice, suddenly uncomfortable. “I am delighted he speaks highly of me, as I do of him.”

  “It has been a difficult year for him, with his wife’s death and the loss of his child. I am so relieved that he is out of danger now, and moving back to Cuba after he returns from his visit to Russia. I had so hoped he would return to Mexico, but alas, he has not agreed to do so. Perhaps I shall have to travel to him if I want to see him again.”

  “I hope he is en
joying his time in Russia,” Ginny said politely. “I know he loves to travel to exciting places.”

  “Yes, though he did express some concern about the political upheaval there.” Teresa laughed softly. “After the revolution in Cuba, and the one here in Mexico, I would think he would be immune to such conflicts, but he seems quite concerned. He even suggested I warn you to be cautious in the future, as there is a fanatical fringe that seem quite intent upon damaging the Tsar. Richard seems to think they might even attempt to harm you.”

  “Me? I hardly think they would go that far. After all, I’m half a world away!”

  “Yes, so I think, but Richard has always been one to worry unduly about those he—admires.”

  Before the conversation grew too uncomfortable, Teresa adroitly changed the subject, much to Ginny’s relief.

  “But how long do you and Esteban intend to stay here? I know Francisco has been looking forward to your visit for some time. Despite the fact that they may not always get along so well, he adores his grandson, as I am certain you realize.”

  “Yes, I’ve also recognized that their relationship is rather—volatile. I fear that Franco is growing to be much like his father in that way….”

  This was safer ground, and they talked for a while of the children, until finally Ginny heard Steve and Don Francisco approaching down the hallway, their boots clicking against the polished tile floors.

  “Next week,” Don Francisco said after greeting Ginny, “is the fiesta! Already guests have begun to arrive.”

  “What of my baggage?” Ginny asked. “Has it arrived?”

  “Your baggage? I’m afraid that I know nothing of your baggage, but—”

  “Apparently it’s been delayed,” Steve said then, “but Ginny is determined that she not shame you in front of your friends. I told her we must travel light.”

  “I have an excellent seamstress,” Teresa said, “and if you have nothing suitable, she can alter one of my gowns. We are very close to the same size, I believe, though of course, I do think some of your gowns may still be in storage here. Did you not leave some here some time ago?”

  Ginny smiled mechanically, but even as she replied to Teresa and Don Francisco, she was convinced that Steve’s excuse of sending her baggage ahead had all been a ruse.

  “God, Steve, what are you up to?” she demanded when they were alone in their spacious room on the second floor of the main hacienda. He gave her an impatient glance.

  “Christ, don’t start that again, Ginny. You know I can’t tell you.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do, but you must admit that all the uncertainty is maddening. How can I relax if I think you’re entangled in one of Bishop’s dangerous intrigues?”

  Frustrated, she yanked at the laces of her gown, snapping one in two. “And now look! My limited wardrobe is in danger of being entirely depleted.”

  “It just gives you a good reason to buy more, my love. When we get to Mexico City, I’m sure you’ll make up for lost time. They may not have the very latest fashions, but there are seamstresses there who can create anything you like from a drawing.”

  “That’s not the point, Steve. You can laugh at me if you like, but I feel these terrible premonitions, as if truly awful things will happen to you. To us. Please, tell Bishop that you’re through, that you no longer want to be the ambassador, and we can live on one of the estates and raise cattle for the rest of our lives….”

  Turmoil seethed inside her, a simmering anxiety that he couldn’t assuage with anything but the assurance he wouldn’t work for Bishop anymore. But Steve had no intention of agreeing to that.

  His gaze was flat and opaque, telling her nothing as he shrugged off her demands. Ginny gave up, for the moment. Why allow it to mar her time here, where she was made to feel so welcome? Still, there were times in the days that followed when she could not shake off the feeling of impending doom.

  The fiesta was gay, and friends and acquaintances came from miles around to stay at the hacienda and show their respect to Don Francisco. Ginny drank too much champagne, and was able to forget everything but the music and the beauty of the night.

  How wonderful it was to be in Mexico again, where she felt so free and alive! Even Steve seemed different, more relaxed without his gun belts. Don Francisco would not allow guns to be worn, of course, and Steve acquiesced to his wishes, knowing the futility of defiance. The old martinet had lost none of his authority, and made certain all knew it.

  Though he seemed more stooped and used a cane since his stroke, and his gray hair had turned white, Don Francisco looked happier than ever before. It was his wife who made the difference, her serenity and elegance a welcome addition to the hacienda.

  “I like her,” Ginny told Steve, and shrugged when he scowled. “You have nothing against her except that she’s married to your grandfather.”

  “And bore his child to be raised by another man.”

  Amused, Ginny said, “A fine time to remember morals, Steve Morgan! You know why she did that. Oh wait—I see. You resent the fact that your grandfather has a son. Is it your inheritance that worries you?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Ginny.” His voice was harsh, and though she knew she should stop, she couldn’t help tweaking him a little.

  “No, it can’t be that, since you inherited your mother’s portion…. I know, it’s that Richard is heir to a title and you aren’t—”

  He grabbed her arm, fingers tight on her wrist, and said softly, “Enough, Ginny.”

  She recognized the steel beneath his soft tone and shrugged, rubbing at her wrist when he released her. A curl of music drifted from the patio to where they stood beneath an archway covered in vines. She was suddenly sorry that she had provoked him.

  “Dance with me, Steve.”

  “Little hellcat. You insult me one moment, want me to dance with you the next. I ought to go dance with fat Rosa.”

  “She can dance rings around you,” she teased, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. She could feel his muscles tense. “I want to dance with the most handsome man here, and that’s you. Don’t tell me no, or I might have to choose another partner.”

  “You would do it, too.” He slanted her a faint smile. “I may end up having to fight before the night is over if you continue to drink champagne. It makes you a flirt.”

  She laughed, flashing him a glance from beneath her eyes as they reached the cleared spot where a dance floor had been laid beneath trees strung with bright lanterns. The music was familiar and lively, and she began to snap her fingers, her feet moving almost of their own volition. One of the things she loved best about Mexico were the dances that were so much a part of the culture, of the peόnes and the gauchopines alike, peasants losing themselves in the music as much as the aristocrats.

  To her surprise, Steve did join her in the dance, his lean body supple and controlled, matching her steps with an expertise she had forgotten. Oh, it was just like Steve to try to match her, and she danced until she was breathless, until even the musicians were ready to stop.

  Señora Armijo was shaking her head, eyes reproachful, her words reproving when they finally paused. “Both of you should be more careful of your reputations,” she scolded, but there was a note of admiration in her tone. “You dance like gypsies!”

  With a wicked smile, Steve said, “And how is Señor Sanchez these days? Does he still come and visit you?”

  Señora Armijo flushed, her mouth pursing in disapproval at his teasing, but there was a light in her eyes that belied her denial. “No, no, Esteban, you are too wicked to even suggest such a thing!”

  “Ah, no, you must admit that there are few who can dance as beautifully as the gypsies, especially the women.” He shot Ginny a swift, teasing glance. “If I did not see an old friend over there, I would stay and dance with you, Señora, but as Don Francisco’s host for the evening, my duty calls.”

  Ginny ignored him. He was only trying to tease her, of course, to remind her of Concepciόn. But she refused t
o let him see how it stung, and said only, “I feel the need for more champagne. If you will excuse me?”

  It was crowded, and older guests sat around tables that were set up beneath vine-shrouded galerias, drinking wine or aguardiente while keeping a sharp eye on the younger couples and their dueñas.

  Ginny paused beside one of the columns that held up the second floor galeria. Inside, the long tables of food were piled high, and there was a steady stream of guests coming and going, laughing and talking, the women garbed in lovely gowns, their hair pinned up in elaborately decorated Spanish combs. It all seemed so festive, yet there was a strange undercurrent that she didn’t quite understand, evident only when she saw a man that she was convinced was Butch Casey meet with Steve at the fringe of the crowd.

  That must be the old friend he had seen, his duty! Ginny frowned.

  But if he was here, that meant her baggage had arrived. Or had it? Had he just arrived? If he was here, after all, then some of her worries were proven groundless. It should be a relief. So why did it leave her vaguely unsettled?

  It was with a faint sense of shock that Ginny heard Steve tell his grandfather of their impending departure the next day after breakfast had ended.

  Don Francisco frowned, brushing his mustache with one finger, a gesture that betrayed agitation. “But why must you leave so soon after arriving?”

  “I apologize, sir, but I must get to Mexico City. The situation has escalated, and it’s only a matter of time before Díaz drives Lerdo out of Mexico.”

  “What has this to do with you? Are you still involved with that Mr. Bishop? I sense his fine hand in this affair.”

  “You know I have duties as an ambassador.” Some of the old impatience crept into Steve’s voice, and he cleared his throat. “It’s unexpected, but not a shock. Ginny can stay here with you—”

  “No.” She looked up at him, eyes steady. “I told you that I will not be separated from you again. I’ll go to Mexico City with you. Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, I am acquainted with both Lerdo and Díaz.”