Savage Desire

by Rosemary Rogers

  Maybe it was time he refused Bishop’s efforts to draw him into more intrigue and focused on ranching and the pursuit of his own business ventures. He had done enough for both governments.

  Now it was time to do his best for Ginny. For himself. And for their children.

  When they got this silver to El Paso del Norte, he would wire her to meet him. It was time they told each other everything. It was time for complete honesty.

  THE DESTINATION

  42

  Vera Cruz was humid, the heat pressing down like a damp blanket. In spite of the overpowering heat and occasional tropical thunderstorm that cooled the air only briefly, Ginny preferred to sit outside the posada, on the small patio that overlooked red roofs and narrow, dirty streets.

  It seemed that she had done this far too often before—waited for a ship that would take her away—but she couldn’t escape her aching heart, the memories and a pervasive sense of despondency. She should have gone back to Brownsville, or even Galveston, anywhere but here, where there were so many memories.

  She had gone back to Zacatecas with Renaldo and Missie, traveling safely with their escort. A week spent at Don Francisco’s hacienda had not made it easier to leave, but she had at last informed Don Francisco of her intentions.

  “I’ve been away from my children too long. When Steve wants me, he knows where I will be.”

  Would he want her? She’d hoped all was resolved between them, their growing intimacy in the valley an achingly tender confirmation of their love.

  But the doubt, the uncertainty had returned, swooping down like a vulture to tear at her confidence, threatening to destroy all hope. Faith in their future was no longer certain.

  Steve was always going off, always restless and in search of excitement. He did jobs for Jim Bishop because he wanted to, not always for some noble ideal of democracy and freedom for the common man. Would he ever change? Would he ever want to make a stable home?

  Ginny closed her eyes, thinking again of Elizabeth Cady. Beth had been nothing like what she’d expected. There was none of the flamboyant beauty of Francesca or Concepciόn, or any of the other women Steve had been with over the years. Instead, Beth Burneson had possessed a quiet serenity and a beauty of spirit and soul that shone out of her intelligent eyes like a lamp in the darkness. It had taken away Ginny’s breath, seeing her pregnant and still so graceful despite her bulk, seeing the way she clung to her children.

  And Matthew…so much like Franco, except for the eyes. The boy had his father’s eyes; deep blue, with ridiculously long lashes, still innocent, but with light of mischief shining in their depths. There had been such pride in the way Elizabeth regarded her children, mixed with fear that their happy life might be shattered.

  It was a life Ginny envied, one of great stability. A contentment radiated from Elizabeth that was deep-rooted, unshaken even by her fears.

  Ginny realized she was glad she’d met Elizabeth. It was a revelation that Steve had loved the woman enough to ask her to go with him, and a fluttering twinge in her own heart that he had forgotten her so quickly. It was one thing to share his body, but if he had shared his heart, it would destroy her.

  But do I have his heart? Have I ever had his heart? If only she knew that, maybe she wouldn’t have found herself here….

  Yet here she was, lingering in a town she detested, waiting for a ship to take her away from Mexico again. Here, where the oceanfront held little more than desolate sand dunes shaped by the wind into layered hills scattered with palm trees, the only beauty provided by the beautiful peak of Orizaba in the distance. Snow crowned its summit, white and gleaming in the sunlight.

  She went daily to the ticket agent’s office to secure passage on a ship leaving Mexico, and each day was told that she must come back.

  “Mañana, señora. Come back tomorrow.”

  Finally, restless, impatient to be gone, she heard with relief the ticket agent inform her that the ship would be leaving early the next day.

  “Don’t be late, señora, for there are others who will gladly buy your passage. Space for passengers leaving Mexico is limited, for the captains fill the ships with cargo for other countries. Soon, Mexico will be as prosperous as other nations. El presidente has promised it!”

  He seemed glad to talk, though rather curious about the gringa who spoke the dialect as well as any native, and who looked so sad. Too lovely to be so sad, he told her. Ginny only smiled as she promised to be back early the next day.

  “Don’t sell my ticket to anyone else,” she warned, and he swore on his mother’s life that he would never do such a thing.

  “To see your children again will be too wonderful a thing, and I would not be so cruel, señora!”

  As good as his word, the ticket agent saw to it that she had the best stateroom available. She had to admit that it was nicer than she had expected, given the limited space for passengers on the vessel. What did it matter, after all, if the cabin was small? It was only for a few weeks anyway, and then she would be in England, where it was cool and her children would be to welcome her.

  Had Pierre married Lorna Prendergast yet? Lorna’s father had sent a few trinkets for his daughter with Ginny, a velvet box with a necklace of huge topaz stones to match Lorna’s eyes. He doted on her, spoiled her rotten and bragged that she would marry a duke and be a duchess.

  Sam Murdock had only smiled, and accompanied Ginny from New Mexico back to San Antonio, his lavish Pullman gliding over the rails with such swift efficiency she had almost regretted the end of the journey.

  “I have a meeting with the senator,” he said when she expressed her gratitude for his generosity and companionship on the trip, “and thought perhaps you might prefer having my company.”

  For Ginny, seeing William Brandon again had been a bittersweet parting, for she had never seen him look so distressed or so old, not even after he had been shot. It struck her, seeing him in this new light, that she had never really known him, not the real man, not the man capable of such greed and deception, such careless cruelty.

  Perhaps his crimes were catching up with him, reflected now in his face and eyes, in his slower step and the air of defeat that wreathed him.

  “Give Sonya my love,” she had said when she left him in San Antonio. She wondered if she would ever see either of them again. Time and circumstances took her so far at times, were so often uncertain….

  Where would she go once she had her children with her again? Would Steve come after them, or just after the children?

  When the steamer chugged slowly out of the harbor, Ginny stood at the porthole watching the shoreline fade into the distance, feeling melancholy and pensive.

  Silly of me, she thought, but I had hoped Steve might come after me, as he did before. It’s all so futile, when I had such hope….

  The heat was crushing, oppressive in the stuffy confine of the stateroom. In desperation Ginny abandoned privacy and made her way above deck. She moved to the rail, ignoring the interested gazes in her direction, grateful for the feel of the cooler wind on her face and in her hair.

  Hardly a day out of Vera Cruz, Ginny was resigned to spending most of the voyage in her cabin. Two of the male passengers had attached themselves to her with an annoying tenacity, though the younger man, James Tyler, was more doting than offensive.

  Mr. Andrews, a bluff, hearty man with whiskered jowls and a touch of gray in his dark hair, was particularly persistent, insisting that he had met her somewhere before.

  “Perhaps in San Francisco? You are not a woman a man would ever forget, Mrs. Morgan.”

  “You are too kind, Mr. Andrews, but I fear that I have no recollection of our ever meeting before.” Ginny rose from her chair, intent upon returning to her cabin. Andrews put out a hand to stop her.

  “No, please, I did not mean to run you off, Mrs. Morgan, I only thought we had met before. Don’t leave us. We need another player for a hand of piquet. Say you’ll stay.”

  “You may be sorry if I do, Mr.
Andrews, for I’m a fair hand at cards. I don’t often lose.”

  He smiled, his eyes roving over her face in a most disagreeable manner. “Neither do I, Mrs. Morgan. Neither do I.”

  It was a challenge, and it gave her inordinate pleasure to best Andrews at cards, even at poker, which he boasted had made him his fortune. “I won my land and railroad stock that way!”

  “Perhaps you should invest in a more dependable venture next time,” she said sweetly as she tucked her winnings into her small velvet purse and pulled the drawstrings closed. “I seem to have beaten you.”

  Andrews rose politely as she stood, but there was a taut set to his mouth. “You must allow me to recoup my losses, Mrs. Morgan.”

  “Why, Mr. Andrews, then I will have lost!” She laughed lightly, enjoying his discomfiture, and allowed the smitten Mr. Tyler to escort her belowdecks.

  “Thank you,” she said pointedly at the door, and he had the good grace to blush deeply and retire.

  For the next two nights, out of boredom more than anything else, Ginny found herself in the dining hall with the gentlemen, playing cards and winning a great deal of the time. Though he tried, Mr. Andrews was unable to recover his losses from her, and she could tell that it grated on him.

  When the ship docked in Galveston, she left the dining area early, preferring the refuge of her stateroom to the chaos of passengers disembarking. Thank heavens the odious Andrews was one of the passengers leaving at Galveston! The thought of crossing the Atlantic with him was dismaying.

  The younger man was more courteous, but she saw with a sigh that he was infatuated.

  “Please, Mr. Tyler, I cannot possibly allow you to be alone in my cabin with me,” she told him in exasperation when he asked if he could join her for a glass of wine in her stateroom. They stood at the door. The heat was stifling in the passageway; perspiration dotted his upper lip and forehead.

  He looked almost desperate.

  “Y-you are the m-most beautiful woman I have ever s-seen,” he managed to get out in a stutter, “and I consider it an honor just t-to be in your presence.”

  It seemed like forever since she had been told that she was beautiful in such a sincere, sweet way, and Ginny was touched. Impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on his cheek.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tyler.”

  “Well,” a familiar, drawling voice said behind her, “it seems that I always happen to show up at the wrong time, doesn’t it, green-eyes.”

  Her heart leaped, and she turned to see Steve standing in the shadows of the passageway. His dark-blue eyes gleamed with amused lights. Half laughing, half crying with relief, Ginny flung herself at him.

  “Steve!”

  As his arms went around her, holding her tightly against him, he said softly, “You never do what I tell you, you maddening creature! It’s damn lucky for you that this steamer stopped in Galveston, or I would have had to chase you all the way across the Atlantic.”

  “And would you, Steve? Would you have followed me across the ocean?” She leaned back in his embrace to study his face, her eyes searching for signs of mockery.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? Ginny love, try not to be so impatient. We’ve got the rest of our lives to be together.”

  Bending, he scooped her into his arms and carried her inside the cabin. Ginny belatedly remembered Mr. Tyler as she got a glimpse of his pale, shocked face just before Steve slammed shut the door with his foot.

  TURNING POINTS

  43

  Familiar heat seeped into Ginny’s bones as she stood on a small balcony enclosed with delicate wrought iron. The sheer curtains had been pulled back, and a light breeze lifted a heavy strand of her copper hair that was worn loose around her face and over her shoulders. She inhaled deeply. The early morning air of New Orleans was redolent with the scents of fresh pastry and the effusive sweetness of flowering plants. Later in the day, the humid stench of the streets would overpower such pleasant aromas, but now it was evocative of all she loved about the city.

  Steve had gone to send a cable to London summoning the children home to America. Tante Celine would bring them, and soon they would all be reunited. At last she would see Laura and Franco again. This time, they would not be parted. They were going home, to Mexico, where they could live in peace and contentment.

  A wistful smile curved her mouth. It was almost ten months since she had seen them. How much would they have grown? Impatience filled her, barely contained. But they would be reunited as soon as Tante could secure passage to New Orleans.

  New Orleans was pleasant this time of year, before the summer heat grew brutal. They were staying at the elegant St. Louis Hotel in the heart of the carré de la ville. The small hotel situated at the intersection of Royal and St. Louis Street was very comfortable, a welcome change from the hardships she had so recently endured.

  Yet she was not as relaxed as she might have been. An undercurrent of apprehension threaded her mood. Steve was more attentive than he had ever been, their love stronger than she had ever thought possible, yet she was strangely uneasy.

  “You’ll be fine once the children are safely with us,” Steve had said when she mentioned her foreboding to him. “All that’s happened in the last months is making you so nervous, Ginny.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” she’d murmured, but the anxiety did not dissipate.

  Sonya echoed her concerns over lunch at Antoine’s the next day, her normally placid face creased in a slight frown as she regarded her stepdaughter.

  “It’s so far for the children to be traveling, Ginny. I do hope your aunt exercises extreme caution with them.”

  “I’m certain she will, Sonya.” Ginny’s white china coffee cup trimmed in gold clattered slightly as she replaced it in the matching saucer. The coffee was strong and hot, much too hot to be drinking when it was so warm outside. A lovely breeze wafted in through open shutters, doors flung wide to admit cooler air, but not even the huge fans that whirred overhead could keep the heat at bay. Insects droned fitfully despite the precautions of fly traps and netting. “Tante Celine is quite accustomed to handling the children.”

  Sonya nodded. “It’s probably fortunate that I never had any children of my own. I’m afraid I would be far too protective of them.”

  It was an indirect reprimand, a reminder that Ginny had been away from her children too often and for too long. Her mouth tightened slightly, and she wished she had not agreed to meet her stepmother for lunch. It was obvious that Sonya was in one of her contentious moods.

  “Since you feel that way, it probably is best that you were never able to have children. More coffee?”

  Blue eyes narrowed slightly as Sonya shook her head. “No, it is much too warm for coffee. When will you be returning to Mexico, my dear? I don’t understand why you insist upon living in such an uncivilized, brutal country when you could stay in Louisiana, or even Texas.”

  “At the moment, bands of renegade Apache are making Texas a rather dangerous place. With the current situation of raids on farms and even large ranches, Mexico is just as safe as Texas.” Ginny glanced up at the sommelier who had brought a bottle of chilled white wine to their table.

  Silence fell between them as the wine replaced coffee, and when the waiter had retreated, Ginny leaned forward. “If you have valid reasons for your concerns, please share them with me, Sonya. I know we have never been true friends, but I always thought you generous enough to confide in me.”

  For a moment, Sonya did not reply, but sipped at her wine, no hint of her thoughts showing on her face. When at last she lifted her gaze, her eyes were troubled.

  “I don’t know why I feel so…so apprehensive, but I do. Have you spoken with your father lately?”

  “No, not since I last saw him in San Antonio. He looked unwell.” She lay her fork against the edge of the plate, her salmon mousse barely touched. “Is he still in Texas?”

  Instead of answering, Sonya looked down at her hands. A linen napkin in
her lap was twisted into a coil as she wrung it with surprising ferocity. Then she looked up, her mouth thinned into a determined line.

  “I don’t know where he is, Ginny. He’s disappeared. I’m afraid he has done something—inexcusable.”

  “What are you talking about? If you’re referring to his business dealings in Mexico, I know all about that now. Steve told me what I hadn’t already guessed. But I’ve always known how unscrupulous he can be, how ruthless, when it comes to power and money. He’s not very different from most men, I’ve observed.”

  “No, no, that’s not what I mean.” Genuine distress made her voice quiver. “William may be ruthless when it comes to money and prestige, but he has never been…cruel before.”

  “Cruel? Sonya, tell me what you’re talking about. You are frightening me.”

  “Oh God, Ginny, I don’t know for certain. And even if it’s true, I don’t know what he intends. It’s only a guess on my part. I never thought he would stoop to such duplicity and I’m certain I’m wrong…”

  “About what! You’ve got to stop babbling and tell me exactly what you mean.”

  “William sent for your children several weeks ago.”

  Ginny stared at her. The implications did not hit her at once, only a sense of perplexity that he would take it upon himself to send for Laura and Franco. Then, as she saw the distress in Sonya’s eyes, she knew what he intended. Her hand convulsed on the stem of her wineglass.

  In a voice as brittle as breaking ice, she said, “If any harm comes to my children, I will ruin him.”

  “Ginny…I don’t think he means them harm, but I know how angry he was when your husband managed to wreck his business dealings in Mexico. He was so livid. I tried to reason with him—after all, business is just business—but he took it very personally. Perhaps he feels that he can use the children as leverage with you.”