Once it was lit, she entered. The weak light flickered around the small room to reveal a large bed which she quickly averted her eyes from, a writing desk, a few chairs and a screen which she assumed hid the pot. She was more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. She watched as he removed his coat and pulled his tie free.
“You should crawl into bed and get some sleep,” he told her. “We’ve a long day ahead of us.”
She went still. Would there be no wedding night?
As if having read her mind, he said quietly. “We’ll save the wedding night for the future. I want you to be as ready for me as I am for you. Tonight, you’re not.”
Although being with him in bed wasn’t something she’d been pining for, she was now trying to determine if she should be offended. “You don’t want a wedding night?”
“I do, but as I said, you aren’t ready.”
“And you know this how?”
He walked over to where she stood and placed a finger beneath her chin to gently raise her eyes to his. “Because you aren’t. Shall I show you?”
Pilar trembled under his intense gaze but not wanting to admit defeat, she nodded.
“You’re certain now?”
“Yes,” she all but gritted out.
He eased her close and when his mouth claimed hers she was instantly lost. This was a repeat of their interlude in the garden. His kisses ignited a slow heat in her blood like a too potent sangria, leaving her sighing, breathless and brainless.
“Open your mouth, mi pequeño pirata . . . let me taste you . . .”
Her lips parted of their own accord. He slipped his tongue inside and she moaned from the sweet feel.
“When you’re ready, you’ll want me to do this.” Lips as hot as his tone blazed a lazy trail down the edge of her neck and then journeyed back up again to reclaim her mouth, while his hand cupped her breast and bold fingers teased the nipple through the layers of her thin gown and chemise. She fought to breathe as kisses singed the flesh at the base of her throat. When he dragged down the bodice of her dress, taking the edge of the chemise with it and fed himself on the hard nipple that came free, the intensity crackled over her like lightning striking the sea. She cried out, pushed him away and covered herself. The air was thick with the sounds of their accelerated breathing and Pilar’s blood pounded in her ears.
“Now do you understand?” he asked quietly.
Every inch of her being was aflame and pulsating. A part of her wanted to hike up her skirts and flee from this overpowering man who’d given her his name, while another wanted to throw open her gown and let him feast. Saints help her.
“Go to bed, Pilar. When you’re ready we’ll play again.”
That said, he moved to the French doors that led out to the verandah and left her inside alone. Pilar sank to the bed and fell back against the mattress. Looking up at the shadowy ceiling, she lay there throbbing. Her gown was still askew, her nipple damp and pebbled and the feel of it in his mouth reverberated in her memory again and again. She sat up and put her head in her hands. Nothing in her life had prepared her for such sensual upheaval. Across the shadowy room lay the doors he’d used to exit. Had the brief encounter affected him as much, or was he too experienced to be moved by his virgin wife? Another question with no answer, so she dragged herself to her feet and changed into her nightclothes. Beneath the crisp clean sheets, she wondered if he planned to stay outside for the rest of the night and what it might be like to sleep beside him. Deciding she’d asked herself more than enough unanswerable questions, she drifted into sleep.
Outside, Noah wondered if she was asleep or awake thinking of him the way he was thinking of her. Dios, he was hard—harder than he remembered being in quite some time. He’d wanted to carry her to the bed, strip the gown from her, and take her with a sweet, bed-rocking ferocity that had been almost too powerful to control. But control himself he had, much to the disappointment of his still throbbing manhood. He shifted in the chair. He’d been wanting to taste and touch her without restraint from the moment she fled from him at Miguel’s birthday party. Twice now he’d kissed her and each time he’d tasted a virgin’s reluctance and then a passion he knew could be stoked to the fullest when the time came, but that time was not now, so he willed his body to calm and sat and waited for the sun to rise.
As always, Pilar awakened with the pink and gray skies of dawn. She glanced around the room and finding herself alone, wondered where Yates might be. Leaving the bed, she took care of her morning needs and pulled a skirt and blouse from her carpet bag. Once dressed, she dragged on her stockings and garters, stuck her feet into a pair of worn leather slippers and walked through the silent room to the doors that led to the verandah. And that’s where she found him, fully laid out on the floorboards, asleep with his face atop his folded coat. He was snoring softly. Why he’d chosen to sleep out of doors only he knew. The scarred side of his face was hidden against his coat and she took a moment to evaluate his unblemished profile. There was no denying he was a handsome man. Lost in sleep, he looked peaceful—as if the world held no worries or challenges. He certainly bore no resemblance to the man who’d overwhelmed her with passion, or made her melt by calling her his little pirate. This Noah Yates seemed younger, almost innocent, but she knew better, so she left him and went back inside to await his awakening.
She didn’t have to wait long. When he entered she was seated in one of the chairs.
“Good morning,” he said. Even rumpled from sleep his powerful presence filled the small room.
“Good morning.”
“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
“You seemed to be sleeping so peacefully—I didn’t want to wake you.”
Last night’s encounter rose again and the memory of his fervent kisses and warm mouth on her nipples made them harden beneath her cotton shift and blouse. “I’ll—wait out on the verandah so you can take care of your needs.” Without waiting for a reply, she slipped past him and stepped through the opened doors.
Noah thought about her as he dressed. What sort of challenges would she bring today? She looked none the worse for wear from their fiery predawn episode, and he hardened thinking about her satiny soft skin and soft gasps of passion. Dragging his mind back to the present, he searched through his lone bag of luggage for a fresh shirt and suit. Once dressed, he stepped out to join her. “Are you hungry?”
“A bit, yes.”
“Mrs. Fitzhugh offers a good breakfast. Shall we go down?”
She nodded and joined him inside.
“Let me get the door.”
“Another chivalry rule?”
“Yes.”
She rolled her eyes.
He smiled and pulled the door open. “After you.”
Seated at their table in the small dining room, he watched her scan the eggs, grits, bacon, and toast on her plate. “Something wrong?”
“Not what I’m accustomed to. What is this?” she asked.
“Grits.”
He saw no recognition in her eyes. “It’s hominy. A grain.”
She used her fork to taste a bit of it and made a slight face.
“Most people use butter and salt and pepper to flavor it. Here in this part of the country it’s sometimes served with shrimp as well.”
She glanced around quickly. “There’s shrimp here?”
He found this very endearing. “No, Pilar. I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” she said plainly disappointed. “And these strips are what?”
“Pork. It’s called bacon.”
“Why is it flat like this? We eat pork at home, but it doesn’t resemble belt leather. How do you eat it?”
“Just pick it up with your fingers and bite.” He watched her taste it.
“Very dry and salty,” she noted.
“Americans eat it for breakfast. What do you customarily have?”
“Mangú—which is mashed plantains, eggs, salami, peppers, onions . . .” Her words trailed off.
&
nbsp; “When we get home you might find the food more familiar, but until then, it will be mostly American food.”
Again, disappointment, but she began to eat her eggs.
“Ah, Mr. Yates. I see you are still with us.”
He looked up to find Senor and Senora DeValle and their sixteen-year-old daughter, Caralina, standing beside the table. He’d met them on the premises a few days ago. It was the wife who’d greeted him. “Good morning,” he offered in a polite response. “How are you?”
“We’re fine, aren’t we, Caralina?”
“Yes, we are.” The daughter viewed him as if he were a dessert she wanted to try. It was yet another case of a mama looking to wrangle a mate for her unmarried daughter.
Pilar viewed them coolly. He was about to introduce her when Senora DeValle asked, “And what are your plans for today, Mr. Yates? Caralina is very anxious to visit the gardens here. Maybe the two of you—”
“Querido?” Pilar inquired softly, “Would you like more coffee?”
Noah, who’d just taken a sip from his cup, choked upon hearing himself referred to as her darling. There was a distinct stormy devilment in her dark eyes and he couldn’t suppress his smile. “No, querida, I’m fine for now.” He turned to the DeValles. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Pilar.”
The shocked mama’s eyes widened. The daughter shot daggers at Pilar, who raised her cup mockingly in response. The father dropped his head with abject disappointment.
“When did you marry?” Senora DeValle asked, looking quickly between them.
“Yesterday,” Pilar answered. “It’s been nice meeting you.”
That earned her a glare, but having been effectively dismissed, there was nothing for the family to do but move on. They did so and sat at a table on the far side of the room.
Noah studied her.
“I am your wife. We may not have a love match, but I’ll not tolerate calf-eyed girls or their mothers slavering over you, at least not in my presence.”
He raised his cup. “Noted.”
“Good.”
An amused Noah went back to the food on his plate.
“Do you have a mistress?”
He paused and looked up. Her face was unreadable. “Not officially, no.”
“So that means there is a woman or women in your life?”
Rather than dance around what felt like a trap, he offered the truth. “There is a woman I sometimes keep company with when I’m in San Francisco.” Her name was Lavinia Douglas. Her father, Walter, owned a small shipyard.
“And now that you are married?”
“The men in my family honor their wives, Pilar. There are no outside women.”
“Thank you. I just wanted to know.”
“And for the record, I’ll not have calf-eyed men slavering over you in my presence, either.”
That earned him a raised chin. “Noted,” she replied.
He saw Senora DeValle watching them. She didn’t appear pleased, but Noah was very pleased with this first shared meal with his new wife. However, there was something he’d been meaning to ask. “This may spoil the morning, but what happened to my belongings on the Alanza?”
She slowly put down her coffee cup. “I sold them.”
He cocked his head.
“Did you expect me to box them up and store them away?”
He didn’t know what to expect—but: “Did they fetch a good price?”
“They did, but I may have gotten a better one had I not had to sell them so quickly.”
He was almost afraid to ask. “Meaning?”
“We needed to pay the boatman who took us to Florida, and I didn’t have the luxury of haggling, so I sold him your gun and holster. The painting went to someone on the dock. He wanted to give it to his mother for her birthday.”
He choked on another swallow of coffee. Picking up his napkin, he wiped his mouth and once recovered, asked quietly, “The one that was hanging in my quarters?”
“Yes. Did you paint it?”
“Yes,” he said, knocked for a loop by her disclosure.
“I thought you might have. Doneta said you have a talent.”
“I saw her painting. She paints well, too.”
“Yes, she does. She’s the family’s art forger.”
His eyes widened and he looked around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. “Art forger?”
She nodded. “Some of her work is hanging in museums. Of course they don’t know they’re forgeries. We switched hers with the true versions.”
Noah was so stunned and confused he didn’t know what to ask next. “Have you finished eating, because we need to continue this conversation in private.”
“Yes, I have.”
Still staring at her as if she’d turned herself into a mermaid, he left the money for the meal on the table and they went back up to their room.
“Now, begin again,” he said to her once they were settled in the chairs.
“I’m from a family of forgers, counterfeiters, and thieves, for lack of a more refined description.”
“And your specialty—besides stealing boats?”
She cut him a look, which he ignored. “I steal things.”
“Such as?”
“When I was very young, I was trained to steal small items from homes.”
“By whom?”
“My father and uncles.”
“So, where some families trade in, say, carpentry or sailmaking, yours trades in theft.”
“The sarcasm is not appreciated, but yes.”
He found this utterly appalling yet fascinating. “How would you go about it?”
“They would boost me through a window after dark and I’d take whatever I could find. Silver, small statues, jewelry if it was left out on a nightstand or dresser.”
“You’d enter bedrooms?”
“Yes. I was very quiet and quick.”
“Were you ever discovered?”
“Once. I was about seven years old and a man came upon me as I was leaving. When he asked me what I was doing in his home, I began to cry and told him I was looking for my mother and that she was a maid and hadn’t come home, but I couldn’t seem to find the right house.”
“And he fell for that?”
“Yes. In fact, I was so convincing, and he was so concerned, he wanted to accompany me to the other homes nearby to aid my search.”
Noah chuckled with disbelief. “And the forged paintings?”
“Sometimes we’d switch Doneta’s forgeries with the ones we found in homes, but a few times, we went for paintings hanging in museums. My father had contacts in Havana who’d sell the real ones to Americans or Europeans. Many wealthy people have no idea whether their paintings are real or not. I’d hire in as a maid, bring the forgery in at night, give the true one to my father waiting outside, and the owners were none the wiser. I’d leave their employ a week or so later and move to the next job.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I’ve a question for you. How did you know I’d be at my uncle’s home?”
“I didn’t. I was there because of our partnership and I showed up that night for the party only because I’d been invited. When I didn’t find you at your home in Santiago, I had no idea where to search next.”
She went still. “You went to our home?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you find out where I lived?”
“I paid a man named Gordonez for the information.”
“That bastard.”
He studied the anger on her face. “How well do you know him?”
“He was the novio my mother left at the altar. He hated my father as a result.”
“He seemed to be holding a grudge against your family, but I didn’t want to ask about it.”
“His lie to the Spanish authorities that my father was a high-level rebel leader is what led to his death. None of us will ever forgive him.”
Now, he understood the acrimony he sensed in the man that day. He wondered
how much joy Gordonez felt knowing Noah was hunting Desa’s daughter. “And the rest of my belongings, like my clothing, did you sell them as well?”
She quieted for a moment as if thinking. “Tomas took your clothing. Not sure what he did with it.” Her face saddened.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back your grief.”
“I will miss him terribly.”
Her tone made him wonder if the man had held her heart, but he didn’t ask because he didn’t want the answer to be yes.
“As for the rest of your things, I gave your paints and easel to Doneta. We also found sheets of music. Did you write them?”
He nodded. “I did. Did you sell them as well?”
“No, I put them back in your desk.”
“Which is now at the bottom of the sea?”
Her reply was a quietly spoken, “Yes.”
That was the greatest loss as far as he was concerned. His gun, the clothing, even the painting could be replaced, but he’d been composing that requiem on and off for a number of years. Now he’d have to try and recreate it from scratch.
“As your wife now, I suppose I should apologize.”
“Only if it’s genuinely offered.”
“My apology—genuinely given.”
“Thank you,” he said, hoping it didn’t come out as curtly as he felt.
The way her eyes flashed, he knew that it had. “What instrument do you play?”
“Piano.”
“Had I the opportunity to do it all again, I would have chosen another target that night.”
“I’m sure you would’ve, but there’s no changing the outcome now. Shall we go see about the train tickets?”
She nodded.
When they reached the door he asked, “Will my mother have to hide the silver when we get home?” he asked.
“Are you deliberately being insulting?”
“Just an honest question in search of an honest answer.”
“I don’t steal from family.”
“Good to know.”
“You were the one who initially wanted this marriage, remember?”
“And last night, so did you.”
She looked away. “This isn’t easy for me.”
“I understand. Knowing you’ve been stealing since you were little isn’t an easy thing for me either.”
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