While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  His violent reaction to Nathan Ridgeway unsettled him and the fact that whenever English was referred to as Nathan's wife he longed to rip out the speaker's tongue. He could not even think of her as Beth—Beth was Nathan's wife, but English was his! The thought of her lying in Nathan's arms filled him with such rage and pain that his mind went blank, unable to accept the idea that another man had a right to that slender white body, that another man had claim to her love.

  What made her different? he asked himself, staring obliquely across the table at her blond loveliness. He'd known women as lovely before—not quite as lovely, he amended, admitting to himself that there had never been one with hair like hers or eyes of that incredible shade of violet, nor one who possessed a body that was so exquisitely perfect. But the other women in his life had been lovely too, lush, lovely, passionate creatures who clung to him and ardently returned his caresses until he had grown weary of them and their demands upon his time. But not English. She had resisted him from the beginning. Rafael remembered without humor how she had refused to look at him when he first strode up to Stella intent upon learning the name of the entrancing creature at her side. An ethereal creature with eyes like amethysts and sun-kissed moonbeam hair, a woman who made his heart leap the moment he had caught sight of her across the shifting expanse of the Costa ballroom. And what had she done? She had ignored him and smiled at some hovering gallant, arousing within him a savage desire to lift the young man's scalp.

  But it wasn't her resistance to his physical attractions that had given rise to the queer emotions that swirled and twined through his veins, nor, he confessed reluctantly, was it the memory of that silken body writhing under his. Passion and resistance had nothing to do with a violent urge to protect and cherish.... Rafael, who had never experienced those feelings, had done so the night of the Costa soiree and was doing so now, and it bewildered him as much as it infuriated him. Why her of all women, for God's sake! She betrayed her husband at every turn and ensnared unwary, romantic young men like Sebastian at the first opportunity. And yet—his long-lipped mouth twisted bitterly—and yet, dear God, he wanted her as he had never wanted anything in his life. He took a drink of the red wine that was served with dinner and stared with resentment at Beth's averted head as she turned to speak with Sebastian. How dared she disturb him this way! By the time the meal ended, Rafael managed to convince himself that he loathed the sight of Beth Ridgeway and that his only interest in her was her beautiful body. Reducing his emotions to lust didn't allow him to banish her from his thoughts, but it let him think that he had overcome a weakness. No woman was ever going to find her way into his heart.

  Rafael's introspection had gone unnoticed during the meal, although Sebastian glanced at him once or twice, curious about his silence. Sebastian himself was not in his normal high spirits, his conversation with Beth stilted, especially whenever he chanced to find Rafael's speculating gaze upon them.

  Sebastian had dreaded his next meeting with Beth, but despite his heartache and disillusionment it was not the painful ordeal he had thought it would be. It helped that Beth was unaware of his newfound knowledge, and after the first few uncomfortable moments Sebastian discovered to his surprise that not a great deal had changed between them. Beth treated him as she always had, teasing him gently and smiling at his banter; if she appeared distracted at times he put it down to the strain of maintaining calm when one's husband and lover were seated side by side at the same dining table. In spite of the ease with which he had reestablished their association, he was happy to see the meal end, needing more time to come to grips with Beth's involvement with Rafael.

  Nathan, Don Miguel, and Dona Madelina were the only ones that enjoyed the evening, and they were the only ones unaware of the tension in the air that increased as the evening drew near its end. Nathan should have been aware of it; more than that, his instincts that had served him so well in connection with Sebastian seemed to have deserted him.

  Nathan had recognized Sebastian's infatuation almost immediately, but while he considered Rafael Santana to possess an urbane charm, he never once viewed him as a danger to his marriage. His instincts did not let him down on one point though: Nathan sensed the power underneath Rafael's air of sophistication, and the streak of ruthlessness that lurked not far from the elegant surface of the other man. Because he found Rafael's aggressive maleness intimidating, because he didn't think the lean, powerful face particularly handsome, he made the mistake of assuming that a woman would feel the same. It never entered his head that he had just dined with the man he had feared most would one day appear in Beth's life. A man who could steal her heart away before she even realized what had happened.

  Beth herself hadn't realized it either, but as the time approached to make the announcement that she and Nathan were departing in the morning, she was conscious of a strong reluctance to do so. Her reluctance had nothing to do with outfacing Rafael; it had everything to do with the knowledge that she was leaving him and might never see him again. She could chastise herself for being a spineless creature where Rafael was concerned, she could remind herself over and over again of her marriage vows, but nothing helped lessen the pain of knowing she'd never see him again. She was torn by her duty and vows to Nathan and what she feared was her only chance for love. Even considering the possibility of loving Rafael Santana, she knew was foolish, but she couldn't pretend there was not a thread of emotion between them, a thread she would have given much to be able to spin into something stronger and more enduring. But she dared not. Nor, she admitted with anguish, could she close her heart to her marriage and Nathan.

  Beth had hoped that Nathan would introduce the subject of their departure, but he appeared to be waiting for her to do so. As the hour grew late and still she had not mentioned it, she was aware of the question in his eyes whenever they met hers. Knowing she could put it off no longer, knowing that leaving Rafael behind was the only sane path left for her, as they were sipping a last glass of wine before retiring, she forced herself to say brightly, "Oh, what a marvelous visit this has been! Nathan and I shall be sorry to say good-bye to you when we leave in the morning. You have been so kind to us and we shall think of you often on our journey back to Natchez."

  There was a moment of silence, silence that to Beth seemed fraught with danger, and then there was the sudden babble as Don Miguel and Dona Madelina both expressed their regret and the wish that the Ridgeways would stay longer. Resolutely Beth resisted their entreaties, Nathan coming to her rescue by stating blandly that they simply had to leave in the morning.

  Sebastian remained silent, uncertain whether he would be happy or miserable to see Beth leave. He decided after a second's thought that it was for the best. Compelling himself to smile, Sebastian said with forced cheerfulness, "I'm sorry that you cannot avail yourself longer of my cousin's hospitality, but do not be at all surprised if later this year you see me in Natchez. After I have seen to all the legal documents pertaining to my ownership of the lands Rafael and I inspected, I will be returning to New Orleans to buy various supplies. Perhaps while there I will travel up the river and pay you a visit. That is, if the invitation is still open?"

  Nathan halfheartedly assured him that it was, and with more warmth in his voice informed the Santanas that if they were ever east of the Mississippi they must make Briarwood Plantation one of the places that they visited. It was all done politely, everyone voicing the polite things one does when a departure looms near—everyone, that is, except Rafael.

  His body stiffened when Beth made her announcement and a hard glitter entered the smoky gray eyes. He waited until the regrets and invitations were through and then, slowly putting down his snifter of brandy, he murmured, "How very convenient." His eyes on Beth's face, he continued, "I too have reason to be riding into San Antonio tomorrow morning, and with your permission will accompany you."

  Beth's tongue froze to the roof of her mouth. She had known she ran a risk in defying him and that he might take retaliatory actio
n, but not even in her wildest imagination had she thought that he would insist on going with them to San Antonio. She realized that it would have been safer to remain at the hacienda with the others.... Once the hacienda was out of sight, except for their servants, she and Nathan would be alone with him, and for a chilling moment, she remembered Consuela's death. Had he arranged that? Did he hate her so much that he was arranging for history to repeat itself? She couldn't or wouldn't believe it of him, but she did not want him escorting her and her husband back to San Antonio.

  Nathan, however, had no such qualms and blithely accepted Rafael's invitation. "Oh, that would be splendid! It is pleasant to have someone who knows the country traveling along."

  Rafael bowed. "Good. I presume you will be staying a few days in San Antonio and I hope you will do me the honor of accepting the hospitality of a house I have there."

  Beth would have rushed in with a refusal, but Sebastian's surprised comment cut her off. "You have a house in San Antonio?"

  It was Don Miguel who answered. A testy note in his voice, he said, "His Grandfather Hawkins left him a sizable estate when he died and included in it was the house of which he speaks." Turning to Nathan, he added, "I had thought to suggest that you might like to stay in a small house we have on the outskirts of San Antonio, but my son has forestalled me. You will like his house just as well, though—it is a nice house, senor, I think you would find it more comfortable than a hotel."

  "Well, that settles it, then!" Nathan said. "Of course we will accept your invitation, sir."

  It was all arranged so quickly that Beth never had a chance to refute the plans, and, undressing for bed a short while later, she was filled with frustration and tears. She should have been more alert for Rafael to make some sort of move to thwart her, but she hadn't really thought that he would care one way or another. After all, having the opinion of her that he had, surely he would be happy to see the last of her. Wouldn't he?

  The fact that he wasn't willing to do so alarmed her and yet it also, she admitted shamefully, gave her a queer flutter of excitement. Which was the last emotion she should be feeling! What sort of an empty-headed fool was she? Rafael Santana was dangerous—too dangerous for her peace of mind.

  Sleep proved elusive, her thoughts tumbling and churning. She couldn't help but remember Manuela's recital of the facts leading to Consuela's death, and she lay in her bed wondering if Rafael really had arranged it. Her spirit rebelled against such an unworthy idea. Rafael might be dangerous, he might also be "mad and bad," but she couldn't imagine him doing something that despicable. Beth didn't doubt that he was capable of murder, but she was positive he would have been far more likely to strangle Consuela with his bare hands in a fit of fury than to cold-bloodedly set a pack of Comanche killers on her trail. That thought didn't make her feel any better, but it resolved one particular fear. If she'd thought for one second that Rafael was capable of doing such a dastardly act, nothing would have compelled her to set foot outside of the hacienda.

  Morning came at last and after what seemed like days to Beth, the hour for their departure approached. There had been a bustle as their trunks and valises were packed and loaded, and Nathan gave Beth a nasty scare when he murmured, "It is a shame that we have to leave in this hurly-burly manner. There really was no pressing reason for us not to stay for several more days, was there?"

  Beth shot him a frightened look, but there was nothing in his face to alarm her and she said quickly, "No, there wasn't. But having made up our minds, I assumed you would want to start back as soon as possible."

  Nathan regarded her, his gaze taking in the purple shadows under her eyes and the hint of strain that tightened her soft mouth. Despite discounting Rafael Santana's charms with the opposite sex, Nathan was very aware of the fact that his wife had been acting strange since they had arrived at the hacienda, especially since Don Miguel's son had appeared. He'd have been a dunce not to have suspected that something was bothering her but if she wouldn't tell him, she wouldn't tell him.

  When the moment came to say good-bye, Beth found it oddly emotional. She hated bidding Sebastian farewell, he had come to mean a great deal to her, and Don Miguel and Dona Madelina had been so kind and hospitable that she felt a perfect wretch for leaving so swiftly. Dona Madelina's eyes were suspiciously misty when she said good-bye to Beth, and the surprising strength of the unexpected embrace she bestowed stayed with Beth for a long time. Don Miguel had kissed her gently on the forehead and whispered, "I shall hold the memory of your visit dear to me, nina." Smiling he added, "One would think that already having five lovely daughters I would object to a sixth—but if she were like you, I would thank God."

  It was a generous compliment and Beth fought back tears. The hacienda was only a blurred outline to her gaze, and the cries of "Vaya con Dios!" rang in her ears as the coach moved away.

  Don Miguel insisted upon sending ten men to increase the size and protection of their party for the journey to San Antonio; it was a well-armed group that left the hacienda. Rafael, on a big dapple-gray stallion, his expression hidden under the brim of his large black sombrero, rode past the coach as they cleared the gates, his presence reminding Beth that she had not yet escaped from the peril he represented. The sight of the ever-present Colt pistol strapped to his thigh and the long black muzzle-loading rifles of the vaqueros brought home again to Beth the real dangers of the journey she had undertaken so lightly. She longed for the quiet jasmine-lined streets of Natchez.

  Nathan had been amenable to Beth's desire for the sudden departure, feeling more lighthearted than he had in ages. With the same languid grace with which he had descended from the coach three days previously he had ascended it that morning, and while he wouldn't have minded visiting with the Santanas for a more extended period, he watched the hacienda grow smaller in the distance with pleasure.

  Beth's distress at leaving the hacienda had been obvious, and Nathan was certain there was more to it than just the sadness of bidding friends farewell. Perhaps she had discovered that she cared more deeply for Sebastian than she had realized? He frowned. No, of course not. So what was troubling her? It was not Nathan's nature to pry, nor was he likely to take offense at her desire to keep her thoughts to herself, but he decided he would make one last attempt to discover the cause of Beth's odd tenseness and unhappiness. He said nothing for several miles, giving Beth time to recover her composure. Finally, though, regarding his expertly polished boots, he asked quietly, "Would you care to enlighten me as to the real reason we left the hacienda so abruptly?"

  Beth kept her eyes on her gloved hands that were lying loosely in her lap, weary of the lies and half-truths. "Do you honestly want to know, Nathan?" she asked at last.

  Now that she was on the point of telling him, Nathan wasn't so certain it was such a wise idea. He thought about it for some time before saying calmly, "No, I don't think I do, my dear."

  She looked at him then and smiled faintly. "Have I ever told you, that I care deeply for you?"

  A gratified expression crossed his face. "Why, no, I don't believe you ever have." With an odd air of needing reassurance, he asked, "Do you?"

  "Very much, Nathan, very much." Beth answered with a tremulous smile, her conscience pricking her at the deceit she had so unwillingly practiced on him.

  There was little conversation between them after that, both of them lost in their own thoughts, Nathan congratulating himself on the wisdom of giving Beth her head, and of not allowing his unworthy suspicions and jealousy of Sebastian to burst its bounds.

  As for Beth, she had not been merely saying words to hear herself speak when she told her husband that she cared for him. She did. And while she knew he would never arouse the giddying passions that Rafael evoked, she was determined to work harder at making their marriage stronger and more meaningful. At home she would be able to forget Rafael Santana and the dark pull he had on her heart.

  Beth was positive that she did not love Rafael. Love did not come so quickly, so
unwillingly, she thought desperately. Love was what she and Nathan shared; it was learning of one another slowly and leisurely, of day by day growing closer and closer as they had, not something striking like a thunderbolt out of a cloudless sky. It was not the queer fearful excitement that surged through her body at the thought of being in Rafael's arms and having his hard mouth plunder hers. No, that wasn't love—that was silly infatuation, she told herself firmly. Silly, foolish infatuation. She would not consider it to be anything else. She was going to get through the next few days and then she and Nathan would be on their way home to Briarwood, leaving Rafael and everything associated with him far behind.

  It was easier to make that vow than to keep it, as she found out that night when they stopped to make camp. They had made camp early in a secluded spot near a small waterfall that formed a clear pool of water at its base; under other circumstances Beth would have found it charming. But there were two very good reasons why she didn't. The first was the deplorable fact that Nathan, inclined to celebrate their return to civilization more exuberantly than necessary, had partaken too freely of the brandy that he had carried with him from Natchez, and within a short time he was snoring away in one of the wagons as drunk as Beth had ever seen him. It came as a shock, because while she had always known that Nathan drank, and heavily at that—what gentleman didn't?—he had never before done so in front of her, and she found it distressing. And of course, the other reason for her lack of enjoyment of the starry sky and cool evening breeze that rustled the leaves of the sycamore trees near the waterfall was Rafael's dark presence.