Feeling as if she had been guilty of a social solecism, Beth looked quickly away from the cynical gleam in his eyes and said in a small voice, "Oh."
This was the first time that Nathan had ever heard of the part-Comanche grandmother and he decided that it was the Indian blood that accounted for his uneasiness around their host. A frown marring his forehead, he nervously twisted his wine glass. Knew there was something odd about the fellow the moment I laid eyes on him, he told himself, and came to the conclusion that they would have to leave the luxuries offered them at the earliest possible moment. Can't have Beth exposed to a damned Comanche—why, there's no telling what might take into his head to do!
Rafael's servant found the Mavericks at home and they were delighted to accept his impromptu invitation. An hour later they were seated on the patio enjoying the midnight air.
The conversation flowed smoothly right from the beginning, the Mavericks expressing their pleasure at seeing the Ridgeways again and their regret that they were not continuing their journey on to Santa Fe.
"Stella will be so disappointed!" Mary cried when it was explained how they came to be in San Antonio again.
Rafael let Beth flounder for a few minutes with lame excuses and almost as if taking pity on her, he introduced a new topic of conversation. Putting down his snifter of brandy that he had chosen instead of the milky coffee that the ladies and Nathan were drinking, he looked at Sam Maverick and asked, "Is the meeting with the Pehnahterkuh chiefs still set for tomorrow?"
Sam nodded."Is that why you're here? To attend the meeting?"
Rafael lit a thin black cheroot and glanced at Beth a brief moment before admitting, "Yes. I met with Houston some days ago and he thought it would be a good idea if I were here. He wants me to 'observe' the meeting."
Beth felt her face grow hot with embarrassment and she was glad of the encroaching darkness. What a silly fool I was to think he came to San Antonio because of me. She was torn between chagrin and relief, one part of her overjoyed that Rafael's trip had nothing to do with her and another part of her...
Rafael and Sam Maverick talked of the Comanches for a while, the two ladies and Nathan listening with undisguised interest. There was a break in the conversation and Nathan, determined to see one of these dreaded raiders up close, asked Rafael "Would it be at all possible for me to attend the meeting with you tomorrow? I would like to see a Comanche before I leave Texas."
Nathan spoke as did many a white man, as if a Comanche was a peculiar creature from another world, and Rafael was conscious of a quick sweep of rage. He might have snarled something he would have regretted, but Sam Maverick said with a laugh, "Well, if anyone can get you inside the council building tomorrow, it will be Rafael Santana—he comes with Sam Houston's approval." Looking across at Rafael, Sam coaxed, "Why don't you take him with you? After all, it isn't every day you can see a Comanche and live to tell the tale. If you're thinking that it is not a place for spectators, let me tell you that half the people there tomorrow are going to be spectators. Why, we've got judges who have traveled here just to see the Comanches. Take him with you."
Reluctantly Rafael agreed. Nathan was the last person he wanted with him tomorrow, but he saw no way to refuse.
Mary turned to Beth and said quietly, "I am one of the women who will be taking care of the returned captives tomorrow. We don't know how many there will be or in what condition, but we could use an extra pair of hands if you would be willing to help."
"Why certainly," Beth returned, pleased that Mary felt she could be of use.
"Do you think that there'll be any trouble?" Maverick asked Rafael. "I know that Colonel Fisher is here with three companies of troops."
Rafael shrugged. "It depends on the terms that are offered and how those terms are presented. You have to remember that the Comanches are a proud people—they held this land, first against the might of Spain and then the Mexicans. They are used to being treated, if not with awe, with at least something resembling it."
Sam's face darkened. "If you think that we are going to bend our necks to a bunch of dirty, thieving—" He broke off, remembering that some of that "dirty, thieving" blood ran in Rafael's veins, but as Rafael said nothing, merely regarded the tip of his cheroot, Sam said in a calmer tone of voice, "Colonel Fisher has made it plain and he has reemphasized Colonel Karnes' earlier requirement—there will be no treaty unless every Texan captive is released to us tomorrow."
Rafael took a deep breath, his face expressionless in the faint light from the lanterns that hung nearby. Slowly he said, "In that case, you may have trouble, because I don't think they're going to bring in every captive. One or two, maybe is all I think you'll see at a time. You'll get them all eventually, but not all at once. Knowing Comanches, I can tell you that they intend most likely to bargain for every woman and child individually, and they will expect to be paid dearly for them."
"And we Texans do not intend to pay them one piece of tribute! We will not ransom people who should not have been taken captive in the first place," Maverick said hotly.
Rafael smoked his cheroot in silence for a long moment. Flatly he said, "Then, amigo, you may very well have trouble."
PART THREE
THE FATEFUL SEASON
Spring 1840
Defer not till tomorrow to be wise,
Tomorrow's sun to thee may never rise.
~William Concreve
"Letter to Cobham"
Chapter 17
Thursday, the 19th of March, 1840, dawned bright and clear, the sky an endless azure lake, the sun a golden ball of fire in its center. Beth woke early, thankful that she had managed to get through the previous evening without putting her foot wrong.
Charity entered just then bringing in a large silver tray laden with a coffeepot, a china cup, a small pitcher of cream, and a dish containing a Mexican sweet bread known as pan dulce. Leaning against lace-trimmed pillows, Beth enjoyed the rich, dark coffee; nibbling thoughtfully on the pan dulce, she considered the plans for the day ahead.
Nathan's arrangement to accompany Rafael to the meeting with the Comanches was not to her liking; it made her uneasy every time she thought of it. But then, any instance that left her husband alone with Rafael made her uneasy.
At least they would be in the middle of a crowd, and it was unlikely that the type of conversation she feared might spring up between them would take place under those circumstances. If only she knew what Rafael was thinking, or what he intended. He hadn't betrayed her... yet. Perhaps, like a cat with a mouse, he was merely torturing her?
Fortunately, she would be busy helping Mary and the other women, and that, she decided firmly, should keep her mind off Nathan and Rafael. They should manage to get through another day without any pitfalls opening up. She prayed it would be so. Her face brightened as it occurred to her that if the Comanches took up most of this day, there would be just one more day before they could bid their host "Vaya con Dios," and begin the journey home. Just forty-eight hours, she thought with joy, numbing her mind to the anguish she would feel when she faced Rafael for the last time.
Not certain what would be expected of her when she met Mary and the other women, she selected a practical gown of pink gingham and had Charity arrange her hair into a neat cornet of braids on top of her head. Thinking she appeared rather matronly, Beth was oblivious to the way the crown of silken braids gave her a regal air, revealing the lovely bones of her face; the simple gown accented her slender body rather than minimizing its attractiveness.
Rafael, watching her through narrowed eyes as she descended the staircase, decided he had never seen her look lovelier and he was bitterly aware that his heart tightened painfully at the sight of her. It made him angry, as did any emotion he couldn't control, and his unwelcome obsession for Beth Ridgeway definitely was against his will.
Unlike Beth, who had slept soundly, Rafael had not. He had lain awake, tossing and turning, determined to think only of the meeting tomorrow with the Comanches and
yet finding that his very thoughts betrayed him as they strayed down the hall to where Beth was sleeping. He could picture her in the rosewood bed, her bright hair spread out across the pillows and her alabaster body curved gently in sleep. With an angry groan he admitted that it would take very little persuasion for him to join her—her husband be damned. Cursing himself as well as Beth, he had given up all pretense of sleep and had spent the remainder of the night pacing like a caged panther in his room, despising and wanting Beth at the same time.
No matter how determinedly he concentrated on the importance of the meeting in the morning, no matter how grimly he considered the consequences of any overt act by the Texans against the Comanches, Beth's violet eyes and sweet mouth crept into his midnight musings, driving him half mad with longing. By the time the sun rose he was filled with rage that a woman could invade his mind to the point where coherent thought vanished.
Beth wasn't aware of his presence at the bottom of the stairs until she was more than halfway down the wide steps. Catching sight of his tall, dark figure in the center of the spacious hallway, her step faltered and she came to a halt, wishing her heart hadn't plunged to her feet when her eyes met his. She hesitated, gathering her erratic emotions, before forcing a smile and saying, "Good morning, Senor Santana."
A crooked smile curved his mouth. "I hardly think such formality is necessary, English—you know my given name and I would suggest that you use it."
Beth stiffened and came down the remainder of the steps with a rush. A militant sparkle in her eyes, she snapped, "I wish to Heaven that your name was the only thing I knew about you."
The crooked smile fled and bleakly he surveyed her flushed, lovely features, wanting with an intensity that was a physical pain to sweep her into his arms and kiss her so fiercely, so passionately that she would be aware of nothing but the hot, dark hunger that raged within him. He didn't, as much because he needed to prove to himself that he did have control over his emotions as the disagreeable awareness that this was neither the place nor the time to precipitate such a scene. Treating her in the same manner she had him, he muttered, "You no more than I, dear lady."
Anger made her reckless. "Fine! I think we understand each other... and I see no reason to continue this distasteful conversation. Anything I have to say to you can be said in the company of others."
"Even your husband?"
"You dare! You would wound a man for no other reason than to gain spiteful revenge?"
Her words did not enrage him as might have been anticipated, although a muscle bunched in his cheek and the gray eyes grew hard. Tightly he said, "I am not in the habit of telling tales—especially not sordid tales to another man about his wife's dalliances." His gaze flicking contemptuously over her slender body, he drawled, "Your husband speaks highly of you, obviously he thinks you are without a blemish. If everything he told me the other night is true, it would appear he has much to be proud of—a wife with all the virtues a man could desire." His voice like the crack of a whiplash, he snarled, "All the virtues except one—fidelity."
Beth struck him across the face, her open palm connecting gratifyingly with his lean cheek. The sound of the blow seemed to echo in the hallway; appalled at her impulsive action, with horror Beth stared at the print of her small hand against his dark face. The sudden anger draining out of her and shaken by her own lack of control, she took an instinctive step backward.
His mouth a thin, white line, Rafael said coolly, too coolly, "You are wise to move away from me, English. At the moment I could wring your neck."
Risking a glance at his dark, furious face, Beth rather thought he might indeed wring her neck, but she wasn't about to retreat. He had insulted her grievously and he deserved what she had given him. Her stance belligerent, she glowered up at him as if daring him to carry out his threat.
Any other woman would have known the back of his hand, but with Beth striking her was the farthest thought from his mind—he desperately wanted her warm and eager in his arms, instead of facing him like a narrowed-eyed, snarling cat. With an oddly vulnerable movement he rubbed one hand tiredly against the back of his neck and surprised her by saying, "I won't apologize; I shouldn't have said what I did. As for telling your husband"—his eyes met hers and Beth felt her throat go tight—"as for your husband," he repeated somberly, "rest easy on that count—I don't think what transpired between us was admirable any way you view it. Shall we leave it in the past and start over again?"
Feeling the prick of tears behind her lids, she nodded, knowing that no matter how wrong it had been she would never forget those forbidden moments. In a small voice she said, "There isn't any reason to start over again—Nathan and I will be leaving for Natchez just as soon as possible."
Something that could have been pain crossed his face, but it was gone so swiftly Beth couldn't be sure. "At least there need not be any animosity between us before you leave," he said quietly.
Beth gave him a wavering smile, wishing sadly it was that simple, wishing with despair that his dark compelling attraction didn't tug against her heart every time she saw him. Her voice not quite steady, she murmured, "We seemed to have said everything there is to say." Holding back the scalding tears that she knew were going to spill down her cheeks any second, she sought to end the conversation as quickly as possible. Not looking at him, she stuttered, "Y-y-you m-m-must excuse me, I-I must finish getting ready to join M-M-Mary and the others."
She turned away blindly, not certain where she was going, but Rafael's hand on her upper arm stopped her.
"It isn't necessary for you to help," he said, a frown creasing his forehead. "As a matter of fact, I—" He broke off as one of the servants walked into the hall, and realizing where they were, he growled something under his breath and dragged Beth into a nearby room, shutting the door behind him.
It had not been to seek an intimate tete-a-tete with Beth that had prompted Rafael to bring her into the small library where they now stood, but to escape the interruptions that were sure to occur if they continued talking in the middle of the central hallway. Yet the instant he shut the door behind him, a new and disturbing atmosphere enveloped both of them.
Staring mutely up into his bronzed powerful face, the high cheekbones and the smoky gray eyes beneath the winged black brows, Beth felt her heart contract as she realized how incredibly dear those features had become to her—how they would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. This is how I will always remember him, she thought with anguish, her eyes noting the way the crisp blue-black hair brushed his temples, the way his long lashes hid the expression in the gray eyes; the way his mouth curved when he smiled as he did now.
His smile was strained, but she was too busy shoring up memories to last a lifetime to notice. Beth knew she would always picture him as he was now. He was dressed in Spanish attire—as usual the colors of his clothes were black except for the white of his shirt and the crimson bandana knotted carelessly about the strong, brown throat... She had an insane desire to press her lips against that warm brown throat where it joined his shoulder.
Frightened at her response to his nearness, she presented her back to him and asked, "Wh-what were you saying?"
Rafael was not immune to Beth's presence any more than she was to his, and his smile slipped a little. It took every ounce of willpower not to take her into his arms and kiss her half senseless; he was grateful that she had turned away from him. If he had continued to stare down into that enchanting face he wouldn't have been responsible for his actions. Recovering, he said, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't help Mary with the returned prisoners."
Her eyes wide and questioning, Beth swung around to face him. "Why?"
He stared at her fragile blond loveliness and, thinking of the refined, safe, ordered life she lived in Natchez, he answered bluntly, "Because I don't think you're strong enough. Mary will have enough on her hands without you fainting at her feet."
Hurt and angry that he thought her so weak and useless, Beth gasped
in outrage. "Thank you very much, Senor Santana! But let me assure you, I am much stronger than I appear, and I wouldn't be so stupid as to faint at a critical point."
Crossing to where she stood with impatient strides, he grasped her shoulders in both hands and shook her. "I didn't mean that you aren't capable under circumstances that you are familiar with! But seeing someone who has been tortured and brutalized by the Comanches is not pleasant—especially to someone like you."
If he meant to pacify her, he failed.
"And what exactly do you mean by that?"
"I was raised Comanche; I know what they do to prisoners. I don't want you revolted by the things you may see. It's that simple. Mary Maverick and the other women are better prepared than you—some of them probably won't hold up too well either. Mary will understand when I tell her you won't be coming. If it will make you feel better, I'll send a couple of my own servants along to help."
"I told Mary I would help and I intend to do so."
"You obstinate little fool!" he burst out angrily. "Damn it, I don't want you there. There could be trouble and I want you safe."
Her eyes suddenly anxious she whispered, "Nathan? He won't be in any danger?"
It was the spark that lit all of Rafael's smoldering frustrations and he snarled, "Blast Nathan! He could be skewered by a Comanche lance for all I care."
Beth twisted furiously in his hold. "Oh! How dare you say such a thing! He is good and kind, and and—" But the heated words she would have flung at him died in her throat at the tormented expression on his face.
There was sudden silence in the room as they gazed at one another, the violet eyes mesmerized by the blazing emotion that flickered in the gray ones. It lasted for only a moment before Rafael muttered, "Por Dios! Why must you always fight me?" Unable to deny himself any longer, his hard mouth swooped down hungrily on hers, his hands jerking her slender form against his.
It was a bittersweet kiss, Rafael's mouth taking her lips with an urgency that was Beth's undoing. If his kiss had been brutal she might have found the will to resist him, but it wasn't. It was warm and compelling, coaxing an instinctive response from her. Instead of fighting him, as she knew she should, instead of trying to escape, she clung to him, her senses spinning out of control. Helplessly her lips parted and his kiss deepened, one large hand coming up to cradle her head, keeping her a willing, eager captive as his mouth sweetly ravaged hers. Heedless of anything but the tall, muscled body pressed against hers, Beth reached up to tangle her fingers in his dark hair; her body arched against his, her breasts aching to feel his touch, her body filled with longing to have him take her again. His lips trailed a fiery path down her throat and she gave a little moan when one of his hands cupped her buttocks and crushed her even closer to the rigid length of him. Dizzy with desire, Beth would have denied him nothing if the thought of her marriage and Nathan hadn't exploded in her brain. With a small ashamed sob, she tore herself out of Rafael's arms and stepped away from him, one arm outstretched as if to ward him off.
While Passion Sleeps Page 26
