While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  For a long moment their eyes clashed across the space that divided them, neither willing to make the first move, neither certain what the next move was. The ridiculousness of the situation struck Rafael, and a glint of laughter flickered in the gray eyes as the minutes spun out and they continued to stand staring at one another like two arched-backed cats.

  Not Beth. She was too angry and had too much justification to find anything remotely amusing in the current confrontation. Seeing the laughter in his eyes, she exploded. With a cry of rage, she launched herself at him, her fists striking at his chest. "Don't you dare laugh at me!" Nearly crying with frustration, she got out furiously, "You've used me from the moment we first met, and now you're laughing about it. You lied to Sebastian about me and he thinks I am a creature without redemption, and you laugh. I am not your mistress!" Her fists pounding Rafael's body, it was almost like an incantation as she cried, "I am not your mistress! I am not! I am not!"

  With humiliating ease, he captured her flailing fists and jerked her roughly next to him, the dampness of his shirt staining the taffeta gown where it touched. An odd expression on his face, he looked down into her stormy features and said with a queer note in his voice. "But aren't you? Aren't you the mistress of my heart?"

  The words were said so low that in her anger Beth nearly missed what he said, but she had no time to ponder it, because Rafael's mouth swooped down hard on hers in a hungry, urgent kiss that blotted out everything but the dark magic he could arouse so effortlessly. She fought against it—and might have won if he had kissed her with passion, but as his warm lips deepened their pressure against hers, an indefinable element entered into the kiss, and Beth responded to it blindly. There was passion in the kiss, but also tenderness and a hungry yearning that, as the minutes passed, drained away her anger until she couldn't remember the reason for it—she knew only that she was in Rafael's arms and it was where she wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world.

  His hand came up and cupped her face, holding her still as his mouth moved across her cheeks and brows before it came back and settled urgently on her lips once more. With a moan of defeat, Beth leaned weakly into his hard, warm body, unable to fight against her own inclinations or the wishes of her heart. At her surrender the kiss changed imperceptibly, his leashed desire struggling to snap the control Rafael had on it, and demandingly his lips explored hers, taking now where before they had tasted.

  Lost in the sensuous web Rafael was weaving, Beth made no demurrer when he swept her up in his arms and carried her over to a wide sofa. As if she were made of delicate china he gently laid her down on it, his mouth never leaving hers. Kneeling beside the sofa, his dark head bent to hers, his hands touching and caressing her small breasts, Beth felt her nipples go tight with longing and she felt desire stir deep within her.

  Rafael knew desire too, his body filled with a gnawing hunger to feel her soft white body beneath his, and with a trembling eagerness his fingers sought the fastenings of her gown. It was the touch of his hand undoing the back of her gown that jerked Beth back to reality and made her realize with a sickening lurch of her stomach how easy it was for him to make her act the part of a wanton.

  With a cry of anguish and fury she pushed him away and sprang to her feet. "Don't!" she half commanded, half implored, torn between the urgings of her heart and the commonsense dictates of her brain. Her eyes shimmering behind a veil of tears, she said thickly, "Don't do this to me! Don't berate me one minute for my supposed failings, and the next, take advantage of the very thing you condemn me for! Stop using me!"

  His eyes bleak, the expression on the lean face remote, Rafael stood up in front of her. Startling her, he said simply, "I'm sorry. Where you are concerned, I seem to act contrary to my own principles."

  Beth gave a bitter little laugh. "Do you have any principles? I sometimes wonder. I've never seen you exercise any of them."

  His voice dangerously quiet, he said, "Haven't you? I thought leaving you in New Orleans was rather high-principled of me—I didn't want to, you know. But among other things, it went against the grain to let you in for the kind of life I could have given you then—a runaway wife kept by a married man with a not-so-savory reputation—so I denied my own desires and left you." Beth's face went white, but Rafael gave her no chance to speak. "Your husband didn't die by my hand, but he could have so easily. I told you I wanted him out of your life, and it would have been the simplest thing in the world to challenge him to a duel at any time I felt like it." His eyes boring into hers, he added coldly, "I would have killed him, had we met on the dueling ground. But when he died, I don't remember that I forced myself on you, which I would have done if I had listened to my own wants." The gray eyes icy, he snarled softly, "You don't know how damned lucky you are, English—I could have ruined you any number of times since we first met, but I didn't. Oh, I wanted you. I wanted you badly enough to steal you from your husband, and the scandal be damned!—I could have made you the talk of New Orleans and the Republic of Texas, simply by reaching out and taking you." Unkindly he continued, "Can you imagine the talk, the whispers, the scandal there would have been if I had done as I wished, and kidnapped you out from under your husband's very nose? I can if you can't, so the next time you think of me as unprincipled, just remember I could have destroyed your reputation anytime I chose. But for whatever reasons—I didn't."

  Looking into those gray eyes and seeing the reckless slant of his mouth, Beth realized with a queer, shameful thud of excitement that he meant what he said. She swallowed, painfully aware now of how many times she had hovered on the brink of disaster, but she couldn't tamp down the dark thrill, she should not feel. So what if he wanted her—she already knew that! It was disgraceful to feel anything but revulsion at his admission, yet while she felt a great many conflicting emotions, none of them was revulsion.

  Eyeing him, she clutched at the one thing she knew for a fact. "You lied to Sebastian!—you said I was your mistress when you knew it was a lie."

  Rafael shrugged. He had handled her gently for the last time, his patience, never very great, was exhausted, and he wanted this fencing between them over with. English was his and it was time she learned that where she was concerned he could be very unprincipled indeed. Legs slightly spread, his arms folded across his chest, he stared at her for an unnerving second before saying, "I never called you my mistress—I said we had a long-standing liaison—which is true." His eyes slid over her, an inscrutable expression in their depths. "You're mine, English, you have been since the moment I laid eyes on you... if you are honest with yourself." He smiled cynically. "Something most women are not. I can and will claim you by whatever name I choose, and whether it is as my mistress or my woman, you belong to me."

  Chapter 24

  With a cry of fury, Beth fled the room, certain that if she stayed one second longer she would do something more drastic than break a decanter of tequila over his head. How dare he! I belong to him! Ha! We'll just see about that, you arrogant devil. Call me your mistress, will you?

  Reaching her room, she paced the floor, concentrating on defying Rafael, of making him choke on his words. He had claimed he was never embarrassed, she recalled, her eyes narrowing. He had practically thrown down a challenge; it was up to her to meet it. But how? It was only when Manuela came in to see about her bath that an idea came to her.

  Manuela was busy seeing that the bath was set up and the hot water procured, when Beth said, "Manuela, I want you to get me a gown."

  "Why, of course, senora, which one would you like to wear this evening? The black silk or perhaps the new black muslin?"

  A hard gleam in the usually soft, violet eyes, Beth said succinctly, "None of those. I want a harlot's gown."

  "A har—! You mean a whore's gown?" Manuela squeaked, her brown eyes starting from her head.

  Beth smiled a grim little smile and nodded. "And I want it tonight. Can you get one?"

  Manuela spread her hands, her lined face the picture of di
sapproval and bewilderment. "I don't know. I-I-I'll have to ask around." Stiffly, she added, "I am not in the habit of consorting with such women."

  "Neither am I!" Beth snapped, feeling sensitive on the subject. Ashamed for snapping, she said with a note of pleading, "Please, Manuela, it's important to me. Very important and I need it this evening—I don't care what it costs, just get me one. The more outrageous the better!"

  Deciding the American senora must still be suffering from a touch of the fever, Manuela agreed. Having been a servant since childhood, it never occurred to her to disobey. Reluctantly, she sought out one of the young men who worked in the stables, and from him was able to get the information she needed. Discreet from the years as Consuela's servant, she undertook to carry out the task herself, telling no one why she needed to run a sudden errand across town.

  The bordello was a shock to Manuela, but nothing compared to the amazement of the madam when she discovered what this very proper and respectable servant wanted. The sight of gold, though, made her shrug and after inspecting several garments, each more outrageous and vulgar than the last, the two women finally struck a bargain.

  The gown cost more than Manuela had wanted to pay, her thrifty soul revolting at being charged an exorbitant price for the cheaply made gown, but with Beth's words ringing in her ears she paid the sum.

  Beth had already bathed and was lying on her bed in a lavender peignoir when Manuela returned. At Manuela's entrance into the room, she jerked upright. "Were you successful?"

  Manuela nodded and grimaced. "Si, senora, I was able to buy one, but..."

  "Don't scold me," Beth interrupted her pleadingly. "I know you think this is scandalous, and it is, but don't desert me now, Manuela."

  "Very well, senora, but I think you are playing a dangerous game. Senor Rafael," she said repressively, "will not like what I think you are planning."

  At Manuela's words, Beth's wavering resolve hardened. Slipping from bed, she said with a hint of defiance in her voice, "Let me see it."

  A gasp of shock and admiration burst from her when at last Manuela unveiled the gown. "Oh, Manuela...!" she breathed with reverence, undecided whether to giggle or order Manuela to destroy it! It was truly a strumpet's gown, and the half-hysterical thought occurred to her that at least it was black. But not entirely black.

  Looking at the gown and thinking about appearing before Rafael in it gave her pause, and she almost put the scheme aside. It was going to make him angry, of that she was certain, and did she have the courage to flaunt herself in that shocking garment?

  Her chin lifted. Of course she did! Why should she worry of his reaction?—it was to shake him, to throw his words back in his teeth, that she had embarked upon this preposterous path, wasn't it?

  Shortly, wearing the gown and standing in front of the mirror, she stared with widening eyes at herself, wondering if she did have the nerve to appear in public in such a gown. The dress had not fit perfectly to begin with, but with a few expert tucks and stitches here and there Manuela managed to rectify the problem, the black satin gown, what there was of it, now clung like a second skin to Beth's slender curves.

  A strumpet's gown indeed, Beth thought with a tiny choke of uneasy laughter. There was hardly any back at all, she decided with awe as she twirled in front of the mirror and glanced over her shoulder at the expanse of smooth magnolia flesh that met her eye. She was naked from the small puff sleeves at the soft shoulders to her waist, the black satin molding lovingly to her rounded buttocks before falling in a series of long ruffles to the floor. But the front—! A deep V, which started from underneath her breasts and ran to well below her navel, was made of transparent scarlet gauze, and it contrasted vividly with the black satin of the remainder of the gown. The gown was outrageous, the black satin cut so low her bosom was bare except for the sheer scarlet gauze that draped provocatively across her small breasts, the thrust of her nipples apparent through the flimsy material. Her alabaster skin took on a rosy tone through the gauzy covering, giving glimpses of her midriff, navel, and stomach before ending in a point just above decency.

  Manuela clucked disapprovingly and Beth almost thought better of the idea, but then she remembered the exchange with Rafael and her jaw took on a mulish slant. A mistress, was she? Then it was time she acted and looked the part.

  She had had Manuela apply cosmetics to her face. When Manuela finished, her mouth was a pouting, scarlet blossom, the violet eyes more mysterious and deeper in color between the darkened lashes, and the small black beauty-patch near the corner of her mouth begged to be kissed. The silvery hair had been arranged in a graceful tangle of curls that cascaded from the top of her head to below her shoulders, and a small fringe of curls lay across her brow. Jewelry was the only thing that presented any trouble and she longed for a pair of vulgar, glittering earrings, but having forgotten to ask Manuela to buy some of those also, she had to do without. She was pleased with her scarlet-and-black gown and painted mouth—if a little nervous of Rafael's reaction.

  Manuela was not at all pleased with Beth's appearance. Nearly wringing her hands in distress, she asked despairingly, "You are not going downstairs looking like that, are you, senora?"

  A strained smile on her mouth and a determined glint in her eyes that hid her own trepidations, Beth said with false calmness, "Of course. Why else did I have you buy the gown?" Seeing the other woman was truly concerned, Beth said more gently, "Don't worry, Manuela, no blame can come to you—after all, I ordered you to buy the gown."

  It was all very well to tell Manuela not to worry, Beth thought nervously as she gingerly descended the staircase on her way to the dining room, but it was something entirely different when she was on the point of meeting Rafael face to face. For a second she remembered with a bit of cowardice the black, lacy shawl Manuela had begged her to wear just as she had left the room. Now she wished she had, as she glanced down at the front of her dress. It really was indecent, she reflected with growing uneasiness. She considered returning to her room and changing before it was too late. But the decision was taken out of her hands when the door to the dining room opened and Rafael stepped out into the hall and saw her standing there on the steps.

  He had come specifically for her. Waiting with Senora Lopez in the main salon before dinner, Rafael had not thought much about it; but as the first course was about to be served and she still had not put in an appearance, he decided that she might be sulking in her room. He would remove her forcibly from its safety if that proved to be the case.

  The first thing he noticed was the black velvet patch near the corner of her scarlet mouth, but as he crossed to stand at the foot of the stairs and looked up at her just a few steps above him, the full impact of the gown hit him. "Holy Mother of God," he sighed irreverently, his gaze sliding down the scarlet V, appreciating the view it afforded. Guessing what she was about, he found himself both furious and amused at the same time. Little minx!

  Her chin set at an antagonistic angle, she glared down at him, waiting with a fast-beating heart for his next move. When it appeared that he was leaving all the moves up to her, she asked, "Do you like it? I thought the gown rather appropriate for your opinion of me."

  He slanted a sardonic eyebrow upward and inquired silkily, "And you intended to announce to the world our relationship with this display? Is that what you had in mind?"

  "Yes! And the word is intend, not intended."

  "Oh, but I beg to differ with you, mi cara," he drawled, his eyes flickering with the hard shine of desire as they roamed over her. "You're not going anywhere in that gown, except where it belongs... a bordello or a bedroom. I'm not going to have you offend Senora Lopez by appearing in it, nor am I going to allow my servants to look upon what I consider my own."

  "You can't stop me!" she hissed furiously, wary of the look on his face and the sensuous curve of his mouth.

  Rafael took two steps nearer and their faces level with each other, his breath warm on her lips, he muttered, "Can't I? Shall
we just—?" He stopped as his mayordomo, Paco, walked out into the hall.

  Beth's body was blocked from his view and not sensing the undercurrents that flowed between the other two, he announced apologetically, "The aperitivo is served, senor, senora."

  Not looking at him, his eyes locked on Beth's, Rafael said carelessly, "Tell Senora Lopez we will not be dining with her this evening. Give her our apologies."

  "No!" Beth burst out, reading the hungry desire that flamed in Rafael's gray eyes.

  Rafael suddenly grinned, "Oh, yes, querida. Oh, yes!" he said huskily, reaching out for her. "It's what you bought the gown for, after all."

  "That's not true!" she cried indignantly, wondering bleakly if she hadn't meant to provoke this sort of reprisal. Unwilling to admit it even to herself, she fought back the instant Rafael's hands closed around her shoulders.

  Rafael only laughed. In front of Paco's amused, admiring eyes he swung her over his shoulder, ignoring the furious fists that pounded on his back and the wildly kicking legs and feet that pummeled him. Turning to Paco, he said, "The senora is not feeling well and I must put her to bed. You understand, si?"

  A wide smile on his brown face and a knowing gleam in the dark eyes, Paco nodded. "Si, senor, si!"

  A muffled scream of rage was heard from Beth. Without another word, Rafael swung around and began climbing the stairs with her slung over his shoulder like a piece of booty. Reaching the landing at the top of the stairs, instead of going in the direction of her room he went the opposite way, and Beth knew with a deplorable quiver of desire in the pit of her stomach that he was taking her to his own room.