San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

On the carriage ride back to the house, continuous rain pelted the carriage, contributing to Emerada's gloomy mood. She had just been married to the man she loved, but she didn't feel like a happy bride.

  As the dancer, San Antonio Rose, Emerada had been adored and loved by many men, but not by the one who really mattered-not by her new husband.

  "We have not spoken about our life together, Ian. What do you expect of me?"

  His glance settled on her, but she could read nothing in those piercing blue eyes. "I expect nothing from you, Emerada. Your life will be your own. All I ask is that you do nothing to endanger yourself or the child. I know how impulsive you can be at times."

  She felt her anger rise, but she managed to control it. She turned her head away and stared out into the rain. "As you wish."

  The carriage came to a halt, but Ian made no attempt to disembark, and she looked at him inquiringly.

  "You have not said what you will expect from me, Emerada."

  She wanted to throw her arms around him and beg him to hold her. She was frightened by the unknown future that yawned before her. While she had pursued Santa Anna, she'd had a purpose. Now she had none.

  "I want nothing from you, Ian. I am grateful to you for marrying me-not many men would have been so thoughtful. But this is a marriage that neither of us wanted. Under those circum stances, I do not think we should try to pretend with each other."

  Ian glanced at her quickly. "What do you mean?"

  "Just that we should not pretend to have emotions that we do not feel for each other."

  "I see." He shoved the door open and stepped out into the rain, offering her his hand.

  Domingo was waiting with an umbrella to usher them inside the house, where the delicious aroma of food wafted through the air.

  "Evidently Molly has prepared one of her exceptional meals. She prepares excellent French cuisine, Ian. I will be sorry to leave her."

  "I believe we can accommodate her if you want to take her with you."

  She stood near the doorway while he advanced into the parlor. "Molly is getting on in years, and she has told me that she does not want to leave New Orleans." Emerada looked up at him, undecided, finding it unpleasant to have to ask her new husband for money. "If you could lend me enough money to pension Molly off, I would repay you just as soon I sell this house." Her expression was troubled. "You see, she served my aunt for many years, and Aunt Dilena would expect me to provide for her old age." She ducked her head. "Aunt Dilena was so young, she never considered that she might... die; therefore, she made no provision for poor Molly."

  Suddenly her eyes opened in dismay. "Forgive me, Ian. I was so thoughtless. You may not have the money for Molly's pension. And you have already done so much for me."

  "I have the means, Emerada. You have but to tell me the amount you need."

  "Thank you. But there is more, Ian. Domingo goes with me. I will not leave him behind-not that he would let me go anywhere without him."

  He noticed how pale she was. "Sit down, Emerada. We need to discuss a few things."

  She eased down on a chair and waited for him to continue.

  "I once told you a little about myself. Perhaps I should explain more at this time."

  "It is not necessary."

  He moved to the fireplace and rested his arm on the mantel. "I believe it is, Emerada." He paused briefly, as if choosing his words carefully. "I told you that my mother and father were never married."

  "Ian," she said softly. "That makes no difference to me. If not for our marriage, my baby would know the same fate. I thought a lot about that when you asked me to marry you." She looked at him earnestly. "I will save you some time. The baby is the only reason I agreed to marry you, and that is the only reason you asked me to marry you. There. I have saved us both the trouble of explaining our feelings."

  He took the poker and moved the logs around until rekindled flames warmed the room. Then he turned back to her. "I want you to understand about my circumstances-I believe it's important."

  "If you wish."

  "My grandfather, my father's father, was a wealthy landowner. When he died, he left everything to me."

  Emerada considered his words. "You are telling me that you have money?"

  "I am telling you that I am considered wealthy, Emerada. It will be no hardship for me to pension off Molly or to see that Domingo has suitable lodgings."

  Shame stained her cheeks. She wished there had been another way to help Molly. She was being drawn further and further into Ian's debt. "I thank you, and I will repay you one day-you have my word on that."

  He drew in an agitated breath. "Damn it!" he said in a growl. "I don't want you to repay me, Emerada."

  She gathered her shawl about her, feeling suddenly cold. "But I will. It is important to me that I own no one, not even you." She shook her head. "Aunt Dilena was quite wealthy, but she lived lavishly. When I paid off her debts, there was little left just this house and the one in France."

  He frowned and glanced at the flickering flames. "Obviously my wealth has made no impression on you."

  "Did you think it would? Surely you cannot believe I married you for money. My father had wealth, and I was raised having everything I wanted. I would rather have my family back than all the wealth in the world."

  "I sensed you would feel that way," Ian said tolerantly. "The point I'm trying to make in my own clumsy fashion is that I can and will take care of you financially."

  Molly appeared at the door, smiling brightly, increasing the tiny, weblike wrinkles that fanned out about her eyes. "If you please, luncheon is ready."

  Ian walked to the door and held his arm out to Emerada. "Shall we dine, Mrs. McCain?"

  Emerada placed her hand on his arm, thinking their behavior was proper and formal enough for two strangers, but stilted and awkward for a man and woman who had just become husband and wife.

  The meal was as strained as the earlier part of the day had been. Emerada sat at one end of her aunts dark pine table, which shone so brightly she could see her reflection in it, and Ian sat at the other end. She hardly tasted a bit of the food that Molly had prepared for them.

  Emerada stared down at her plate, pushing a puffy tart around with her fork. When she looked up, she found Ian staring at her with the strangest expression on his face. She knew in that moment that he was remembering their time together at Talavera, and she blushed.

  "You hardly ate anything," he said, standing and moving around the table to sit beside her. "Shouldn't you eat for the baby's sake?"

  "I have no appetite," was the only reply she was capable of making under the scrutiny of his brilliant blue eyes.

  "I have business to conduct this afternoon. Will you mind if I leave you for a while?"

  Mind! Of course she minded-it was her wedding day. "Not at all," she managed to say. "It will give me a chance to go over some details with my attorney."

  "I should return by the dinner hour. If I'm not back by seven, eat without me." He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. "Yes, I can just about make it."

  Emerada wondered where he was going, but she would rather cut out her tongue than ask. "After I see my attorney, I have errands of my own," she said matter-of-factly. "If I am not here when you return, make yourself at home."

  He smiled and bowed. "You're too kind."

  When Ian had almost reached the door, she called out to him. "I saw your traveling bag in the entryway. I will have Domingo see to it for you. Do you prefer a bedroom with a view of the front of the house, or would you rather overlook the garden?"

  He walked back to her and drew in a deep breath. "Emerada, I prefer to share your room."

  Her breath quickened, and she looked down at her clasped hands. "We have not discussed this. I thought that-"

  He held up his hand to silence her and glanced at the door to make certain that Molly and Domingo could not overhear. "I believe we should begin our marriage with the appearance of harmony, beginning with the servants." />
  "But-"

  "Emerada, don't concern yourself that I will trouble you with unwanted attention-I won't bother you at all."

  Before she could answer, he moved to the door. "I'll tell Domingo to place my belongings in your bedroom."

  When he disappeared down the hallway, she sank back against her chair. Ian was very clever. She could hardly go to Domingo and tell him to move Ian to another room-not after her new husband instructed him to put his belongings in her bedroom.

  "Insufferable man," she muttered, standing up and throwing her napkin on the table. "Headstrong, manipulative man!"

  She had been a wife less than a day, and already she regretted her decision to marry Ian.

  The sun had gone down long before, and still Ian hadn't returned. Emerada lay in bed, listening to every carriage that rattled down the street.

  She turned up the wick on the lamp and stared at the page of the book she was reading, or rather attempting to read. Her eyes went across the room to Ian's traveling bag, and she glared at it as if it were Ian himself.

  A tear rolled down her cheek, and she angrily brushed it away. This was not the dream she'd always had of her wedding night. She didn't even know where her husband was, and when he did return, there would be no loving arms to hold her.

  She must never forget, not even for a moment, that Ian had married her for only the sake of the child.

  It was only moments later when Emerada heard a carriage stop at the front of the house. She gripped her book so tightly that her knuckles whitened; then she took a deep breath. She had faced far worse than an uninterested husband in the last year. She could surely handle Ian with little trouble.

  She heard his footsteps coming down the hall, and the light rap on the door.

  "Come in."

  Ian entered the room, his glance settling on her. Emerada's hair spilled across her shoulders like shimmering black satin. Her white nightgown was modest, with a high neck and long sleeves with lace that fell across her wrists. She glanced up at him and smiled tightly, then went back to reading her book.

  "I'm sorry to be so late. I'm glad you didn't wait to eat dinner with me."

  Emerada felt as if she couldn't draw her breath. When Ian was in a room, he seemed to fill it with his very essence. He looked so handsome-so magnificent. He was all male, and he knew it.

  "Molly kept your dinner warm for you," she said.

  "She needn't have bothered. I already ate."

  She wondered what kind of business had kept him in town, and with whom he'd dined, but she would never ask. "I put you on the daybed," she said, nodding across the room. "I hope you will find it comfortable."

  Ian moved to the fireplace and held his hands out to the flames. "I'm sure I will."

  Emerada glanced back at her book, determined to ignore him. He had, after all, left her alone most of the day. Even if theirs wasn't a real marriage, he should have been more considerate of her feelings.

  She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't realized that Ian had come up beside her until he spoke.

  "That must be a very interesting book to capture your attention so thoroughly."

  She held it out for him to examine. "It is. I first read it two years ago, at my aunt's insistence. I enjoyed it so much that I decided to read it again."

  "Notre Dame de Paris," he said, looking at the title. "Written by Victor Hugo. So you read French? A fine accomplishment for a woman."

  She glared at him. "As well as French, I speak Spanish and English-and I speak them all very well. Would you like to check my teeth? I have all of them, you know."

  He smiled. "I've examined most of your body, and I found no flaws."

  "Oh, but there is a flaw, Ian." She slammed her hand against the book. "I have a temper! I do not want any man to think he can intimidate me, and I will have no man as my master."

  "Is this the way it is to be between us, Emerada?"

  She slid her hand nervously over the leather-bound book. "I do not know what you mean."

  "I never want to cause you pain, Emerada. I suppose I have been feeling guilty because it's my fault you are having a baby. I can never tell you how sorry I am."

  "Your fault?" Her breath caught in her throat. Had he guessed that the baby was his? "What makes you think you are responsible?"

  He touched her cheek. "You were chaste when I made love to you. I know you must despise me for what I did to you. Even if the baby is Santa Anna's, he didn't take your innocence from you, as I did."

  "I do not hate you, Ian. You are a good man, an honorable man. And what happened between us was as much my fault as it was yours, perhaps even more so."

  Emerada caught Ian's soft expression, and her heart throbbed. His eyes reflected the glow of the flickering flames in the fireplace, and the blue shimmered with golden light, giving them the appearance of being made of exquisite glass.

  He tilted her face upward. "I only wish I could take the sadness from your life. I want to make you happy."

  "That is not a role I expect you to fill, Ian. We both have our troubles, and I am determined to face mine alone."

  He sat down on the bed, and she panicked. Just the touch of his hand had awakened her yearnings for him. When he was this close, she couldn't reason.

  "I will take very good care of you until the baby comes." He pulled her into his arms, and she melted against him. "My fiery-tempered little wife. God knows I'll never win you or tame you."

  "Do you want to?" she asked, feeling his warm breath against her neck and going weak inside.

  "Emerada, I have thought of nothing but you all day. I couldn't even conduct my business with the banker without wondering what you were doing, thinking, feeling."

  So he had thought of her, as she had of him. She couldn't help feeling thrilled by his confession. Hoping her voice sounded normal, she asked, "You saw a banker?"

  He straightened up and reached into his breast pocket, handing her a document. "This assures Molly a pension. You didn't say how much you wanted to give her."

  With trembling fingers, she opened the written document. It stated that Molly would be paid the sum of six hundred dollars each year for the remainder of her life. She looked up at him with misty eyes. "It is too much."

  "One can never put a price on a faithful servant."

  "Thank you, Ian."

  He brushed her tears away with his thumb, then bent his head, his lips settling on hers, and she slid her arms around his neck.

  Oh, she did love him so!

  Much to Emerada's disappointment, Ian untangled her arms and stood up, moving away from her.

  "I'm sorry," he said, looking guilty "I didn't mean for that to happen. It's just that when I am around you, all I can think about is-"

  She opened her book with a snap, hoping her heart would return to normal. "You have nothing to apologize for. What is so surprising about a husband kissing his wife on their wedding night? I am sure you enjoyed it quite as much as I did."

  His laughter surprised her. "Emerada, you are the most amazing woman I've ever met. No other female of my acquaintance would ever say the things you do."

  "I only say what I think. You already know this about me. If it offends you, be warned that I do not intend to change."

  "I wouldn't change anything about you. I hope you will always speak your mind with me."

  She laid her book aside and sank down onto her pillow. "I find I am very tired. I am going to sleep."

  He came forward and blew out the lamp. "Sleep well, Mrs. McCain. I doubt I will."

  It took Emerada a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She watched Ian remove his shirt, then turned her head into the pillow, aching to be in his arms.

  "Good night," she whispered, wishing he were in bed with her. She yearned to feel his muscled body against hers, his lips on hers, his hands finding places on her body that excited her beyond endurance.

  She heard him lie down on the daybed. "Good night, Emerada," he replied.

 
; The next few days passed in a flurry of activity. The house had to be closed and most of the furnishings shipped to the town house in Paris. Emerada could not bear to part with all of her aunt's possessions. It was decided that Domingo would remain in New Orleans until the house was closed and Molly was settled in her sister's home.

  Emerada was in the attic going through her aunt's trunks, which were filled with beautiful and expensive costumes. She removed a heavy, red velvet gown that shimmered with gold inlay.

  Her mind reached backward to the time she had first seen her Aunt Dilena in the red gown. Her aunt had been like a sparkling jewel and so very beautiful. Emerada remembered asking her aunt how she could dance in such a heavy costume, and she could still hear the sound of her aunt's voice.

  "Yes, Emerada, it is heavy and most uncomfortable, but I owe it to my audience to give my best performance, so I do not mind the discomfort. This will be true throughout your life in many different situations. You will find satisfaction and comfort in knowing you have done your best at whatever you do."

  At the time Emerada hadn't understood her Aunt Dilena's reasoning, but it was perfectly clear to her now. She was so unsure of the future, but those words were a beacon of hope, giving her strength for what she must do. She would remain with Ian until the baby was born and then leave for Paris, as she had originally intended.

  "Were you daydreaming about when you wore that beautiful costume and stole men's hearts, Emerada?"

  She had not heard Ian come up the stairs. "No," she said, lovingly placing the gown back in the trunk. "This was my Aunt Dilena's gown. I was remembering the night she wore it."

  He glanced about him at all the trunks, some packed, others spilling over with items. "Does this all go to Texas?"

  "Most of it will go to Paris. Of course, most of the furniture will be sold with the house."

  "If this house means so much to you, why not keep it? I'll have it restored for you, if you'd like."

  She fastened the leather strap on the trunk before moving to another. "The person who made this house a home was my aunt. Now that she is gone, it is just a house-no, I do not want to keep it."

  "And the one in Paris?"