Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  Stella broke the uncomfortable silence that had fallen by saying with more than a touch of annoyance, "1 should have known! Very well, then—Elizabeth Ridgeway, may I present Rafael Santana to you? He is a rogue and a devil, and I would heartily recommend that you have nothing to do with him."

  A quickly suppressed gleam of displeasure lit the gray eyes briefly. "Thank you. Your kind words have aroused her interest far more sv^iftly than I could hope for," he commented driy, and "Elizabeth, who was the gentlest creature in nature, felt a strong desire to slap his handsome face. But Stella only shrugged. 'It would do you little good, for I think it only fair to warn you that she is not only an English lord's daughter, but also married and very much in love with her husband."

  His gray eyes fixed with sudden intensity upon Elizabeth's face, he said slowly, ''Now, somehow 1 rather doubt that. And besides, when has marriage ever stopped me?"

  Stella nearly stamped her foot with vexation. '"Will you stop it? You are deliberately being aggravating. I have given you the introduction, and now I would appreciate it if you would go find a well and drown yourself!"

  At that, Rafael laughed out loud with apparent amusement—amusement, how^ever, that was not reflected in the cold silver-gray eyes. "I would love to please you, but unfortunately, life is too fascinating for me at the moment to contemplate such a thing. Perhaps next time we meet I shall try to follow your wishes, but right now, I want very much to waltz with the little one with a face like an angel."

  And with that, not giving her a chance to accept or refuse him, he reached for Elizabeth and deftly swept her out onto the ballroom floor. Stunned and just a little breathless, for several turns around the room Elizabeth kept her eyes pinned to the diamond stickpin that rested in the pristine folds of his cravat. She was extremely

  aware of the warm hand at her waist, the warm hand that was surely tighter than need be, and of the fact that he was perhaps holding her closer than custom approved, and she wished she possessed the courage to reprimand him for the deliberate liberties he was taking. As the moments passed, she became more and more conscious of him—of the faint odor of brandy and tobacco that emanated from him, of the sleek muscles in the powerful body that so effortlessly propelled her around the room, and most of all just ofhim. She could feel his breath gently stirring the curls on her head and the firmness and heat of the hand that held hers, and the emotions that were suddenly stirring in her blood made her slightly giddy.

  "Are we to dance in total silence, querida?" he finally asked. "I admire your silken hair a great deal, but I would much rather admire your eyes... and mouth."

  She glanced up and once again was lost in those empty gray eyes, only they weren't empty this time— now some undefinable emotion flickered in their depths, and Elizabeth tore her gaze away, her heart thudding with thick, painful strokes. "Don't look at me that way," she said agitatedly. "It isn't polite."

  He gave a strangely bitter laugh and murmured, "I am never polite, so don't expect it of me. And don't play the innocent with me, either—you know what is going through my mind as well as I do."

  Not so oddly, she did know what he was thinking, and her cheeks went crimson with embarrassment. His eyes said plainly enough that he would like to kiss her, that he would kiss her if they were alone, and that if she wasn't careful, he was going to see that they were alone. Suddenly frightened of what he might do, she said breathlessly, "Please, please take me back to Stella, I don't want to dance with you anymore."

  "Why, because I am too blunt? Or is it because of the husband you are supposed to be so very much in love with?" he snapped.

  "B-b-both, I think," she stammered untruthfully, knowing that she hadn't thought of her husband since she had entered the Costa house, and that any memory

  of Nathan or her marriage had vanished the instant her eyes had met Rafael Santana's across the room.

  "Liar," he said coolly. "You don't look like a woman in love, you look like a sleeping virgin waiting to be awakened."

  "That's not true!" Elizabeth denied swiftly. "I do love my husband very much, and I don't think this is a conversation that does either of us much credit." With quaint dignity she said, "I think it best we change the subject."

  "I'm sure you do, English, but I am finding it far too amusing to wish for it to come to an end."

  Discovering that this man groused a temper she hadn't known she possessed and unable to help herself, Elizabeth asked vexe'dly, "Are you this way with everyone? No wonder Stella said you were rude!"

  Again Rafael smiled, and it was not a nice smile. His eyes shuttered and empty once more, he drawled, "Didn't you know I spend all my time trying to live up to the reputation that has been bestowed upon me?" He laughed that bitter laugh and added, "People would think that I was not myself if I did not commandeer the most beautiful woman in the room and proceed to make outrageous love to her. It is like putting on a performance, querida —they expect it and I try to please them."

  Elizabeth's eyes searched his face. Slowly she said, "I think that might be partly true... but you must have done something originally to deserve your reputation."

  "Oh, I did, English, I did. I was born!"

  "Don't be ridiculous! Thxit wouldn't make people think ill of you."

  "No?" he mocked. "Not even if I tell you my grandmother was a Comanche half-breed who lived with an American trapper? And that their daughter, my mother, dared to marry into a gachupin family of long standing?"

  "I don't see what that has to do with it. You can't help who your parents were. I think you place too much emphasis upon it," Elizabeth replied primly.

  "Ah, English, how little you know of people ... 64

  especially of my Spanish grandfather, Don Felipe. He has never quite forgiven me for being born, particularly since my father's second marriage has produced no sons, only daughters."

  "And because of that," she guessed intuitively, "you punish him."

  "Why not?" he inquired with a quirked eyebrow.

  "Well, because it isn't very nice," Elizabeth said earnestly. "You shouldn't be so—so unforgiving."

  He laughed out loud at that. "But I am, chica. I am as unforgiving a man as you can find... and Stella has already warned you that I am not very nice!"

  Elizabeth didn't like being laughed at, particularly when she had been serious in attempting to help him. Her violet eyes flashing with unexpected temper, she snapped stiffly, "Yes, I can certainly see that! You also enjoy being a boor and being just as rude as you can be! You may be very certain, Mr. Santana, that in the future I shall take care to avoid you."

  "Are you challenging me, English?" he demanded softly, his head lowering closer to hers, and she had the most positive feeling that he was going to kiss her.

  Her heart thudding in her breast, Elizabeth leaned as far away from him as he would allow. "No, no, of course not!" she muttered, then adding with a flash of temper, "And I wish you wouldn't call me 'English'! My name is Mrs. Ridgeway, and you would do well to remember it."

  He didn't like that, she could tell from the tightening of his mouth, but as the waltz was ending, he only shrugged and a few seconds later deposited her near Stella. Mockingly he remarked, ''Muchas gracias, Mrs. Ridgeway! And Stella, amiga, you can stop fretting, I have returned your lamb—unharmed!"

  "But only because it suited you!" Stella replied dryly. "And perhaps," she added slyly, "because your wife is here?"

  At the word "wife" Elizabeth felt her heart plunge to her dainty feet, but she wasn't exactly sure why the news that he had a wife should have that effect on her. She was a married woman herself and she shouldn't be

  having romantic notions about another man, but she discovered that she disUked intensely the thought of his having a wife. Stop being such a witless fool, she told herself silently, what does it matter if he is married? In a week or two you II be in Natchez and will probably never see him again. Rafael did not answer Stella's obvious challenge, but only smiled infuriatingly and stalked away. Wat
ching him as he crossed the room, Elizabeth commanded her rebellious heart: Forget Rafael Santana!

  During the little time that they remained, Elizabeth tried desperately to do just that. But regrettably, it seemed that Rafael Santana's sardonic features had been printed indelibly on her bram, and if she let her concentration slip for the briefest second, his dark mocking face was there before her. Fortunately though, she did not have to endure his disturbing presence for very long. Stella let one more waltz elapse before she said, "I really do think we should be leaving now. If you will find a servant to bring us our cloaks, I shall attempt to find my wayward husband."

  Glad to leave, longing to be alone to examine the bewildering emotions that had been stirred by one admittedly not very gallant man, Elizabeth departed from the ballroom with an eager step. She found a servant with little trouble and a moment later was shown into a small room where the guests' outer garments had been placed. The servant hesitated, and Elizabeth, guessing she had more tasks to do, dismissed her with a smile. "Thank you. I can find our cloaks and things. You may go now."

  The black face softened with a smile, and with a quick curtsy the servant was gone. Elizabeth turned away and began to look for her cloak and Stella's. She found her own immediately, but it took her a few seconds longer to find Stella's India cachemire shawl. She had just discovered it beneath several other garments when a slight sound made her glance up.

  Seeing Rafael Santana lounging with careless grace against the closed door, she froze. That door had been open a moment ago, and it must have been the sound

  of it closing that had made her look up. Forcing herself to act calmly, she demanded with her most haughty air, "What do you think you are doing? Open that door immediately r

  He regarded her steadily, those smoky gray eyes moving slowly over her face. There was no trace of mockery in his voice when he said abruptly, "I wish to see you again. Will you meet me?"

  Elizabeth swallowed. What he was asking was unthinkable, and even she, as young and naive as she was, knew that. A married woman did not make an arrangement to meet a man other than her husband. Deliberately misunderstanding him, she said nervously, "I shall be staying with Stella until some time tomorrow—I don't think that she would object if you came to call."

  Dryly he murmured, ''Querida, I do not want to see you under Stella's watchful eye. I want to see you alone, and you damn well know it! Now tell me where we can meet privately."

  "Why?" she asked breathlessly, fencing for time, wanting someone to come and open that door and disrupt this meeting between them, and yet at the same time terrified that someone would do just that.

  "I think you know why," he stated bluntly, almost angrily pushing himself away from the door.

  At his first movement Elizabeth stepped back, clutching Stella's shawl to her breast as if it would offer her some protection against the tall man who loomed in front of her. She was genuinely frightened and at the same time nearly dizzy with a dangerous excitement. "D-d-don't come any closer," she stammered as he slowly walked up to her.

  "Oh, but I will," he threatened softly, as his hands reached out to close around her slender white shoulders. "I intend to come a great deal closer, English. Just as close as I possibly can."

  Mesmerized, her eyes clinging to the pitiless gray ones above her, she watched helplessly as he bent his head, and then, unable to help herself, she shut her eyes, blotting out the sight of that harsh face.

  His mouth was warm and demanding as it took hers, and Elizabeth made one small, involuntary attempt to escape. Feeling her resistance, Rafael's hands tightened, pulling her next to his tall, hard length, deepening his kiss. He kissed her a long time, an endless time, during which Elizabeth learned irrevocably that there are kisses and then there are kisses. Later she was to remember shamefully that he never forced her after those few first seconds in his arms.

  His hands slipped to her waist, bringing her even closer, closer it seemed than when she and Nathan had been in bed that night, and she was suddenly aware that this was what she had wanted all evening. Rafael had wanted it too, it seemed, fer as she melted into him, her soft young breasts crushed against his chest, his mouth hardened into passion, and alarmingly she felt his lips forcing hers apart and his tongue urgently searching her mouth.

  No one had kissed her like that before, and helplessly she gave a tiny moan at the unexpected pleasurable ache that suddenly hit her loins as Rafael's mouth continued its hungry assault on her lips. Giddy, plunging into a new world of physical sensations, she didn't stop him when he lowered his head to gently kiss the soft flesh that rose above the silken gown, nor did she stop him when his hand cupped her breast and his thumb brushed rhythmically across her nipple. His mouth founds hers again, his tongue urgently seeking the inner softness, and what little sanity Elizabeth had, vanished. This was what she had wanted for too long— someone to want her! —and at the moment she was oblivious of everything—Nathan, marriage vows, their surroundings, everything but this tall, dark, dangerous man who held her in his arms and whose mouth was teaching hers passion and desire.

  It was Rafael who eventually tore himself away from her. Lost in her own world of dreamy sensuality, Elizabeth stared at him in bewilderment as he abruptly stepped back from her. The violet eyes, dark with virgin passion, clung to his face, and Rafael's mouth twisted. Breathing heavily, he said thickly, '1 think you now know why I want to see you alone!"

  Cold, icy sanity returned in that second to Elizabeth, and, mortified at her own actions and unwilling to even think about his, she whirled around and with her back to him choked out, "I think you have forgotten that we are both married... and not to each other."

  There was a muttered curse from Rafael, and then with ungentle fingers he spun her around to face him. "For the love of God! What has that to do with us? You do not love that husband of yours... and don't lie to me that you do! My wife was chosen for me by my grandfather, and she has as much love for me as I have for her. So tell me, who do we hurt by wanting each other?''

  Stubbornly she whispered, "It isn't right!"

  "Right?" Rafael grated. "What has right to do with it? English, I want you and a moment ago you wanted me. I don't intend to be denied simply because you don't think it's right!"

  He was very attractive as he stood there across from her. His hair was ruffled, falling rebelliously onto his forehead, and his silvery gray eyes were alive and filled with more expression than she had ever seen so far, but his face was angry, the heavy black brows scowling and the full mouth taut with suppressed emotion. Incredibly, she longed to throw herself into his arms and smooth away the anger. But one time in his arms had taught her that he exercised a frightening power over her, and she grimly resisted that mad temptation. Instead, staring at him steadily, she asked, "Do you expect me to believe you have suddenly fallen in love with me?"

  All life left those gray eyes and they were once more empty and icy. "Love you?" he snarled. "No, English, I do not love you—I do not love anyone! But I do want you, and I have discovered that wanting usually works as well as loving."

  Stricken and not even certain what she would have done if he had said he loved her, Elizabeth's eyes dropped. "Go away," she said in a soft shaken voice. "I don't ever want to see you again. You are a dangerous man, Mr. Santana, and I think it best that you find your wife and tell her that you want her."

  A curiously bleak slant to his mouth, he retorted 69

  tightly, "If I did, she would run screaming for her priest. You see, Consuela only endures the marriage bed—she does not enjoy it, nor does she make any attempt to hide the fact that she finds me abhorrent." He gave a wry smile and added, "That Comanche blood, you know. Consuela does not feel it is worthy of her noble birth." The smile left his face and with an oddly vulnerable motion his hand rubbed his neck, and in a different tone of voice, almost with a note of confusion, he said seriously, "English, I do not do this with every woman, despite what you may have heard. You are very beautiful and I am�
�"

  Whatever else he might h^ve said was lost, for at that moment the door was suddenly flung open so violently that it banged like a cannon against the wall. A woman, her Spanish black eyes gleaming with ill-concealed malice, stood on the threshold. She took a brief comprehensive glance and began shrieking, '^jAja! I knew it! jAy de mi! That I should be so shamed!"

  Rafael, his face nearly white with fury, leaped across the room and dragged the screaming woman inside. Ignoring her almost maniacal struggles to free herself, Rafael effortlessly held her prisoner. His voice a whiplash of sound, he snarled, "Stop it, Consuela, before you make a scene that even you will regret!"

  "Ay! Ay! Tell me why you are here with this woman!" she demanded hotly, her dark eyes stabbing across the room in Elizabeth's direction.

  "If I do so, will you stop your screaming?" he asked resignedly.

  Sullenly she shook her head yes, twitching herself free of his loosened grip. Drawing herself up with haughty pride, she looked contemptuously at Elizabeth, who had stood frozen in the center of the room. "You are a poor, pale little thing, aren't you?" she said sneer-ingly. "So pale and like milk-water that you must stoop to entrapping other women's husbands!"

  "That's not true!" Elizabeth gasped, her bottom lip quivering with despair. It only needed this to make a perfectly enjoyable evening absolutely ghastly. She had been wrong to let Rafael kiss her, but she certainly

  hadn't entrapped him. Beseechingly her eyes flew to his.

  He sent her a strangely comforting look and in an icy voice said to Consuela, "Leave her out of this, senora! She has done nothing, and if you must vent your anger, vent it on me. She is innocent, and I do not want her slandered by your evil tongue."

  Consuela sniffed, obviously not liking what he said, but also not inclined to argue the point. "Bah! What do I care what you do—but I will not have you shame me! If you wish to have your little putas, do so, but keep them away from me!"

  "Consuela, say one more word against her, and I will slit that long, white throat you are so proud of," Rafael murmured with deadly softness.