bleakly why she was now so remote when earlier she had been flirting so enchantingly. He had been elated with the turn of events, certain that he would be able to arrange a secluded meeting where he could reveal his heart's yearnings. The evening had been progressing nicely—until Lorenzo had spoken to her at the end of the courtyard. The green eyes narrowed, and speculatively Sebastian looked at Lorenzo.
Lorenzo was bending over Beth's hand as she said a stilted good night to him, and Sebastian heard his, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Senora Ridgeway. I am just sorry that I may not see you again before you leave."
Don Miguel entered the conversation at that point. "But why not, my friend? Surely you can remain a few days with us?"
Lorenzo looked at him meaningfully. "Have you forgotten that your son is due to arrive?"
Don Miguel gave a cluck of annoyance. "You two hotheaded fools! Why you cannot settle whatever differences you have between you and become friends I do not understand. You are part of our family, and this nonsense must stop!" he said with some heat.
Dryly Lorenzo replied, "Tell that to Rafael!"
Don Miguel pulled a face. "Oh, do whatever you like— you both will anyway," he retorted irritably, washing his hands of the situation.
Beth did not linger after that, and it was a relief to know that at least she need not fear that Lorenzo would reveal their earlier meeting. But if Beth had known what was in Lorenzo's mind as he rode away from the hacienda that night, she would not have gone to bed so encouraged.
It was a dark night, the moon not even half full, but Lorenzo pushed his horse hard—he had many miles to travel before too much time elapsed. Particularly if he was to arrange an explicitly final end to the Ridgeways' journey back to Natchez.
If Beth had been dismayed at Lorenzo's presence, he had been both dumbstruck and furious. A cold, deadly fury raged in his blood as he thought of how easily she could destroy his standing with Don Miguel—with all of the aristocratic families that now looked upon him
as an agreeable gentleman. A gentleman who had amassed a sizeable fortune in just a few years and who came from a good family and who might be an acceptable son-in-law. Lorenzo had paid flattering attention to every rich Spanish family with a marriageable daughter too assiduously, too determinedly over the years to have Beth Ridgeway destroy all his plans. His final choice for a worthy bride had fallen on Arabela de la Santana—with Rafael dead, in time he would see himself as Don Miguel's heir. As for the other members of the family, he smiled cruelly. If they proved obstructive he could take care of them—the Comanches left no witnesses. ^
After Consuela's death only three people knew what really happened that afternoon in New Orleans. Lorenzo had dismissed Manuela as a danger long ago. She was only a servant, and who would believe her word over his? Besides, she was too fi^-ightened of what might happen to herself if she ever revealed the truth, and so he had taken no steps to still her tongue. But Beth Ridgeway was something else again, and he was taking no chances. If she had shown up once unexpectedly in Texas she could do so again, or their paths could cross somewhere else in the ftiture when he least expected it, and he wasn't willing to run the risk. Somewhere between San Antonio and the Texas coast, the Ridgeway party would meet with disaster. Disaster in the shape of a Comanche raiding party—
Beth did not know of Lorenzo's deadly plans for her, but sleep proved just as elusive as it would have if she had been privy to them. She lay wearily in the handsome bed for what seemed an eternity, her thoughts scrambling wildly through her brain as she tried uselessly to sleep. Eventually, when she knew dawn could not be far, she slipped from her bed, pulled on her peignoir, and wandered out into the deserted inner courtyard seeking its peacefulness.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The courtyard was a beautiful place, she thought appreciatively, seating herself on the edge of the stone fountain and trailing one hand in the cool water. It was rectangular, completely enclosed by the four walls of the casa grande. The front of the casa grande was two-storied; Beth could look up and see the black filigreed-iron balconies garlanded with clinging bougainvillaea vines. The other three wings of the house were single-storied, appearing much wider than they actually were because the roofs had been extended to create the cool, wide arcades that served as hallways throughout the entire house. The extended red-tiled roofs were supported by graceful arches that bespoke the Moorish influence so prevalent in Spanish buildings, and from where Beth sat the arches resembled huge, curved windows draped in purple velvet.
It was silent in the courtyard except for the soothing sound of the water in the fountain. Silent and peaceful, the shapes and shadows of the tubs of plants, the iron chairs and round filigree tables muted softly in grays and mauves as the moon slowly disappeared before the sun took its place in the heavens. The stars had vanished and there was that slight chill in the air that precedes dawn. No one, not even the servants, was stirring yet. Once, though, Beth was certain that she heard the crow of a cock from one of the adobe houses near the hacienda.
Afterward she was never quite certain what caused her to glance over her shoulder. Had he made some sound when he entered the courtyard and saw her sitting there? Or had premonition compelled her to look in that direction? Whatever the reason, when she turned
she saw Rafael Santana standing there in the dim, predawn moments staring at her.
He stood in the shadows, more a disturbing presence than an actual form, but Beth recognized him instantly. It was not his height or the breadth of his shoulders that identified him, but the menacing stillness of a lethal predator that he so effortlessly projected. Not a word was said as they regarded each other across the long flagstone patio. Beth's heart was lodged somewhere in the back of her throat, and it was beating with such frantic painful strokes that she thought she would faint.
Rafael remained in the sh^ows, making no effort to ease the tension that suddenly charged the silence, making no effort to lessen the air of animal awareness that seemed to flow from him into the courtyard. Unable to move, unable to utter a sound, Beth sat frozen, her eyes straining to pierce the shadows around him to see if in fact it was the man that every instinct cried out it must be.
From her position at the edge of the fountain, she could just discern his shape, the tall, virile strength of him, and the faint scent of tobacco that drifted across the courtyard to assail her nostrils. Every nerve, every muscle, every fiber in her body was aware of him there in the shadows; every instinct, every emotion screamed that she should escape, and yet she was helpless to do so, her body seeming rooted to the fountain. How long, she wondered frantically, how long will he allow this dreadful moment to last?
Not long, it appeared. The tip of his cigarillo flamed brightly red and it made a fiery streak in the mauve shadows of dawn as he tossed it carelessly away. Deliberately he stepped from under the arch that had obscured him and stood revealed in the faint light.
Beth's first impression was that he hadn't changed a great deal in four years; the gray eyes were just as empty, although she thought she detected a hint of furious astonishment in them; the lean face was just as dangerously attractive; and the slim-hipped, long-legged figure was just as devastatingly male as it had been the night of the Costa soiree in New Orleans. But there
was a definite change in him—if possible a deadlier emptiness to the eyes, a more cynical slant to the arrogant mouth, and there was definitely a difference in apparel.
Both times she had seen him—and it came as a stunning surprise to realize that she had only seen him twice in her life for the impact he had made upon it— he had been dressed in the clothes befitting a man of wealth and breeding, the trappings of a rich aristocrat. But such was not the case at the moment. Now he truly resembled the ''renegade" of his name: the faint shadow of a day or two's beard darkening his jawline, the well-worn black calzoneras, showing their age and wear while clinging smoothly to his muscled thighs; the blue calico shirt of the kind a common vaquero would wear. A shor
t black chaqueta, despite its dusty appearance, fitted his broad shoulders expertly, and the wide leather belt with its holster and jutting revolver increased his likeness to a desperado. Almost absently she noticed the large sombrero which hung carelessly from one hand, and the faint ruffle of the thick, unkempt blue-black hair as it was caressed lightly by a little breeze that suddenly swooped down into the courtyard.
He began to walk without haste toward her and, staring mutely into the cold, expressionless features, some of Beth's paralysis vanished and she rose slowly to her feet. And as he continued his unswerving approach, she was almost glad that the waiting was over, the uncertainties finished—whatever tenuous bond there was between them could finally and forever be broken.
Rafael's advance was indolent, his movements arrogantly graceful, almost insulting in the measured, unhurried steps he took. He halted abruptly barely a foot from her, his eyes brazenly assessing her, taking in the delicate peignoir, the agitated rise and fall of her small breasts, the gold-tipped lashes which framed wide eyes that were nearly purple with apprehension—and defiance.
He took his time with the blatant appraisal, still making no effort to banish the almost physical presence of tension that surrounded them. The gray eyes moved
with insolent slowness over her face, lingering for a long agonizing moment on her mouth before slipping to her white throat, where the rapid beat of her pulse was very apparent, and then flicked suddenly and insultingly down her entire body before his gaze returned to her face.
"English," he said slowly, rolling the syllables off his tongue as if until that moment he had not been quite certain of her identity.
Beth swallowed painfully, wanting rashly to make some sound, some rejoinder, to say something that yould give her the opportunity to lessen the tautness between them. But her tongue as well as her brain seemed frozen, and she could only standTihere, nearly trembling with the force of the conflicting, turbulent emotions that coursed wildly through her blood. The wariness and nervousness she expected, but she wasn't prepared for the queer excitement that vibrated in her blood or the quick rush of fierce joy at seeing those dark, arrogant features again.
Rafael waited almost patiently for her to make some reply, but when several minutes had passed and Beth remained silent, her eyes locked hypnotically on his, he murmured, ''Nothing to say? Perhaps it is just as well, for I do believe I did warn you to stay away from me, didn't I?"
She found her voice at that and stammered, "B-b-but I...it isn't...I didn't..." Stopping in sheer nervousness, she took a deep breath and said honestly, "I had no idea that you would be here! You must believe me! If Sebastian had mentioned your name just once we would never have—"
Her words were broken off sharply as Rafael moved with the swiftness of a striking panther, one steel-fingered hand closing with painful strength around her upper arm. The thick, arching black eyebrows snapping together in a frown and the gray eyes narrowing with sudden suspicion, Rafael snapped, "Sebastian? What does Sebastian have to do with you?" Comprehension dawning in that instant and his grip bruising the soft flesh, he said accusingly, "It was you he met on the ship! Of course, it has to be—his 'angel' is none other
than the whoring little slut I met in New Orleans four years ago! What an unfortunate coincidence for you, English.''
BQth's lips parted to protest, but Rafael gave her no chance. Jerking her up against his hard body, he threatened softly, "Leave Sebastian Savage alone, English! Work your wiles on someone who understands your kind of woman, but leave that boy alone! Do you understand me?"
''But I haven't—" Beth started to contradict, but she was never able to finish the sentence, for Rafael shook her ungently and snarled, "Quiet! I have neither the inclination nor the patience to listen to the lies that I am sure will fall sweetly from your lips. I don't know what you are up to, but one thing is for damn sure— you're leaving here!"
Some of the shock at seeing him so unexpectedly had faded, and Beth found that she was becoming angry, very angry at his confident assumption that he could just order her away. The violet eyes sparkling with temper, she furiously attempted to shake herself free of Rafael's increasingly brutal grasp, but his grip only tightened, the fingers biting bruisingly into her arm. "Let me go, you arrogant beast!" she said in a low, incensed tone of voice. Then, the sudden temper pushing her beyond her usual constraint, she spat, "How dare you speak to me in this fashion! Sebastian invited my husband and me to visit. Your parents, unlike you, have been most kind to us, and I refuse to insult their hospitality simply because you demand it!" Her breath coming in hard, angry gasps, she rushed on, "Do you think that for one moment I would have accepted Sebastian's invitation if I'd the slightest inkling that you were related to him?" She gave an odd choke of bitter laughter, "You are the last person I wished to meet! I detest you, Rafael* Santana—you are a conceited overbearing devil!"
A derisive twist to his mouth, Rafael murmured, "How well you do it, English. All this, this outrage is so very sincere that if I didn't know better I would be tempted to believe you." He shook her roughly, adding, "You forget, querida, that I know you for what you are."
"You don't know me at all!" Beth snapped, her eyes flashing. "And from the way you have acted the few times I have met you^ / have no desire to further my acquaintance with you! Now either release me or I shall be forced to cause an extremely embarrassing scene for both of us."
"Embarrassed? Me? English, I think you must have forgotten what little you may have learned about me four years ago. I don't," he said with deceptive gentleness, ''ever embarrass. If you would like to scream and wake the hacienda, by all means do so. Besides, I am rather curious to meet this husband of yours—he appears to be a singularly complacent gentleman."
Beth nibbled her lip indecisively, wanting passionately to cause a scene of such epic proportions that Rafael would be shaken from his infuriating self-assurance and yet terrified of the ensuing commotion. But more than that she was unwilling to risk a confrontation between this man and Nathan. If Rafael was as cold-blooded and indifferent as he gave every indication of being, creating an ugly furor would accomplish nothing and would precipitate the one thing she feared most—a duel between Rafael and Nathan. Yet she was so enraged with his arrogant behavior that she longed to do something totally out of character for her, longed with increasing ferocity to strike and claw at his mocking face and jolt him from his scornful stance. Caution won out... this time, but her voice was shaking with suppressed anger as she stuttered, "L-1-leave m-m-my husband out of this! You have no right to assume anything about him! He is not complacent! He is a very nice man, a gentleman—something you could never be."
The gray eyes never left her face and his expression never changed except for one of those thick, black eyebrows, which rose in jeering disbelief. "Such a spirited defense! If I were not wise to your chicanery, English, I might find your words somewhat admirable, but as it is, I only find them a pathetic ruse."
Genuinely bewildered, Beth repeated stupidly, "Ruse? Fm afraid I don't understand what you mean."
Rafael smiled icily. "Sebastian is the one person I 190
am concerned about at the moment, not your husband, so do not attempt to change the subject."
"But yo.u," Beth burst out heatedly, "yo^ were the one who brought Nathan into this, not me!"
"Perhaps, but it matters little. What matters to me is your relationship with my cousin—if your husband is willing to allow you to parade your latest lover under his nose, that is his business! But when that newest conquest is Sebastian, then it becomes my business!"
Unable to help herself, Beth taunted, "Is Sebastian so weak that he cannot defend himself... against a mere woman?"
Rafael's face tightened, and if it were possible his grip on her arm grew more painful. "Do not," he said from between clenched teeth, "push me too far, English. I have ridden many miles to reach here, and I am tired and in no mood to exchange impudent remarks with you."
"Then don't
!" Beth retorted instantly, wondering distressfully how he had so easily aroused a sleeping tigress that seemed to lurk deep within her and changed her into a volatile creature she did not recognize. Or was the roused tigress the real Beth, set free from all the suffocating precepts she had practiced all her life? It was an uncomfortable idea at any time and she certainly didn't need to explore it now, she thought angrily, hastily pushing it from her mind. No, now she needed all her wits about her, especially as she became more and more aware that a new disturbing element had entered the conflict between them. Incredibly, insidiously, she was becoming conscious of the sensual attraction of his lean, hard body so close to hers, remembering against her will what it felt like to have his hands on her breasts, how that recklessly slanted mouth plundered her lips.
Rafael was instantly aware of the unexpected change in the atmosphere, the gray eyes compulsively dropping again and again to the soft mouth just below his, his body very conscious of the fact that the lacy peignoir hid the silken curves and warm flesh that had given him countless nights of restless sleep before he had been able to tear it from his mind. That she had once had
the power to trouble his thoughts enraged him, that she had dared to intrude upon his life again infuriated him. That she was the woman, the "angel" of Sebastian's outpourings, woke a violent feeling he had never before experienced in his life, but he recognized it with a dull sort of rage as jealousy. Furious and perhaps just a little staggered by that knowledge, he deliberately twisted her arm behind her back and, crushing her slim body up against his, he snarled harshly, "Stop arguing with me, you little slut, and listen to what I say! J don't care what kind of excuse you use, I don't give a damn how rude it may appear, but you goddamn will get yourself and your accommodating husband out of here today!"
Physically aware of her as he was, bringing her soft body next to his probably wasn't the wisest thing he could have done. With her breasts thrusting tantaliz-ingly against his chest, the slender legs pressing intimately against his thighs, and her sweet lavender scent in his nostrils, Rafael was not immune to the fierce onslaught of desire that shook his body. He could feel himself stir and harden with a devastating hunger to feel this supple silken body beneath his and to taste the sweet mouth that had haunted him. The gray eyes darkening with passion, his cruel grasp unconsciously slackened and rhythmically his thumb began to caress the shapely arm he held. It was madness, he thought savagely, knowing he should fling her from him and yet unable to do so. With a muffled curse he threw restraint to the winds arid brought his mouth down hard on hers.
Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps Page 19
