One thin, arrogantly arched eyebrow rose. 'T?" he said in surprise as if it were incomprehensible that she didn't know him. 'T am Don Felipe."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
So this was the terrifying and autocratic Don Felipe! thought Beth as she regarded him through hastily lowered lashes. What a cold, imperious face he has, she mused silently; even his mustache seems to curl with contempt for his fellow man.
It was not only his face that showed his imperious-ness but his manner as well. The reptilian black eyes never leaving her face, he informed her harshly, "The servants have been ordered to pack your things. It is not proper, I think, for you to reside in my grandson's house with only Senora Lopez as chaperon. And as I and the other members of my family will not dirty our feet by stepping inside the house of Abel Hawkins, you will come with us this afternoon.'' As Beth stared at him with stunned fury, he added condescendingly, "Dona Madelina is waiting for you at the hacienda the family uses whenever there is need to remain overnight in San Antonio."
Swallowing the hot retort that sprang to her lips, Beth opened her eyes very wide and queried sweetly, "Even your grandson, Rafael?"
Don Felipe's thin lips tightened. "No! He prefers to flaunt his plebeian blood and stay in the house of a gringo trapper!" He snarled and, throwing his son a speaking glance, he added, "I was greatly offended to discover that there are others in my family who think differently—but rest assured it shall not happen again!" He finished loftily, "But that has nothing to do with you—you will come with us. A coach is behind us, and you will have just enough time to prepare yourself for departure before it arrives." When Beth started to protest angrily, he glared at her and thundered, "And I
will have no argument out of you—I do not have the time to waste exchanging comments with a woman."
Beth took a deep breath, fighting furiously to control her blazing temper. Her chin held at a defiant angle, she met Don Felipe's black-eyed stare and said coolly, "Thank you very much for your kind offer, but I prefer to stay where I am. If / decide it is not proper for me to remain here, then I shall remove myself to a hotel." Scornfully she finished, ''You may intimidate the other members of your family, but you don't particularly impress me!"
The black eyes narrowed and a mirthless smile cracked across the old face. "She has spirit," he said approvingly, as if Beth were' not standing there. "A certain amount of spirit is a good thing in a woman— she should breed spirited sons worthy of the Santana name." Almost as an afterthought he tacked on, "A pity, however, that she is a gringo, but she should do well enough. At least her father is a lord, although I could have wished for a duke."
Beth's gasp of outrage and astonishment was lost as one of her trunks and a small valise was carried past her by Rafael's servants. The servants looked uncomfortable and uncertain, and it was apparent that while they resented and objected to being ordered about by this arrogant old man, they were too frightened not to obey him. Not so Beth. The violet eyes glittering with rage, Beth burst out angrily, "Now wait just one damn minute!—put those things down!—I am not going anywhere!" With quick, furious strides she crossed the veranda and stood on the second step, glaring at Don Felipe. "You have no right, first of all, to order about servants not your own!" she raged. "And secondly and most importantly, you have absolutely no authority over me! So you can just forget any idea you might have had of removing me from this house!"
Don Felipe, thinking it was as well that he had made plans for her foolish stubbornness, looked her up and down. Obviously she was not going to accept his orders meekly and climb sedately into the coach when it arrived, so it would have to be the other way—and with an expression of boredom on his proud face he flicked
a couple of fingers, and before Beth had any idea of what was happening, she found herself swept off the steps and held prisoner in front of Lorenzo. His horse shied a little at the unexpected addition of her weight, and the high saddlehorn bit into her hip as furiously she wiggled about, struggling to escape Lorenzo's brutal hold.
Don Miguel, who had remained a silent, slightly sullen observer as his father dominated the scene, suddenly spoke up, objecting angrily at the unanticipated event, but a sharp rejoinder in rapid Spanish from his father caused him to subside in embarrassed silence. He threw Beth a look of commiseration and apology, but made no effort to stop what was virtually an abduction, and Beth realized in that instant that Don Miguel would always give in to a stronger man.
Don Felipe, ignoring Beth's muttered animadversions and her obvious attempts to free herself from Lorenzo, snapped something to Paco and Senora Lopez, which Beth later learned was a message to Rafael as to her whereabouts and instructions for the removal of the remainder of her possessions. Then, with a signal to his men, he turned his horse away and the entire group immediately followed, leaving Paco and Senora Lopez dazed as they stood on the veranda watching Beth's bright head disappear in the cloud of dust made by the horses' hooves.
Barely a second later Paco sent a servant hurrying around town trying to locate Senor Rafael and relate to him what had happened, while Senora Lopez and Manuela began the necessary preparations for the removal to the hacienda where Beth had been taken. Don Felipe had graciously informed them that when the coach arrived they were to accompany Beth's various trunks, as well as their own, to the hacienda.
It never occurred to Senora Lopez to do otherwise, although she may have thought Don Felipe rather highhanded in his actions. As for Manuela, she was only a servant and had even less to say about matters than Senora Lopez, and so with a troubled expression she began to pack Senora Beth's belongings, wondering uneasily what the outcome of this day would be.
Knowing it was useless, as well as undignified, to keep fighting, Beth eventually stopped her struggles and subsided into a tight-lipped furious silence as the town disappeared behind them. The sun beat down on her uncovered head, and they hadn't gone a mile before she had the beginnings of a severe headache—a headache brought on as much by indignant temper as the blazing sun.
Don Miguel maneuvered his horse near Lorenzo's and apologetically he murmured to Beth, '1 am so sorry this had to happen, cara, but my father is a stubborn old man. He is not always polite or conventional, and unfortunately he has lived^"^all his life doing as he pleases."
Unencouragingly Beth retorted, "And I suppose it never occurred to anyone to defy him? Why didn't you do anything to stop him back there? You could have, you know."
Don Miguel wouldn't meet her eyes. Instead he cleared his throat uncomfortably and said in a low voice, "The habits of a lifetime are difficult to break, senora. I obey him because I have been trained to do so. He does not tolerate defiance of his dictates—I have found life much easier when I do what he wants rather than rebel. I may disagree with him, but I cannot bring myself to go against his wishes."
"I see," Beth murmured slowly, strongly aware again of the weakness that his charm had hidden from her. Don Miguel was a charming man, but, unlike his father and his son, he would always defer to a more powerful personality. Looking at him with new eyes, she said suddenly, "I wonder that you dared to marry Rafael's mother."
He flushed and replied stiffly, "That has nothing to do with this."
Accepting the snub, Beth stared ahead at the ears of Lorenzo's horse, very conscious of Lorenzo's hard chest at her side, and the wiry-muscled arms that encompassed her. She could feel his breath on her neck and she knew he was holding her tighter than strictly necessary. Beth glanced up at him, intending to rebuke him for the sly intimacies he was taking, but, meeting
those black eyes and seeing the hot flame of desire that burned in their depths, she looked quickly away.
As they traveled farther away from San Antonio, Don Miguel kept his horse by their side, while Don Felipe rode at the head of the cavalcade like a returning king at the head of his army. Since signaling for her capture, Don Felipe had neither looked at Beth nor addressed any talk her way. He was not one to waste words—especially on a woman.
A dangerous sparkle in her eyes, Beth prompted, "Until what?" And when Don Miguel seemed disinclined to tread on shaky ground, she demanded, "Where did your father get the ridiculous idea that I am to 'breed Santana sons'? And I would like very much to know by what right he inquired into my family background."
Don Miguel looked even more uncomfortable and embarrassed. "It is my fault," he finally confessed. Staring earnestly into Beth's decidedly unfriendly features, he said sincerely, "It was presumptuous of me, I know, but I wrote to my father telling him about you and of my hopes that you and my son would make a match of it. It was a mistake, I can see that now—I never expected my father to interfere in this manner." His eyes almost begging for forgiveness, he continued in a nearly inaudible tone, "You are so sweet and lovely, and it seemed that Rafael was not immune to your charms. It would have solved so many things—you would not return to Natchez a widow, and my son perhaps at last would have found happiness." Don Miguel sighed.
''When I wrote to my father, I had forgotten how very ruthless he can be when he has set his mind on something. He has long wanted Rafael to remarry, and when I wrote him about you, he instantly seized upon it— especially when, through a friend at the British consul in Mexico City, he was able to confirm your background."
Beth maintained a stony silence, but her earlier anger at Don Miguel was fading. He could not help being a weak man and he and his wife had been very kind to her, she reminded herself honestly. It was Don Felipe who was her enemy—Don Fglipe who, with his highhanded arrogance, might have destroyed any chance she and Rafael had to discover the true depth of their feelings.
It was obvious that he intended to force a marriage between them. Obvious that by whatever means, fair or foul, Rafael was going to be compelled to make a decision he might not be ready for. As for herself, there was no doubt in her mind that she loved and wanted to marry Rafael, but only if he loved and wanted to marry her!—certainly not at the command of an overbearing tyrant like Don Felipe!
She and Rafael had been so close, so near, possibly, to declaring what was in their hearts, and now this wicked old man m.ay have ruined everything. The violet eyes suddenly hard, she glared daggers at Don Felipe's ramrod-straight back several riders in front of her. Damn him!
If Beth was furious with Don Felipe, Lorenzo was delighted. When Don Felipe's message had reached him yesterday afternoon to meet with him at the hacienda, he had nearly crowed with excitement when he heard what was planned. It didn't matter that the marriage he feared between Beth and Rafael was one step nearer. What had mattered was the fact that Don Felipe was intent upon removing Beth from San Antonio—away from the protection of the town, away from safety!
Lorenzo had wasted little time once he had left the meeting with the head of the Santana family. Riding to the limestone hills to the west, he had broken off the green leaves and twigs that he needed for a smoky fire,
and within minutes billows of gray and white smoke had drifted up against the bright blue of the sky. His serape proved an effective blanket, and soon puffs of white smoke were seen rising at regular intervals as Lorenzo covered and uncovered the fire with his serape. The smoke could be seen for miles, and he smiled a wolfish smile of satisfaction when shortly he saw the answer to his signal in the distance. Good! The Comanche raiding party was not more than one day's journey from him.
Beth's slender body next to his brought Lorenzo's thoughts back to the present, and, feeling himself harden with desire, he knew that before he left her with the Comanches to die he would possess her. The urge to have that white, silken skin against him was the only thing that would keep Beth alive one moment longer than necessary. Perhaps it was even the real reason he proposed to dispose of her as he did. First he would have his pleasure, and then he would watch as the Comanches had theirs, before...
The Santana house was situated about six miles from San Antonio in a small valley near a branch of the San Antonio River, and, despite the fact that it was seldom used, it was always staffed and kept in readiness for any member of the family in the vicinity. It was nowhere near the size of Cielo but was certainly as luxurious in its furnishings and accommodations, Beth thought to herself as she was shown to her room.
Her room was as large as the one at Cielo, and although she did not have a separate sitting room, there were several chairs upholstered in crimson velvet and a long, low sofa covered in a rich shade of blue brocade at one end that would serve the purpose. Her bed, as was common in Spanish houses, was made of black iron with delicate, intricate filigree work in the high headboard and low footboard. A crimson quilt of satin squares lay across the plump mattress and a gray marble stand with an oil lamp of fine crystal stood nearby. The slate floor was covered by a lovely carpet in jewel tones of crimson and blue, and at her windows, which looked out on a small garden, hung curtains of sapphire-blue velvet.
But while the room was delightful, it was a prison, and watching impassively as a Mexican woman in a brightly striped skirt and white blouse hung up the clothes that had come in a trunk which had been brought with them, Beth wondered what would happen next. Apparently, even though she was literally a prisoner, Don Felipe did not mean to mistreat her—as long, Beth thought cynically, as she did nothing to annoy the family despot.
Dona Madelina had greeted her Avith open affection when she had been deposited none too gently in the inner courtyard only minutes before, and Beth, in spite of her resentment and anger, could not bring herself to act coldly toward the warmth and kindness that radiated from Dona Madelina. Dona Madelina had clucked and scolded when she had seen Beth's heat-flushed face and had instantly seen that she was shov^n to the room she now occupied to rest and recover herself from the unplanned journey.
It appeared, Beth decided slowly, that while Don Miguel and Dona Madelina might disagree with Don Felipe's handling of the situation, neither of them had any real objections to the eventual outcome. It was becoming shockingly clear that the Santana family had determined that she and Rafael should marry, and that at least in Don Felipe's case they would allow nothing to interfere with that plan.
Thankful that no one except herself knew of the child she carried, Beth washed her face and hands in a bowl of cool water. Shaking out the dust from her black muslin gown and straightening her hair in the gilt-edged mirror above a mahogany lowboy, she considered her situation. Obviously, demanding to be taken back to San Antonio was out of the question. Planning an escape was also foolish—she knew no one to bribe for a horse and she wasn't exactly enthralled with the idea of making her way alone through a countryside known to have suffered recently from raiding Comanches. So, for the present, it appeared she would simply have to make the best of things.
An opportunity to make her displeasure and position evident came immediately. There was a tap on the door,
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and when the Mexican woman answered it, it was to receive a message that Don Felipe demanded Beth's instant presence in the Ubrary. Beth's hands formed into fists and, fighting back the urge to reply that Don Felipe could go to hell, she followed the white-garbed male servant down the cool, arched walkway to the room he indicated.
Entering it, she found Don Felipe pouring a glass of fine wine from a crystal decanter and then, looking over his shoulder at her, he asked punctiliously, "Would you care for a glass of sherry? I had a bottle brought up from the cellar for you."
Beth stood stiffly in the c
enter of the room, one part of her noting the leather-bound books that lined the walls and the Moroccan leather couch and heavy walnut sideboy where a tray of refreshments had been set out. Meeting Don Felipe's black-eyed look, she said lev-elly, "No, thank you. I do not take refreshments with my jailer."
He smiled, but the expression in the black eyes didn't change. Seen off his horse, Beth discovered that he wasn't such a tall man, actually not more than three inches taller than herself, but for all his slender height he exuded pride and power in great abundance. He had changed his clothes, but these he wore now were as richly embellished as his earlier ones, the gold velvet chaqueta lavishly embroidered with sparkling metallic black thread and the black calzoneras trimmed with gold braid. There was no doubt that he was an arresting figure of a man even for his age, which Beth guessed to be somewhere in his seventies, despite the head of surprisingly thick, black hair that held no thread of gray. Regarding her over the rim of his glass, he said finally, "Spirit in a woman is to be admired, but belligerence is something that I abhor. I hope, senora, you will not make the mistake of overstepping that narrow fine."
It was a not so thinly veiled threat, and Beth reacted to it instantly. Not bothering to hide her contempt and dislike, she spat, "It is a long time, senor, since I left my governess and the rules of the schoolroom behind
me! Certainly I do not intend to be either intimidated or dictated to by you! I trust you understand me?"
He nodded, the black eyes hooded. Looking at Beth as she stood angrily before him, he wondered at the fairness of the bright hair and considered idly the possibility that if she proved too intractable perhaps he would take her to Mexico City as his mistress/At seventy-four he still desired women, and when he tired of her, with that fair skin and ash-blond hair he would have no trouble selling her—and for a great price. But then he dismissed the idea—it was more important that his grandson marry and breed heirs for Cielo than to satisfy a momentary hungei'^of the flesh. Don Felipe always kept his priorities in order.
Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps Page 44
