He stood and faced her. “So, mí dulce, what do you want to know about me?”
“What does mí dulce mean?”
“That you are sweet.”
Her burning cheeks betrayed her stoic act, and she willed herself to gain control. If only she could find a way to control her blush… “I find it fascinating you were born and raised in Spain, a country I know little about. Tell me about your family and Spain.”
He led her back to the opposite end of the sofa from where Margaret slept. Anton patted the cushion next to him. Reluctantly, she sat.
Anton relaxed and crossed one leg over the other knee. “I am the only child, the male heir passing on my father’s name. In Spain, most large families are very close, but not so with my father’s. My uncle’s callous and greedy nature made it impossible to form any bond, and because of him, my father hired an army of men to protect our family and our inheritance. The small island we call home was given to my grandfather, Nicholas.”
She arched a brow. This, she hadn’t heard. So perhaps he wasn’t the thief she was after. “An island you say?”
“Padre Island.”
“Are you wealthy?”
He shrugged. “It depends on what you consider wealthy. Where we live, we are like kings, but here in America, I am considered a pauper.”
“Indeed? Why, so?”
“Because Spain’s way of life is so different. There we have ancient family treasures that only mean a lot to us. You would not understand their worth.”
Her heartbeat picked up rhythm, and she sucked in a breath. Then again…maybe he was the thief after all. The conversation might well turn to talk about the jewels Anton had stolen from his uncle...the very man paying the Pinkerton Agency to find his nephew. “Do you have those treasures with you now?”
“No. When I left home, I took only my clothes and a few personal belongings. Here in America, and wherever I travel, I carry with me no wealth other than my talent. To me, that is worth far more than any treasure.”
A groan of defeat hung in her throat that she dared not release. She would not admit failure yet. No matter what it took, she’d get him to confess. “I agree. I have never heard a man with such a beautiful voice.”
He folded his arms and stared at her. “Now we will talk about you.”
Vivian straightened. “There is not much to tell. My life does not compare to yours. Besides, you haven’t answered all my questions.”
By the narrowing of his eyes, he didn’t want to continue the conversation. Once again, her heartbeat quickened. She had to do something in order to discover if he was the man for whom she searched.
There was no way around it. She had to use her womanly wiles on him, even as unskilled as she was at doing this. She must remember what her cousin had taught her about charming men. Could she charm him without being affected herself? Her mother had been a wanton woman, so maybe the daughter had this talent, also.
After much hesitation, she touched his knee and leaned closer. “Please, Anton, tell me more about your home, about your estate.”
His chest shook with silent laughter. “But I am not a story teller, Vivian.”
“Just for a few minutes longer? Please?” She lowered her eyelashes. “Besides, I cannot return home until my companion awakens.” She displayed a pout, hoping it would work. This gesture always seemed to help other women get the upper hand with a man, so her cousin had told her.
He laughed out loud this time. “Now who is putting on a performance?”
“I’m just trying to get my way.”
He ran his finger and thumb across his well-groomed mustache, drawing her attention to the gentle curves of his lips. A mouth that might be heaven to kiss.
She silently scolded herself. Stop it! You must be strong.
“I assume you always get your way.” The tone of his voice lowered.
“Usually.”
“Has anyone ever refused you?”
She shrugged. “On rare occasions.”
As Anton continued to rub his mustache, his gaze moved over her face, and swept down her neck. His close inspection made her squirm. He ceased toying with his facial hair, peered into her eyes and smiled.
“I, too, rarely lose, but it seems after meeting you tonight that is all I have done.” Closing the gap between them, he leaned closer and stroked her cheek. “I have a deal to make with you which will proclaim us both winners this evening.”
“And what is that?” Her voice shook and she prayed she could gain back the control she had just lost.
“You give me what I want, and in exchange, I will give you what you want.”
Did he mean what her wayward mind thought? Her face burned, and her throat turned dry. Anticipation rushed through her. Her chance had finally come to charm him into submission.
She had to, but she had to remain professional about it and not let the emotions get the best of her.
“What do you have in mind?”
* * * *
Despite her bold attempt, Anton detected her underlying innocence. She couldn’t hide her timid nature. He’d been with plenty of experienced women…and Vivian was certainly not in that class. What game did she play with him?
He teetered between doubt and amusement, knowing he shouldn’t laugh aloud at her expression. He cupped her face, enjoying the way she snuggled against his hand.
“You are very beautiful.” He inched her face closer to his, his mouth descending. “And it makes me wonder if you use your beauty to get what you want.”
“I fear I do not know what you mean.”
“I will explain myself.” His lips hovered closer to hers. “But first, I want a quick sample.”
When his mouth touched hers, a small sigh breezed through her lips, but she didn’t pull away. Her shoulders stiffened, yet her lips moved with his. He took his time, savoring her tender flesh, nibbling on her top lip then the bottom.
This woman tested his ironclad control and drove him to the limits of his endurance. The newfound feeling exhilarated him...and confused him.
Her fingers caressed his neck, and he slanted his head to deepen the kiss. Vivian moaned, and his heart soared with triumph. Finally, she was under his spell.
Her kiss seemed quite inexperienced, which told him his suspicions were correct. She wasn’t the type of woman he was used to consorting with. Was it her bold personality that made her so courageous? He’d love to find out and perhaps be the one to teach her about passion, but at a different time. He couldn’t cross that bridge until he received some answers.
Ending the kiss, he placed a few smaller pecks on her lips before pulling away.
Her eyes opened half-mast as she looked at him. “Is that what you wanted?” she asked with passion still laced in her voice.
He detected a hopeful note and grinned. “Not exactly.” He paused only for a moment before scowling. “I want to know why you have been following me. Why did you sneak into this party without an invitation? And why is it so important to know personal things about my past?”
Her eyes flew open, and she jumped back as if he was on fire and she couldn’t stand to be so near.
“Are you accusing me of something, Sir?”
“You are not whom you pretend to be, Señorita. I may not know your secret, but what I do know makes me suspicious.”
“And what is it that you think you know about me?”
“You are not Vivian Harring, a noblewoman as you have proclaimed, but Miss Vivian Wentworth.”
Her face lost color. Just as he’d suspected. He wasn’t the only one in charade tonight. Disappointment washed over him. He’d hoped he’d been wrong about her.
She shook her head, and in an apparent attempt to regain her composure, smoothed her skirt and took a breath. “Once again, I think you are talking nonsense. What have I done to make you doubt me?”
He lifted himself off the sofa, strode to the liquor tray, and poured a drink. “Gossip spreads quickly through the operetta.” He faced her with a drink in h
is hand. “What I have heard from my informant, it seems a pretty little señorita has been asking questions about me, seeking answers even my closest friends from the opera do not know. A few days ago, one of my friends, Pedro, discovered something interesting about you, and since then I have been suspicious of your persistent actions.”
After taking a sip of his drink and setting it on the counter, he walked to the sofa and stood in front of her. Bending, he took a lock of her blondish-brown hair and twisted the loose ringlet around his finger with tender care.
Her body stiffened, and her lips narrowed into a thin, taut line. Anton puffed his chest in victory and straightened to full height.
“Now,” he said, staring down at her, “are you going to tell me the truth before I embarrass you further by releasing more information about your falsehood?”
Despite her square shoulders, she wore a strained smile. “Anton, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Very well. I will proceed.” Anton cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “You were born and raised in Chicago, not in England as your accent indicates.” Her eyes widened, and he chuckled. “I have to admit, you are a good performer, better in fact, than most of the women I work with.”
She sat still, keeping her mouth pursed.
“Pedro followed you one day and you blindly led him into the office of Allan Pinkerton, the owner of Pinkerton Detective Agency. Pedro watched for hours before leaving, but you never came out. I can only assume that you work for Pinkerton.”
He knelt beside her, taking her stiff hand in his. “Now, the question running through my head is, why would a detective agency want to send their most seductive agent to talk to me?”
Trailing his finger down her arm, he kept his attention on her face, waiting for a verbal response, but still, she remained quiet. A quiver danced across her skin, but other than that, she was certainly out of character.
“Have I slept with Mr. Pinkerton’s daughter?” he asked. “His esposa? If not his wife, then his sister, perhaps?” Her lips tipped at the corners from his humor. “Or maybe my singing is legendary in New York and a jealous opera singer is after me for stealing his part?”
Her smile stretched, but she didn’t speak.
“Tell me, Vivian. Why are you so curious about me?”
She took him by surprise and pushed him so hard he teetered on his heels and fell on his bottom.
She stood, and through narrowed eyes, challenged his stare. “Anton, your imagination has run away, and I fear has left you addled.” She maintained her British accent. “I assure you, I am who I say.”
Legs splayed across the floor, he looked up at her from his humiliating position, trying his best to remain in control of the conversation. “And I assure you that you are not.”
“You would believe a servant over a noblewoman?”
He chuckled and scrambled to stand. “I have known my manservant for many years. I befriended him during the war, and he saved my life on several occasions.” He paused, reflecting briefly on the past. “I trust Pedro with my life, and when he tells me something about a woman who is hunting me, then sí, I believe.”
“He must have been misinformed, because what possible reason would I have to pursue you?”
He caressed her shoulders, letting his hands travel down the length of her arms. When he imprisoned her wrists in a vise-like grip, her eyes widened. She let out a soft cry.
Enough of her stories! Time for the truth. Sweet-talking her wasn’t working, so he changed tactics.
He pulled her resistant body up against his. “I grow weary of dancing around the subject, Vivian. You have five minutes to confess to me, or by Dios, I promise you will not like the consequences.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept her stubborn chin tilted. The way she remained unwavering made him proud, but he would get some answers one way or another.
“I do not appreciate threats, Sir.” Her voice trembled.
“It is not a threat. It is a promise.” He swept his gaze over her face and rested on her trembling lips. “I think I shall personally return you to your employer and show him what a failure you have been. If I can conduct better detective work than you, you are not a very good agent.”
Seeing her beautiful mouth set in a frown, he almost ceased the cruel tongue-lashing. He didn’t want to hurt her, but harsh treatment might be the very key to unleashing her temper and getting the truth.
He continued his verbal assault. “I feel certain Mr. Pinkerton will be disappointed that you have not done your job properly. I have no idea what information about me you seek, but you seem to have come up empty-handed.”
When a look of defeat crossed her features, his stomach twisted. Where was that stubborn streak in her he so admired? Within moments, anger lines appeared around her eyes and lips. She straightened and shoved her hands against him, breaking free from his grasp.
“I’m not a failure.” Her accent disappeared in a flurry of anger. “I’ve done the job I sought out to do, because I’ve found the outlaw I’m looking for. And you, Sir, are that man.”
Her words confused him, and he didn’t understand her purpose. He sauntered to the liquor tray and poured himself another drink—wishing it was something stronger. What was she talking about? Why would she accuse him of being an outlaw, unless...
“So, you are chasing someone who has something of great value?” he asked in a much calmer tone.
After taking a long swallow, he turned to meet her stare. In the past, he had enjoyed the ability to know what women thought, but Vivian Wentworth certainly proved to be different. He liked that, almost too much.
Confusion surged to his head, creating a dull throb in his skull. It’d been awhile since he’d met such a challenging woman.
“Yes,” she answered. “I’m after a thief—a man who has broken the law, not only in one country, but two.”
He arched his brows.
“The man for whom I search,” she continued, “took his uncle’s jewels and disappeared from Spain.” She wagged her finger at him. “Shame on you, Anton. You must know that you’re a wanted man now.”
A different emotion welled within his chest. Anger and revenge threatened to suffocate him, but he kept his gaze narrowed on her.
He forced himself to laugh. “You think I am this thief? A common outlaw? Why, that is ridiculous!”
“Because of the information I’ve gathered on you, I have no doubt you are the man I seek.”
He sought support from the counter behind him. Despite his uneasiness, he feigned calmness. “Tell me of your suspicions.”
“The thief’s uncle also has others trying to find the jewels, and for the past two years they’ve been around the world. The search stopped here in New York. Through their hunt, they’ve spoken to many people, most of whom reported that the man in question has sailed to a foreign land.” She closed the space between them. “But I went a step further and talked to the not-so-proper connections.” She smiled. “Do you have any idea how many whores were willing to talk about you?”
Inexperience showed in her. Obviously, she believed him to be the culprit, so why did she trust him with her sources? Suspicion of her real intent niggled at him. Her acting rivaled his own and he wasn’t certain what to believe. Was she really as innocent as she seemed?
He chuckled. “You think you have all the answers.”
“Yes, I certainly do. Why else would my search lead me here? When I saw you at the opera two weeks ago, I knew I had my man.”
“What if you are mistaken?”
As she tilted her head, her gaze roamed across his face before trailing down his body. Conflict was an aphrodisiac. A spark of desire flared in her eyes. Heat stirred within his own chest, and he enjoyed that feeling too much.
“I don’t think I’m wrong,” she answered.
“How will you know? You insist you are right, and I say you are not. We seem to be at an impasse.”
“The truth will be determined
when I contact Mr. Pinkerton, and he in turn consults with your uncle.”
Worry plucked at Anton’s heart, but he maintained his stoic expression and finished his drink. After placing the empty glass on the liquor tray, he studied her face. “What fate will grace this unfortunate outlaw?”
“I’m sorry to say your uncle wants you in prison. But I’m certain if you return his inheritance, he’ll set you free.”
Anton laughed, covering his growing unease. “Oh, Vivian.” He caressed her cheek. “If I were not so enamored with you, I would be insulted.”
Her smile softened. “And if I didn’t know what a great performer you were, I’d believe in your innocence. But I know you are Antonio Romero, and I’ll be contacting my employer first thing in the morning to report your whereabouts. He’ll then get in touch with your uncle tomorrow.”
Panic constricted in his chest as the walls of deception closed in around him.
* * * *
Vivian had never been so confident in her life. Although Anton’s excellent performing skills were evident, she still sensed deep in her heart she had her notorious outlaw. Why else would he have threatened her? Guilt and fear were his only emotions.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have informed him of her plans, but when he accused her of being a poor detective, her temper made its debut. Now that she’d spouted the truth, how could she keep him from running? She must find a way. Her employer wouldn’t have faith in her abilities any other way.
Then again, what if Anton decided not to let her go because she knew too much? She could probably handle this situation, but she needed her partner’s help to stay focused. Anton’s sensual nature was too strong, and Vivian had almost succumbed several times already. She prayed Margaret would awaken soon.
Dropping his hand from her cheek, he stepped back, his shoulders as stiff as the muscles in his expression. “Mañana? You think your Mr. Pinkerton can contact this other Spaniard you refer to as my uncle that soon?”
“Yes. As I told you before, your uncle is here in New York.”
Anton’s eyes widened as genuine panic etched across his face for the first time tonight. She had been correct in assuming Anton was their outlaw.
The Spanish Outlaw Page 3
