The Spanish Outlaw

by Higgins, Marie

  “No, I’m not,” she said in gentle tones. “I’m quite upset that you left Margaret behind.”

  He smiled. “Nonetheless, you are happy you helped.” His thumb caressed her lower lip. “You want to believe in my innocence. Am I correct?”

  She held her breath. He needed to trust her again, which meant she had to put aside her anger. “Yes. I want to believe you.”

  “Then peek out the window behind us and you will see a rider following.”

  She turned, parted the curtains on the window, and glanced out. True to his word, a man on horseback followed at a distance. She swung her head and met his stare. “Pedro said there were three men. Where are the other two?”

  “They must think I am still back at the house.”

  “Then why is he following us?”

  “To make certain I did not escape with you. These men take no chances, Vivian. It is like I said before. My uncle is a cunning man.”

  She sighed and faced forward as she relaxed against his side. “What is next?” Tilting her head, she raised her gaze to his. “What will happen when we reach my house?”

  “I do not know. We will have to see how long he stays and watches your residence.”

  “Hopefully he gives up easily.”

  “He will not.”

  Dropping her gaze to the shawl he still wore, she played with the fringe. “I hope Margaret doesn’t hate me for leaving her.”

  “Is Margaret really your companion?”

  “No. She’s…a friend who works with me.”

  He chuckled. “Then sí, she will hate you.”

  She scowled and slapped his leg. He grabbed hold of her hand, and suddenly, their closeness and the semi-darkened coach created a heady mood. A quick rhythm started in her heart as he gazed into her eyes. Dare she allow his touch? She knew how quickly her body melted. Yet, she needed to gain his trust once again.

  “How long before we reach your casa?” His voice came out deep, sensual.

  She swallowed the cotton dryness in her throat. “In about ten or fifteen minutes. I live just over the suspension bridge.”

  “Are you tired?”

  “Not really. Are you?”

  “How can sleep lure me to its lair when the beautiful woman sitting beside me is more enticing?”

  As always, his words stirred flutters in her chest. “Anton, you’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Trying to make me swoon.”

  “And what is wrong with that? Besides,” he continued without waiting for her answer, “what else have we to do for ten minutes?”

  Oh, the rotten man! Did he think of nothing else? “We can talk.”

  He stroked the side of her face, his fingers trailing down her neck. “We have talked enough tonight. Now it is time for some passion.”

  His mouth dropped to hers and pecked, encouraging her lips to open, but she remained uncooperative. As much as she wanted to welcome the passion budding inside her, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t! He held her face and tilted his mouth over hers, but she still did not open up for him.

  “Vivian, please.”

  She kissed him with her closed mouth, then pulled away and moved to the seat across from him. “Anton, I don’t want to be seduced.”

  He let out a grated sigh, running his fingers through his wavy hair. Silence lasted in the conveyance for a few minutes while his gaze swept over her. His lips were tight, his eyes narrowed.

  “Why?” he asked.

  She couldn’t tell him the real reason. If he knew what kind of mother she had, he’d certainly believe she’d welcome his advances. “Because, I’m not ready.”

  His gaze narrowed on her. “Vivian? Have you ever been with a man?”

  She rolled her eyes. “What an imprudent thing to ask. Of course I’ve been with a man. Am I not with you now?”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “No, my dear, I mean in the Biblical sense.”

  She held her breath. What an improper question! How dare he assume… How dare he even think of such a thing? She should scream at him, slap his face—or something. Women didn’t go around telling men of their exploits. That was a man’s duty. There was no way she could answer something so personally. Absolutely not!

  Yet...gaining his trust remained first and foremost on her mind. Curses! Once again, she couldn’t be herself around him and needed to act like a different person. She must talk to him about this no matter how ill-mannered and appalling it was!

  * * * *

  Anton focused on Vivian, waiting for her answer. Inwardly, he prayed she wasn’t innocent. He didn’t seduce those types of women.

  Strangely, though, he wanted to make an exception in her case.

  From the way her gaze dropped to her lap and her unsteady fingers twisted the material of her dress, he sensed her fright of being alone with him. Twin spots of pink highlighted her cheeks courtesy of veiled moonlight filtering through the shadows of the coach, indicating her attraction to him—and her innocence.

  “What an improper topic of conversation. Of course I’m a…um, you know… I have never been touched.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “And I shall remain that way until I’m married.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I will not touch you again.”

  After he made the promise, emptiness invaded his chest and arms. He didn’t want to release her to another man so soon. Although he should never touch her, something about her kept his interest, and he yearned for more. He’d never tried this hard with any other woman. Most females fell easily for his charms, and as he had expected, they only wanted him because of his wealth and fame with the opera. However, Vivian was different, and he liked the challenge.

  “Is your wedding day forthcoming?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I have yet to meet the man with whom I’d like to share the rest of my life.”

  “Forgive me for inquiring on such a delicate subject, which is obviously uncomfortable for you to talk about.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable. We can discuss this if you would like.”

  “Maybe after this case is over, you will be free to start looking for the right man to fill your life?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Silence lagged for another few annoying minutes, driving Anton to distraction. He glanced at her. Vivian made it evident from her creased forehead and sulky, pursed lips that conversing with her would do no good.

  Obviously, she didn’t want his touch. The thought appalled him. He wasn’t used to rejection.

  He turned and focused his attention out of the slit through the curtains. The rider was farther back than before, but keeping in time with their tracks. Anton slumped in the corner of the seat and closed his eyes. Why couldn’t he tempt the beauty sitting across from him?

  Shaking his head, he tried to push her from his mind, but the harder he tried, the more he remembered her softness against his frame as he held her tight, and especially the way her mouth fit perfectly with his. Her sweet taste was like honey nectar from the Gods.

  Growling softly, he adjusted himself on the seat. How could he get these images of her to leave his mind? Especially when her jasmine scent lingered in the air, teasing him, tempting his every thought.

  He blew out a gush of air and opened his eyes. Her wide, luminous gaze rested upon him, but she quickly turned her head. The glimpse of interest he detected in her expression didn’t lie. Why did she fight her feelings? Good grief, she was just as attracted to him as he was to her, so why couldn’t she admit it?

  In a way, she had confessed her feelings. She’d said his singing had hypnotized her at the opera. An idea rooted in his mind, making him straighten in his seat. Maybe he’d change his charming tactics a bit.

  He moistened his throat and prepared to sing one of the Spanish love songs he’d performed in the opera. To begin, he hummed the tune. Vivian’s head turned slowly in his direction, her expression guarded, but she remained silent. When he started singing, he
kept the volume low, even though he knew their follower would not be able to hear. He detected a hint of question in her wide eyes, but she didn’t speak.

  As he sang the Italian aria, he held her gaze prisoner. He put all of his feelings into the song as he tried caressing her with each word. His mind drifted to the place where men couldn’t hunt him and where he could be free...and where one special woman wanted to love the real Antonio. Once again, music soothed his soul.

  Soon, her expression softened into a smile, and her body relaxed. Eyelids drooping, the lines of her forehead smoothed out. The song came to a low finish. To the corner of her eye, she touched a finger, removing a tear.

  “What was that song about?” she questioned. “I’ve heard you sing it for two weeks, and although it’s very beautiful, I don’t understand Italian as much as I’d like.”

  “As you know from the opera, my character is leaving for war. He is promising his true love he will return to renew their relationship. He swears he will marry her upon his return.”

  “The song is very powerful. When you sing, you project deep emotion.” She dabbed a fingertip to the corner of her eyes again. “Is that all an act or did you have a childhood love to whom you can relate?”

  He laughed softly. “In my youth, I had many infatuations, but they meant nothing.”

  “Then how do you sing with such conviction?”

  He moved from his seat and sat next to her, laying his arm across her shoulders once again. “My character is not only going to war, but he is leaving the only family, the only home he has ever known.” He stroked her cheek. “I can relate to that. Although it was my choice to leave, I still miss my home, and I have not stopped mourning my parents’ deaths.”

  “Forgive me.” She placed her hand on his chest. “I should have realized.”

  With tender care, he took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Would you like me to sing you another song?”

  Her smile widened. “If you don’t mind.”

  Keeping her hand in his, he began singing. Moisture collected in her eyes. Because she’d seen the opera every day for two weeks, he was certain she knew this song well. Emotion gathered in his chest, causing it to ache. She remained quiet as he sang, and just as before, he put feeling into his words. Tears fell down her cheeks, but this time she didn’t stop them.

  When he finished, his heart swelled. “I take it you remember that song,” he whispered.

  “That was the last song you sang to your true love before your character died. Every night when I sat in my box seat and watched you sing, I cried at that point.” She hiccupped. “In fact, I don’t think I was the only one. Everyone in the audience had been affected.”

  He swiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You must have a very passionate nature to cry so easily.”

  “No, just when I go to sentimental operas.”

  “I will try not to make you cry ever again.”

  She smiled. “If you continue to sing to me like that, you’ll break your promise.”

  His chest tightened, and he wanted her more now than before. It wasn’t very often he witnessed a woman so affected by his performance, especially one that made him want to curl up like a kitten and long to have her stroke him with a loving touch.

  “I am afraid you have tempted me to break another promise given to you.” He leaned closer and brushed his lips against hers. “Because I want to kiss you so much right now, it hurts.” He placed a brief kiss on her tender lips. “Seeing you like this has made me insane with wanting. Your presence has controlled my every thought and action, and I feel as if I could sing to you forever.”

  He kissed her again. This time she welcomed his mouth on hers. His heart cheered with victory, yet the emotion was a different kind of triumph than before. Instead of just seducing her for the thrill of conquering, his feelings ran deeper, yet he couldn’t explain why. All he knew was that he wanted her to know the real Antonio.

  The coach jerked to a stop, bringing him back to awareness. In silence, he cursed his wandering thoughts. He must be insane to feel this way about a woman who didn’t trust him...and whom he had a difficult time trusting himself.

  Vivian pulled away and looked out the window. She let out a heavy sigh. “We’re home. Mí casa es su casa.”

  * * * *

  Once Vivian stepped down from the coach, she hustled straight into her house and to her bedroom. She slammed the door, hoping Anton hadn’t noticed her burning cheeks. A wave of shame washed over her from head to toe. Why had she allowed Anton to kiss her the way he had? His romantic voice had hypnotized her. She would have allowed him to do anything—anything at all.

  Good grief, something was indeed wrong with her!

  She lit the lamp on her vanity and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Brushing her hair in a wild abandonment, she cringed at each punishing stroke. Pain she well deserved.

  How could she have let passion control her thoughts? She didn’t want to be like her mother! Yet it seemed after meeting Anton, longing for that feeling she had yet to experience had flowed through her faster than she’d ever imagined. The mere thought of succumbing to his advances frightened her to death.

  Several brushstrokes later, she tossed the brush aside and stared at the mess she’d made. Heat still consumed her reddened cheeks, and her lips were puffy from Anton’s scorching kiss. Why had being in his arms made her feel like a real woman?

  Gritting her teeth, she balled her hands. Heaven help her, but she wanted to feel his arms around her again. But that would go against everything she’d tried to accomplish these past several years. Could she become a strong, independent woman if she allowed a man to control her emotions?

  Heavens no!

  The front door closed with a bang, making her jump. Then a curse rented through the air.

  “Why does he not leave me alone?” Anton snapped from the next room.

  Letting out a deep sigh, she pushed her fingers through her mess of tangled hair, trying to make it look halfway decent. She flattened the unruly locks away from her face, but the strands of light brown hair bounced back, giving her appearance an untamed look.

  In defeat, she sighed. Too late to repair the damage now. She must talk to him, even looking like she’d just awakened from a sleepless night.

  When she walked out of her bedroom, Anton stood in front of the window, peering between the draperies. He hadn’t lit the lamps, aiding the ghostly moonlight as the pale streams gave the house an eerie feeling. With Margaret’s attire removed from his body, he was back to wearing the clothes from earlier. Heavens, he looked incredibly handsome.

  “I’m assuming that man is still out there?” she asked.

  Anton glanced her way, and by the small light coming from her room, she noticed the moment his angry look changed to passion. A quick breath released from his opened mouth, and an out of control rhythm pounded in her chest. His mesmerizing gaze made her want to run and launch straight into his arms.

  That, she would never do again!

  Could his response be due to her tangled mess of hair? She should have left it alone. Her father had always told her proper ladies kept their hair styled, but brazen women left it unbound. Was she brazen like her mother? Could that be the reason she’d been so difficult and unruly as a young girl? She prayed it wasn’t.

  Anton moved away from the window and to her side with the grace and elegance of a panther. His gaze never left her face as if he drank in her features. He lifted a lock that had fallen over her shoulder and caressed it.

  “Anton,” she whispered, thinking to stop him, but her voice trailed off as she met his smoldering gaze.

  “You are beautiful. I have never seen hair so lovely.”

  She forced a small laugh. “It’s just hair.”

  “Why did you take it out of the bun?”

  “To be honest with you, I usually don’t style it as grand as I did tonight. If you remember correctly, I was playing a role.”

  His enigmatic
eyes darkened. “Am I now looking at the real Vivian Wentworth?”

  “No. I’m usually not adorned in such a fancy gown. My tastes are toward a more plain and modest attire.”

  “Then change.” His gaze slowly moved over her. “I want to see the real you.”

  Her breathing quickened. The idea tempted her, but she couldn’t do it. “No, Anton. You must leave.”

  “I cannot.” His face hardened as he glanced toward the window. “My pursuer is outside watching the house.”

  “Why is he here?” she repeated her earlier question.

  “I know not, unless he is as infatuated with you as I.” He winked.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You must be jesting, Anton.” She walked past him and into the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Do you have coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  At the stove, she prepared the drinks in the dark—only the moon shining through the curtains gave her light. Footsteps from the darkly passionate man’s boots in her house clicked on the wooden floor, but she refused to turn. When the soft noise ceased, his masculine scent settled around her. Heated chills trickled over her skin, making her heart accelerate to twice its normal speed.

  Hot breath fanned the side of her neck, and she closed her eyes to fight for control, but her soul weakened. He had a strange power over her. She was sorely tempted to stop fighting and relax against his rugged frame.

  His hands touched her hips then slid around her waist, pulling her against him. Anton’s face dropped to her neck, and she allowed his lips to brush against her flesh where he blessed the area with feathery kisses. Goosebumps trickled over her, and she gritted her teeth to keep from sighing aloud.

  “I know not what you have done to me, Vivian, but I cannot keep myself away from you, despite my promise.” He kissed the gentle curve of her neck. “I have tried not to touch you, but you are irresistible.”

  She placed her hands over his to peel them away, but once she covered them, she found herself holding on to him instead. There was no way she could let him go now. “You must be intoxicated, Anton. I haven’t done anything.”