He nodded, then turned and carried the plates of food back to the room.
Neither he nor Vivian said anything while they ate, but through her tender smiles and twinkling eyes, he knew she loved him. Before they had finished eating, Eleanor brought up their clothes. Vivian stared at her plate, refusing to even look at her mother, so Anton thanked the other woman and closed the door as she left.
He’d have to take Vivian with him to find his niňera. Juanito knew Anton was close. Soon it would be a battle of wits between them, and Anton prayed he would turn out the winner.
Without exchanging words, they both dressed in their new disguises. Vivian used combs from her mother’s vanity table to fix her hair. He shook his head. Vivian was definitely not supposed to be a servant. She was too graceful, and had the natural beauty that spoke of a higher position for her. She’d look well on his arm as his wife.
As he finished buttoning his shirt, his gaze fell on the cupboard where the washbasin sat, and next to it, a bar of soap. He needed a bath, as did Vivian, but he didn’t want to stay in this room another minute. Taking a walk would do them both good.
Suddenly, he recalled hearing one of the servants talking about the secluded pond out back. He grinned. Perfect!
“Oh, dear.”
Vivian’s worried voice had him swinging his gaze to her. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, her head tilted as she looked at him through narrowed eyes.
“What is on your mind, Anton?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a grin stretching across your mouth, which tells me something is cooking in that brain of yours that’s not good.”
He swaggered to her and gathered her in his arms. “And why would it not be good? What if I tell you it is indeed, very good?”
She toyed with the top button of his shirt. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me what it is.”
He shook his head. “I’ll do one better.”
He stepped back and took her hand, pulling her toward the door. As he passed the basin, he grabbed the bar of soap. She didn’t ask what he had in mind, but followed him down the hallway, down the stairs, and outside. It was his goal to take Vivian’s mind off her mother, and he’d do anything to accomplish that.
Chapter Sixteen
After Anton took them to the watering hole and allowed Vivian to bathe while he gave her some privacy—and she returned the favor for him—he walked with her hand in hand through the glade of trees. Being with him like this filled her with love, and she realized she wanted this always and forever.
“What shall we do now?” she asked.
“I want to find mí niňera.” He squeezed her hand. “I know my uncle’s men are watching for me, but I will not let them take me—or you. I will protect you.”
The darkness of his gaze and softness of his expression told her he was telling the truth. “I believe you.”
His brows crossed in confusion. “You do? When did that change?”
She bumped her arm against his. “I see how utterly foolish I’ve been since meeting you, and I’m regretting not trusting you from the start. Anton, you’ve never lied to me, and I see that now. Actually, I’ve known for a while, but my stubbornness argued with my heart.”
He nodded, bent his head, and kissed her lips briefly. “My heart grows warm from your words. I have never lied to you, and I never will.”
“So tell me, do you have a title, like Your Grace or King?”
He laughed loudly. “No. You may call me Anton. Besides, I enjoy hearing my Christian name roll from your lips. It has always been like music to my ears.”
“That’s because I say it with love.”
He stopped them, took her in his arms and covered her mouth for another passionate kiss, but soon he pulled away and continued on their walk.
“Tell me about your nanny,” she encouraged.
When he talked about the older woman, he held so much emotion in his voice. Vivian could feel the love he had for the older woman. Regret for not having a mother figure in her own life stabbed at her heart again.
How long had she waited for her mother to return when she was a child? She’d lost count. Day after day, week after week, and then months blended together, but the heartache never disappeared. Her father had never remarried, and now Vivian wondered why. Could he have longed for his wayward wife as she had longed for her mother?
Life wasn’t fair. How could her mother have been a whore...who still worked as a whore? Yet, from what she’d seen so far, her mother did still love her. Why else would Eleanor try to protect her and Anton?
“I do not think mí niňera will remember me.”
Anton’s voice brought her out of dark and confusing thoughts. She glanced at him. His smile had disappeared.
“It has been many years since she saw me,” he finished.
Vivian patted his arm. “We shall make her remember. Do you resemble your mother or your father?”
“Most people say I take after mí padre, but mí madre told me once I have a lot of her traits.”
“Then I’m quite certain your nanny will remember. From the stories you’ve told, it sounds like the two of you had been very close. I’m certain she hasn’t forgotten.”
His jaw hardened. “I pray my uncle has not found her first. If he knew...” He took a deep breath. “She may be dead.”
Her heart knocked against her chest. She prayed for the nanny’s safety, too. “How much farther?”
“We are nearly there. I think perhaps another ten minutes at the most.” He glanced down at her feet. “Why? Are you tired of walking?”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine as long as I’m by your side.”
He grinned and winked. “You still think I am your protector?”
“No, I don’t think. I know.”
* * * *
Anton’s niňera was within miles...unless she moved residence since he’d seen her last. The small town where he’d been raised as a young boy hadn’t changed much. The church stood erect, and still needed a good painting. The haciendas were as rickety as he remembered—perhaps even more now. And the cantina was still packed.
Many people looked at him and Vivian as they walked through the street, but nobody acknowledged with a wave or nod of greeting. This was their way. They had always kept to themselves. Besides that, he didn’t want to draw any undue attention.
He turned down a side street, Vivian followed close beside him. Although he wanted to hold her hand to openly proclaim his love, everybody needed to see them as servants...to keep suspicion away.
From up the street, a small adobe hacienda grabbed his attention. The familiar fence, the same shutters, and the crooked windows made his chest swell.
Home. When his mother took them from Italy and returned to Spain to live, they stayed here.
Several children played a game in front of the house, laughing as they ran after each other. Memories tugged at his heart. Life had been good while he and his madre lived here. At times it had been better to be poor than after they moved back with his padre and had all the money they could ever hope for.
When Anton reached the gate, the children stopped. He smiled. “Does Lucinda still live here?” he asked in Spanish.
A few of the children exchanged glances, then met his gaze again.
“Sí.”
He breathed a deep sigh. Thank the good Lord. “May I speak with her?”
A boy, who looked to be the oldest, stepped forward. “Who are you?”
“I am a friend of Lucinda’s. She used to be my niňera.”
All the children’s eyes grew wide. One little girl gasped. This was not the reaction Anton had expected.
The boy stepped closer. “What is your name?”
“Antonio Romero.”
Gasps circled the group of children, and some lost coloring in their face.
Anton gulped as ice ran through his veins. Obviously, his uncle had visited his niňera first. “Is she here? It is
most important I speak with her.”
“She does not want to talk to you,” snapped a girl who couldn’t have been much younger than the boy.
Anton scrunched his forehead. “What do you mean? She was my niňera. I loved her like a mother.”
The boy turned to the children and whispered something, then they scattered, running in all directions. Anton’s heart clenched. Something was not right.
He cleared his throat. “May I see her, please? It is most important.”
The boy shook his head. “You are not wanted here.”
Anger surged through Anton. It wasn’t in his nature to throttle a child, but he was most tempted to turn this one over his knee and show him some manners. Squaring his shoulders, Anton walked to the gate and opened it. “Forgive me, but I insist on speaking with an adult.”
The boy ran to him and yanked on his jacket. “Please, Señor Romero,” he whispered in broken English. “If she talks to you, she will die.”
Beside Anton, Vivian sucked in a quick breath. Anton’s heart hammered. “Why will she die?”
“Because that mean man will kill her.”
Anton didn’t need to ask whom the child spoke of. This had Uncle Juanito’s signature all over it. Squatting to the boy’s level, Anton lowered his voice. “Is that man watching now?”
“No, but he knows everything.”
Anton nodded. “What if you give Lucinda a message for me? Tell her I need to speak with her. Tell her I will return after dark and go to the back door.”
Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. “Will that man kill her?”
Anton tousled the boy’s hair as he stood. “No. I will not let her die. I promise.”
A weak smile crossed the lad’s mouth. “Then I will tell her what you said.”
Giving the boy a nod, Anton turned and walked away from the hacienda with Vivian by his side.
Vivian tugged on his sleeve. “Do you think Lucinda is safe?”
“For those eyes watching, we will leave town, but after dark we will sneak back. I will not let my uncle’s men touch her,” he ground out. “That kind, selfless woman has done nothing but befriend me and my mother, and treat us like family.”
He glanced at Vivian, whose expression twisted as pain touched her face while she kept her eyes on the road.
“What worries you?” Anton asked.
Vivian blinked and shook her head, turning her attention to Anton. “Nothing.”
“Something has.”
“I’m worried about all of this. What if Juanito has taken everything? What if you cannot prove your identity?”
“I have the ring, remember?”
“Yes, but...what if the King of Spain wants more?”
“I know not what will happen. All I know is I must stop my uncle.”
“I’ll never forget the fear in that boy’s eyes,” Vivian whispered.
Anton’s heart wrenched. He stopped and turned toward Vivian. “Sí, Juanito is very powerful. If you fear for your life, then perhaps it is best I leave you with your mother and come back to meet Lucinda by myself.”
Vivian clung to his arm. “Don’t say such things. We will be stronger if we stay together. One person alone cannot fight your uncle.”
Pain weighed on his chest, but he smiled through the confusion. He wanted to be strong for her. But he also feared for his life, which in turn put hers in danger as well.
He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, but remembering their disguise, he dropped his hand by his side. “Vivian, you are a very stubborn woman. But we are in danger. If you remain by my side, there is that chance—”
“Shhh...” She stepped closer. “I will not leave you, Anton. Wherever you go, I shall follow. You protect me, and I shall protect you.”
His heart warmed. The urge to take her in his arms and kiss those sweet lips was strong, but he fought it. They couldn’t be seen embracing. Juanito would certainly see through her disguise. “Come. Let us leave and return after dark. Perhaps we can compile a plan in the meantime.”
Vivian walked close beside him, her arm occasionally bumping into his. He missed breathing in her exhilarating scent of jasmine and burying his face in the tender curve of her neck. Holding her made him feel like a man. It completed him. He’d move heaven and earth if he must, but his uncle would not harm a hair on her body.
They walked back to the brothel to wait. He really didn’t want to take her with him, mainly because he worried Lucinda wouldn’t want to see him if someone she didn’t know came along. He couldn’t take that chance. She was his only hope right now. He needed her badly.
Chapter Seventeen
The brothel had not yet started the evening ritual, and Vivian didn’t want to be anywhere near the whores or their guests when that happened. Anton was out back by the fence repairing something her mother had asked him to do, which gave Vivian a lot of time on her hands.
Still upset about Eleanor’s way of life, she didn’t want to talk to any of the painted ladies, but when she walked into the kitchen, a few sat at the servant’s table chatting. One jumped up and motioned to the chair.
“You may sit here if you wish.”
Vivian nodded and sat. One of the women placed a plate of steak and potatoes in front of her. The other women in the room stared at her, so Vivian proceeded to eat, hoping they’d stop looking at her as if she’d grown two heads.
The whore across from her leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her ample bosom. Although the gown she wore displayed a lot of skin at her neck and chest, at least the red silk material covered more than what Vivian had seen last night when they first entered the brothel. The color of her dress matched her fiery hair perfectly.
“Miss Vivian, I hope you don’t mind me saying, I’m very happy to finally meet Eleanor’s daughter. Your mother has spoken of you quite a bit.”
Vivian had lifted a bite of her potatoes to her mouth, but paused as she glanced at the woman. “She has?”
“Oh, yes.” The brunette who had offered her chair earlier, sat beside the redhead and nudged her friend’s elbow. “Nancy here has known Eleanor longer than the rest of us. But even I have heard your mother speak of you, too.”
Bile rose in Vivian’s throat, but she shoved the potatoes in her mouth and forced herself to eat, nonetheless.
“Did you know she had an investigator keep track of you for many years?” Nancy asked.
When Vivian swallowed, the potatoes almost stuck. “Yes. Eleanor mentioned that.”
“She wanted to know everything you and your brother were doing, how you were growing up, and what you looked like. Whenever mail arrived from the investigator, it brightened her day.”
The brunette reached across the table and touched Vivian’s hand. “She loves you and your brother very much, and missed you greatly.”
Irritation stiffened Vivian’s spine, and she arched an eyebrow. “Well, she had a poor way of showing her affection. Both of her children never knew what happened to her, except that she’d left them to live with a wealthy man.”
Both whores gasped. Even the cook whirled from the stove with her hand covering her mouth.
“Oh, dearie,” the cook said, her double-chins wobbling as she shook her head. “You couldn’t have been more wrong. Your mother loved you unconditionally, and wanted to show her children how much she missed them, but her husband—your father wouldn’t allow it.”
Suddenly the food wasn’t appealing any longer, and Vivian pushed the plate away. “Yes, my mother told me he was ashamed of her...er, career choice, and rightly so. What decent man would want a whore for a wife?”
Pink covered the faces of the women across the table as sadness coated their expression. The cook huffed and shook her head.
“But she wasn’t a whore then, Miss Vivian. She had changed herself and wanted a new life. She married a caring man and had two wonderful children. Changing our life is one thing all of us whores want.”
Pain gripped Vivian’s chest and made her
head throb. She scooted her chair out and stood. “I appreciate your words, but I have had many years of hatred built up in me. I cannot change how I feel.” She straightened. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a terrible headache.”
Thankfully, the other women didn’t try and stop her. She marched out of the kitchen, hurried through the parlor, and darted up the stairs before anyone could see the tears building in her eyes. She refused to cry, although confusion swam in her head, making her want to believe that her mother had cared for her all of these years.
She walked into the room and closed the door behind her. Emotion clogged her throat as tears continued to prick her eyes. She sat at the vanity and looked at herself in the mirror. For so many years, she’d carried the guilt that her mother left because of something she may have done as a child. Then, when Vivian met Anton and realized she had the passion her father hated her mother for, it left a sour taste in her mouth as fear gnawed at her gut. She didn’t want to become like her mother.
Of course, back then she hadn’t fully understood what her mother had become. All this time, could it have been her father who was in the wrong? Eleanor loved her children enough to have an investigator follow them throughout their years of growing up. Apparently, Eleanor had wanted her family after all.
Vivian groaned and pressed her palms against her forehead, praying the confused pain in her skull would leave. She hated feeling this way.
The squeak from the door opening pulled her attention to her visitor. Eleanor walked in and stopped when she saw Vivian.
“I need to get something.” She pointed to her armoire.
“Of course. After all, this is your room.”
Her mother smiled, even while pain still etched in her eyes. Vivian’s heart tugged with confusion again, squeezing her chest tighter.
“I declare if Polly’s head wasn’t attached, the poor girl would lose that, too.” Eleanor shuffled through her shoes. “I don’t understand how that girl can misplace so many things in one day.” She pulled out a red pair of satin button up booted heels. “It’s a good thing we have the same size in feet.”
The Spanish Outlaw Page 20
