The Christmas Treasure

by Kane, Mallory

  Lorilla moved beneath him. "What?" she gasped. "Did I do something wrong?"

  His shock had not decreased his desire, so he pushed again, hoping against hope that he was mistaken. But no.

  Growling like a wild beast, Gabe threw himself away from her and rolled off the bed in one swift motion. Despite his shaky limbs, he managed to don and tie his robe. He lunged out the door, slamming it behind him.

  He had to get away from her. He had to think.

  Gabe stalked to his room and threw on a pair of pants. Anger and astonishment burned through him like wild fire as he stalked out of the house. He stopped at the well and cranked up the bucket, glad for the exercise.

  With muscles straining, he lifted the bucket over his head, turned his face up and poured. The cold water hit his hot face with a shock. It splashed over him, soaking his robe and breeches, and cooling the desire that lingered inside him.

  Blowing water from his mouth, and pushing both hands through his hair, he glanced back at the house, his eyes drawn toward his bedroom window, which was dark. He cursed again, then whirled and stalked away.

  He walked for an hour, across the hills, through the scrubby brush behind his house, then finally, as the sun rose, he found himself at the family graves.

  In the pink and orange glow of the awakening sun, he stood, looking at four gravestones. Stepping past the graves of his parents, Gabe drew the sign of the cross, then kissed his fingers in obeisance. He trailed his fingers across the small gravestone that marked the final resting place of his son, whom he had never seen, then stopped at the last grave. He brushed a leaf off the headstone, and sat back on his haunches and read the words the stonemason had carved. Each one of them felt carved upon his heart.

  Elena Maria de Calvos y Beltran. Beloved wife of Gabriel. 1820 - 1842. Her soul flies with the angels.

  "Elena, mi paloma, I think I have made a big mistake. I wanted a son. Another son. I have felt so empty these past years, and there's no one to continue the Beltran name. I am the last, as you know." Gabe had often visited his wife's grave when he felt the loneliness eating a hole in his soul, or when he was uncertain of a decision. But this time was different.

  "I feel I have betrayed you in my heart. But how was I to know? I never thought I would desire another woman." He laughed without humor. "I even wondered if I would be able to perform. But Elena, you know my plan. I paid for a woman with experience, a woman who had borne a child, who would catch quickly. I knew I would never care for this woman, but I planned to give her a good life. And I would have a son to bear the Beltran name. Not my --" Gabe stopped. His throat closed over his next words. He swallowed hard and continued in a broken voice. "Not my firstborn son. Not our child, mi paloma, but a son."

  Gabe wiped his hand over his face and stood, looking up at the glow of dawn in the east. "This--this innocent looking woman has cheated me. Her letters said she was a widow whose son had died in an accident. She lied." Gabe's fists clenched and the last words were ground out between clenched teeth.

  "She lied to me, Elena. The woman in my bed is a virgin bride." He paced back and forth beside his wife's grave. "And God help me, she is young, and innocent, and desirable. I don't know what to do. My brain tells me to send her away now, before another day passes. My body tells me to take what I have bought and use her as I intended. But my heart…my heart, Elena, is torn and bleeding."

  Gabe rubbed his stinging eyes, then leaned over and placed a kiss on the cold granite that marked his wife's grave. "Fly with the angels, Elena. And please, please, watch over me."

  h

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lorilla woke with a delicious sense of renewal. She had been so tired. Her body had ached for five months, day and night. But now she was surrounded with clean soft sheets and downy pillows. She felt wonderful. She took a long, yawning breath and drew in the scent of soap and wood and fresh air.

  Immediately, the scent reminded her of Gabriel. She opened her eyes, and cautiously turned her head, but the bed beside her was empty. A touch of her fingertips told her the bedclothes were cold.

  He had not come back after he withdrew so abruptly and stormed out of the room, apparently in a mad rage. Lorilla's cheeks burned when she remembered what they had been doing immediately prior to his sudden exit.

  Her breasts tightened, and a thrill rippled through her. He had kissed her and caressed her. He'd done things to her that were incomprehensible, yet strangely enjoyable. Then, when she thought she couldn't stand it if he didn't fulfill the burning need inside her, he had done that last, most intimate thing. But far from quenching her need, he'd cursed and run away.

  Lorilla had no idea what she had done wrong. She'd been dazed by his intoxicating kisses and his intimate touches. She had wanted him more of everything. She had ached for the completion he had denied her. It had felt right. Even now, just the thought of him entering into her body in such an intimate way caused a tingling between her thighs.

  Lorilla moved and felt the soft cotton of the sheet against her sensitized breasts. She shivered in reaction and a thrill coursed through her as she remembered Gabriel's warm, strong fingers caressing her. A quiet moan escaped her lips. She had never even considered sleeping nude. She snuggled down further into the bedclothes. She liked it. It felt rich and sinful. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Lorilla sat up in shock, then pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts. "C-come in."

  Josepha backed into the room, burdened down by a huge tray. "Buenos Dias, Senora," she said, her sharp black eyes taking in Lorilla's appearance and the mussed bedclothes. "You are feeling good, no?"

  Lorilla knew her face was bright red. "Yes. I mean…um…yes."

  The aroma of fresh hot coffee and some kind of bread or cake filled the air. Lorilla realized she was starving.

  Josepha took a good look at her and clucked in good-natured disapproval. "Where is your nightgown?" She peered around the room.

  Lorilla licked her lips. "It's in the--my dressing room."

  Chuckling, Josepha set the tray down on the foot of the bed and bustled into the other room, returning with the neatly folded nightgown. "It appears it is as good as new," she said slyly. "You manage without it?"

  "Josepha!" Lorilla said in shock.

  Josepha laughed. "Do not mind me, Senora Lorilla. Benito say I am shameless." She grinned and handed Lorilla the garment.

  Hurriedly, Lorilla slipped it over her head and down, then pulled the covers back up. "Benito. Is he your husband?"

  "Si. He is the little rooster, yes?"

  Lorilla nodded and smiled as Josepha laid the tray on her lap. "You want me to come back and help you dress?"

  "No, Josepha. I can dress myself. Please. I'm not used to being waited on."

  "Waited on? Ah, served? Well, Senora, you will become accustomed. You are now the wife of a wealthy landowner."

  Josepha shook her finger at Lorilla, then left the room.

  "The wife of a wealthy landowner." Lorilla tried out the words as she raised the coffee cup to her lips. They sounded wonderful, but Lorilla wasn't sure she was truly Gabriel's wife. Not yet. Apparently she and Gabriel had some misunderstandings to clear up.

  After breakfast, Lorilla quickly dressed in her second best outfit and went downstairs, carrying the tray. Josepha met her at the bottom of the stairs and snatched the tray away with a frown. "What I tell you, Senora Lorilla? You must become accustomed to being served. You do not carry trays."

  "But what am I to do all day? I am accustomed to being busy, Josepha. My life was very different from this." She gestured around her, then shook her head in disbelief. "Very different."

  Josepha clucked. "Senora Elena spent the morning in bed, the she write the letters in the afternoon or do embroidery."

  "I can't stay in bed all day. Isn't there something I can do? What about cooking?"

  Josepha looked horrified.

  "Never mind," she said. "
I'll ask Gabriel."

  "You will be busy enough soon, if I am not mistaken. You will be enceinte."

  "Enceinte?"

  Josepha leaned close. "With child."

  A thrill of apprehension mixed with wary excitement rushed through Lorilla's breast. "With child. Enceinte. Oh." She blushed. "Do you really think so?"

  Josepha's eyes sparkled. "I have no doubt."

  "Um, Josepha, where is Gabriel?"

  The little woman nodded toward a set of double doors behind Lorilla. "In his office," she said. "He spends many mornings there. He does not like to be disturbed."

  "He doesn't?"

  Josepha shook her head. "No, no! You wait until he come out."

  Lorilla stared at the heavy, carved doors. "I don't think so. I need to talk to him."

  Josepha clucked and spread her hands.

  "Okay," Lorilla muttered. "Here we go." She took a long breath, patted her hair, ran her hands down her shirtwaist, then marched up to the door and rapped on it with her knuckles.

  "What?"

  The voice, even muffled by the doors, was obviously Gabriel's and obviously irritated.

  Lorilla closed a shaking fist around the knob and turned it. She blinked. As bright as the foyer was, that was how dark his office was. The curtains were drawn, and a single lantern burned on the desk. She slipped inside and closed the door. Where was he? He was not seated at the desk.

  A movement to her left startled her. She turned just as a shadowy figure threw back a cover and sat up, wiping his face.

  "Gabriel?"

  "Well? What is it?" he barked.

  She stared at him in the dim lantern light. His shirt was clean and pressed but his breeches were wrinkled and appeared to be damp. His hair was slicked back, pushing his sharp features into relief and giving him a devilish look. He was magnificently handsome, with the lantern light planing his face. Handsome and frightening.

  Lorilla's breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. "I…um…believe we should talk," she croaked.

  Gabriel cocked one eyebrow at her, then walked over to his desk and sat behind it. If she didn't know better, she might think he was afraid of her. It was a common tactic Jeremy, her youngest stepbrother, used. Whenever Lorilla scolded him, he would scoot behind a chair or a table, as if the furniture could protect him from her sharp tongue.

  Gabriel pushed the lantern to the far corner of the desk, shrouding himself in darkness. Frustrated by his deliberate attempts to distance himself from her, Lorilla decided that if he were going to act like a child, she would treat him like one.

  She turned to look at the heavy curtains that hid the windows. A quick perusal disclosed the cord. She drew it, flooding the room with sunlight. "That's better."

  "What are you doing?!" Gabriel thundered. "Close them."

  Wincing at the anger in his voice, Lorilla bravely faced him and folded her arms. "I believe we need to talk."

  Gabriel squinted in the sunlight and pushed a hand through his hair. It immediately fell over his forehead. "Josepha!" he bellowed.

  Lorilla jumped.

  Josepha stuck her head in the door, eyes wide. "Senor? Buenos dias."

  "Coffee," he growled. "Now!"

  Josepha shot a surprised glance at Lorilla, then exited the room.

  Lorilla took a seat in an intricately carved armchair in front of the desk. "I'll wait until you get your coffee."

  The look he shot her was dark enough to overpower the sunlight.

  Half-amused and half-frightened, Lorilla folded her hands. Now what? She had barged into his office, insisting that he talk to her. What was she going to talk about? Last night? Hardly. She didn't even have words to use for the intimacy that had passed between them. What then? Their marriage? His repeated references to their 'arrangement'? Her stepfather, who must have told Gabriel some untruth about her?

  Although she stared at her hands, she knew Gabriel was watching her. His gaze burned through her, and she suppressed a shiver. It would probably take a hundred years to become used to his intense blue eyes. Nervously, she moistened her lips with her tongue.

  Thankfully, Josepha soon returned with a tray and poured Gabriel a steaming cup of coffee. "I brought you some pastries, Senor," Josepha said quietly.

  "Thank you," he growled. "Go."

  Josepha turned and winked at Lorilla as she passed her. Lorilla stifled a small chuckle at the woman's impudence.

  Gabriel drank the entire cup of coffee while never taking his eyes off Lorilla. Sitting still, waiting for him to finish, she was more uncomfortable than she could ever remember being. Her foot itched, her shoulders and back ached, a tendril of hair fell and tickled her cheek. But she gritted her teeth and by some miracle, she didn't budge.

  She was in charge of this situation, as long as she could remain calm. Eventually he would squirm. Or at least that's what her stepbrothers did. Until they finally grew larger than her, a small voice reminded her. Until Ray's influence overrode hers and they began to ignore her and treat her like a servant, just as Ray had. She pushed that voice away, and concentrated on the knowledge, or the hope, that Gabriel was less comfortable than she.

  Finally, he set his coffee cup down and leaned back in his chair.

  Lorilla took a deep breath and prepared to speak.

  "Would you like some coffee?" Gabriel asked.

  "Wh-what?" she stammered, then clamped her lips shut. He was trying to take control. She subtly wiped her palms on her skirt.

  He obviously had no idea who he was dealing with. She had raised three stepbrothers. She understood men…well, boys. She moved to stand, but before she could arrange her skirts, Gabriel was out of his chair and around his desk, so close to her she could smell his unique woodsy scent. Towering over her, he propped one hip on the desk and folded his arms. His breeches were of fine buckskin and stretched tightly across the front, revealing a hint of what she had felt last night. She dropped her gaze.

  "Well, Senora. You said we needed to talk. I'm listening."

  Quelling an urge to slide sideways out of the chair and run, like Jeremy would, Lorilla lifted her gaze to his. His unnerving eyes were narrowed, the dark brows furrowed. He was in a foul mood if she had ever seen one. Her heart fluttered. "I don't quite know where to start."

  He laughed, the same harsh sound she had heard before. It increased the fluttering of her heart and clogged her throat. She had already learned to be cautious of that harsh laugh.

  "Perhaps we should start with what I discovered this morning."

  His voice was so bitter, so controlled, that Lorilla couldn't bear to look at him. "What do you mean?"

  "You know damn--" he drew in a shuddering breath. "You know what I mean."

  Lorilla was very afraid she did. From her meager store of knowledge, she gathered there was something there, some barrier, which only a husband should penetrate. Her face flamed as she forced herself to speak of things a well-bred woman should never say. "I am not experienced, sir, but I thought a husband preferred his bride that way."

  Gabe growled. There was no other description that fit. He growled at her. Her hand went unconsciously to her heart; it was pounding so hard.

  "You duped me."

  She shook her head slowly. Why was he so angry? "I duped you? How?"

  He hit the desk with his palm and stood. Lorilla couldn't get used to how quickly, how fluidly he moved. He had the grace of a big cat, and its swiftness. Add to that the animal growl and his resemblance to a wild cat did little to calm her nerves.

  He stared out the large windows into the rising sun, standing, legs apart, one fist clenched at his side, the other propped akimbo on his hip. She remembered the long cords of muscle and tendon that his breeches and the loose white shirt covered. That memory brought others, of his mouth moving seductively over hers, his hands touching her intimately, and then lastly, the thing that angered him so. The thing she had never even dreamed of until last night, but that she now couldn't get out of her mind.


  He whirled, towering over her, anger emanating from him like sparks from a fire. Lorilla jumped.

  "I paid you five thousand dollars to come here and marry me. I was given to understand I had acquired a widow who had borne and lost a son. You were perfect. You were experienced; you had proven you could bear children. But you played me for a fool. You took my money and lied to me. Plus, you managed to have a physician and a lawyer lie to me as well. Tell me, Senora Beltran, how is it that I find myself married to a virgin when I purchased an experienced woman?"

  Lorilla's brain whirled with everything he'd just thrown at her. Then one of the things he said sank in and her own anger began to grow. She stood, making herself as tall as she possibly could, which still left her several inches shorter than him.

  "Purchased? You purchased--how dare you!" She clenched her fists, feeling powerless against his superior size and strength." Her brain still whirled, but the awful truth began to dawn. "You paid for me," she croaked. "Oh no. You…you did not see me from afar and offer for my hand…" she trailed off as she saw shock widen his eyes.

  Her hand flew to her mouth and shame too deep for blushes overtook her entire being, leaving her arms and legs as weak and shaky as a newborn colt's. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Ray."

  "Rilla, are you all right?"

  The change in his voice registered somewhere deep in her subconscious, but the newly forming realization of what her stepfather had done pushed all other thoughts out of her head. She sat down abruptly, as tears of shame formed in her eyes and a queer sense of loss overwhelmed her. "It was Ray. Oh, God. He duped us both," she whispered, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  "What are you talking about, Lorilla?"

  "My stepfather told me…" she couldn't continue. The hurt was too grievous, the humiliation too profound. Inside her, the words her stepfather had taunted her with ever since her mother had died suddenly began to bubble up as noxious and as ugly as swamp gas. Ugly, awkward, idiot.

  Gabriel Beltran did not want her. What a silly fool she was. She had believed Ray's lies, believed that someone actually wanted her enough to send for her, because she'd been so desperate to get away from him and his spoiled sons. She should have known better. No one had ever wanted her, not for a long, long time.