Gabriel awoke at dawn, to find Lorilla asleep at his side. She was turned slightly away from him, and her hair was caught under his shoulder. He carefully extricated himself from her tangled red hair and got up.
He walked to the window to look out at the rising sun. Then he turned around to study his new wife. It mystified him that he was so taken by her. She was untutored, unsophisticated, not at all what he had expected. Worse, she might turn out to be barren and therefore of no use to his plans for an heir. Still, he was drawn to her. He shook his head.
Except for her red hair, there was nothing remarkable about her. Well, except for her eyes. He raised one brow and gazed dispassionately at her. The tangled covers did little to conceal her body from his eyes. She had small, round breasts, easily engulfed by his hand, and she was tall and long-legged, too thin for his taste. Still, merely the sight of her had him growing hard again.
As his body responded, he frowned. It wouldn't do to become infatuated with her. He still had to decide what to do with her. On the one hand, he had married her in front of the entire town of Santa Fe, and he would be thought a brute if he turned her out. On the other hand, she was a virgin--had been a virgin until last night, so nothing but time would tell if she could bear him a son.
The idea that her stepfather had duped him infuriated him. It would serve the snake right if Gabriel were to travel to St. Louis and demand his money back. Something Lorilla said came rushing back to him. When he'd asked her why she had believed her stepfather's lies, she had told him it was because she'd wanted so badly for it to be true.
Compassion welled up inside him, but he pushed it away, back down deep where he couldn't feel it. He would get a son from her, but he would not be drawn into caring for her. Narrowing his eyes, he assessed her as if she were a mare, up for sale. She looked capable of handling childbirth. Her hips were not wide, but neither were they narrow. The bands of sleek muscles he'd felt under her delicately colored skin spoke of good health.
Perhaps if he were very lucky, this one would not die in childbirth, like his wife and his mother. His mood thoroughly spoiled, Gabriel threw on some clothes and left the room. He walked outside to his family's gravesite.
Someone, he supposed Josepha, had put flowers on the graves. He paid obeisance to his parents and to his unborn son, then knelt by Elena's grave.
"Elena, I suppose I am well on the way to producing a son, if my ill-gotten wife does not prove to be barren. Please forgive me for what I did last night, and will do again, and again, until I am sure I have sown my seed. I would have a son, mi paloma. I am selfish enough to want to pass on my name. You do understand that, don't you?" He touched the cold gravestone, then walked away, his thoughts in turmoil, his body already yearning for Lorilla again before he was out of sight of his dead wife's grave.
h
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lorilla rose late the next morning to find Gabriel already gone. She stretched languidly and winced at the soreness between her legs. Just the thought of what had happened last night quickened her breath and caused her insides to tingle with remembered desire.
Wrapping herself in a sheet, she rummaged through the bedclothes, looking for the satin gown. Then she spotted it across the room below the window, where Gabriel must have thrown it. A liquid thrill ran through her, turning her knees to jelly. She picked up the gown just as Josepha entered with her coffee and bread.
Her face flaming, Lorilla straightened, clutching the sheet to her breast with one hand and holding the discarded gown with the other.
Josepha beamed at her. "Buenos tardes, Senora. I trust you slept poorly, if at all."
Lorilla's face burned hotter. "Josepha! You really shouldn't talk that way." Stepping warily around the trailing ends of the sheet, Lorilla crossed back to the bed. "And, I don't want breakfast in bed every morning."
Josepha looked at Lorilla, her face betraying amusement and a woman's understanding. "Si, Senora," she said, nodding. "I understand. I no want anyone disturbing my marriage chamber either."
"That's not the point," Lorilla protested, trying without success to keep a small smile from turning her lips upward. "I want to come downstairs for breakfast. I'm not going to spend the day in my room."
"So, you are all right?" Josepha handed Lorilla a cup of coffee.
Sipping the hot, sweet drink, Lorilla nodded, then smiled up at Josepha. "You were right. Gabriel did not ask about the negligee. He did not even look at it."
Josepha laughed. "Ah, so now we can begin watching for signs, eh?"
"Signs?"
"Si, of enceinte."
Lorilla's eyes widened. "Oh, Josepha. You don't suppose --"
"No, no," Josepha shook her head. "Sometimes it happens so soon, but not usually. Do not worry. I believe Gabriel will not neglect his new wife now that he has made you his." Josepha turned to go. "You come downstairs to breakfast, if you wish."
"What time does Gabriel eat?"
"Ah, that one. Most mornings he is gone even before I am up. Many mornings he starts the day by visiting --" Josepha cut off her words, and ducked her head. "I have forgotten something in the oven, Senora. Pardon."
"Josepha, wait. Where does Gabriel start the…day?" But Josepha was gone.
Sighing, Lorilla turned to her breakfast tray. She would find Gabriel after breakfast.
An hour later, she came downstairs, dressed in a split riding skirt and short jacket. Today she would explore the grounds around the hacienda.
She looked in Gabriel's office, but it was empty. Shaking her head in exasperation tempered with a smile she couldn't quite erase, she glanced around the darkened room. She drew the heavy curtains that shrouded the windows and the room flooded with sunlight. That was more like it. Lorilla stood at the window and studied Gabriel's office. His desk held a huge ledger, a quill and inkwell. There were a few small stacks of papers, the oil lamp and several candles. Behind the desk was a large, ornate bookcase, filled with books. A leather chair sat behind the desk and another was placed in front of it.
Lorilla let her gaze roam over the rest of the room. The sofa, with a bright blanket folded atop it and a long table occupied the wall opposite the window. On the table were several crystal and glass decanters, and some glasses.
To Lorilla, the room looked like a haven, an escape for Gabriel. Besides sleeping down here, he used the room as an office and a place where he could retire and have a drink, probably in the dark. Her heart went out to him. He must have been lonely since Elena died.
Lorilla's mind raced with questions. How long ago did his wife die? How deeply had Gabriel loved the woman he'd been betrothed to from birth? Why had he chosen to advertise for a stranger to marry, rather than courting someone he knew?
She glanced at the window, which faced east. There was a lovely view of a copse of trees, and beyond the mountains and the blue, clear sky.
Suddenly, she longed to be outside. She quickly drew the curtains, once again shrouding Gabriel's office in darkness, then left, pulling the door closed behind her. After a quick tour of the downstairs, she stepped out onto the walled terrace on the front of the hacienda. The red tiles and the whitewashed archways caught the sun and made odd, intricate patterns of light and shadow.
There was a breeze sifting through the arches and Lorilla breathed deeply of the clean, sun-warmed air. She stood at the edge of the terrace, looking out over the lands that belonged to her husband. The stark beauty of the land entranced her. From the terrace she could see the snow-covered mountains and the evergreen trees, and miles and miles of sky. She breathed deeply of the fresh, cold air. She could be happy here.
Lorilla had never really thought much about happiness. Her idea of a pleasant day had been one in which she accomplished all she set out to do with a bit of time left over to read. If Ray and her stepbrothers were satisfied with their meals and made no complaints, then Lorilla went to bed relieved that nothing had stirred Ray's anger.
Turning her face into the breeze, she clos
ed her eyes and smiled. She had never even dreamed of such happiness. Her husband had come to her. He had lain with her and cherished her with his hands, his mouth, his body. He had held her in the night and whispered Spanish words in her ear, words that sounded loving and kind. His gentle hands had taught her things she'd never known were possible.
She felt like spreading her arms and running, to celebrate the sheer joy of being alive. Closing her eyes, she whirled around and around until she became dizzy. Then she abruptly sat on one of the terrace benches, and laughed quietly, glancing around to be sure no one had seen her.
"Silly goose," she chided herself. She was acting like a child, something she had seldom if ever done, even when she was young.
Sighing in contentment, she looked around. The front of the house faced east and the sun shone down on her, promising a fine day. To the north were the stables, where she heard the sounds of men working…a shout, a scuffle of horse's hooves, unidentified thuds and thumps. To the south were a number of buildings, homes for the people who worked on the rancho, Lorilla guessed. And directly in front of her was a path, which led upward until it disappeared into a copse of trees.
Lorilla set out on the path. She would do some exploring today. The path wound up into the trees and brush, taking her out of sight of the hacienda. A part of the path branched off, but Lorilla kept to the recently traveled part.
After a short, brisk walk, she came to a clearing, protected by a large evergreen tree. Lorilla stopped, surprised out of her pleasant reverie. There were four gravestones, side by side in the clearing. Further along, there were a few other, smaller stones, but Lorilla could not take her eyes off the four large stones.
She stepped closer and leaned over to read the inscriptions. Roberto y Garcia de Beltran, 1789 - 1839. Miriam Longstreet de Beltran, 1793 - 1814. There were Spanish words below the names, but Lorilla couldn't read them. The only one she recognized was Dios. Gabriel's mother was only twenty-one when she died. Gabriel must have been no more than two or three. Lorilla's heart ached at the thought of Gabriel growing up with no mother, just his stern, heartbroken father. Thank God he'd had Josepha.
Her gaze went to the next stone. Roberto Alexandro Beltran, 1842. Only one date. Lorilla's eyes stung and her heart squeezed in sadness for the baby and for Gabriel. Then next to it stood the last stone. Elena Maria de Calvos y Beltran, 1822 - 1842. Elena had died giving birth to Gabriel's son. Lorilla didn't even notice the tears that streamed down her face.
Among the words below Elena's name was the word angel. It must be the same in English and Spanish, she thought. Her heart felt as though it would shatter with sadness. How Gabriel must have loved her. And how devastated he must have been to lose her and his son.
Blinking away the tears, she glanced around. The ground was freshly trampled here near Elena's grave. So this was what Josepha had meant. This was where Gabriel often started the day. He visited his wife and son's graves.
Lorilla wiped her palms across her cheeks, then made the sign of the cross. She quietly turned away and left the silent graveyard. The happiness she had felt upon waking was shattered by the sorrow she'd discovered.
Gabriel's wife and son had died five years ago, and he still grieved for them. Lorilla understood. It had been fourteen years since her mother had died and thinking of her could still bring tears to Lorilla's eyes. But Lorilla had happy memories of her mother. Her grief must be only a fraction of what Gabriel felt, losing his son as well and so tragically. If it were in her power, she would wipe the sadness away from Gabriel's heart. She would give him something to be happy about.
A son. She could give him a son. That was what he wanted. A sharp longing stabbed her. Gabriel's son. A child would fill the emptiness inside her and forge a bond between them.
Lost in her thoughts, Lorilla did not see Gabriel until she ran into him. His hands caught her upper arms and kept her from losing her balance.
"Gabriel! I am so sorry. I was daydreaming, I suppose." She smiled up at him, but his face was shuttered, his eyes hooded and narrowed. He let go of her and stepped backward.
"What were you doing up there?" he growled.
Lorilla's heart leapt into her throat. "I was just…exploring, taking a walk."
"Well, take your walks elsewhere."
"I'm sorry, Gabriel. I didn't mean any harm. I saw the graves of your family. The stones are beautiful." She didn't quite know what to say.
"Do not ever go there again. Do you understand?"
Lorilla stiffened and raised her chin. "I did not do it to upset you."
He took another step backward, his jaw clenched. "Just stay away from areas which are none of your concern."
Disturbed by the vehemence of his reaction, Lorilla became defensive. "I didn't realize there would be places which were off limits to me. Perhaps you'd like to make a list of those areas so I can be sure to avoid them?"
His eyes turned cold and he raised a brow. "Glibness does not become you, Senora. Just do as I say."
"As you wish, Patron," Lorilla said tightly. She stepped past him and kept her back stiff as she walked down the path toward the hacienda. She knew his gaze stayed on her the whole way. As she stepped through the arches onto the terrace, she glanced to her left, at a large, darkened window. Her heart lurched. Now she understood why
Gabriel kept his study window shrouded with thick draperies. The window faced the path that led to his family's graves.
Anguish tore through her for her husband, who had lost everyone he had ever loved. Oh, Josepha, are we doing the right thing?
Gabriel was such an enigma. On the one hand he seemed determined to hold onto his past. Yet he could not bear to look out over the place where his wife and son were buried.
Her doubts about her position in his life increased. Maybe Josepha was wrong about what he needed. And even if she were right, how could Lorilla ever take the place of the wife Gabriel had known and loved first?
For Lorilla, the happiness of the day was shattered. She spent the afternoon working on the household accounts, but she took no pleasure in her accomplishments by the end of the day.
Lorilla wasn't sure what to expect that evening, after having displeased him. She prepared for bed with the expectation of sleeping alone, but just as she began to doze a familiar weight settled next to her. She turned to him naturally, as if they'd been lovers for years instead of merely one night.
Without a word, he swept her into his arms and began the slow, tantalizing ritual he had established the night before, coaxing her, caressing her, stoking in her a need that built like a thunderstorm to the pinnacle of its unleashed power.
Lorilla bloomed under his tutelage, and responded with a wild abandon that should have embarrassed her, but did not. She allowed her hands to explore his lean, muscled body, learning the contours of him, memorizing the planes of his chest, the taut ridges of his abdomen, the silky feel of his shoulders.
Then when she did not think she could stand another minute until they were joined, Gabriel guided her hand to his arousal, and Lorilla marveled at the velvety hardness which proved to her that her husband desired her. He groaned when she touched him, and captured her mouth in a deep, intimate kiss that told her that at least here, in their bed, for these moments, he was totally hers.
h
CHAPTER NINE
The next month was an idyllic time for Lorilla. She became more comfortable with her duties as Patrona, her husband lavished attention on her, especially in the bedchamber, and the people who worked at the rancho came to accept her. The house servants seemed to dote on her, and the stable hands began responding to her friendly greetings by raising their hands and smiling when they saw her.
With the help of Gabriel and Josepha, Lorilla picked up more and more Spanish, until she could hold a halting, slow conversation with the people who worked at the rancho.
Her mornings settled into a routine, which gave her a measure of triumph. Each morning she rose and dressed, then went through th
e kitchen to let Josepha know she was ready for breakfast. She marched straight from the kitchen into Gabriel's office, where he sat at his desk, and drew the curtains, flooding his dark study with sunlight. Sitting in the leather chair in front of the desk, she greeted Gabriel and waited for Josepha to bring coffee and freshly baked breads and pastries.
At first, Gabriel resisted. He sat like a caged animal, stiff and uncomfortable, looking for a chance to escape. But Lorilla persisted. She sat and enjoyed her breakfast as if she and Gabriel had done this every day of their lives. Finally, she was rewarded for her persistence.
One morning, Gabriel sighed and poured himself a cup of coffee. He leaned back in his chair and turned toward the window, remarking that it looked like spring was finally near.
Lorilla nearly cried with relief and happiness. She had broken through one of the barriers that shrouded Gabriel's heart. That the victory was a small one didn't diminish her happiness in the least.
On a late March morning, Lorilla entered Gabriel's office to find him standing behind his desk, sorting through papers. He picked up a stack and inserted them into a leather case.
"Good morning, Gabriel," Lorilla said smiling. She drew open the draperies, then stepped around the desk. Her usual routine was to lean over Gabriel's seated form and kiss him on the forehead, but this morning as she approached, he set down the leather case and took her in his arms.
"Mmm," she sighed. "This is nice."
His voice was muffled by her hair. "Si, chiquita. It's very nice. I have come to look forward to your morning rituals, not to mention your evening ones."
Blushing at his implication, Lorilla leaned back in his arms. Desire glinted in the blue depths of his eyes, and her pulse raced. She still thrilled at the knowledge that he desired her. But his actions were different this morning, and that worried her. "What are you doing? You look like you're in a hurry."
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