“You do?”
“Of course, all the excitement just was too much for y’all.” She peered at him. “I’m Clarissa Webster.”
“Howdy do,” he said with a nod and then felt a little foolish visiting with a lady on the pantry floor. “And just what’s an American doing in Mexico?”
“We’re not Americans, we’re Southerners,” she said with arrogance. “Lots of us came here when the South fell. A bunch went to South America, too. Eventually, the carpetbaggers will leave and we’ll go home.”
“The South’s gonna rise again?” He grinned at her.
She leaned forward, her ripe breasts almost spilling out of her low-cut, pink dress. “We didn’t want to stay and be ground down under the damned Yankee boot heel!”
Bandit didn’t have any strong feelings about the war. About the time he’d been old enough to go, it was all over.
“I’ve been ever so eager to meet y’all.” Clarissa’s tone dripped honey as she scooted closer. “I think your story is so romantic, and you’ve turned out to be so handsome.”
He wasn’t quite sure what to say, but he couldn’t retreat any farther. There was a sack of flour against his back. He began to wonder what her father would say if he caught the two of them sitting together in the dark pantry. “Maybe, Miss Clarissa, we should rejoin the party.”
“Ah got a better idea.” She scooted even closer on her knees, leaning against him. “Why don’t we just stay here for the rest of the evening?”
He felt sweat break out around his collar. Flour behind him, an overeager girl between him and the door. “Here? The two of us? Folks might frown on that.”
She smiled and pressed against him. She smelled like warm skin and magnolias. “Folks might talk at that! Why, Daddy might demand you marry me, if you smeared my honor.”
“I swear I wouldn’t smear your honor, Miss Clarissa.” He had a sudden feeling Miss Mint Julep was going to rape him, or at least try, right here on the pantry floor. In the dim light, Clarissa Webster looked disappointed. She reached out, caught his hand in hers. “Honor is everything to a Southern girl,” she drawled, leaning up against him. “But of course, if you compromised me, you could erase that stain by marriage.”
Bandit tried to pull his hand out of hers. Miss Thin and Bony out on the patio was beginning to look better to him. “I—I think we should rejoin the party.”
She had her face upturned to his. “I just couldn’t defend myself if you were to try to have your way with me.”
At this point, Bandit scrambled to his feet, banged his head against a shelf. “I certainly am not going to compromise you, Miss Webster! Why, you’re not old enough to be compromised!”
“I’m almost sixteen!” she declared, jumping to her feet with a rustle of petticoats and molding her ripe body against him.
At any minute, her father would open that pantry door and he would be in real trouble. “Miss Clarissa,” he said, “you are the flower of Southern womanhood and I wouldn’t dream of having my way with you!” With that, he handed her his beer mug. Her hands occupied, he pushed past her, out of the pantry, and back outside.
The breeze blew cool on his sweating face as he elbowed his way through the crowd, nodding in response to greetings. That little gal needed to be sent off to a convent before she raped some man.
Señor Falcon caught his arm as Bandit pushed through the crowd. “Ah, Tony, I wondered where you had gone. Your fiancee has arrived, and I know you’re eager to meet her.”
Bandit sighed in defeat, then turned to face the tall, bony woman, holding out his hand. “Señorita, I hear we’re engaged.”
“Ah do believe you flatter me, sir,” she said in an accent identical to Clarissa’s. “I’m Mrs. Webster.”
Bandit almost fainted with relief. “Delighted to meet you,” he said, pumping her hand. “Delighted!”
“Ah do declare! You Spanish are nearly as gallant as our Southern gentlemen! Now you must excuse me so I can look around for my daughter. She’s so innocent, and I’m always afraid some man will take advantage of her.” She peered about.
“Try the pantry,” Bandit said without thinking.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
The lady turned and walked through the crowd, craning her neck as she searched.
Señor Falcon took his elbow. “You were joking, weren’t you, Tony?”
“About the pantry?”
The old man looked at him strangely. “What is all this talk about the pantry? No, I meant about mistaking Mrs. Webster for your fiancee?”
“Of course,” Bandit mumbled, “and I was being gallant.” He wished he had another drink, but Señor Falcon hung onto his arm as if he didn’t mean to let him escape again.
“There’s your fiancée over there.” Falcon pointed and elbowed his way through the crowd. “Let’s go surprise her.”
Bandit stared, but all he saw was a bit of back in a pastel ball gown. Then Señor Falcon dragged him through the crowd like a trussed-up calf being hauled to the branding fire.
From the rear, he couldn’t tell anything except that she was small and slight and had black hair done up in curls atop her head. The dress she wore was palest lavender with tiny deep purple flowers down the back and around the full skirts. He felt a little encouraged as he and Falcon moved through the crowd and came up behind her. Maybe her face was going to be ugly enough to stop an eight-day clock, but at least she wasn’t a dog bone and she didn’t outweigh him.
The girl was in animated conversation with two old ladies when Señor Falcon spoke to her. “Señorita, at last, your fiancé is here to greet you!”
Bandit was determined to behave gallantly, not to humiliate the don. “Sí, señorita,” he said, making a deep bow as she whirled, “I am . . .”
Stunned. That’s what I am, stunned.
Gasping in disbelief, he took in a deep breath of violet perfume and stood staring down at her. It was Amethyst.
Chapter Eight
For a long moment, Amethyst swayed on her feet, looking up at the handsome blond man in horror.
Santa María! What kind of joke was this?
The Texan looked back at her with open-mouthed shock as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
Around them, people smiled and murmured. “Isn’t it delightful? They’re both so struck with the excitement of finally being reunited, they’re literally speechless!”
“Isn’t young love wonderful?”
As Amethyst gasped, old Señor Falcon smiled and punched Bandit’s arm. “I see you like what you see. Is she as beautiful as you remember, Tony?”
The Texan recovered himself and took her numb hand, bent to kiss it while she gaped wordlessly at him. “Sí, Papá. She is every bit as lovely as I remember! Why it seems like only last week that I looked into those violet eyes.”
The rascal! Amethyst gasped at his arrogance as he raised his head from kissing her hand, and winked at her. She felt a warm flush creep up her neck at remembering last week, lying naked in the big cowboy’s arms under the shadowy trees of the stage station.
She tried to think of something to say to the beaming Señor Falcon while attempting to pull her hand from Bandit’s. He smiled back with that devilish, lopsided grin, and hung onto her fingers.
“I—I” She gasped.
“She’s still speechless,” the Texan said, tightening his grip on her hand. “Isn’t that sweet?”
The old don smiled and nodded, evidently pleased with the results of the introduction. “Well, Tony, it has been such a long time it’s a shock for her.”
“More than you know, Señor Falcon,” Amethyst said, pasting a smile on her face to cover her confusion and pulling at her fingers. The Texan grinned back at her, but didn’t turn her loose.
This has to be some sort of mistake, she thought, staring up into the pale blue eyes. When Papa arrives, he will straighten all this out. He and his fiery-haired fiancee, Monique, had been delayed because Monique’s elegant
deep green gown had needed some last minute pressing. Sí, Amethyst told herself, when papa arrives, he will do something about this joke.
She looked about wildly, feeling the heat of Bandit’s big hand completely enclosing her small one. This had to be a mistake. A Texas saddle tramp couldn’t possibly be the Falcon heir.
But no, around her, conversation swirled about how Bandit had ridden the stolen horse to the nearby cantina and had almost gotten himself lynched, but Romeros had rescued him, recognized him, and brought him home.
The birthmark. They were talking about the birthmark. Amethyst peered down at the left hand hanging onto hers. That mark had not been on the back of his hand more than a week ago when he’d tumbled her in the grass on the creek. It was all very confusing!
Bandit said something.
Jolted from her thoughts, Amethyst gave up on trying to pull her hand from his. “Perdôneme?”
“I was saying, señorita,” Bandit drawled, “that now that we’ve finally been reunited after all these years, I think we should schedule the wedding as soon as possible.”
Amethyst smiled a little too sweetly. “Has it been years? Why as you said, señor, it seems like just a few days ago that we last talked.” With her eyes, she warned him that two could play the game.
The fragile old señora beamed at first one, then the other. “I think Tony’s idea is wonderful and I’m sure your papá will agree, my dear. After all, we are not getting any younger and we can hardly wait to bounce Falcon-Durango grandchildren on our knees.”
Bandit looked at Amethyst with a cool, maddening arrogance. “Certainly, Mama. Why we intend to give you a new grandchild every year, don’t we, sweet?”
Amethyst made a slight choking sound as blood rushed to her face.
Señor Falcon stared at her anxiously. “We are embarrassing the young lady with such frank talk,” he said.
Bandit grinned. Amethyst had never felt such rage and hopeless confusion. His big hand still completely enclosed her small one, and he wouldn’t let go. This was all part of some crazy nightmare, she told herself, and any moment she would wake up back at the convent. Certainly when the Mother Superior had found her dangling at the end of her torn sheet-rope and had told her a message had come, she’d only felt relief that she’d been reprieved. Then she’d been excited to hear her long-missing fiance had finally been found and she was to come home for the wedding. Amethyst had a vague recollection of a blond, blue-eyed little boy, the playmate of her childhood. She had always expected to marry Tony Falcon, to honor her father’s bargain. She’d even been a little pleased, if apprehensive, that he’d been found; and she’d wondered if he would be able to tell that she’d lost her virginity. But anything had looked better to her than spending the rest of her days at the harsh Convent of the Cloistered Sisters.
Bandit asked her a question.
“What? I’m sorry, my mind is elsewhere,” she sputtered.
“Perhaps under a tree in the moonlight?” The Texan raised one sardonic eyebrow. “I was asking if you’d care to dance?”
Damn him, he still had hold of her hand and she couldn’t pull away without creating a scene. But she certainly didn’t want to have him put his arms around her, pull her up against that brawny chest. “No, I—I—” She was flustered. “I—I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I’d care to dance.”
Señor Falcon was immediately sympathetic and solicitous. “Ah, sí, of course, all the excitement of the moment.”
Bandit’s crooked grin widened. “Perhaps I should take the señorita inside so she can lie down.”
She had a sudden vision of herself inside the big house, tussling with the Texan on a bed in a dark room. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” she blurted out. “I’m feeling a lot better now.”
“Are you sure?” Bandit positively leered at her. “I’d be happy to carry you inside and—”
“I feel just great,” she said. “I never felt so good in my whole life.”
“Then we can dance.” The Texan looked down from his great height and she could feel his hot gaze on the swell of her breasts revealed by the low-cut lavender ball gown. It was almost as if his warm fingers stroked her skin along the edge of the pale silk.
Señor Falcon craned his neck to look around at the crowd. “At any moment, Gomez and his fiancée should arrive, and later tonight we can make the wedding announcement.”
Amethyst made a sound in her throat.
The old señora looked at her anxiously. “Are you sure you feel all right, my dear?”
“I just need some time to think, maybe some fresh air.” She did need to get away for a few moments, to organize her thoughts, decide what to do. “I think I might go for a walk in the rose garden.”
Amethyst saw her chaperone, the grim Mrs. Wentworth, pushing through the laughing crowd toward them. “Sí, that’s what I’ll do; I’ll go walk in the garden.”
“Well now, I’d just love to see that rose garden,” the Texan said and caught her elbow. Before she could protest, he was propelling her through the crowd, the stout duenna bringing up the rear.
Amethyst managed to hold her temper as she walked toward the moonlit garden, the Texan swaggering along beside her, still hanging onto her arm. The starry night looked like black velvet sparkling with diamond dust. The scent of old-fashioned roses was heady as the three of them moved away from the noise of the laughing crowd, the music of the mariachi band drifting on the still air.
“We need to talk, Bandit,” she whispered through gritted teeth, meanwhile staring at Mrs. Wentworth who was standing discreetly by the sundial. Would the chaperone remember seeing the cowboy? Probably not. The woman was nearsighted, absentminded, and had been drunk that night.
“Of course.” He smiled down at her, still gripping her arm. She could feel the heat of his fingers through the delicate silk, and suddenly remembered the heat of his body atop hers.
Before she could say anything else, he turned his head and said loudly, evidently for the sake of the duenna. “Next week? You want to marry next week? Why, that’s a mite soon, but if you’re so eager, next week would be a fine time for a wedding!”
“For your funeral, you mean,” Amethyst whispered hoarsely, keeping one eye on the homely chaperone. She pulled out of his grasp, took both his big, square hands in hers, looked down at the backs of them in the pale moonlight. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Texas, but you can’t possibly be Tony Falcon.”
“Why not?” He smirked like a devil, the cleft in his chin deepening.
She had the most overpowering urge to slap that grinning, handsome face, but what would her chaperone think? Amethyst studied the backs of his hands again. “I’m ready to swear on the Bible that that birthmark wasn’t on your hand only one week ago.” She looked up at him, smugly triumphant. “I’m going to expose you, Texas! I’m going to tell everyone that birthmark is a fake!”
He glanced over at the scowling chaperone and lowered his own voice. “Now you just go right ahead on! Expose me like you exposed that wonderful little fanny on the creek bank.”
“No gentleman would say such a thing, you shiftless snake,” she hissed, trying to pull away now but he held both her hands. “I’ll tell Papa I saw your hands before and there wasn’t any birthmark.”
“Will you now?” He raised one arrogant eyebrow, brought her hands up to his lips to kiss. “Sweet, it don’t make me no never mind. I can already imagine the scene.” He mimicked her high voice. “‘Papa, I know he’s not the real heir because I saw his hands when we tumbled naked together on a creek bank at the stage station.’”
Amethyst gulped, then stared at him in horror as he kissed her fingertips. “Well, I—I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll prove you’re not Tony Falcon.”
His lips brushed along the backs of her fingers, the warmth of his breath sending little thrills of pleasure through her. “And if you prove I’m not the heir, what then?” he asked quite logically. “Doesn’t that send you
back to the convent as an old maid?”
The irony of her situation sank in on her. “Damn you, Texas!” she whispered.
He gave her that cocky grin. “Tsk! Tsk! Ladies shouldn’t curse. Now as I understand it, if you do manage to prove I’m not really Tony Falcon so you don’t have to marry me, you’re on your way back to the convent. It’s me or the sisters.”
“This is ridiculous!” She was seething mad, but kept her voice low so the duenna wouldn’t hear the conversation. “You can’t really think that a girl of the Durango family, who can trace her lineage back hundreds of years to Spanish nobility, is going to let herself be forced into marriage with some—some—”
“Bastard cowboy?” He wasn’t smiling now, and there was sadness, some deep hurt, behind his pale blue eyes.
“I didn’t say that, you did.” Still, she felt ashamed as she turned to stare out at the roses. Her own father, and certainly the Falcons, talked incessantly of pedigrees and ancestors.
“Your tone told me everything I wanted to know,” Bandit muttered bitterly. “All right, Miss High and Mighty, I guess this was a loco idea from the start. I only decided to do it because I was so taken with you back at the stage station. A poor Texas cowboy didn’t have a chance at a high-class girl like you, but I figured Tony Falcon would have money, power. He could track you down, claim you for his own.”
She felt a little thrill, but she looked down at her nails. “You were taken with me?”
“Taken with you? Sweet, I never knew but one other woman who could make love like that, and she was the best whore in Texas. Your lovin’ was so passionate, yet so innocent, you made Mona look like an amateur.”
She almost slapped him, then decided it was meant as a compliment. Because no other man had ever even kissed her, she hadn’t thought of Texas in another woman’s arms, doing what he had done to Amethyst. To her surprise, the thought of that annoyed her. “I don’t know what to say, Texas. I don’t see how this can possibly work out.”
Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) Page 13
