The de la Vega library was a long, narrow room. Slightly worn but comfortable leather chairs were scattered about; a huge pine trastero served as a liquor cabinet, and at one end of the room was a rather untidy oak desk. Colorful rag rugs lay on the wooden planked floor, and for the first time Brett became aware of an impression that had been forming in the back of his mind since he had first seen the de la Vega hacienda.
The de la Vegas were obviously prosperous, but their wealth did not compare with that of the del Torreses. Their hacienda was smaller, the outbuildings were not as extensive and the furnishings were noticeably less luxurious. He suddenly wondered if money wasn't behind Carlos's engagement to Sabrina. Not that Sabrina herself wasn't reason enough for Carlos wanting marriage, but was it just love that motivated Carlos? Brett's mouth curved sardonically. What did it matter to him? Marriage for wealth and position was common among people of his class, but he found the idea of Sabrina being married for such a reason oddly distasteful. She certainly had little to gain from the match! Carlos would be the one to reap the benefits—a lovely wife and a fortune!
Luis de la Vega called the informal meeting to order, and for the next several hours, Brett listened alertly to what was being said. A few times he frowned and almost joined the discussion, but aware that he was a newcomer and a stranger, he saved his questions and comments until he and Alejandro were riding home.
They were quietly traveling along the winding trail that led to the hacienda when Brett asked suddenly, "How long has this trouble with the bandits been going on?"
Alejandro grimaced. "We have always had trouble with bandits—we are too far away from civilization for rogues and robbers not to flourish. But this latest series of attacks began, I think, about four or five months ago." His features brooding, he added, "They are very clever these bandits. They seem to know exactly when to strike—and precisely whom to rob. The Rios attack is a good example of their work—Senor Rios had just returned home from New Orleans after selling a fine herd of wild horses there, and that very night his hacienda was attacked and he and his wife were killed. Carlos had been by to visit them only that afternoon, and he said that poor Rios had been so pleased and relieved to have made it home safely with his gold." Shaking his head, Alejandro muttered, "Such a tragedy. Such good people, and now they are dead, their home looted and burned to the ground."
"Is this the first time something like that has happened?"
''Si . Before it was only robberies—no one had been hurt. But now . . . Now it worries me that they grow so brazen."
"What about your hacienda—will Sabrina be safe?" Brett asked curtly.
Alejandro smiled, suddenly feeling more confident about his attempt at matchmaking than he had since Brett's arrival. "My hacienda is safe. For weeks now I have armed my vaqueros and warned them particularly to be wary of strangers. As for my daughter"—he nodded his head slowly—"she will be safe, but only if she will stop her willful rides alone."
Brett's face hardened. "While I'm here you can be damned certain she won't be doing anything like that!"
Alejandro smiled again, a very pleased smile.
Brett wasn't smiling, however, his thoughts on the bandits. Abruptly he inquired, "You said they seem to know whom to rob. What did you mean?"
"Only that they make no mistakes; their victims are always affluent people, and they are robbed, like poor Rios, only when they have great sums of money on them."
Frowning blackly, the suspicion that had been forming all evening in his brain becoming a certainty, Brett asked tersely, "Any strangers in the area lately?"
"No. At least no more than usual. We are a frontier settlement, amigo, and as such, we see a constant flow of strangers. But none of them has seemed any more suspicious than any other, and more importantly, except for a few with families who have staked out their farms, none has remained."
"Then your bandits have to be someone you know and trust. There is no other answer," Brett said flatly.
Alejandro appeared startled. "But you must be wrong! I know of no one who would do such a thing! We are a small community—you saw yourself how outraged my fellow citizens were tonight. Everyone wants these murderers caught and punished!"
Brett's brows rose skeptically. "I doubt that. And I would be willing to wager that your bandits, when found, will turn out to have been at that meeting tonight— probably wanting to know precisely what is being planned to stop them."
Alejandro would not countenance such an idea, and for the remainder of the ride home, he very earnestly tried to argue Brett around to his way of thinking, all to no avail. As they dismounted in front of the hacienda, Alejandro said half-angrily, half-teasingly, "You cling to your stubborn ideas like an honorable woman does her virtue!"
Brett smiled. "You should write and tell my father so—he would agree with you."
Alejandro snorted, and a few minutes later they parted, Alejandro to seek his bed, Brett to light a cigarillo and wander out into the empty courtyard. He was strangely restless this evening, and though the hour was fairly late, almost midnight, he found himself unwilling to retire to his bed. His lonely bed, he thought with a twist to his mouth—women did have their uses, and a warm, willing woman would have done much to relieve the tension that was slowly building within him. The trouble was, he admitted grimly, the only woman he wanted was a half-child, half-seductress with flame-colored hair!
Angry with himself and displeased by the admission that he did indeed want Sabrina, he coolly switched his thoughts to the evening he'd just spent at the de la Vega hacienda. More particularly, to Carlos de la Vega. Where the hell had he seen him before? A cynical expression flitted across his face as he realized that half his interest in the arrogant Spaniard stemmed from this morning's incident with Sabrina. That and the irritating fact that Carlos claimed to be engaged to her. Was there really an understanding between them? he wondered disagreeably.
Furious that once again he was focusing on Sabrina, he took another drag on the cigarillo. For a little while he was able to consider other things—the bandits, his enjoyment of the Nacogdoches area, and Alejandro's surprising proposition to grow sugar—but soon he found himself thinking again of Sabrina, remembering how she had felt in his arms, the way her mouth had tasted when he had kissed her. With a disgusted motion he ground out the cigarillo under his boot heel.
Turning away sharply, he started to enter the hacienda when he noticed a light in one of the rooms downstairs. The entire house was in darkness except for that one light. Knowing that Alejandro had already retired and curious about why someone was up at this time of night, he walked in that direction.
Silently he stepped under the extended eaves, and quietly he pulled open one of the double doors that faced the courtyard. Hearing no sound from within the lamp-lit room, he glanced in.
At first examination the room appeared to be deserted, Brett's gaze traveling slowly over the contents: the wall of leather-bound books directly across from him, the velvet-covered chairs, the small marquetry tables, and the fine Brussels carpet on the floor. It was a wealthy family's library, and remembering the simple furnishings of the de la Vega library, he was again struck by the differences in wealth. A long, elegant couch of dark green velvet faced the wall of books, the high back of it being all that Brett saw, and the light that had first caught his attention came from a tall, ornate candelabrum that sat upon a small table at one end of the couch.
Assuming a careless servant had left the candles burning, he walked across the room intending to snuff out the flickering yellow flames. Reaching the couch, he happened to glance down, and his breath caught sharply in his throat as he spied the figure sprawled on the velvet cushions.
Sabrina lay sound asleep on her side, her head resting on one out-flung arm, the red-gold hair tumbling across her face and spilling like living fire onto the green velvet couch. She was wearing a simple gown of soft yellow silk, and it had rucked up around her knees, her bare feet and slim legs gleaming palely agains
t the rich green velvet. The book she had been reading lay open on the floor nearby.
For a long moment Brett stared down, mesmerized by her sleep-softened features. She was so lovely, he mused painfully, his eyes moving almost tenderly over her thick, dark lashes, the slightly tilted nose, and the generous mouth. And she looked so damned young! he thought with vexation. Had he ever been that young? Ever been so innocent and vulnerable? For a moment his mouth tightened as he remembered the pain of his mother's rejection. Surprised by the bitterness and hurt that memory aroused, he was aware that at one time, long, long ago, he had been as innocent and vulnerable as Sabrina was now. She appeared untouched by the world's cold indifference, he reflected bleakly, and looked in need of protection against those who would corrupt that innocence. Ruefully he added, so very much in need of protection against cynical bastards like myself! Again his gaze slid slowly over her slim body, lingering on the rise and fall of her full bosom and the length of the long, slender legs.
Unwillingly he felt desire stir, and, aware of the potential danger of the situation, he bent down and lightly shook Sabrina. Beyond a muffled rejection of his touch, she continued to sleep, and Brett smiled faintly. God! He'd forgotten how deeply the young slept. The smile still curving his mouth, he knelt down beside the couch and softly touched the bright hair where it grew near her temple. "Wake up, sleeping beauty," he murmured huskily.
Oblivious to both his touch and his voice, Sabrina slept on, and, unable to resist the temptation of that sweet mouth, he leaned over and very gently kissed her. For just a moment he let the hungry desire that was clamoring for release sweep through his body as slowly he kissed her soft, warm mouth. But then, with a regretful sigh, he lifted his mouth from hers and sank back on his heels, a twisted smile on his lips.
That smile was the first thing Sabrina saw as she slowly drifted awake. That and the mockery that was dancing in those dark green eyes. She thought she had been dreaming that he had kissed her, but as she gradually awakened and saw his smile, she realized instantly that she had not been dreaming.
Oddly enough she wasn't angry. Sabrina might not forget an insult, but she did not hold grudges, nor did she stay truly angry for very long. And she'd had a long, lonesome evening in which to mull over everything. Brett was infuriating, but she had to admit uncomfortably that she had, at least partially, invited both his embrace and his enraging comments. Further thought on the subject of Brett Dangermond had left her feeling only confused and frustrated, and she had come to the reluctant conclusion that she was going to have to come to grips with his disturbing effect upon her.
It wasn't a pleasant admission for her, but she had finally conceded that it was her reaction to him that was the problem and not necessarily his actions. Having gotten that far in her musings, she had made a grim little vow not to allow herself to be provoked anymore by him, and more importantly not to let her volatile emotions get the better of her. She would treat him with courtesy and politeness and make a determined attempt to rekindle some of the rapport they had once shared—which didn't mean, she had thought with a snort, that she would fawn over him with childlike adoration! She would be adult about it—not an infant!
Pleased with her deductions, she had happily settled down to read and await the return of the gentlemen. Perhaps worn out by the constant conflicts within herself, she was fast asleep not too many minutes later, her dreams, unfortunately, at complete variance with her resolutions.
Sheltered and innocent as she was, though, her dreams were not very explicit beyond the point of Brett's sweeping her into his arms and kissing her, but they were quite satisfying, and to awake and find the object of those fantasies smiling at her, his lips only inches from her, was quite, quite gratifying.
Still only half-awake, Sabrina smiled at Brett sleepily, completely unaware of how seductive that smile was. She made no move to change her position on the sofa beyond bringing the outflung arm down next to her body and nestling her cheek against her hands. Drowsy amber-gold eyes met his as she said softly, "Buenos noches, Senor Brett. Did you enjoy your meeting?"
His smile a bit wry, he replied lightly, "Did you expect me to? Especially my meeting with your so very curious Aunt Francisca?"
Sabrina giggled. ''Did she ask an inordinate number of questions?"
Nodding his dark head, he rose lithely to his feet and sat down on the sofa next to her, resting one arm along the high back. The mocking light in the green eyes becoming more pronounced, he answered, "She certainly did! At this moment, I don't believe there is one aspect of my life that she isn't aware of. You should have warned me!"
There was a sudden easy relationship between them, as if all the earlier days of stormy emotion had never existed. For these few precious moments, Brett seemed to have banished the taunting, galling manner in which he usually treated her, and was, unwisely, allowing himself the pleasure of responding unguardedly to her natural charm. Sabrina, too, for once at ease with herself, was acting more normally; she was relaxed and unruffled, content merely to enjoy his fascinating company.
The circumstances themselves deepened the growing intimacy—it was very late, the house was still and quiet, they were the only two people awake, and the flickering candlelight cast a soft, golden glow over them, intensifying Sabrina's fiery beauty, illuminating Brett's dark, sardonic features. Even their positions increased the cocoon of warm intimacy that was slowly, inexorably surrounding them. Brett's hard hip was nearly touching Sabrina's stomach as she lay on her side on the dark green velvet cushions, his upper body looming almost protectively above her.
They continued to talk for some minutes longer, neither willing to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over them. Brett knew he was playing with fire, knew that it was sheer insanity to prolong the dangerous interlude, and yet he could not escape her web of enchantment. He could not take his eyes off her, watching with an odd, hungry intentness the way her smile lit her entire face, the way the amber-gold eyes would shyly meet his and then flicker away. The faint scent of orange blossoms came from her body, and he was suddenly assailed by an insane desire to seek out the source of that beguiling perfume.
Sabrina was not immune to the situation either, and she had far less control of her emotions than Brett did. She was absolutely mesmerized by him in this charming, teasing mood, and her gaze roved eagerly over his features—the thick black hair, the deep-set jade-green eyes with their extravagantly long lashes, and the full, mobile mouth. The dancing candlelight shadowed the hollows beneath his high cheekbones, and Sabrina stared fascinated at the way the wavering light played across his handsome nose and the hard jawline. But it was his mouth that riveted her attention, and, unable to help herself, she found herself remembering the texture and pressure of those warm, knowing lips against hers. Uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were taking, and far too aware of his disturbing nearness, she shifted her position slightly, turning onto her back and moving a little farther away from him.
It was an uncalculated move, but it only increased Brett's awareness of how very desirable she was. The soft material of her gown tightened across the firm young bosom, bringing his eyes to the smooth golden flesh that rose so temptingly above the low-cut neckline. The yellow gown was an old-fashioned peasant design, that bared her shoulders and laced up the front with delicate ribbons of green silk, and his fingers trembled at the idea of undoing those green ribbons and exposing the satin-smooth flesh beneath. He swallowed with difficulty, the longing to jerk her into his arms and make violent love to her almost overpowering him. Tearing his gaze away from her, he stared grimly at the candelabrum and said with an effort, "I think we should say good night now.. Your father has already retired, and I was on my way to do the same when I saw your light."
Regretfully Sabrina agreed. "You're right, of course," she said quietly, and then, unable to help herself, she added breathlessly, "I'm happy that we had these moments alone to talk. . . ." Impetuously she reached up and touched his hard chest with h
er hand. "It ... it makes things easier between us, no?"
Her touch was his undoing. Their eyes suddenly met, and Sabrina's heart began to hammer at the glitter of raw desire in those dark green eyes. Compulsively Brett's fingers closed around hers, and bending his head, he pressed his warm lips against the palm of her hand and muttered in a tormented voice, "Sweet mother of God! What are you doing to me?"
In the grip of awakening awareness of her own sensuality, Sabrina stared dumbly up at him, desperately wanting him to kiss her again, her lips parting in unconscious invitation. With a groan, Brett dropped her hand and capturing her slender shoulders, dragged her roughly up against him, his mouth crushed demandingly against hers. Mindlessly she returned his kiss, trembling with pleasure when his tongue entered her mouth and began to hungrily probe the inner warmth. She didn't understand everything that was happening to her; she only knew that Brett alone aroused an urgent need within her, that she craved his kisses, his touch, that she wanted to be in his arms and have him kiss her in this almost savage manner. Her arms closed around his waist, and ardently she embraced him wanting more, wanting . . .
Desire, warm and sweet like honey, spread languidly through her body as Brett continued to kiss her, his hands sensuously kneading her shoulders, his chest hard against her tingling breasts. Driven by instinct, hesitantly her tongue flicked his, and with a bewildering mixture of delight and fright, she felt the shudder that went through his body. Blindly she followed his lead, kissing him more deeply, her exploring tongue taking the same liberties that his had. He tasted of tobacco and brandy, but to Sabrina it was as intoxicating as the headiest wine ever served, and she was helpless against the powerful tide of passion that suddenly rocked her.
The Tiger Lily Page 12
