Sabrina wasn't alarmed when Carlos informed her that his mother had left early, but she was dismayed. She didn't relish the seven-mile journey back to New Orleans in Carlos's company. Not when they would be cloistered in the closed coach. But there was nothing she could do about it, so resignedly she allowed him to help her into the carriage, hoping that he would continue to be charming and polite.
As the coach slowly pulled away, there was silence between them. Determined to take advantage of the forced tete-a-tete, Sabrina blurted out the question that had been on the tip of her tongue for days. "What did you lie to Brett about?"
Carlos was caught by surprise only for a moment, and when the implications of what she was asking sank in, he was conscious of a terrible burst of fury. In the darkness his fist clenched, and it was all he could do not to reach across the short distance that separated them and strike her and call her the slut she was. There was only one lie that he had ever told the gringo—that he and Sabrina were lovers—and there was only one way the gringo could have known that he had lied. . . .
It was as well that Sabrina couldn't see his face. If she had, all the nebulous fears and doubts that had plagued her would have crystalized into certain knowledge of his nefarious actions. As it was, though, Carlos's manner put her on guard, and for the first time in a long time, she wished that she still wore the blade of fine Spanish steel that her father had given her.
A sneer very evident in his voice, Carlos replied, "Why don't you ask the gringo? I'm certain he would be eager to vilify my character to you."
Sabrina bit her lip. Wishing there was light to see his expression, but not liking his tone of voice, she confessed, "I did, but he wouldn't tell me."
"Then you'll just have to wonder about it, won't you?"
Doggedly she persisted. "He said you told him unforgivable lies when he was staying at our home. Did you?"
Maniacal fury erupting up through him—that and the knowledge that soon it wouldn't matter whether she knew the truth or not making him careless—he leaned over and grabbed one of her wrists in a cruel hold. His face only inches from hers, his teeth a gleam of white in the darkness, he snarled, ''Si! I lied to the gringo! I told him that we were lovers. That I had long been your lover." His fingers crushed her wrist more brutally, and he gave her a rough jerk, nearly spilling her off the seat onto the floor of the coach. "And just think, my sweet whoring cousin, there is only one way he can have known that I lied. Only one way—puta!"
Blazingly angry, so angry she couldn't think straight, not even feeling the pain from his vicious hold on her wrist, she struck him with the open palm of her free hand. He had lied, poisoned Brett against her, and now he had the audacity to condemn her!
The slap stung for Sabrina was no simpering miss, and for one second Carlos almost lost sight of his objective, almost gave in to the impulse to put his hands about her slender throat and strangle her. Instead he drew in a ragged breath and laughed harshly. "And to think that all this time I thought you were an innocent virgin! To think of how I have controlled myself! Tried to woo you gently! Tried to win your trust again—and all the while you were nothing more than the soiled leavings of a damned gringo!"
Aware of the dangers of this situation, but too angry to care, Sabrina demanded icily, "Let go of me, Carlos! Let me go before I scratch out your eyes and tear out your wicked, lying tongue!"
Carlos laughed again, an ugly sound that sent a shiver coursing down Sabrina's spine. Thickly he muttered, "You won't be doing anything to me; it is I who will be doing to you!"
Unerringly his cruel mouth found hers, and he kissed her brutally. Furiously Sabrina struggled to escape from his touch, but it was useless. She was pressed back against the seat of the coach, and the hold on her wrist was merciless. Too angry and revolted to be frightened, she closed the fingers of her free hand over several strands of his hair, and savagely she yanked his head back, away from her mouth.
Carlos let out a growl of pain, his other hand reaching up to capture hers, but Sabrina was ready for him, and moving like a striking snake, she hit him with the heel of her hand under the chin. His head snapped back, and her wrist was free. Breathing heavily, they regarded each other in the darkness, and in that instant the coach went around the corner and the wheel came off.
There was a mad lurch, a bone-jarring thud, and the coach stopped. A babble of voices was heard from the coachmen, and a second later, the door to the coach was wrenched open.
With heartfelt relief, Sabrina met Ollie's worried eyes. "Miss!" he exclaimed. "Are you all right? Damn my eyes! I near swallowed the spider when that wheel came off!"
Shaken more by what had happened with Carlos, Sabrina gratefully took Ollie's hand as he helped her down from the disabled vehicle. From the light of the coach lantern on the side, Ollie could see that she was white, and softly he whispered, "You all right? You look pasty."
"She's perfectly fine!" Carlos said sharply, following immediately behind Sabrina. Sourly he surveyed the damage and then ordered arrogantly, "You two men walk back to the Robles plantation and have someone bring up some sort of transportation."
Ollie looked at Carlos with dislike. "I ain't leaving Miss Sabrina," he said flatly. Then, glancing across at the driver, who had come to stand beside them, Ollie muttered, "Well, Joel, do you think we can fix it?"
This wasn't how Carlos had planned things, and impatiently he snapped, "I gave you an order! Now go back to the plantation and see about transportation."
The sound of approaching hoof-beats suddenly broke the silence, and ignoring the seething Spaniard, Ollie walked to the center of the dirt road and began to slowly wave one of the lanterns from the coach. A moment later, a second vehicle came into view, a stylish coach carrying its occupants from the very soiree that Sabrina had attended earlier. In no time, the situation was explained, and much to Carlos's helpless fury, a ride back to the city was warmly offered.
Sabrina was fervent in her thanks when at last she was deposited in front of Brett's house. She hadn't exchanged a word with Carlos during their ride home, but now, conscious of Ollie standing a short, watchful distance away, she said frostily, "It was an enlightening evening, cousin. I'll not thank you for it, and I would appreciate it if you don't ever—"
She got no further, for the front doors suddenly flew open, slamming loudly back against the walls of the house. Brett stood there in the doorway, such an air of menace radiating from him that Carlos took a nervous step backward.
The candlelight from the foyer streamed out into the dark street from behind Brett. To Sabrina he looked very large and forceful, and her heart gave an unexpected leap at the sight of him. His features were in shadow, the white shirt he was wearing undone nearly to the waist, exposing glimpses of the hard, sleek muscles of his chest. Black breeches were molded to his long, elegantly muscular thighs, and his thumbs were loosely hooked into the wide black belt around his lean waist as he stood there blocking the entrance to the house.
Silence fell, and Sabrina was very aware of the sudden frantic pounding of her pulse. She had done nothing to be ashamed of, but she had the lowering feeling that Brett was in no mood to be reasonable.
She was right, he wasn't. A dangerous glitter in the jade-green eyes, he drawled, "Well, well. If it isn't my little ward and her escort, finally come home."
Ollie looked at him sharply and then whistled silently under his breath. The guvnor was fair-foxed, and that made him all the more unpredictable and lethal. Only to someone like Ollie who knew him well were the signs obvious that Brett had been drinking heavily—the very careful way that he held himself, like a tiger on eggs, and the faintest slur to his speech, almost undetectable unless one was listening for it.
Certainly neither Sabrina nor Carlos was aware of it, although both were uneasily conscious of the spine-prickling feeling that they were faced with a potentially explosive situation. For Carlos, the wisest course was to retreat. His plans had gone dreadfully awry, and nothing could be salvaged a
t that moment. He needed to rethink his strategy, and he knew that after tonight's debacle, Sabrina would be even harder to capture. Under his breath, he cursed for the hundredth time the inopportune arrival of the other coach, but most of all, he cursed the fury that had allowed his tongue to wag so foolishly—at least, he thought savagely, he hadn't exposed his ultimate plan, and there was a chance that he could explain his actions away. Jealousy? Could he convince Sabrina that he had been so consumed with jealousy that the reason he had lied to the gringo six years ago had been to protect her? Maybe. But for now, the most important thing was to escape from this unfortunate circumstance as unscathed as possible.
Politely Carlos said, "How kind of you to wait up for us. We would have been home much sooner, except that our coach threw a wheel and that delayed us for a little while." He pasted a sickly smile on his thin mouth. "Fortunately the Fourniers' coach was right behind us, and they gave us a ride back to town."
Brett fixed Carlos with a bone-chilling stare and then after a second, glanced at Ollie. Ollie nodded his head, and Carlos was conscious of rage that the gringo so obviously had not believed him and had sought confirmation from a mere servant. If it weren't imperative to leave without creating more of a scene, he'd have liked to strike the gringo's arrogant face, but as it was, he merely sighed and said sarcastically, "You see, I am telling the truth."
"This time," Brett murmured softly, his eyes cold and unblinking. Ignoring the fury in Carlos's face, he crooked a finger at Sabrina and said flatly, "Inside with you. And wait in the foyer for me—I want a word with you after I've spoken with your cousin."
For just a moment Sabrina considered refusing, but there was something so menacing about his stance that common sense and a very real desire to avert something ugly and dangerous prompted her to obey immediately. And it was those same feelings that kept her waiting in the foyer when she brushed past him a second later and he shut the door behind her. What, she wondered uneasily, was he saying to Carlos? And more to the point, what, dear God, was he going to say to her? She had done nothing wrong, and she was furious with Carlos, but Brett's attitude made it very clear that he viewed the evening far differently. And of course, he didn't know how she now felt about her cousin.
Outside, Brett and Carlos faced each other. Carlos was the first to make a move. "Well," he said with a false heartiness, "now that Sabrina is safely home, I shall bid you good evening."
Brett nodded and said with a dangerous softness, "I particularly hope that you enjoyed this evening, Senor de la Vega—it was your last with Sabrina." The jade-green eyes hard with the promise of violence, he continued, "I won't deny you access to your mother, but remember this. Sabrina is my ward, and I won't have her subjected to the company of men of your ilk—liars and bullies."
It was a deliberately brutal speech, and Brett waited with a curious sense of savage anticipation—he hoped that the Spaniard would take offense at his words, almost willed Carlos to fling a challenge back in his face.
But Carlos was not to be goaded. Controlling himself, he replied thickly, "I understand you well, gringo. But remember this: Sabrina and I have known each other since childhood, and you cannot command her affection and loyalty." With great cunning he continued, "I may have lied to you about the situation between us once, thinking to drive you away from her—but do you really think that in all the years that have passed, I have not finally gained what I have always wanted—Sabrina, warm and responsive in my arms? Do you honestly believe, while you may have awakened her to passion, that these past years I have not taught her even more of physical love than you?" Sneeringly Carlos ended with, "You may claim her as your ward, but I lay claim to both her heart and body!"
There was a roaring in Brett's ears, and blindly he hurled himself down the few steps to the pavement, his one thought to stop the ugly, stabbing words that Carlos shot at him. A part of him was screaming in silent anguish, lies, lies, lies! But the cynical part of him was not surprised by the Spaniard's words. Either way, he couldn't stem the murderous rage that consumed him.
Brett's steel-muscled body met Carlos's with a thud that made Ollie wince, but he made no move to interfere. Even half-drunk and in a blind fury, the guvnor could whip two of the Spaniard, he thought confidently.
Ollie's summation of the fight was correct, Brett's iron-honed fists connecting again and again with Carlos's increasingly battered face. Only one or two of Carlos's punches managed to land on their mark, but beyond an annoyed grunt from Brett, they seemed to have no impact.
This evening would not figure pleasantly in Carlos's memories; first the realization that Sabrina and Brett had been lovers, then the helpless impotency as his well-laid plans were easily circumvented, and now this! His body aching from the beating he was taking, Carlos searched desperately for a way out. Unwilling to retreat ignobly and yet full of a savage desire to inflict some measure of pain upon the gringo, he swiftly reached for the knife he always carried. Stepping out of range of Brett's punishing fists, he warned, "Gringo, come closer and I will split you from throat to groin!"
Brett halted, his eyes narrowed. "Do you really think that is going to stop me?"
Carlos nodded, the black eyes wary but full of determination. He'd have liked to skewer the gringo, and for the first time the thought of what Brett's death would mean crossed his mind. With the gringo dead, the guardianship would be ended. With no guardian, Sabrina would be at his mercy. . . . Suddenly he smiled and taunted, "You are so brave with your fists, but it changes nothing, gringo—the woman is still mine, and there is nothing you can do about it! She loves me, and this time I do not lie when I say we will be married!"
The night air was full of dark enmity, and slowly the two men circled one another, Ollie watching uneasily now. The guvnor was unarmed, and nervously Ollie fingered the pistol in the inner pocket of his coat. Should he stop the fight? It was one thing to let a bare-fisted fight run its course, another to let the guvnor wind up dead!
But the decision was taken from him, for in that instant, like a lion leaping from ambush, Brett's arm shot out and captured Carlos's wrist. Brutally his fingers tightened and he gave a vicious little twist that brought a moan from Carlos; the knife fell unheeded to the road below. Deftly Brett twisted Carlos's arm behind his back and gave him a contemptuous shove that sent the other man sprawling in the dirt of the road.
His breathing revealing hardly any sign of exertion, Brett snarled softly, "Next time, Senor , I will kill you! And if I find you within twenty feet of Sabrina, I'll make certain you take a long time dying."
Carlos rose slowly from the dirt and angrily brushed off the black, loamy soil that clung to his once-elegant breeches. His voice full of hatred and fury, he growled, "You have won, tonight, gringo, but the battle is not over."
Brett shrugged, the dark green eyes cold and hard. "It is as far as any plans you have of marrying Sabrina," he retorted icily.
Carlos had to content himself with a vicious glare, and then he turned around and walked stiffly away. Brett watched him go with a curious mixture of frustration and resignation. Impotently his hands clenched and unclenched, and he longed fiercely to call the Spaniard back, to settle the matter between them once and for all. But with the part of his brain that was still rational, he understood the folly of it. Besides, he asked himself caustically, why should he risk his hide further for a flame-haired, avaricious little spitfire? And in that instant, unfortunately, Sabrina became the focal point of the situation and of all his bottled rage.
Turning to Ollie, he said in a velvet tone that didn't fool his valet at all, "I'll bid you good night—we'll talk in the morning." He started up the stairs, adding in that same dangerously velvet tone, "But for now I want a word with my ward."
Thoughtfully Ollie watched him disappear inside. Bloody eyes! Ollie muttered to himself. He wouldn't be in Miss Sabrina's shoes tonight for all the spice in India!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Looking at Brett's face when, with an unnerving qu
ietness, he shut the door behind him, Sabrina rather wished that she weren't in her shoes, too. Her first feeling of overwhelming relief and delight that he was unharmed had vanished the instant she saw his face. It was apparent that nothing good had come of the talk with Carlos, and half-angrily, half-apprehensively, she wondered what other lies her cousin might have told him. She had hoped that they would not come to blows, but with a sinking heart she noted the signs of battle that were on Brett—the faint smear of blood near the corner of his mouth and the bruised, skinned state of his knuckles. She knew a nearly irresistible urge to fly across the room, to offer comfort, to touch and see for herself that he was not really hurt, but she knew at that same moment that he wouldn't take kindly to her ministrations.
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