Silver Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Two

by Vivian Vaughan

  But there in the center of this great empty room stood Aurelia, swathed in yellow lace. Her glossy black hair swirled in tantalizing disarray about her shoulders.

  There stood Aurelia, and all his good intentions fled as before a fluttering of angel wings.

  He crossed the room on unsteady legs, savoring the sight of her, recording it for later when she was no longer beside him.

  “My sister said it’s bad luck to be seen in your wedding gown before the wedding,” he murmured.

  She laughed, reaching her arms toward him. “It’s my gown. Pia’s wedding.”

  He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her tightly against his body and holding her there. He felt her heart beat against him, her gypsy heart so wonderfully alive and full of mischief and fun.

  “The messenger who delivered the telegram told us about your brother,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He kissed her then, thinking all he needed was her sweetness. All he needed was to kiss her and hold her, to feel her against him one more time before Santos took her to Guanajuato.

  “Yes,” he surprised himself by answering.

  She led him across the great room and down a hallway off which opened several doors. They entered the first room, a cubicle of some sort. Without speaking a word, she discarded the yellow lace.

  “Where is Señora Velez?” he questioned, suddenly worried.

  She laughed. “She can’t come until after siesta, silly.”

  He leaned a shoulder against the door and watched her slip off the slender gown of silk, hang it on a special hanger, then remove the undergarments and arrange them in a box that lay beside it.

  She turned to him, wearing nothing except the loveliness she had been born in, scooped up an armload of clothing, and led him out the door and down the narrow passageway into the very last room, locking the door behind them.

  She tossed her clothing to a chair, then pulled him by his hand to the bed, where she began to undress him. Once he was disrobed, she slipped onto the bed and pulled him down beside her.

  He wrapped his arms about her, and she held him tight. “Tell me about your brother,” she whispered.

  For the next hour they talked. He told her about his brothers, all five of them, and his two sisters.

  “Delta is about your age. She’s the youngest.”

  “They live all over the country?”

  “Benjamin encouraged us to seek our fortunes.” He grunted derisively. “Some fortune, I guess. Rangering.”

  “Do you enjoy being a Ranger?”

  He nodded.

  “Then it’s your fortune.”

  He smiled, thinking of this place, of Rancho Mazón, of the mine and the mint. Little she knew of fortunes, a girl who had never known anything else. Before he was finished, he had told her everything—how his pa had run off when they were kids; how his ma had pined so long she’d lost her mind; how Benjamin had raised them all, giving up any hope of a life for himself.

  “That’s the sad part, I guess. He had been married only about a year. Ellie was her name. Real nice girl, even though she was raised up in a house of painted ladies.”

  “Painted ladies?”

  He laughed. “I forgot, you are sheltered. Have you ever heard of a whorehouse?”

  “Of course.”

  “Same thing.”

  “She was…a puta?” Aurelia shuddered when she said the word, recalling how Nuncio Quiroz had called her that.

  “No. She was an orphan. The madam who ran the house took her in, raised her proper, considering the surroundings.”

  “And Benjamin married her.”

  Carson nodded. “I had a wire from her not long before I left to come down here. She said Benjamin had turned up missing. I sent word to Kale—”

  “Another brother?”

  “The black sheep in the family,” he told her. “But there’s good in him. Someday maybe he’ll come across the right woman and she can bring it out.”

  “They sound fascinating.”

  “They aren’t high-toned.”

  “High-toned?”

  He glanced around. “Likely none of them has ever been inside a house this fancy.”

  “So?”

  He studied her nose. Close up like this it looked pug, but it wasn’t really. “So, our worlds are far, far apart.”

  Nuzzling her body close to his, she kissed him gently. “No, they aren’t. Can’t you feel anything?”

  He tightened his hold on her.

  She pulled back. “Will you cry over him?”

  He shrugged.

  “Sometimes it helps to cry.”

  He kissed the pert little nose she so often flaunted at the civilized world. “I’ll keep that in mind. Might come in handy one day soon.”

  His lips closed over hers then. He snugged her to him, running his hand the length of her, feeling his flesh burn at the touch of her.

  Would he cry? he wondered. When he left her, would he cry? Quite possibly it would be the saddest leave-taking in his life—as definite and as final as Benjamin’s death.

  He drew a determined breath. He would grieve over the two of them together—later. This was not the time for grieving. His hand found her breast. This was a time for loving. If her brother had his way, it would be the last time they ever spent together.

  She wriggled against him, anxious, overanxious. All morning she had schemed, trying to come up with the right time to meet him, the right place to love him. A time and a place where they would not be disturbed for as long as they wanted.

  That it had to be today, she knew. Since this morning, she had wanted nothing else, had thought of nothing else. What about him was so addictive? She had thought she wanted to hear him say he loved her.

  Then he had said it, and it hadn’t been enough.

  She knew she wanted him to make love to her.

  Surely one more time would satisfy this craving inside her.

  His hand skimmed her body, leaving in its wake fiery streaks, like lightning. His lips followed, igniting her pores like sparklers at a fiesta. Had it been dark inside the small room she was sure she would have radiated as much light as a star.

  But it wasn’t dark. It was light—light enough for her to see his glorious body. Unlike hers, his body was divided into sections, some obviously darkened by the sun, some lighter, almost white. She touched her lips to his brown neck, then bowed her head and touched them to his furry chest. Moving, she nipped at white flesh at the side of him.

  He flinched.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  He grinned. His fingers began their magical exploration inside her. “Does this hurt you?”

  “No.” She inhaled a quivering intake of air. “No, never.”

  “Never,” he whispered, covering her mouth, kissing, her deeply, passionately.

  She pulled him closer, wriggling herself beneath him.

  He laughed. “I’m glad to see you’re as ready as I am, angel. Your morning visit left me barely able to get through the day.”

  When he had positioned himself above her, he leaned on his elbows. “Remember what I told you? This won’t hurt like before.”

  She pulled his shoulders toward her. “I know.”

  “You know?” he mimicked. “If you knew all you think you do,” he spoke slowly, entering her with great tenderness, “we wouldn’t be in the fix we are in.”

  She hadn’t known. She told him that afterwards. After he had taken her to heights of glory, after they had soared with the eagles, after the stars had exploded in her head, she told him.

  “I never dreamed it could be so wonderful.”

  The lovemaking had spent him so that he could but drop to her chest. He rolled to his side, waiting for the room to stop spinning, waiting for his breath to return.

  Finally, he rose on an elbow and stared down into her awe-filled face.

  “It was that good, huh?”

  “You know it was.”

  “Hmm. I know something else, t
oo: You are a lady who loves to live on the edge, who loves a chase.”

  “A chase?”

  He hugged her to him, loving her for what she was, desperately wishing things could be different between them. “I keep asking myself why you are chasing me.”

  “What a dreadful thing to say. I’m not chasing you.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “No? Think about it. From that first kiss when you arranged to get close to me while I was shaving—”

  “I was keeping you from cutting your own throat.”

  “Hmm. And what humanitarian purpose did you have in mind when you lured me to your bed in the cave?”

  “Well…” She felt her face flush. How she wished she had never hurt his feelings like that. “I apologized.”

  He kissed her tenderly. “So you did. Is that why you proposed marriage to me at the ranch? To salve my bruised ego?”

  “Of course not,” she pouted.

  “Now, last night in the drawing room,” he continued, running down the list, “that could have been a simple case of flirting, the result of finding the target of your fancy fancied by another.”

  “I was not—”

  “But this morning disguised as a maid? And the message to meet you here hidden among our other messages? A girl chasing a feller, pure and simple.”

  Her eyes were wide.

  “Don’t think I’m not flattered. Fact is, I haven’t been chased with such determination in some time.”

  “In some time? Who else—?”

  He silenced her with a kiss, then continued. “What if the maid had gotten those messages mixed up? Or handed the whole batch to Santos?”

  “She wouldn’t have.”

  “No? I thought for a while you might be reacting to an overly protective brother, determined to prove to him that you could get your way.”

  “Carson, how could you think that?”

  “How could I not?” He kissed her flushed face. A residue of lovemaking lingered, but he suspected most of the redness now came from rising indignation. “I’ve changed my mind this afternoon, though,” he continued. “I think it’s the danger you love.”

  “Danger?”

  “You are noted for your schemes, angel. You take pride in them, and in your ability to stay one step ahead of everyone around you.”

  “You make me sound like a criminal.”

  He laughed. “We aren’t talking about the train robberies, only about the way you are attempting to rob me of my sanity.”

  She flinched.

  “Admit it,” he teased. “Part of the thrill this afternoon was seeing how close we could come to being discovered by Santos without actually getting caught. How long do you suppose it will take him to find us?”

  “He won’t, I enlisted Pia’s aid. She has taken him to the cathedral.”

  “The conference with Padre?…”

  She pressed her lips together, shaking her head slowly.

  “That message was a fake?”

  She nodded, unable to keep a pleased look from her face.

  “The padre didn’t ask them to meet him?”

  She shook her head.

  Carson began to scramble from the bed. “Then Santos should be returning about now.”

  “No, Pia will keep him in the garden. Don’t you think they want some time alone?”

  “Not when he discovers the trick. He isn’t about to give us time to—” He stopped suddenly, as his love for her washed over him, leaving his breath short, “—for ourselves,” he finished.

  “Santos won’t realize why Pia tricked him. He thinks Señora Velez is here to fit my gown.”

  “So he told me,” Carson agreed. He recalled the rest of Santos’s conversation—that he would not leave Carson alone for long…alone to mourn the death of his brother; and that he trusted him with his sister. Trust. Your word is good as gold.

  Carson reached for his clothes. “I don’t doubt your ability to hatch and carry out a scheme, angel. But I’m not ready to hang my chances of living on Santos Mazón’s ignorance, either. Or on your quest to live on the edge.”

  She pulled him back to her, holding their bodies close. “You make it sound childish. I thought you loved me. You couldn’t love me…like this…if I were a child.”

  He buried his face in her hair, felt her womanly curves soft and provocative against his flesh. Finally, when he was able to muster a more detached approach to the situation, he drew her back and studied her face.

  “Not only children seek danger, Aurelia. The Texas Ranger corps is full of men who thrive on the thrill of danger.”

  Her face brightened. “That’s what we have in common, isn’t it? We both love to live on the edge.”

  Before he could stop himself, he whispered, “We have nothing in common.”

  But she would not hear of it, launching into her plans for them in Guanajuato. “You will love the charriada. You’ll be good at it, too. You may even win. Do you know what the winners receive? The tradition began long ago in Spain with the knights. Even very poor knights came away from tournaments owning all sorts of things: valuable arms, saddles, armor, even horses. Every time they won an event, they got to choose their prize from among their opponent’s possessions.”

  He grinned, savoring her enthusiasm, loving her unrequited optimism. It would take her a long time to be hurt by any man. By that time, maybe she would be old and gray and happily married with a passel of children.

  He let her babble on about Guanajuato, not telling her that because her brother possessed an unusually level head, he would not be going to the fair with her. Let her plan; she did so enjoy scheming.

  And he did so enjoy her schemes.

  “I know what you should choose,” she continued as though he were already the winner. “Don Rodrigo Fraga will enter. He always does. The Fraga Stables raise the most sought-after Arabians in Mexico, and Rodrigo always brings a string of them to ride in various parades and events. That’s what you should choose. You can start a herd of purebred Arabians.”

  Finally, he snuggled her still-babbling face into the lee of his shoulder and held her firmly in place. He was a practical man by virtue of necessity. In his family even the women were practical, not given to dreaming. He had never known a dreamer before, and he didn’t know what to make of her.

  Except to love her. Even if nothing could come of that love, he would cherish her unbounded visions, for they had begun to nudge the firm edges of his own practicality, and he liked the sense of freedom that seeped into the cracks.

  Carson squinched his eyes closed, holding her tight. Perhaps that way he could etch every small detail of this moment into his mind forever. For he had no doubt that was the only place it would be allowed to remain true and alive past today.

  Returning to the mansion, Santos found Carson in the patio strumming a pensive tune on a guitar.

  “Been playing long?” Santos queried.

  Although his tone was casual, Carson saw fire smoldering behind the coal-black pupils of Santos’s eyes. “Nigh onto all my life,” he replied, strumming his thumb across the strings to produce a discordant chord.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Before he could answer, Aurelia swished into the patio.

  “Serenade me…” Her words trailed off at the startled expression on Carson’s face. Turning in the direction of his gaze, she saw Santos, a grim set to his mouth. “Oh, Papá Santos,” she quipped, sarcasm evident in both her tone and her pert curtsy.

  “I thought you were having your gown fitted,” Santos accused.

  “I was waiting for Pia…”

  Behind them a loud knock sounded at the front door of the mansion. Serphino shuffled to open it.

  “…and for Señora Velez, who seems to have just arrived.”

  Santos’s gaze traveled from Aurelia to Carson, then back to Aurelia. “What have you two been up to?”

  “Coming, señora,” Aurelia called into the foyer. “Packing,” she told Santos. “When do we leave for Guana
juato?”

  “In the morning.”

  Excitement welled inside her. She turned to Carson. “You’re going to love it.”

  “I won’t be going,” he answered, his attention riveted on the guitar he now plucked with great concentration.

  Her spirits plummeted. “What do you mean?”

  “He has work to do here,” Santos told her.

  Ignoring him, Aurelia crossed to Carson. When he didn’t look up, she grabbed the neck of the guitar, stilling the strings.

  He lifted his eyes to hers, silent.

  “You must come to Guanajuato.”

  He glanced down at the guitar, at her hand there. “Like Santos said, there is work to be done here. You know that.”

  She nodded, grim. “But the charriada?” Tears welled in her eyes. “What about the charriada?”

  He shrugged, staring at her hand.

  She turned to her brother, who stood his ground.

  “It’s only a month before the wedding, Relie,” Santos argued. “We have to get the mine difficulties settled so Jarrett can go home.”

  “Home?” She swung back to Carson, who still refused to meet her gaze.

  He plucked a few notes.

  “Relie,” her mother called from the foyer, “Pia and Zita have arrived. You mustn’t keep Señora Velez waiting.”

  Aurelia glared from one obstinate man to the other. She spoke to Carson in slow anguished tones. “If you don’t come to Guanajuato, how?…” Desperation grew inside her. She turned to Santos. “If he doesn’t come for the charriada—”

  “We’ll work it out later, Aurelia,” Carson interrupted. “Go get your fitting over. And remind Señora Velez that she is not to tell a soul that you are back in town.”

  By the time Aurelia arrived at the sewing room adjoining the ballroom, tears brimmed in her eyes. Furiously, she wiped them away, then dried her face on her skirt so no one would know.

  Pia and Zita waited with an impatient Señora Velez in the cubicle where Aurelia had removed the yellow lace earlier. The vision of undressing in this room under Carson’s heated gaze brought more tears to the verge of spilling. She blinked them back.

  But it didn’t take tears for Pia and Zita to realize something was wrong. The girls immediately launched into a coded explanation.