He smiled at her. ‘You were fighting for your country, just as he was. I’d say what you did was brave and honourable. If you were my sister, I’d be proud of you.’
His praise, so unexpected and so very rare, made her flush with pleasure. ‘Thank you.’
‘I meant it.’ He caught her hand, bringing them both to a halt. ‘Señorita, I have been remiss. Your father, I take it he passed away? Please accept my condolences. You gave me the impression that you were very fond of him.’
‘Yes. We were very close.’ A lump rose in her throat. Papa had always preferred his daughter to his son, yet it was to Xavier that all of the condolences had been given when Papa died, just as it had been Xavier who had received all the gratitude and admiration for fighting for his country. ‘It happened just after the end of the war. At least Papa lived to see peace return to his beloved Spain.’
‘And now you have had peace for two years. Is it what you imagined or hoped? Does the world turn in a different direction?’
‘I think it was you who expressed that hope, actually.’ Isabella shrugged, pulling her hands free before turning away. ‘As far as my brother is concerned, the world turns in exactly the same manner as it did before the war. He has a very modern approach to wine, but in every other respect Xavier, like our king, prefers the old ways.’
Despite herself, she had been unable to keep the edge of bitterness out of her voice and the Scotsman noticed. ‘I take it that you do not share your brother’s views?’
‘Mr Urquhart, I am a woman, and in the eyes of the law I am my brother’s property now that I am no longer my father’s, and will remain so until I am my husband’s.’
‘You have changed a great deal in two years, if what you’re telling me is that you don’t have any views at all.’
The temptation to contradict him almost overwhelmed her, but the dangers of doing so restrained her. Isabella forced a brittle smile. ‘We have both changed a great deal, I think. Neither of us are soldiers now. You are a businessman. I am a lady. I would therefore very much appreciate it if you kept what you know of my past to yourself. To expose me would cause my brother a great deal of embarrassment.’
‘I’d say embarrassment was putting it mildly.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If it was discovered that your brother was nourishing a liberal viper in his midst...’
‘I am not a viper!’
His sea-blue eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘I note you do not deny being a liberal.’
Too late yet again, she realised she had betrayed herself. ‘Mr Urquhart, you are here to do business with my brother. Lucrative business for you, I believe, for there is substance to his boasts. You will not find a better Rioja than ours. Surely you cannot be thinking of putting such a deal in jeopardy? Please,’ she urged when he made no reply, swallowing the last remnants of her pride, ‘whatever you think of me, whatever you know of my past, you understand that it can only hurt Xavier.’
He frowned, pushing his hair back from his brow, though it was cut considerably shorter than before, and there was no need. ‘Very well, Señorita Romero, you have my word that I will keep quiet about your patriotic past. After all, we Scots have a well-earned reputation for being canny and shrewd businessmen with an eye for a profit,’ he concluded wryly.
‘Thank you. I— Thank you.’ Her relief was apparent in her voice, but so it should be. ‘It is better, I think, for the past to remain in the past now the war is over.’ They were Xavier’s words, and often uttered. Isabella rolled her eyes metaphorically as she spoke them.
The Scotsman, however, looked—sad? ‘You think so?’ he asked. ‘You really want to forget it happened?’ He leaned back against the trunk of a tree, head back, looking up at the pale expanse of sky visible through the foliage. ‘All that sacrifice, all those lives lost. Now that Boney is stuck on an island in the middle of the Atlantic, at least we are done with wars for a while.’
‘And there is no more requirement for soldiers to fight them,’ Isabella said softly, as understanding dawned. And empathy.
‘No, there’s not.’ He stood up, rolling his shoulders. ‘So now I buy and sell wine, and you sit at home embroidering or knitting or whatever it is fine Spanish ladies do.’
She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Oh, if you want an example of the perfect Spanish lady, you must look to my sister-in-law. Consuela can set a perfect stitch, sing a perfect song, bear a perfect child, and all the while smiling a perfect smile. She is a bloodless creature.’
‘I think she is simply very young and very shy and very overwhelmed by all this,’ Finlay said, nodding back at the house. ‘She misses her sisters.’
‘She told you all that while you were dancing? It is more than she has ever seen fit to tell me.’ Isabella shook her head incredulously. ‘You must have misunderstood. Her family would be welcome to visit any time. She only has to issue an invitation.’ She waited for him to answer her implied question, but he said nothing. ‘What is it, what did she say to you?’
‘I never break a confidence. You’ll have to ask her yourself.’
‘A confidence! You only met her last night, and she is confiding in you.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.’
The Scotsman touched her cheek. Isabella jerked away. ‘Why should I be offended? Consuela is very beautiful, and you are very charming, and if she chose to speak to you of matters that—well, that is none of my business.’
‘She is indeed beautiful, but in the manner of a painting, you know. You can admire her, and you are happy to look at her, but as to anything else...’
‘But that is exactly what I was thinking about Gabriel only last night.’
‘The Adonis who looked down his nose at me? What is he to you?’
It was none of his business, but it was so refreshing to talk to a man who actually spoke what was on his mind and expected her to return the favour. ‘He is my brother’s best friend. They were in the army together. My brother hopes to make a match between us. It would be a very good match for me.’
‘But it would also be—what was your phrase—bloodless.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean you don’t find the idea of kissing him appealing. You see, that’s the difference between you and your brother’s wife. While I’m more than happy to look at her, I don’t feel the slightest inclination to kiss her.’
Isabella’s mouth went dry, and her pulses fluttered. The Scotsman’s fingers circled her wrist loosely. She could easily free herself. His other hand rested on her shoulder. She seemed to be standing very close to him. ‘I am very glad,’ she said, ‘because I think Xavier’s hospitality has limits.’
He laughed softly. ‘You know that I would very much like to kiss you, don’t you?’
‘I think you wanted to, two years ago.’
‘It’s something I’ve often regretted, that I did not.’
Her heart was pounding wildly. She was playing with fire, but she was enjoying it far too much to stop. She was so rarely afforded the freedom to be herself. It was exhilarating. ‘It is something I, too, have regretted, that you did not,’ Isabella said daringly.
She had surprised him. She could see from the way his eyes darkened that she had also aroused him, and that knowledge heightened her own awareness of him. ‘There is nothing worse than regret,’ he said.
‘Nothing,’ she agreed.
He made no move for a long moment, and despite the longing twisting inside her, she had reached the limits of her boldness. If he did not kiss her now, he never would. If he did not kiss her now, she would always wonder. If he did not kiss her...
He kissed her. His lips touched hers with the softness of a whisper. She closed her eyes and stepped forward into his embrace. A hand slid around her waist, another cupped her cheek. His kiss
was so gentle, she hardly dared move lest he break it. His mouth was warm on hers. It felt odd, different, in the nicest way possible. She angled her head. She slid her arm around him. He gave a tiny sigh and pulled her closer and kissed her again. Not so gently, but still carefully.
She had never been kissed like this before. She let him coax her mouth open. It didn’t cross her mind that her ignorance would betray her or make her seem foolish; she thought only that she wanted to kiss him back, and so she did. His fingers curled into her hair. Her fingers curled into his coat. She could feel the hardness of his body against hers. He was so much bigger than her, but it didn’t make her feel weak. He felt so warm; she felt so secure against the solid bulk of him. He was making her feel very hot. His tongue touched hers, and she leaped back in astonishment.
He cursed. At least it sounded like a curse, though the language was foreign to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, raking his hand through his hair again. ‘I didn’t realise...’
Isabella flushed with mortification. He would think her a child. ‘Please,’ she said, turning away, ‘let us forget about it.’
Any other man would be happy to do exactly what she asked, to spare himself the embarrassment of an apology if nothing else. This man, she ought to have remembered, was not like any other man. He caught her arm, pulling her back to face him. ‘I am truly sorry. I went too far, and mistook your experience.’
Isabella was too proud to look at the ground, and she could not bear pity. ‘No, you mistook my enjoyment,’ she said, giving him a haughty look. ‘I think it is not always true that good things come to those who wait.’
For a split second, he looked as if she had slapped him and then, to her astonishment, he burst out laughing. ‘That’s me told, then. I must be more out of practice than I realised.’
‘I do not think a man like you lacks women to—to practise on.’
‘Now that, señorita, was quite uncalled for. I remember quite clearly that one of the things I told you that night was that I’m not the kind of man who has a taste for kissing any and every available woman. Not that it’s any of your business, but in the two years since last we met, there has been only one woman in my life, and that fleeting affaire ended in Brussels nearly four months ago.’
There was not a trace of humour in his voice now. He released her, taking several paces back. The look he gave her would be quite intimidating if she was the kind of woman to allow herself to be intimidated. The kind of woman she pretended to be. But Isabella was beyond playing such a part for now. ‘Your women—or your lack of women—are none of my business,’ she said, anxious more than anything to close the subject.
But the Scotsman seemed determined to prolong it. ‘No, they are not, save that I wouldn’t have kissed you if there had been any woman in my life, and I would sure as hell have stopped kissing you if you’d given me the least bit of an idea that you didn’t want me to. I told you—another thing I remember telling you very clearly—that I never, ever force myself on a woman.’
He was angry, though he was trying very hard not to show it. She had to acknowledge that he had a right. ‘I’m sorry.’ Isabella closed her eyes. ‘You were right. I have not... I lack—I lack the experience you attributed to me. I’m sorry. It was my fault, not yours.’
* * *
She was blushing. It had cost her dear, that admission, and she shouldn’t have been forced to make it. His anger dissipated like melting snow. Finlay touched her cheek gently. Her eyes fluttered open. ‘No, you are too generous. It was my fault. I got carried away, and forgot that you are not the woman I spent the night with two years ago, but a lady whose innocence I quite forgot to take account of. Will you forgive me?’
‘There is nothing to forgive.’
‘I took advantage. Your brother...’
Her big almond-shaped eyes flashed at him. ‘Do not bring Xavier into this. Who I choose to kiss or not to kiss has nothing to do with my brother.’
Finlay was pretty sure that Xavier held a very different opinion on the subject. And he was, on reflection, pretty certain that an innocent like Isabella should not be choosing to kiss any man until she was betrothed. That she was an innocent, after that kiss there could be no doubt, but he was struggling to reconcile the lady who claimed to be feart of offending her brother with the one who crept about behind enemy lines brandishing a gun.
They came to the end of the cypress walk. ‘I will leave you here,’ Isabella said. ‘I hope that we have an understanding between us now?’
‘I believe we do,’ Finlay said with a smile he hoped was reassuring. He believed quite the contrary, but what to do about it, he needed to consider. He watched her go, standing in the shadow of one of the tall trees. She walked with the long, graceful stride he remembered until she came within sight of the house, when she stopped abruptly, looking up at one of the windows. When she resumed, her walk had that slow, floating grace that made her look as if she was gliding. He could tell from the line of her neck that her gaze was demurely lowered.
Was she playing the part of a lady for whoever was watching, or had she played the part of the feisty partisan to keep Finlay sweet—and quiet? Had she kissed him for the same reason? Had he initiated the kiss or she? He could remember only that he had wanted to kiss her more than he’d wanted to kiss any woman for quite some time. Had she pretended to enjoy it as much as he had?
He cursed in Gaelic under his breath. ‘Kisses are not the point here,’ he told himself. ‘Forget the kisses and concentrate on what you came here for. You need to get her to give you the information you need, or decide she’s not going to, in which case you will need to rethink your strategy.’
Consulting his pocket watch, he cursed again. Señor Romero would be waiting to take him on the promised tour of the vineyards, a prospect Finlay was far from relishing, not least for fear of betraying his own ignorance. It was such a waste of time, too, and he had no idea how much time he had if he was to beat the Spanish to El Fantasma. It would be much more constructive to spend the time with Isabella. Much more constructive, and considerably more appealing, Finlay thought, shuddering as he anticipated long hours of Xavier’s obsequious condescension. He had to find a way of swapping the brother for the sister after today. It would be a challenge, but Finlay relished a challenge.
* * *
Isabella sat in the shade of a tree while her horse drank from a small stream. Taking advantage of the fact that Xavier was too engrossed in showing the Scotsman around the estate to wonder what his sister was doing, she had ridden out without an escort. She was hot and tired, but the tension she had hoped to work off was, if anything, aggravated.
She had to clear her head. She had to try to think straight. Take a step back. Gain perspective. Something. Isabella got to her feet and pulled off the long boots and stockings she wore under her riding habit. Picking up her skirts, she scrabbled down the banks into the stream, gasping as the icy water that tumbled down from the mountains caressed her skin.
It was painful and exhilarating at the same time. It struck her as pathetic that she was reduced to obtaining pleasure from paddling in a mountain stream. When Finlay Urquhart had kissed her this morning, it had been just like this, only more. Who would have thought that a man’s lips could have such an effect? She had felt wild, locked in his embrace. She had felt strangely free.
But what a stupid mess she had made of it afterwards. Isabella waded over to a large boulder in the middle of the burbling water and sat down, tilting her face up to the sun. Gabriel had never attempted to kiss her. Was it because it would be improper until they were betrothed, or because he did not want to? She tried to imagine kissing Gabriel, but instead of his dark good looks, she could picture only the Scotsman’s fascinating blue eyes, his wicked smile, the glint of his auburn hair. There was a recklessness about him that had appealed to her that night they had spent together two years ago. It still
appealed.
Xavier would be utterly furious if he knew that his sister had been kissing a mere wine merchant. Isabella laughed, but her smile faded almost immediately. She had behaved shockingly. She had spoken much too freely. But, oh, it had been so good to do so. For long moments, she had been herself with the Scotsman. It had been a relief not to pretend that the Isabella he’d met before had never existed. It had felt so good. She longed to be that woman again, just for a little while. She would like to spend more time in his company, to cross conversational swords with him. He spoke to her as if she had a mind of her own. It made her realise, sadly, that almost no other man of her acquaintance did, save those she knew from the war, and they were now in a minority of one.
Had she been rash? He had given her his word not to betray her. He had given her his word once before, and kept it. Major Finlay Urquhart had been an honourable man. Was there such a thing as an honourable wine merchant? The incongruity of his choice of profession struck her anew. He was a man of action. A man who had taken on the task of surveillance himself when he could surely have sent one of his men. Just as she had. A man who liked to make his own decisions. Just as she did. Not a man who would relish haggling over the price of a hogshead of wine, caught in the middle between supplier and buyer, she would have thought. The man she had met that fateful night and the man he appeared to be now seemed almost incompatible. There was something about Mr Finlay Urquhart, wine merchant to the gentry, that did not quite ring true.
Sliding down from the boulder, Isabella picked her way over the slippery stones back to the shore, pulling her stockings and boots on over her numbed feet. She ought not to be wasting time thinking about a man who would be walking out of her life for good in a few days. She ought to be considering her own future.
Could she really contemplate becoming Señora Gabriel Torres? She tried to imagine spending her days engaged in domestic pursuits. It was not the housekeeping or the children that she rebelled against; it was not even surrendering herself to the care of a man, for in the eyes of the law, she was Xavier’s property until he gave her up. What appalled her the most was the surrender of her mind. She would not be expected to think beyond what to put on the table for dinner. Her opinions would not be consulted. She would not be permitted to discuss politics or business. What was it the Scotsman had said this morning? Embroidery and knitting. Isabella had always taken perverse pride in being very bad at both. She was not about to learn now.
The Soldier's Rebel Lover Page 6
