Ordinarily, Conor would be riding the finca, checking on the cattle and the horses and the coffee shrubs. Or perhaps he’d be in the library, frowning over the ledgers—but not today.
Arden smiled as she padded quietly down the hall. Today, he’d be waiting for her, waiting to tell her that he wanted her for the rest of his life, that he...
‘...ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous, Conor! How could you let this happen?’
The voice was coming from the library, snaking out the half-opened door like a cold draught. Arden stumbled to a halt, her smile gone. No, she thought unhappily, oh, no, please, don’t let it be Linda. Not yet. She wasn’t due until hours from now.
‘Who would believe such a thing, Conor? Surely, not your attorneys!’
Arden sank back against the wall. It was Linda, all right. There was no mistaking that husky voice, even though anger had honed it to a sharp edge.
‘You told me—assured me—that this codicil is not worth the paper it’s written on!’
Arden blew out her breath. Linda was talking about the will.
‘Linda.’ Conor spoke with quiet patience. ‘Listen to me.’
‘No,’ the girl said angrily. ‘Why should I? I listened and listened, and where did it lead me?’
‘Linda, mi amor, please. Calm down and try and understand.’
Mi amor. Arden swallowed drily. My love. That was what he called her, not Linda...
She gave herself a little shake. What nonsense! It was like any other term of endearment. You could call your sister your love, or your cousin—or your lover. The special meaning came from the way you said the words, not from the words themselves.
‘I tell you, I did listen,’ Linda said angrily. ‘I listened when you told me Felix would come to care for me in good time, but he never did. I listened when you said I would never have to worry—’
‘And you won’t,’ Conor said. ‘Have I ever let you down? Have I?’
Arden bit down on her lip. It was wrong to stand here and listen to this. Linda was upset about things that were private, family matters she didn’t yet understand.
But what should she do? Should she walk the few steps to the library door or clear her throat loudly, let Conor and Linda know she’d overheard them? Should she tiptoe back the way she’d come, go to her room and wait for Conor to come looking for her?
‘She has no right to El Corazon, Conor. None whatsoever! You know it as well as I do.’
Arden heard what had to be the sound of Condor’s expelled breath. ‘Of course I know it,’ he said.
Her hand flew to her mouth. She hadn’t been foolish enough to think that Conor would have suddenly decided he was happy that Felix had left the ranch to her, not even now that they’d fallen in love, but there’d been such anger in his words, such bitterness...
Linda’s heels tapped sharply against the floor and Arden shut her eyes, imagining the brunette stalking towards Conor.
‘Then do something about it.’
‘I can’t,’ Conor’s voice was flat and without expression.
‘What do you mean, you can’t? I knew better than to ever dream Felix would leave El Corazon to me, but surely—surely—we both expected he would leave it to you! Instead, he scribbles a meaningless note and leaves your rightful inheritance to this—this woman who you admit is little more than a tramp?’
Arden fell back against the wall, her knuckle caught between her teeth. No, she thought, no, this couldn’t be happening. Linda was upset, and Conor was trying to soothe her. Any second now, he’d tell his cousin to shut her mouth, to be careful what she said about the woman he loved.
‘You’re wrong,’ Conor said sharply, and Arden almost sobbed with relief.
‘I am not wrong! He was senile!’
‘Come on, Linda, we both know he was as sharp as a tack.’
‘Our attorneys will prove otherwise.’
‘Our attorneys will grow rich in the attempt.’ Conor’s footsteps stomped across the hardwood floor. ‘They’re the only ones who profit in cases such as this.’
Arden’s eyes widened. That was what Conor had said before, when he’d told her how he’d tricked Felix into giving up the cloud forest. It had seemed so clever then, his ability to get something from someone who didn’t want to give it.
No. No, that couldn’t be where this conversation was heading... An iron fist formed in her stomach.
‘I see,’ Linda said icily. ‘So, this woman forces herself into our lives, convinces Felix that she cares for him more than we do—’
‘She probably did,’ Conor said with a little laugh. ‘But then, she didn’t know him as well as we did.’
‘The point is, she stole El Corazon out from under your nose. Por Dios, Conor, what will become of me?’
Conor sighed. ‘I’ll take care of you, querida. I always have, and I always will.’
‘And this woman will walk off with the finca?’
‘Her name is Arden.’
‘Arden.’ Linda fairly spat the name. ‘A gringa name! It makes me ill even to say it!’
‘Perhaps. But you’d better get used to saying it.’
‘Why should I? You’ve just told me, you’re not going to fight her in court, as you should.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Conor paused. ‘I’m going to marry her, instead.’
‘Marry her? This—this fortune hunter? Conor, mi amor, have you lost your mind?’
Conor laughed. ‘On the contrary. I’ve only just found it.’
‘Please, tell me this is a bad joke! I know you want El Corazon, but surely not so badly that you would tie yourself to this—this scheming gringa!’
‘Linda.’ Conor’s voice was gentle. ‘Sit down and I’ll explain.’
‘You don’t have to explain. I’m not an idiot. You’ll marry her and gain the finca.’
‘That’s how it will work out, yes.’
‘No! No, I don’t believe you! You can’t want anything that much.’
‘But I do,’ Conor said, so softly that Arden could barely hear him. ‘I do, Linda. Believe me, you can’t imagine how much!’
Arden clamped her hand over her mouth and spun away from the wall. She could hear Conor’s voice droning on and on, but the words were unintelligible. Good, she thought with a choked sob, because she didn’t want to hear any more. God, she couldn’t hear any more, not if she wanted to stay strong enough to pack her things and get out of this house.
She flew up the stairs, her bare feet soundless against the carpeted steps, and raced down the hall to her room. Once inside, she shut the door after her, locked it, and sank back against it.
Tears filled her eyes, overflowed and spilled down her cheeks. She wanted to hurl herself on the bed, weep and weep until there was nothing left inside her heart but dust.
But there was no time for that. Not now.
She raised her arm, wiped her streaming eyes, then stopped and glared at her damp sleeve. This was Conor’s shirt, not hers—and these were his jeans she was wearing.
A shudder went through her. It was obscene, feeling his clothing against her skin. Quickly, she ripped the things from her body and kicked them into the corner. Naked, she pulled clothing blindly from the dresser, underwear and a shirt and cotton trousers...
And then she stopped. She would leave El Corazon as she had come to it, she thought, not sneaking out the door with her face tear-streaked and her hair hanging down her back, but with what little dignity she could manage. She yanked open the closet door, took a steadying breath, and reached for a hanger.
A short while later, dressed in a beige silk blouse, white linen suit, and matching pumps, Arden tossed the last of her clothing into her suitcase and snapped it closed. She stood erect, smoothed down her skirt with a trembling hand. All that remained now was to confront Conor, tell him she knew what he’d been up to, tell him...
Breath puffed from her lungs. Tell him what? she thought, and the anger that had protected her the last few minutes began to crumple. Te
ll him that she’d been as stupid as any of those silly girls she’d grown up with, that she’d let herself fall in love with a no-good aristocrat from the top of the Hill? Tell him she’d gone against all her beliefs, that she’d given him her heart and her soul, that she’d never feel whole or clean again?
No. No, she couldn’t let him see her this way, she’d fall apart if she had to face him, she’d—
‘Arden?’
Her heart leapt into her throat. Conor was just outside.
‘Arden?’ The knob rattled and her gaze flew to the door, as if she expected it to give way at any moment. ‘Arden, are you in there?’
She spun in a quick circle, staring around the room as if by some miracle an opening might suddenly appear in one of the walls.
‘Arden?’ Conor’s voice, and the rap of his fist, had grown more insistent. ‘Mi amor, are you all right?’
Mi amor, she thought, mi amor...
Head high, she strode across the room, undid the lock, and flung the door open. Conor gave her a smile, one that was so sincere it would have fooled anybody. Anybody but her, she thought, and a fist seemed to clamp around her heart.
‘There you are. I was worried, sweetheart. You weren’t in my room, and when I tried your door...’ He broke off, frowning. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’
You can do this, Arden told herself, you must do this.
She smiled politely. ‘Like what?’
‘I thought we’d spend the day riding into the hills. You wanted to see the coffee fields, and——’
‘Oh, that’s OK. I’ll see them, eventually, won’t I?’
Conor’s smile was puzzled. ‘Well, sure. I mean, if you’d rather ride another day... tomorrow, maybe, or——’
‘Not tomorrow,’ Arden said, forcing a little laugh. She turned and walked to the mirror, looked into it, and adjusted her collar. ‘I doubt if I’ll see those fields, or any other part of El Corazon, for several more months.’
Behind her, in the mirror, she could see Conor’s reflection, see his mouth thin. Her heart began to beat more rapidly as he walked slowly towards her.
‘Arden. What’s going on here?’
‘What do you mean?’
His hands fell on her shoulders and he swung her towards him. ‘Don’t play games,’ he said tightly. The muscle in his cheek clenched. ‘Tell me what this is all about.’
‘Hey,’ she said with a little smile, ‘ease up, will you? Don’t try and blame this on me! I kept saying I had to talk to you, but——’
‘And I agreed. We have a lot of talking to do.’ His hands tightened on her shoulders. ‘Serious talking. And now, I come up here and I find you dressed like this, with your suitcase on the bed—’
‘Well, it’s not my fault, Conor. If you’d just given me a chance yesterday, you’d understand.’
A tight smile twitched across his mouth. ‘I’m listening.’
Arden looked into his eyes. They weren’t green, not now. They were black as ebony, and cold in a way that terrified her.
And yet, what was there to be afraid of? Nothing Conor Martinez could do or say would ever hurt her half as much as what he’d already done. She wanted to tell him that, to lash out at him and hurt him, but it was hard to hurt somebody without a heart. You could only do it by pretending you didn’t have one, either.
‘Well?’ His fingers bit into her flesh.
Arden took a deep, deep breath. ‘I’m going.’
An eternity seemed to drag by before he answered. ‘Going? Going where?’
‘Come on, Conor, don’t let’s drag this out.’ She twisted away from him and walked to the bed, where her suitcase lay waiting. ‘This has been very pleasant, but—’
‘Pleasant?’ She closed her eyes, then blinked them open, as she heard him cross the room towards her. ‘Pleasant?’ he said again, his voice a snarl as he spun her to face him.
The rage flaming in his eyes was enough to make her tremble, but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t show any weakness, not now, not ever, not to this man. Arden reached deep inside herself and drew on the well of strength that had always seen her through.
‘I know you thought I’d stay here until the will was through probate,’ she said calmly. ‘Well, I did, too, for a while, but——’
‘To hell with the will!’
‘—but with the rainy season coming and all——’
‘Are you crazy? What does the rainy season have to do with us?’
‘Us?’ Arden widened her eyes. ‘Us? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You know what it means,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I’m in love with you, Arden, and you’re in love with me!’
‘Love!’ She laughed. ‘Oh, Conor, I’m flattered, but——’
She cried out as he grasped her arm and twisted it behind her. Fear put a metallic taste into her mouth; it made her heart bang against her ribs, but she forced herself to show none of it as she looked into his face.
‘Don’t,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve lost El Corazon, Conor. You wouldn’t want to face an assault charge, too.’
He gave her a look that was so filled with hate and loathing that she felt the coldness of it stab into her soul. His hand closed on her throat; she gave a little gasp as he tilted her head back and leaned towards her.
‘I was right about you all along,’ he said softly. ‘You’re a cold-blooded, grasping bitch!’
‘What’s the matter, Conor? Did you really think I’d let you seduce me into giving away what’s mine?’
‘Bitch,’ he whispered again, his fingers tightening on her throat.
‘It’s going to be hard to explain thumb prints on my neck to a judge, Senor Martinez.’
‘You got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?’ he growled.
Arden felt the sharp bite of tears behind her eyes.
‘I told you,’ she said, ‘women like me get exactly what they deserve.’
There was a long silence, and then Conor’s lips curled back from his teeth in a smile she knew she would never forget.
‘Remember what I told you about the legal juggernaut?’ He stepped closer to her, drew her towards him, until his mouth was a whisper from hers. ‘Take my advice, sweetheart. Look for someplace to hide, because you’re about to get rolled over.’ His hand fell from her throat and he strode to the door. ‘I’d ask Pablo to drive you to the airport, but you’re liable to corrupt him. Take the Bronco and leave it there. I’ll have it picked up and disinfected after you’re gone.’
The door opened, then slammed shut, and Arden was alone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ARDEN eased her keys from her pocket, unlocked the door to her Manhattan apartment, and edged it open with her hip. She stepped inside, bumped the door shut, and dropped the dresses she’d picked up at the dry cleaners on a chair. Then she made her way to the kitchen, dumped her bag and the grocery sack on the countertop, and flicked on the overhead fluorescent light.
Light bathed the little room, chasing away the unexpected gloom of the midsummer evening, but then this hadn’t been anything like a usual summer so far, Arden thought as she took a quart of milk, a small loaf of bread and two oranges from the bag. She’d returned from Costa Rica almost five months ago to what should have been a gentle New York spring. Instead, a chill April had given way to a wet May, which had been followed by record-breaking heat in June. Now, with August hard on the heels of an even hotter July, the skies had all but ripped open, sending down torrents of rain that had eventually thinned to an on again, off again drizzle.
City dwellers had been grateful at first.
‘It’s cooling things off, thank heavens,’ Irene, the secretary in the office down the hall at work had said when the rain began.
But as umbrella sales soared, spirits began to sag.
‘Awful stuff, this weather,’ Irene had said glumly this morning at coffee-break time. ‘But just imagine if you’d stayed in Costa Rica! It’s the rainy season there, isn’t it? You’d have
shrivelled up like a prune by now!’
Arden had laughed politely and said yes, she probably would have, and then she’d discreetly steered the conversation elsewhere, just as she’d done every time someone mentioned Costa Rica since she’d returned home. The amazing thing was that no one had so much as suggested she’d been trying to avoid the topic. People had their own agendas, even the most astute. So long as you nodded in the right places and offered an occasional ‘yes’ our ’uh huh’ to the conversation, you really didn’t have to say much of anything. The personnel director who’d hired her for this new job had said, Oh, Costa Rica, wasn’t that exciting? And then she’d launched into a five-minute description of the two weeks she’d spent in Venezuela, years before, at the end of which she’d smiled, extended her hand, and said Arden was hired.
Even Arden’s mother hadn’t asked many questions.
‘You’re back sooner than you thought you’d be, aren’t you?’ Evelyn had said, and Arden—who’d had her mail forwarded to El Corazon from San José but had never told her mother the ugly story of how she’d lost one job and taken on another—had shrugged and mumbled something about the job being finished quicker than anticipated.
‘And how was Costa Rica?’ Evelyn had asked, and before Arden could offer more than a cautious, ‘OK,’ her mother had asked if she’d had the chance to see any of the beautiful mansions she’d heard existed in some parts of Central America. Arden had hesitated, then said yes, she had, and she’d described El Corazon to an enthralled Evelyn until the older woman had interrupted.
‘How magnificent,’ she’d sighed. ‘But who owns it?’
Arden had stared at her mother. I do, she’d thought with a sudden start—but before she could answer, an unbidden image of Conor had risen up before her as clearly as if he were in the room with them, Conor, tall and handsome and dangerously masculine. To her horror, her throat had constricted and she’d dragged a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to her mouth.
‘Sorry,’ she’d said, clearing her throat briskly. ‘I must have picked up a bug.’
Evelyn had tut-tutted in sympathy. ‘Who knows what’s floating around in the jungle?’ she’d said, and Arden had skilfully led the discussion elsewhere, before her mother could bring it back to dangerous waters.
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