Sweet Savage Love

by Rosemary Rogers

  “El patrón!” Before Rosa could utter the words in a trembling, awestruck voice, Ginny had known who he was. Steve’s grandfather. There was some resemblance; perhaps in the way his eyes had raked over her without seeming to.

  Unconsciously, Ginny had straightened her shoulders, her chin lifted in an almost childish gesture of stubbornness and pride.

  “I am sorry, Don Francisco, that there was no one outside to welcome you. Rosa was busy, attending to my toilette, and I’d hardly expected visitors.”

  “I’m sorry I had no time to give you formal warning of my visit, Miss Brandon. Unfortunately I had no idea, earlier, that I would be paying this call. Will you not sit down? I think we ought to talk privately.” His eagle eyes flicked to Rosa. “You can go, woman. I’ve no intention of harming your mistress.”

  Politely, Don Francisco handed Ginny to a chair, his manners as courtly as Renaldo’s. She was dumbstruck, feeling more than ever like a puppet, or a pawn in a chess game. What did he want of her? What was he going to say? Surprisingly, she was not afraid—she had come too far for that. But she was determined not to speak a single word until he spoke first.

  There was always a decanter of wine left on the low table here, and Don Francisco walked over to it, pouring out two glasses of wine as casually as if he had been in his own house.

  “You’ll drink a glass of wine with an old man, mademoiselle?” Again Ginny was amazed that he knew so much about her, even the fact that she had been brought up as a Frenchwoman.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, watching his face as he handed a glass to her, and then raised his own to sniff the bouquet.

  “An excellent wine. My grandson has good taste in a few things at least, I’m glad to find. A pity that in so many other ways he is little better than a savage.”

  Ginny could not prevent herself from reddening. She took a sip of wine, to cover her sudden sense of embarrassment under his long, open scrutiny. Did he expect her to make some response to his gently barbed comment? No, he had come here on purpose to see her, let him instigate the conversation.

  Don Francisco twirled the stem of the glass between his fingers, taking his time while he considered what he would say. She was a surprise, this Miss Ginny Brandon. A pleasant one, fortunately. Well, he could usually depend on Renaldo to speak the truth, but he preferred to form his own impressions, trusting no one.

  In this case, however, his intuition had already told him that Renaldo was right. From the first moment he had set eyes on her, had seen her deep green eyes widen with shock, noticed the way in which she had so valiantly composed herself soon after, he had known this was no ordinary woman that his wild young grandson had seen fit to bring here. So it had been kidnap, had it? By God, Don Francisco thought with sudden rage, the young whelp has reverted to the dark ages! So he’d abducted a lady and treated her like a whore. But why? Could he, of all men, always so casual about his conquests, have actually fallen in love with this young woman?

  She was, of course, fully aware of his long, brooding gaze. Cleverly, she had apparently decided to remain silent, allowing him to take the initiative. To his own surprise, Don Francisco found himself rather looking forward to the battle of wits which must follow. For this woman was no whimpering ninny, he had seen that already. And according to his besotted nephew, she was possessed of an unusual degree of intelligence and charm as well.

  Don Francisco permitted himself to smile slightly at the green-eyed mademoiselle. Her long-lashed eyes gazed steadily back at him, but he’d noticed how tightly her hands were clasped together on her lap. He liked women with spirit. Clearly, Esteban had not been able to tame her yet—he could almost chuckle inwardly, now he had met her, when he recalled what Renaldo had told him of the knife wound she had given his rash cousin.

  “Well, mademoiselle,” he said aloud, his voice softly persuasive, “don’t you think it’s time I learned your whole story from your own lips? You will have to excuse my directness—I’m an old man, and past the age when I enjoyed preliminary sparrings. I should tell you that I’ve heard a long and rather incoherent tale from Ana, and I’ve talked to my nephew Renaldo, who seems to think a great deal of you. Will you tell me if it’s true?”

  “But which story are you referring to, Don Francisco? I’m quite positive that Ana took a violent dislike to me, and I’m ashamed to say I lost my temper—but Renaldo, I think, is my friend. I didn’t know that Steve had—poor Renaldo, he must feel terribly guilty!”

  “Mademoiselle—I hope you’ll not disappoint me by playing with words.” The sudden sharpness in Don Francisco’s voice made Ginny’s eyes flash. Her look held defiance.

  “Words, sir? You must forgive me. If I hesitate and beat around the bush it’s merely because I’m rather confused, and embarrassed as well. After all, the reason for my being here is so—so sordid, and yet so simple! Your grandson, the man I knew as Steve Morgan, brought me here. I’m his—his…” She had been going to say quite straightforwardly that she was his mistress, and see what conclusions the old man drew, but somehow the words stuck in her throat, she bit her lip, and her eyes dropped in spite of herself.

  Ginny sensed rather than saw Don Francisco’s hand move impatiently.

  “Miss Brandon! Again, I apologize. Naturally, this whole subject is distasteful to you. But I can assure you that if you choose to trust me with your confidence you’ll find that all the men of my family are not completely devoid of honor!”

  There was a repressed note of anger in his voice that made her lift her head and stare at him wonderingly.

  “But what can you do? It’s too late, even I can see that now. Steve kidnapped me—oh, at first he said that I was to be a hostage—just to insure that his friends got away safely with the money they stole—but afterwards—oh, no, I don’t think I can bear to talk about it! Please—think anything you want to, I don’t care! All I want is to get away, to go far away where he can never find me, where I’ll be able to forget everything, everything!”

  When Don Francisco frowned, his bushy white brows came together, and he looked like a thundercloud. But in this instance his frowns were not directed at Ginny—rather, at his own thoughts.

  “What! You say my grandson stole as well? And that he’s treated you badly? Miss Brandon, come, live up to my first expectations of you, when I saw you standing there, your eyes flashing at me so dangerously. I must know everything, and not from any motive of ghoulish curiosity, as you’ll learn when you come to know me better. I am the head of my family, mademoiselle, and honor, to me, is not an empty word. It is a way of life, it is my life! What touches any member of my family affects me—perhaps I’m old-fashioned—but there are some things I will not tolerate! You must tell me everything, I insist upon it!”

  His fingers closed compellingly over her wrist; looking down Ginny saw the veined hand of an old man, but the fingers were as strong as steel—as imperious as Steve’s had ever been. Suddenly, Ginny was beginning to realize the strength in this man, the power in his eyes that now fixed on hers so unwaveringly. She understood now why everyone she had spoken to here held him in such awe—no, not just that, but were actually afraid of him!

  She felt mesmerized. In a toneless voice, stumbling over her words, she began to speak at last, sparing nothing, not even herself, and that part of the blame which attached to her for her own weakness, her first blind, virginal passion for the man she had begun to hate and despise so completely.

  It was over at last—she had told him everything, her throat was so dry that she felt she could not utter one more word. She drooped in her chair, keeping her eyes turned away from Don Francisco’s, and gulped thirstily at the fresh glass of wine he proffered her as if it had been nothing but water.

  Now what would he do? Perhaps he’d have her killed, or gotten out of the way by some other method, to hide the stain on his family’s honor! She could put nothing past him, he was Steve’s grandfather, after all, and his harsh demands for her to talk, to go on speaking even
when her voice trembled and her eyes had filled with tears, had been just as inexorable in their way as Steve’s had been. Don Francisco was like a king here, among his people, the law could not touch him, no one could! And after all, who else knew that she was here? What could she possibly matter to him in comparison to his daughter’s own child, his heir?

  Why doesn’t he say something? Ginny wondered wildly, why doesn’t he do something to end this strain once and for all? After all, it doesn’t matter to me any longer, one way or the other, I’m so tired, so mentally exhausted I just don’t care!

  “So—it’s worse, even, than I had thought. He’s gone too far this time, and I cannot permit his folly and recklessness to go further.” Don Francisco spoke quietly enough, almost as if he spoke to himself, but some steely quality had been added to his voice that made Ginny tremble. What did he mean? Before she could ask him, he continued, still in the same low, rather harsh voice—the voice of a man who had brooked no opposition all his life, and was used to getting his own way. “I don’t know what kind of stupid, irresponsible schemes Esteban has become mixed up in, but I’ll find out when he gets back. You see, Miss Brandon, I hardly know my grandson! Ever since my daughter Luisa brought him back here as a child, I’ve tried to make a gentleman of him—even as a child he resisted me! I disciplined him, I’ve whipped his back until I drew blood, and yet, over and over again, he defied me. Then, when he was older, he began to run away. He’d be found, and brought back, but then he’d run away again. Finally I decided that like the wild falcons he needed room in which to try his wings—he needed life to teach him the lessons that I could not. And now I see what’s happened. He has learned nothing, except to please himself—to take whatever he wants without a thought to the consequences. Well, by God—this time he shall have some consequences to face! He’ll fulfill his obligations as a gentleman and my grandson, or I will kill him myself, before the law of your country, or your father does so!”

  Don Francisco’s voice had become stronger, he slammed the riding whip he carried against the side of the chair, and Ginny put her hand against her mouth to stop herself from gasping out loud as his meaning suddenly forced itself into her muddled brain.

  He turned towards her suddenly, his eyes sweeping over her keenly before he caught her cold hands in his dry, warm clasp.

  “You’re very beautiful, my dear child. And you’re strong and spirited—I like that. Well, I cannot undo what has already been done, nor can I offer you sufficient reparation for the wrongs you have suffered, but I can offer you a solution that would spare you any further anguish or humiliation. My grandson will marry you, as soon as he returns.”

  For a long, stunned moment Ginny stared at him like a wild creature, unable to believe that she had heard right. Then, with a cry, she tried to withdraw her hands from his grasp, but he held them fast.

  “No! You don’t know what you are saying! Steve would not—he would never—oh, but you don’t know him! He’d never submit to a forced marriage, this is the nineteenth century after all, and besides—besides I hate him!” she ended on a curiously childish note.

  “Listen to me, Virginia!” The stern note in Don Francisco’s voice made Ginny stare at him with her lips parted, still ready to burst forth with fresh denials. “You must set aside your quite natural reaction and try to realize that the solution I’ve offered you is the only possible one, for your own sake. It is to save your reputation that I suggest it. Too many people know that Esteban ran off with you, but if you were to return to your family later, as his wife, don’t you see how different their reactions would be? An elopement—there’d be some whispering, no doubt, but you and your family could still hold your heads up. Soon, people will be saying how romantic it all was. You see, my child, I know human nature. You’d be a respectable married woman—and a rich one, I might add. I will make a marriage settlement upon you that will be more than considerable, and if you chose to return to America later, or even to France, you would be independent. Do you understand?”

  “No,” she said weakly again. “No, it’s quite impossible! You must see that! Even if I agreed, Steve would never do so—he’s not the kind of man who can be forced into doing anything he does not want to do. And he’d make me suffer.”

  “Esteban will do whatever I tell him to do in this instance! You’re forgetting, my dear, that this is Mexico, and not the United States. He understands our customs, even though he’s always rebelled against them. He’ll do it—because I’ll allow him no other alternative. And I’ll see to it that he treats you with the respect and consideration that is your due as his wife. No—this time Esteban will not escape his responsibilities as easily as he’s done in the past.”

  Ginny continued to stare at this strange, almost frighteningly domineering man; still feeling as if she were dreaming.

  “But if he refuses?”

  “If he refuses, he is no longer my grandson, and will take the consequences. Do you realize, young woman, that I’ve had men on my hacienda shot for much less? I think Esteban understands this much about me—when I explain matters to him he’ll have no difficulty in comprehending that the only other alternative I’ll give him is a felon’s death!”

  The inexorable note in Don Francisco’s voice struck through Ginny’s mounting feeling of unreality, and she felt the blood drain from her face. He meant it then, he meant every word that he’d been saying!

  “I’ve dreamed of being revenged, of making him suffer. Yes, I’ve even longed for his death, and I’ve almost brought it about. But this—no, this is too much! I’ve seen enough violence, I won’t be the cause of more.”

  “Then you’ll marry him. Leave Esteban to me, he’ll not hurt you again, for I’ll see to it. He’ll give me his word, and for all his irresponsible ways, I’ve never known him to break it, once given. If you’ve wanted revenge, child, this is your chance. You’ll be his wife, and no matter what happens later, you’ll bear his name, legally. He owes you that much, and more!”

  “I don’t know what to say!”

  “You have agreed, have you not? Well, then—you must come with me now. I’ll give you your own suite of rooms at the hacienda, and a duenna. No need to worry about gossip here—once I make the announcement that you are to be my granddaughter-in-law, you’ll soon see that there’ll be no more unpleasant talk. No arguments—you look exhausted. Rosa will pack for you.”

  Arrogant, not even listening to her feeble protests, Don Francisco swept all before him, and by nightfall, Ginny found herself installed at the grande hacienda—an especially honored guest of el patrón himself.

  28

  The full extent of Don Francisco Alvarado’s wealth and power was revealed to Ginny during the days that followed her surprising and unexpected removal from the little house to what was known as the casa grande. From her first glimpse of the high stone walls surrounding parklike grounds; the tree-shaded avenue that seemed to stretch forever until one burst suddenly upon a scene that would have rivalled a storybook illustration of a medieval mansion; Ginny felt herself under a kind of spell.

  One moment she had been living in seclusion, feeling herself under a cloud, and the next, she was the future grand daughter-in-law of el patrón—nothing was too good for her. Feeling herself taken in hand, and during those first few days, feeling more than a little bewildered at the speed with which things were taking place, Ginny felt herself swept along helplessly with the tide of events.

  She was given the large apartments that had once belonged to Dona Luisa, Steve’s mother. They were completely self-contained, but opened onto the same patio as the big house. Ginny found herself wandering through the rooms in a daze that first night—admiring the beautiful Spanish furniture and the expensive rugs. She had already been introduced to Señora Armijo, known to the family as Tia Alfonsa. Señora Armijo was to act as her unofficial duenna—the thought made Ginny feel like laughing hysterically. She was also to have two personal maids of her own—giggling brown-skinned girls who were o
bviously more than a little in awe of her. “I’m going to wake up tomorrow and find I’ve been dreaming all this,” Ginny kept telling herself. But the next day only brought more surprises.

  Her measurements were taken, and she was led by Señora Armijo through a massive storeroom where bolts of cloth and materials of all colors and varieties were kept. Fashion journals—some of them from as far away as London and Paris—were brought out and pored over, with even the rather austere Don Francisco himself giving his opinion as to the new clothes Ginny would be needing.

  “We may be rather remote from what is considered civilization here,” he said dryly, “but the women of my family have always dressed in the height of fashion. And, my dear Genia, you’ll find that you’ll have innumerable parties and fiestas to attend.”

  Everyone called her Genia, the name sounding quite Spanish the way they pronounced it. The little maids giggled when they discussed her forthcoming wedding and the beautiful clothes that were being made for her. Even Tia Alfonsa unbent far enough to comment favorably on how well the emeralds Don Francisco had given her suited her hair and complexion. Yes, there were the jewels too. Ginny had protested, at first, to find her objections brushed away imperiously. The jewels, she was informed, were hers. All these years they had waited, locked up in the safe, to be worn by Don Esteban’s bride.

  She was to have everything she wanted—anything. If she wanted to ride, she had only to mention it, and a spirited Arabian mare was brought around by the groom assigned to her.

  Sometimes Ginny felt that she had been produced out of a hat, like a magician’s rabbit. All these people—the relatives who lived in the big estancia, and Don Francisco’s numerous friends and business acquaintances—had no doubt expected that Ana Valdez would some day marry his heir. And then, out of the blue he had introduced a strange female—an American, at that—as his grandson’s bride. And she was accepted without question; more than that, with genuine kindness and consideration.