He had returned to his room, and was preparing to take a bath, but for some reason he found he needed a drink more urgently. Wine! That was all his grandfather kept outside on the big sideboard in the main dining sala. He needed Scotch or bourbon, but the wine would have to do for now.
Morosely, Steve looked at his own stubbled reflection in the mirror and rubbed his jaw reflectively. He needed a shave badly—for two pins he’d stay the way he was and announce flatly to his grandfather that he intended to grow a beard again but the thought of another unpleasant interview following on the heels of the one they’d just had filled him with an unusual reluctance to force any minor issues. Damn it, he thought savagely, so I’ll be cleanshaven tonight. Maybe it’ll please her better too.
The thought of Ginny did nothing to improve his temper. Damn her for the sly little schemer she was! She’d been offered her chance to get even with him and had seized it eagerly—he had no doubt that she’d meant every threat she’d flung at him. He’d relieved her of her virginity and taught her that sex was enjoyable—and she’d promptly turned around and sought further enjoyment in numbers—until he’d been damn-fool enough to abduct her.
Dispensing with the glass he’d been using, Steve tilted the bottle of wine and drank half of it in about three long swallows.
Ever since he’d met Ginny Brandon things had started to go wrong. Although he had to admit reluctantly, that it hadn’t been all her fault. He should have kept to his resolution to stay away from her in the first place. And in the second place, he should never have kept her with him all this time. It hadn’t been hard to shake off his pursuers—he could have done it alone, without her to slow him up. So why in hell had he dragged her along, especially when he knew he was coming home? He might have known his grandfather would find out, and that being the kind of man he was he’d not be content until he’d met and spoken with the female his unconforming grandson had dared to bring home with him. He should have known what would inevitably happen—he should have taken precautions. Most of all, he should never have permitted himself to have anything to do with Ginny Brandon!
Steve swore to himself, and the Indian maid who was carrying in more hot water for his bath jumped as though he had bitten her. He smiled at her absentmindedly and gestured rather vaguely for her to continue with whatever she had to do. She gave him a pert, rather shy smile in return, bobbing her head, and left to bring more water.
Steve stared broodingly at the door the girl had closed so carefully behind her. What a mess! He had returned from Mexico City as quickly as he could, with all of the information that Bishop had needed. In fact, Bishop himself, in the guise of a rich American cattle buyer, would be at the Sandoval hacienda this evening, on the invitation of Diego Sandoval, Don José’s son, and Steve’s friends from childhood. Diego, an ardent, if secret supporter of Porfirio Díaz, was also a part of the Juarist movement. He had arranged for this meeting, having recently returned from a trip to San Francisco—and he had, in fact, told Steve before he left that Bishop had another important mission for him when he returned. What could he tell Bishop now? “My grandfather treats me like a little child—he’s posted guards on me, he’s even arranged a wedding for me”—the thought made his face turn dark with anger. There would be no quarreling with him over his methods—in their branch of the service, men like Steve would use any means they had to in order to attain their ends. But in this case what it all amounted to was that he had made a mistake—a stupid, costly mistake! Thank God that at least he had the information they’d needed so urgently. Even without him, they’d still be able to act, carefully coordinating their planning on both sides of the border.
In spite of his rage and self-disgust, Steve could not help grinning when he suddenly imagined the lovely Danielle’s fury when she found he’d disappeared. She would be even more furious when she found her new gown, sewn for her in Paris by Worth himself from material shipped all the way from India, had also disappeared. It had been a gift to her from a high-ranking English admirer—a duke, no less. Yes, Dani would be having screaming hysterics right now, he’d no doubt. What a vixen she was, especially in bed! She’d been insatiable; alternately pouting, pleading, clawing or screaming encouragement in gutter words she’d picked up in every language conceivable. Still, he’d found himself growing bored with her demands and her tantrums after a while—it was more or less in revenge for her having begun to make herself tedious to him that he’d appropriated her new ball gown. Maybe she’d be more cautious in her choice of lovers from now on—her husband really ought to thank him for it!
But the thought of Dani’s husband, away fighting Maximilian’s war while she appeared publicly with her lovers, made Steve start frowning again. Juana had returned again, this time with the last can of hot water, and she was standing expectantly by, ready to help him have his bath. An old custom in the bachelor wing of Don Francisco’s house. At least, Steve thought bitterly, he had to give the old martinet credit for having that much consideration for the normal physical needs of hot-blooded young men.
But as for the rest of it—no, his grandfather still lived in a closed-in, autocratic world that should have vanished a long time ago. Grown man or not, his grandson was still his grandson, and el patrón’s word was law. It was impossible! His grandfather must be made to understand that he couldn’t keep him prisoner, like any one of his peons who had committed some misdemeanor!
His black brows drawn together in an unconsciously fierce frown that scared the pert Juana into silence, Steve began to undress, tossing his travel-stained clothes carelessly at the girl who blushed and began to giggle as she caught each one adroitly.
Thinking almost absentmindedly about escape, Steve glanced once at the door and then shrugged. He supposed that Perez still stood guard outside his room. Big, taciturn Jaime Perez who was his grandfather’s bodyguard, and had patiently taught him to shoot a rifle. The fact that Jaime watched him was proof enough that his grandfather did not trust him, and in fact Don Francisco had told Steve so quite bluntly.
“Any blood relative of mine who would forget his honor and do what you have done is not to be trusted,” the old man had said icily. The mixture of anger and contempt in his grandfather’s voice had made Steve feel, for a moment, like a stupid, callow youth again, and he’d been unable to prevent the slow, embarrassing flush that rose in his face.
The interview had gone badly from the start, and without raising his voice Don Francisco had not minced any words, nor tried to hide his scorn and contempt and cold, deadly anger. He had made Steve fully aware of the consequences he might have faced if Ginny had not agreed to a wedding—the same consequences he’d face if he didn’t immediately give his word that he would marry her—and even more—treat her with unfailing consideration and respect.
“She deserves much better, I’m sorry to say,” Don Francisco had said with disdain, “but since you’ve ruined her, it’s up to you to make amends. I trust that you have some vestige of the sense of family honor and obligation I’ve tried to instill in you still left!”
Stiffly, cautiously Steve had given his word, thinking the matter would end there. He’d marry her, if his name would magically restore her respectability! What did it really matter, after all—he didn’t intend to stay with her for the rest of their days.
But his grandfather, just as if he’d read his mind, had other demands to make, and they were phrased as outright commands.
Steve listened almost unbelievingly as he was ordered to hand over his guns. He glanced up casually, and Jaime lounged in the doorway, his rifle pointing floorward, although Steve was well aware how quickly the man could bring it up if it proved necessary.
He had, for one split second of pure, unthinking fury, considered whirling around and going for his gun, but sanity returned just in time and he was forced into the realization of two things—that Jaime would not hesitate to shoot, even if it was to maim rather than kill—and that his grandfather would certainly do so, not caring whethe
r he killed or not!
And as far as that went, he was fond of Jaime—the man had been kind and patient with him when he was a boy—almost as close as a father, in fact. Could he really have pulled a gun on Jaime Perez?
Silently, seething with a rage he could barely control, Steve had unbuckled his gunbelts and handed them to his grandfather.
“Good. And now—your word that you will not seek to obtain any other weapon, nor wear one again, until I give you my permission to do so.”
His eyes blazing blue fire with an anger that defied his grandfather’s, Steve refused.
“I’ve given you my promise that I’ll wed the girl, and that I’ll deal with her honorably from now on. But this time you go too far, sir! I’ll not be treated like a green boy who can’t be trusted to wear a gun.”
“And I tell you, Esteban, that you have acted like one! The wearing of guns around your waist like any bandit from the mountains and the use to which you have put them is what has sent you to the depths of villainy in the company of other low-life thieves and murderers who carry weapons only for the purpose of killing! You’ve had every opportunity in life that I could offer you, but it wasn’t enough. You were too stubborn to learn anything, even to live like a gentleman. And you’ve dragged the honor of my family in the dust by your heartless treatment of a young woman who was trusted to your care—an inexperienced girl whom you seduced; and as if that was not enough, abducted her from the care of her family and paraded her in the worst, most infamous places as your paramour! How would you have me treat you, you young whelp?”
His grandfather’s lashing contempt had made Steve go pale and tense with anger, but he stood there silently until the old man had finished his diatribe. A stubborn sense of pride kept him from making any attempt to defend himself or offer any explanations—and in any case, what could he say without betraying himself or his “employers?” There were things that his grandfather could never understand!
“Your word, if you please,” Don Francisco repeated when Steve said nothing.
“I’m sorry, sir. I cannot give it.”
Steve noticed the way his grandfather’s hands clenched themselves around the stock of the riding whip he invariably carried, and remembered suddenly his many “disciplinings” of the past, always inflexibly meted out—his eyes went to the silent, watchful figure of Jaime, still standing before the door.
Deliberately, Steve controlled the anger that might have shown in his voice, softening it to a tone of almost exaggerated patience.
“I would not, however contemptible you think me, lift my hand against you, my abielo, nor my old friend here, nor any of your men. I think you know that. But I must tell you—” his voice hardened slightly in spite of all his resolutions “—that at the first possible opportunity I intend to obtain another gun, and to wear it, if I feel like doing so.”
Don Francisco’s hooded eyes looked like chips of ice.
“I find you impudent, as well as irresponsible. You leave me with no choice but to make sure that you confirm with my dictates, whether you will or not!”
Steve gave a short, bitter laugh.
“What will you do with me, grandfather? Turn me over to the law? Load me down with chains? Or will you shoot me instead? It will be difficult for me to play the part of bridegroom under such conditions, won’t it?”
“Guard your tongue, you reprobate!” Don Francisco struck angrily at the arm of his chair with the whip he held. His cold, angry eyes bored into Steve’s as he spoke again, very slowly this time.
“There is another alternative, if you insist upon being stubborn. I could arrange matters so that you would meet with a slight accident. To your right hand. It will not cripple you, but you would never again draw a gun quickly enough to kill a man…” he halted in mid-sentence, seeing that no further words were needed, for Steve had sucked in his breath, his face whitening beneath his tan. So his grandfather would actually go that far? Still, he himself was too angry and too stubborn to back down.
“You do that, and you might as well kill me.” Steve’s voice was even, toneless. “You’d have to, before I’d let you even try.”
His eyes locked with those of his grandfather in a battle of wills, and Jaime Perez, standing just inside the doorway, thought how much alike they were in some ways, these two. He found himself hoping that this time at least the patrón would not do as he had threatened—it was really too bad that Don Esteban had turned out to be so reckless and so willful.
Jaime could not know it, of course, but for an instant, as he looked into his grandson’s eyes, Don Francisco saw his daughter Luisa, with the same long-lashed blue eyes challenging him after he had just declared passionately that he would have her Yankee lover killed. This had been after he and his most trusted vaqueros, after pursuing them for miles, had finally caught up with the eloping couple. Like her son did now, Luisa had faced him defiantly and without fear.
“You kill Daniel and you might as well kill me too,” she had said softly. “He is my husband, and my life. Take his life, and I swear that mine is ended too.”
Looking into her eyes he had known bitterly that she was no longer his—and that she meant what she said. He had let her go—Luisa and her husband, and when she had finally come back to him later, with her child, he had seen, with a terrible sadness, that she had spoken truly—her life was finished.
Now Don Francisco found himself thinking that perhaps he was getting too old—or too soft. This was his only grandson, just as Luisa had been the only one of his children to survive. And Esteban had always been too strong-willed and defiant for taming. Not even the many whippings he had received so stoically as a boy had changed his willful, headstrong nature. As a man, he was still just as stubborn, just as headstrong. Yes, Esteban’s stiff-necked pride matched his own, the old man thought grimly. He would back down no further, even if it meant death.
To hide his unwonted emotion, Don Francisco banged the stock of his riding whip on the floor between his feet—so hard it sounded like an explosion. He continued to frown.
“If you will not give me your word, then I’m sorry to say that you will, from now on, consider yourself a prisoner here,” he said forcibly. “You will be watched at all times, to make certain you do not obtain a gun, and you will not be allowed to leave here until I feel that you have earned the right to be turned loose on the unsuspecting world outside.”
“I see! And am I to be watched on my honeymoon as well, to make sure I perform satisfactorily as a husband? Or am I not to be permitted to hold my blushing bride in my arms in case I might do the poor, unsuspecting girl some injury?”
In spite of his age, Don Francisco could rise from his chair as quickly as a man much younger, with no stiffness or creaking of bones. He stood up now, his craggy face white with anger.
“You will, for one thing, learn to curb your insolence in my presence, and in the presence of others as well. Perhaps this will serve to remind you that I am still the head of this family.”
Don Francisco’s arm lifted, and the quirt, wielded so easily and expertly by him, lashed down twice with vicious force—back and forth across his grandson’s chest, drawing blood through the thin cotton of his checkered shirt.
Steve had half-expected what might happen, but pride forbade his trying to avoid his grandfather’s blows, or cringing from them. His lips went taut, and he winced almost imperceptibly, but that was all. His arms stayed down at his side, hands clenched into fists, and his eyes never left his grandfather’s face.
Don Francisco gave him a cold smile.
“A reminder that your manners need mending, my grandson. And while we are on the subject—let me remind you that you are to treat your betrothed at all times, with the utmost respect and consideration, both in public and in private. You will not be watched in your marriage bed, but I trust that even you would not force her to submit to your rough and uncouth passions unless she herself is willing! A man who calls himself a man would surely not rape his own wi
fe—or is it impossible for you to persuade a woman to give herself to you of her own accord?”
Don Francisco’s words cut deeper than his whip and Steve remained silent under their sting. He felt every muscle in his body tense with the strain of holding his temper in check. How much more would he be expected to endure? But clearly, his grandfather was not through with him yet. Now his voice dripped with sarcasm.
“I take it, since you’ve seen fit to give me your word on this at least, that there will be no foolhardy attempts at running away until after the wedding at least?”
In spite of his anger and bitter frustration Steve began to discover a kind of macabre humor in the situation that made him smile rather wryly, surprising his grandfather. It was really ridiculous that he, a grown man who cherished his own independence and freedom above all things should stand here so meekly and let an old man heap insults on him—yes, and order his life and behavior as well!
“Why should I want to run away from my beautiful bride?” he said, shrugging slightly. “Do you think she’s so lacking in charm that I’d desire to escape the prospect of bedding her again?”
Don Francisco’s eyes flashed for an instant, but he responded coolly enough.
“I’m really surprised that in this instance, at least, you’ve displayed some good taste. Meeting Ginny was not only a pleasant surprise but a pleasure.”
Although he did not relax his vigilance, Jaime Perez found himself able to relax slightly at last.
Ah, these two! It was always like this. First the heated words and the tension, and then a sudden quieting as they remeasured each other’s worth as adversaries.
“You had better go and make yourself a little more presentable before you visit your novia,” Don Francisco was saying now, as he poured himself a glass of wine.
Bowing formally, Steve turned to leave, but his grandfather halted him at the door with one last question.
Sweet Savage Love Page 36
