Why on earth would he say that? Annoyed, Joaquim yanked his garments off the shelves in the dressing area and began cramming them into his bag. “And therefore I must be gentle. I understand the concept.”
“Wrong assumption,” Duilio said in his most patient tone. “Sereia females do not possess a maidenhead, the cause of numerous misunderstandings about them throughout history.”
Joaquim dropped his last linen shirt in the bag’s open mouth and turned to look at his brother. “And you were afraid I would misunderstand, and say something hurtful.”
Duilio folded his arms over his chest. “No, I know you better. You wouldn’t say a word, but you would fret over it endlessly.”
Joaquim closed up the bag. He had never questioned Marina about her experience—or lack of experience—with men. He hadn’t wanted to know. But his reluctance to inquire about her past had led to the quandary he’d been facing all day. “I’ve just realized that I know almost nothing about her. I’ve been courting her for six months, and I’ve never asked. Not the right questions, at least.”
Duilio clapped one hand to Joaquim’s shoulder. “It will take years before you truly know her. And then she will change, or you will, and you must learn again. People grow. Experience makes them do so. Oriana and I aren’t the same two people who arrived here three months ago, and certainly not who we were on the day we married.”
Joaquim regarded him steadily, wondering how Duilio had changed. He was more than simply older. He seemed more serious now. He would be a father soon, and that would change him further. And Oriana, who had begun their journey together as a woman who’d lost almost everything, had gained a regal confidence that Joaquim had only glimpsed in her before. “Has it been hard on the two of you, being here?”
“Yes, but if nothing else, it makes us rely on each other more.”
Joaquim let out a huff. “I feel like everything has spun out of my control. Everything is happening too quickly, and not . . . how I planned. I prefer my life to be planned.”
“I know you do,” Duilio said. “And you can get back on that yacht and return to the Golden City tomorrow morning. You can go back to your apartment and back to work at the police station. You can have every day the same and keep everything perfectly serene. You don’t have to do any of this.”
He means that. Duilio would let him off the hook, let him go home to his regular life.
But he’d decided to come to Duilio’s aid. This was his doing, not Duilio’s, and he was responsible for the path ahead of him. If he was honest with himself, he felt less nervous about following that journal to Spain than he did about the night ahead of him. “Why didn’t you send that letter to me?”
Duilio chuckled. “Because you have your own life, beyond helping Oriana and me settle the affairs of her family. And my gift told me you were soon to marry, so I didn’t send it.”
Yes, that sounded like Duilio. He would try to fix everything himself. Joaquim sighed. “I dreamed that, ten years ago when I was still considering the priesthood. I dreamed of cramped quarters, heading for Spain, Marina with me. I just didn’t know it was prophetic then.”
He hadn’t known who the woman in his dreams was. He hadn’t even been aware she was a real person. He’d realized instead that his desire for a wife and family was stronger than any avocation he felt for the priesthood. He’d had other doubts, but that was the main reason he’d left seminary and joined the police. It hadn’t been until the day he met Marina—and recognized her as the woman from his dreams—that he’d understood he was a seer. And that knowledge had changed everything.
“I am choosing this, Duilio,” he finally said. “I am choosing to marry her, even if it’s not how I planned. I am choosing to go to Spain.”
“Then I’ll pray for your safety every day,” Duilio said.
Joaquim nearly laughed. Duilio was one of the least devout people he knew. “Thank you,” he said anyway.
* * *
Marina sat on the bench near her door, waiting. Would Joaquim come to her? Surely he could find her.
Or perhaps she should go find him.
She pushed herself off the bench and began pacing the length of the room. With everything else that was going on, perhaps he was distracted from joining her. Her hands had started to ache, and she rubbed the fingers of one with the other. But then a knock came at her door, something only a human would do. She ran to the door and drew it partially open.
Joaquim stood outside, his bag in one hand. “Are you going to let me in?”
Marina grabbed his free hand, dragged him inside, and shut the door behind him.
He dropped the bag onto the floor. Then he stepped close enough to wrap his arms around her. “If I understand correctly, we’re married now. Is that right?”
Since he’d accepted her offer, he was her mate. It wasn’t precisely the same, but she wasn’t going to argue. “Yes,” she managed.
“And tomorrow, the priest’s visit is just a formality.”
“Yes,” she whispered again. “It’s not, but it is.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Would you rather wait?”
She shook her head rapidly. She should be taking control of the situation now. She should order him to do as she wished. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her nerve wasn’t sufficient to tell Joaquim what she wanted him to do.
“Will you kiss me?” he asked instead.
Marina stretched up to reach his lips and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips. This was one of the worst parts of being short.
Joaquim laughed under his breath. “Wait.”
He put his hands on her waist, lifted her, and set her on the bench by the door. It was ridiculous, because now she was taller than him, but she could see his face without craning her neck upward.
“Is that better?” When she nodded, he gazed up at her face. “Are you nervous?”
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I mean, in general, I do . . . but not specifically.”
He reached up and removed the pearl combs from her hair, sending her curls tumbling down around her face. “Were these your mother’s?”
She nodded, surprised he remembered, and almost said that, but then his hands slid from her waist to the brooch securing her vest. That must have mystified the servants, but when she’d dressed she’d discovered that she had grown unaccustomed to baring her breasts, so she’d begged Oriana for something to hold the vest closed.
Joaquim lifted his eyes to hers again. “May I?”
She nodded again, unable to find any words.
Joaquim removed the brooch and dropped it atop his bag. He turned back to her, reaching up to push the vest from her shoulders, but paused, regarding her solemnly. “You do understand, don’t you, that it might take some practice to get this right?”
“Right?”
“You don’t expect me to be . . . very experienced at this, do you? I’m not.”
Human men were promiscuous. She’d always been told that. “Never?”
He smiled up at her, one corner of his lips twisting wryly. “There were a few girls when I was younger, but I’ve known I wanted to marry you since I was eighteen.”
“Since you were eighteen? How?”
“I am a Ferreira,” he said, “so I do have a touch of the seer’s gift as well. Even if I didn’t know your name, I’d dreamed of you. I knew your face. Why involve myself with any other woman? It would have been like adultery.”
And adultery was something Joaquim would never find acceptable. Marina felt warm all over. She’d been terribly nervous only a moment before, but that had passed. “I’m sure we’ll figure this out.”
Joaquim pushed the vest from her shoulders. Then his hands had returned to her waist. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her collarbone. His hands slid upward until they touched her breasts. For a moment he simply he
ld his hands there, cupping her. Then his hands stroked her flesh, as lightly as a feather.
Marina drew a shaky breath. “Joaquim . . .”
“Wait.” He tugged her closer and his lips touched her breast.
Marina’s knees went weak, but Joaquim’s hand slid around her back, pressing her closer against him. His tongue circled her nipple, sending a cascade of strange and unfamiliar sensations through her body. If she’d ever thought her small breasts lacking, she didn’t now. “Joaquim . . .”
He drew far enough away to look at her. “What do you want me to do?”
Everything. She wanted him to touch her everywhere. She wanted to touch him. “I want you to undress,” she decided. “And then I’ll show you my stripe.”
He stepped back, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face. “That sounds like a good idea.”
* * *
Joaquim awoke in the middle of the night, although he wasn’t certain how late. They’d left one of the lamps burning. Marina dozed, one leg draped across his thighs and her head resting on his chest. He eased away from her carefully.
With the shutters closed, the room was warm and she’d pushed away the blanket he’d drawn over them before he drifted off to sleep. The lamp sputtered and, trying not to disturb Marina, he rose awkwardly from the bed. Once on his feet, he stared down at his wife. She was absolutely lovely, and absolutely not human. A swath of iridescent black ran down the center of her back, widening from between her shoulder blades to its widest across her buttocks, and tapering down to a point again at each heel. It looked exotic, but felt no different under his fingers than the skin covering the rest of her body. From what he’d heard after dinner, their children would carry that same coloration.
He went and blew out the lamp that had been sputtering, plunging the room into darkness. He went to open the inner shutters of the windows, letting in a soft breath of sea air and a pale hint of moonlight. He stood there for a moment, smelling the tang of salt on the breeze and the indescribable scent of a seashore.
When he glanced back at the bed, he saw that Marina had risen, one of the blankets clutched about her in belated modesty. She came to his side and peered out across the beach.
He wrapped one arm about her and drew her closer. “If I ask you to stay behind here when I go after the thief, will you?”
She laid her head against his shoulder. “No.”
“I thought not.” She had as much at stake as he did in this hunt for the journal. This was about her family. But he’d needed to ask. He hated the thought of her in danger.
“You barely speak Spanish,” she said.
“I speak Spanish,” he protested.
She laughed softly. “No, you don’t. I’ve heard your Spanish.”
She’s right. He understood Spanish well enough when it was spoken to him. It was answering in Spanish that gave him trouble. “I speak Catalan.”
“And therefore we should go together,” she said. “You will talk to the Catalans and I will talk to everyone else.”
He couldn’t argue with that logic. “When we’re in Spain, you mustn’t be caught unclothed.”
“I’ve lived in the Golden City for years. I know what to do.” She clutched her blanket with one hand, but lifted the other, presenting him with a playing card. “Here. I was told to give this to you.”
He took the card and peered at it in the dim light. It came from Miss Felis’ deck, the ten of clubs, the card she’d had him draw himself. “How did you end up with this?”
“Someone sent it to the Pereira de Santos house, to me. The note said I needed to give it to you.”
Joaquim smiled to himself. Miss Felis wouldn’t have approved of Marina’s method, but he could see her sending that order. “I wonder why.”
“Ana said that this card is lucky. It mitigates all the other ills in the reading.”
He could see Marina’s face tilted up toward his. Yes, his plans might have all gone awry, but her presence here rendered the untidy unraveling of his plans insignificant. Having her at his side would surely mitigate any ill that came his way on this journey. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I think Ana was right.”
He leaned down and kissed her gently, trying to memorize the feel of her lips against his, the touch of her cool fingers against his chest, the warmth her touch sent cascading through his body.
“Among my people,” she whispered, “it’s customary for the woman to make all the demands.”
From the way she’d cocked her head, he felt sure she was blushing. “What?”
“When a woman wants her mate,” she said, “she demands that he provide for her pleasure.”
That sounded exactly like something her people would say. “I see.”
She laid one hand on his bared chest again. “So please me.”
While he wasn’t certain how well he’d done the first time, he was more than willing to give it another try.
CHAPTER 16
THURSDAY, 23 APRIL 1903; ILHAS DAS SEREIAS
Joaquim found himself nodding off again as Duilio rowed back to the shore. They’d gone out after breakfast to the yacht to update João and Aga on their plans. João had used that chance to present his idea of using the Deolinda to ferry tourists up the Douro, a proposal Duilio pronounced promising. The yacht was rarely used and due for refitting anyway. They left a beaming João with instructions to present the idea to Lady Ferreira, who was currently managing her son’s business affairs.
“Want to talk about it?” Duilio had asked. That was all. Duilio hadn’t pried into his night with his new wife, hadn’t tried to embarrass him. That was one of Duilio’s best qualities. He talked a great deal, often about nothing, but he knew when to let a subject alone.
In truth, Joaquim didn’t want to talk about it. Not because he didn’t want Duilio to know about what had, in his judgment, gone rather well. He wanted to keep it to himself. He wanted to treasure it. He wanted time to think over his changed relationship with Marina. So instead they drew the dory onto the beach in companionable silence, and Duilio took him to see Lieutenant Costa’s quarters, one room over from the room Joaquim had initially inhabited.
Everything had been left untouched. The missing lieutenant had laid out his bedding, but hadn’t slept on it that night. His bag sat on a heavy chair, opened up but not emptied. Duilio walked over to it and put one hand in the bag. He stuck a couple of fingers through a discreet slit along one of the bag’s seams. “This is where our little thief was hiding. He cut this so he could look out.”
Joaquim appraised the bag. The size was adequate for a child of seven or eight. “How many uniforms did the guards bring with them?”
“I’ve no idea,” Duilio said. “Most of Costa’s gear is missing, though. I’d guess he didn’t bother to unpack because of that.”
“Or he was planning to leave?”
“Possibly. We won’t know until we locate him.”
Of anything in the room, the remaining articles of clothing would have the closest ties to the young man. Joaquim reached into the bag and picked out one item—a ribbed silk undershirt. “What can you tell me about him?”
“Twenty-five or -six. From a wealthy family in Lisboa. Youngest son, I think. He and I didn’t talk a great deal. You’d do better to ask one of the other guards, or Lieutenant Benites.”
“Were they lovers?”
Duilio’s eyebrows drew together momentarily. “Oh, you mean Costa and Benites?” He chuckled. “No. They worked together peaceably enough. Benites did half his job, though. Costa’s been struggling for the last month or so. Unable to sleep. Very unfocused.”
That wasn’t a good quality in a guard who likely stood hours on duty. Joaquim gazed down at the shirt in his hands. The shirt was well made, off the rack, but pricey. Neatly folded, but it had probably come from the laundry that way. Joaquim closed his eyes and tried
to get a sense of the shirt’s absent owner.
His mind provided a strange split image, one of the lieutenant being close by, and a second shadow far away.
Joaquim opened his eyes and peered down at the shirt again. Why had he seen two answers? He glanced out through the small open bit of screen. This room didn’t look out over the beach but toward the mountain ridge around which the ship had sailed. “I’m facing east, aren’t I? Toward the harbor? And home?”
“Yes,” Duilio said.
“I’m getting two images from this. One is close, on this beach, I think.”
Duilio’s jaw clenched. “He’s on the beach? Is he dead?”
Joaquim pinched the bridge of his nose. He had never had any training in doing this, and his talent was as much a mystery to him as it had been six months ago. “I think if he was dead I wouldn’t see him at all.”
“Why don’t we step outside?” Duilio said. “You can point out which direction to look.”
Joaquim followed Duilio through the halls to the deck that overlooked the beach. After taking another moment to orient himself, he repeated his mental search and pointed. “In that house,” he said, “or along a straight line with it. I’m sure he’s alive.”
Duilio puffed out his cheeks as he gazed at the house to which Joaquim was pointing. “That’s the Guerra home. Grandmother already questioned the head of that household.”
“That’s where you should look. Can we not just walk over there?”
Duilio gave him an expression of exaggerated shock. “Two males, intruding on another woman’s household? No, that wouldn’t work out well.”
Joaquim had to bow to his greater knowledge of the culture here. “So, what do we do?”
“We wait until Oriana and Grandmother can make a respectful call on the home.”
“Wait? That’s all you can do?”
“The Guerra family is almost as politically influential as the Monteiros. If we go over there and demand that they produce Costa, they’ll refuse.”
Joaquim closed his eyes and concentrated again, checking his sense of the lieutenant. “I’m sure he’s there.”
The Shores of Spain Page 13
