The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection)

by Blake, Jennifer

  A crowd had begun to gather in that end of the room. Ramón pushed through without ceremony, leaving Anne to explain the collapse as best she could.

  It was Estela who provided the most acceptable explanation. Her wide eyes filling with tears, she murmured, “Poor Abuelita. The excitement must have been too much for her.”

  Ramón did not appear to be moving fast, yet he had reached Doña Isabel’s bedroom before Anne caught up with him. Patiently he waited while Anne pushed open the door, then ran to throw back the covers.

  He placed his burden on the bed with care, then straightened, standing once more with his fingers on her pulse.

  Anne moved to the other side of the bed. She thought there was a little more color to the pale cheeks, a less pinched look about the mouth. The elderly woman’s breathing had slowed to a regular rhythm. Under Anne’s fingers her pulse felt a trifle fast, but strong.

  Anne raised her eyes to the man on the other side of the bed. He did not notice. The skin tight across his cheekbones with strain, he stared down at his grandmother as if willing her to live.

  The door of the bedroom swung noiselessly open as Estela, followed closely by the housekeeper, Maria, entered. “The doctor is on his way,” Ramón’s sister said in a low voice. “Most of the guests are leaving, except for a few who are waiting for news. Is she ... she’s not...”

  “She is still unconscious,” Ramón said in a dipped tone.

  “Your pardon, Don Ramón,” Maria murmured. “If you will permit...” Politely, but firmly Maria took Ramón’s place beside the bed.

  “Perhaps we should undress her,” Estela said unhappily. “She would be more comfortable.”

  “Loosen her clothing, by all means,” Ramón said, “but disturb her as little as possible until the doctor arrives.”

  María nodded. “I will manage,” she said, and waited expectantly for them to leave the room while she performed this task. There seemed little reason not to comply for the moment.

  On the far side of the bed, Anne was one of the last to leave the room. As she looked back she thought she saw Doña Isabel’s eyelids flutter, opening to a slit. A moment later Maria, her face impassive, stepped into Anne’s line of vision, interposing herself between the door and the figure in the bed.

  They had still not been readmitted to the bedroom when the doctor arrived. His examination, conducted with only Maria present, was a lengthy one.

  Emerging from the room at last, he turned to face the relatives and friends gathered in the hall. His face solemn, he gave a courteous nod of recognition to Anne and Estela, but it was to Ramón that he addressed his remarks.

  “Your grandmother has had a traumatic shock combined with a fall, never a minor matter for one her age. As you know, her health has not been robust for some years, and I feel that the wisest course, at this time, is to ensure that she has complete bed rest plus total tranquility. She must not be disturbed or upset in any way. How seriously ill she is remains to be seen. For the present, I have given her a sedative which should allow her to sleep for some hours. When she awakens you may find a marked improvement, then again, you may not. I recommend a close watch upon her for the next, say, twenty-four hours, though with a minimum of visitors. There should be only one person with her at any given time. The most important thing is to see that she remains quiet.” A few more instructions, another nod, and the interview was over.

  María could not be dissuaded from taking the first watch. Because of their children at home, Estela and Esteban could not stay, but Estela promised to sit with Doña Isabel during the afternoon if Ramón and Anne could manage until then.

  Estela, distressed that she would not be able to contribute more to her grandmother’s care, suggested hiring a private nurse. Ramón vetoed the idea, at least until after the doctor’s stipulated twenty-four-hour period had passed. On that grave note they parted.

  Ten

  Anne spent the remaining hours of the night tossing fitfully on her bed. She could not calm herself enough to sleep. Each time she tried, Ramón’s accusing eyes burned into her brain and she felt herself caught once more in the merciless grip of his rage. She told herself she hated him for daring to suspect her of such shameful behavior and for the terrible things he had said to her — that she didn’t care if she never saw him again. She called herself a fool for letting him disturb her rest. She lashed herself for being unfeeling because her thoughts kept turning to her confrontation with him instead of to the health of his grandmother.

  One moment she occupied her mind by thinking of the devastating things she could have said to him to make him sorry he had doubted her. The next, she found herself making excuses for his actions, placing the blame on Irene, on his mother, who had made him cynical about women, on his upbringing, the society in which he lived, anything and anywhere, except where it belonged.

  He was proud and arrogant, hard, unreasonable, and temperamental, she told herself — and remembered instead the sweet tenderness of the kisses he had given her and the gentle touch of his hands upon an unconscious old woman.

  Toward dawn she dozed for an hour or so, though the snatched moments of sleep could not have been called restful. When she opened her eyes, the pale yellow light of the early morning sun was filtering into the room. Feeling heavy-limbed and drugged with weariness, Anne slid out of bed. She splashed water over her face in an attempt to feel more alert, then slipped into her clothes and ran a comb through her hair.

  There were purple shadows under her eyes and the smooth skin stretched over her cheekbones was colorless, but with a tiny shrug, she turned away from the mirror. What did it matter how she looked? There was no one who would notice, or care.

  Her footsteps made no sound on the thick Oriental rug as she moved along the hall. Pausing outside the door of Doña Isabel’s room, she rapped softly on the panel with her knuckles, then swung it open.

  It was dark inside, the only light coming from the window, where a single panel of the heavy draperies had been pulled aside. As she entered, a shadowy figure rose from a chair placed near the light, a figure too tall, even in the dimness, to be María.

  Anne stopped. “I didn’t know you had relieved Maria,” she said, stiffening as she recognized Ramón. “I’ll come back later.”

  She was already turning away when his voice reached her. “No,” he said. “Abuelita was awake a short time ago. She asked for you.”

  “For me?”

  Ramón ran his hand over his head to the back of his neck in a harassed gesture. “She insisted on seeing you as early as possible this morning. She — I believe she has something she wants to say to you. It will be better, perhaps, if she gets it off her mind. Would you wait here until she wakes again?”

  “Of course,” Anne agreed. Though she could not be sure, she thought Ramón hesitated a moment as though there was something he would add.

  “Yes?” she asked half expecting him to give her some caution or instruction, or make a suggestion concerning his grandmother’s comfort.

  “It was nothing,” he said brusquely. Stepping past her, he left the room, closing the door with a gentle click.

  Frowning, Anne moved across to the chair Ramón had vacated. As she sank down into it, she found that it was still warm from his body. She leaned back, closing her eyes for an instant.

  Very soon she must get away from this place, though how she was to broach the subject again to Ramón in his present mood she could not imagine. Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a long sigh. Perhaps it was just as well that he was angry with her. If she could find a way to bring the matter to his attention once more, he should be as anxious as she was to see that particular request granted.

  From the direction of the bed came the rustle of bedcovers. Instantly alert, Anne jumped up, moving toward the bed.

  “Turn on the light, child,” Doña Isabel said, her voice surprisingly strong. “I am not asleep.”

  Anne changed directions, going to the wall switch. As light sprang bri
ghtly into every corner of the room, she saw the elderly woman pushing herself up to a sitting position in the bed. Swiftly Anne moved to help her prop against several pillows.

  “Don’t fuss, dear, I’m not an invalid yet,” Doña Isabel scolded before patting the edge of the bed. “Here, sit down beside me where I can see you and we can talk without disturbing anyone.”

  “Should you be sitting up?” Anne asked, a shade of anxiety in her tone as she complied. “I would never be able to forgive myself if I let you do more than you should.”

  Settling back, Doña Isabel folded her hands over the sheet across her lap. “I am perfectly capable of deciding what I feel like doing.”

  Anne braved the trace of hauteur in the old woman’s manner. “The doctor left orders that you were to have rest and quiet for twenty-four hours.”

  “Impossible,” Doña Isabel declared.

  “Perhaps another sedative?” Anne suggested, her gold-flecked eyes level as she watched the effect.

  “I won’t take it because, as you may have guessed, dear Anne, I don’t need it.”

  The suspicion Anne had not allowed herself to consider was a fact then. Intuitively she had known it, and yet the doctor’s grave attitude and strict instructions had caused her to doubt her instinct. Before she could

  speak, she had to be absolutely certain, however.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Doña Isabel looked away with a grimace. “I thought you knew. Must I say it in plain English? All right, then. There was nothing wrong with me last night. There is nothing, beyond a few bruises, wrong with me now.”

  “Why?” Anne asked, the question coming out with a blunter sound than she had intended.

  Doña Isabel turned back sharply. “You needn’t make it sound as though I had committed a crime. I had to do something. What else could it be except faint? I twisted my knee as I fell, you know, and I’m not certain I didn’t actually lose consciousness for a few minutes. I could not let my grandson mistrust you, nor could I let the two of you ruin your lives just because of Irene’s spiteful jealousy. I saw you go out with that inebriated fool, Pépé. I saw Irene as she suggested to Ramón that they see what you were up to with her young man. It is difficult for one woman to fool another; I knew she would cause a scene if she could possibly manage it. I did not expect you, my child, to cooperate with her to the extent of allowing yourself to be found in Pépé’s arms.”

  Anne started to protest, but the old lady waved her explanations away. “Never mind. It was plain enough what happened. But I could not bear to let it all end for such a silly, meaningless episode.”

  “It might have been better if you had,” Anne said slowly. “It was you who suggested Ramón and I end this farce of an engagement with a public disagreement.”

  “I’ve had second thoughts since then.” A triumphant gleam appeared in Doña Isabel’s eyes. “Tell me,” she continued, “what is the most common way to end an engagement?”

  “If not by a quarrel, then I guess by the common consent of both parties,” Anne answered reasonably.

  “No, no. Don’t be dense, my dear. The most common way of ending one is by marriage.”

  Anne stared at her. Slowly she got to her feet. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Why, that you wed my grandson with the blessing of God, the church, and myself...”

  “You seem to have forgotten that your grandson despises me, that he has never had the least desire to marry me,” Anne said through stiff lips.

  “That isn’t true,” Doña Isabel said with confidence. “I have put the proposal before Ramón, and he has agreed.”

  “You ... you suggested this marriage to Ramón?”

  “I did. He made no objections. Indeed, he was most anxious...”

  Anne cut across her words without apology. “Are you sure he made no objections because he had none, or because he was afraid to upset you just now?”

  “Does it matter,” the old woman asked, her voice curiously gentle. “So long as he has given his word that he will make you his wife?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does. He doesn’t love me.”

  “But you love him, my proud Lucifer of a grand-son — do you not?” Doña Isabel asked, and sat quietly waiting for Anne’s reply.

  After a long moment, Anne nodded.

  “Isn’t that enough for now? That, and the chance to win his love in time?”

  “No,” Anne said, her voice shaking. “No, it isn’t. I don’t want a man who doesn’t care for me, one who has to be forced to the altar.”

  “But Anne,” she protested, “reconsider, please. It is all arranged.”

  “Then you must tell him that I will not hold him to the bargain.”

  “Do not be hasty. Think it over for a day or two at least,” Doña Isabel pleaded.

  “I — I can’t,” Anne answered, trying to smile. She did not want such a temptation dangling before her for so long. She was far too uncertain of her power to resist it.

  A frown of concern drew the older woman’s fine gray brows together. “Anne, please, for my sake,” she said holding out her hand.

  Anne took it with fingers that trembled a little. “You must not ask it of me,” she said in a voice husky with tears. “I feel honored that you went to such trouble for me, and I am grateful, but this is something I cannot do.”

  On impulse she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the soft crepe skin of Doña Isabel’s cheek. The old lady squeezed her hand, then let it go. “Well, then,” she said, smiling a little, then lifting her chin. “You must do as you think best. There is one problem you cannot have considered, however.”

  After a quick review, Anne asked, “What is it?”

  “I can trust you, I know, not to give me away to Ramón. How are you going to explain not complying with what might have been my deathbed wish in this matter without making yourself appear hard of heart?”

  “I thought you...”

  “I?”

  “You could tell him I was reluctant. Surely that would be enough?”

  “Enough to make him feel obligated to use his own methods of persuasion.” She tilted her head. “No, I thought you would not like that.”

  “Doña Isabel...” Anne began, desperation shading her voice.

  “I don’t wish to seem unkind, but I cannot help you in this, even if I wanted to. You owe Ramón an explanation for your refusal, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps I might, if he had asked me, but not in a case like this. Anyway, he knows how I feel.”

  “Does he? Does he know exactly how you feel — about him?”

  Under the old lady’s piercing eye, Anne could only shake her head.

  Doña Isabel relaxed against her pillows. “I thought not. Sometimes I have wondered — but never mind. The only thing I can suggest, my dear, is to wait. Perhaps in a week or so I will be able to throw off this invalid’s pose and you will be able to discuss the possibility of this marriage with Ramón without pressure.”

  The thought made Anne feel sick with dread but she saw nothing to be gained from arguing further. She agreed.

  “In the meantime,” Doña Isabel said with a tight smile, “I suppose I must play my part a little longer. If you will, please ring for María. I feel the need, just now, of my morning chocolate, and then a hot bath.”

  For the sake of appearances Anne waited until María came before slipping away. The old lady, basking under the torrent of scolding Spanish, did not notice her leave.

  Back in her room, she moved to the window and stood staring out. A merciful numbness gripped her. Her mind held room for a single thought. She had made her choice; there was no going back.

  It was the right decision, she knew that. Still, it would not be an easy decision to hold to if she had to face Ramón again. She knew herself to be vulnerable to his persuasion. Hadn’t she yielded to it once before by staying in Mexico? No, she could not trust herself not to be swayed by his unrelenting logic.

  Worse still wa
s the thought of seeing him play the concerned and dutiful grandson, offering a suit to a woman he must despise.

  It was safer, far safer, not to see him, to remember him as the angry, abusive man who had dug his fingers into her arms last night.

  If she could do that, if she could remember him that way, then she might be able to exist long enough to forget the other times — times when they had laughed together, when he had held her in his arms and taken her lips in sweet, loveless passion.

  Blindly, she turned from the window. Her handbag lay on the dressing table. Inside it was the money from the check Iva had sent her, her emergency fund. After what had happened she could not ask Ramón to arrange her flight home. She could not risk the possibility of refusal if she failed to do as he wanted, or the methods he might use to ensure that she stayed. She would go now.

  It should not be hard to make her escape. There had been a constant stream of people coming and going in the house for the past few days. Doubtless there would be more today as the caterers cleared away, and those who had heard of Doña Isabel’s collapse came to inquire after her health. Certainly, with the elderly woman lying ill upstairs, the servants would have little concern for the movements of Don Ramón’s fiancée. With a little ingenuity she should be able to make her escape.

  She would have to travel light, but that was no hardship. There was very little that she wished to carry with her. She was wearing her own cream-colored suit and that was all she wanted. She did not feel as if any of the other expensive clothes hanging in the wardrobe belonged to her, nor did she need them to hang in her closet at home as unworn reminders.

  The turquoise pendant had been a gift from Doña Isabel to Ramón’s fiancée. Since she had been that in name only, it was not hers to keep. She lingered over the statuette of the Virgin of Guadeloupe. The worn, wooden features seemed to reproach her. No, she could not take the Virgin from Mexico, no matter the wrench it cost to leave her behind.

  She had almost reached the door on her way out when she remembered her engagement ring. Without the weight of the oval-shaped diamond, her finger felt light and curiously naked. With fingers that trembled, she placed it in plain view on the dressing table beside the pendant. She walked away without looking back.