by Brenda Joyce
And why should she be thrilled with Slade? He was a bastard and a boor. Edward was handsome and virile, and he was a gentleman. It shouldn't be too hard to get Elizabeth to run away from Slade-and into Edward's arms.
That would solve one half of the problem.
Abruptly Victoria left the bedroom. She crossed the courtyard quickly, staying close to its walls and the shadows they cast. The doors to the dining room were open, the conversation of the family clear enough for her to understand most of what they were saying. It was mostly a dialogue between Edward and Rick. Slade, as usual, was his boorish, taciturn self, and Elizabeth was being meek and saying nothing at all.
Victoria slipped inside Elizabeth's room. It was dark within and for a moment she stood motionless, listening to the night outside, to the murmur of the diners across the way, to the faint sound of the waves breaking down at the beach; her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark.
Then she moved. She shut the bedroom doors and snapped on a light. Her glance swiftly took in the entire room, the made-up but rumpled bed, the chair and table, the open magazine. She swiftly crossed to the armoire and opened it. A row of ironed, hanging dresses greeted her. She rifled through them, not yet knowing what she was looking for, but aware that she was looking for something, a key that would unlock the door to the not quite tangible puzzle she sensed Elizabeth presented, a key that would solve all of Victoria's problems.
The gowns were all beautiful, all custom-made, all very expensive. She slapped shut the armoire's door and strode to the pile of trunks and lifted the lid of the one on top. Carelessly she pushed through the garments there. More clothes, suits, and underwear, nothing of interest. At the bottom of the chest was an assortment of beautiful shoes. At another time Victoria might have paused to admire them and covet them and even try them on, but not now.
In one of the smaller compartments she found jewelry. Regina never seemed to take off the stunning pearl necklace she wore, but Victoria didn't blame her, for it was so valuable only a fool would leave it around to be stolen. Still, the items she had left in the trunk were not fakes. There were several beautiful filigreed gold bracelets and a dramatic topaz necklace. For a moment Victoria weighed the necklace in her hand. One day she would have jewels like these, one day she would have better: she would have rubies and sapphires galore.
She tossed the topaz necklace back down, irritated. If she knew what she were looking for it would be so much easier. She didn't have that much time, it wouldn't do to get caught. It would be very hard to talk her way out of such a situation. She didn't care what Rick thought, or Slade or Elizabeth, but Edward's opinion of her mattered very much. It was everything.
Then her glance fell upon a small, insignificant-seeming locket. She scowled, for it was the kind of locket a child would wear, not a grown woman. She didn't have to inspect it to know that it was not valuable. Then it occurred to her that if Elizabeth had bothered to bring it with her to her wedding, it must be very significant. She picked it up.
There was a small daguerreotype inside of a young girl that resembled Elizabeth but was obviously not her. Victoria guessed that it was her mother as a young "Woman, Dorothy Sinclair, whom she had never met, for she had died way before Victoria had married Rick. Vic- toria sighed, annoyed and impatient. She turned over the locket carelessly and scowled at the boldly scripted S engraved there. Then she froze, staring.
At a glance, the initials on the back of the locket might appear to be ES. But they were most definitely not ES. Nor were they DS.
They were RS.
RS.
Those were not Elizabeth's initials. They were not her mother's initials. Who was RS?
Why were the initials RS engraved upon this little locket?
There was no reason for Victoria to be suspicious of Elizabeth except for the fact that Victoria had been scheming to gain her own ends since she was a homeless child. In those long-ago but never-forgotten days, she had connived in order to survive. She had more than attained her ends when she had married Rick Delanza twenty-three years ago-until Miramar had fallen upon bad times.
Now she spent her days scheming to gain for her son everything that he should have, which would concurrently solidify her own position as mistress of Miramar. So Victoria instantly wondered if Elizabeth's amnesia was false and if Elizabeth was someone other than who she claimed to be. Her very first thought was that if she were a nobody and a young woman, she would gladly pretend to be Elizabeth Sinclair in order to marry into the Delanza family and gain the power and prestige that came hand-in-glove with being Miramar's first lady.
But if that were the case, wouldn't Rick have known? Maybe, Victoria mused, flushed with excitement, but maybe not. After all, Rick had not seen Elizabeth in five years, except that once at George Sinclair's funeral, and then she had been so heavily veiled that no one could see her features.
Victoria leaped to her feet, trying to tell herself to be calm. There were many reasons why Elizabeth might carry a locket with intials other than her own upon it. The locket might have been given to her by the woman whose initials were RS. It was that simple.
But perhaps Elizabeth was not who she said she was- perhaps she was an imposter, a fortune-hunting imposter who was very cleverly pretending to have amnesia and manipulating them all. For if she did not know very much about the real Elizabeth Sinclair or James or Miramar, what better way to pull off her charade?
Victoria ran from the room. Tomorrow she would go to San Luis Obispo herself to visit Elizabeth's family to ascertain if the woman calling herself Elizabeth Sinclair was really Elizabeth Sinclair after all.
And somehow, Victoria knew that she was not.
Chapter 12
After supper Slade escorted Regina across the courtyard and back to her room. Supper had not been the most pleasant of affairs. Victoria's absence was glaring. Edward was charming, but he was clearly trying too hard to make up for his mother's hostility. Rick's joviality was genuine, but overwhelming. His obvious pleasure at their impending marriage reminded Regina that he was looking forward to her inheritance as much as- or more than-her advent into the family. Enough to have considered her marrying Edward instead of Slade. She could not eat, she could barely hide her distress. Nothing could have made her feel more like a sack of goods, to be handed over to whichever brother proved more convenient.
Slade had not spoken during the entire meal, either. But he had been seated next to her, and she had felt his glance on her more often than not. Outside her doors, they paused. It was dusky out, but a multitude of stars were beginning to cast their lights, glittering faintly above their heads. All aro
und them the heady scents of roses and hibiscus wafted, thick and sweet. The faint sound of the surf rushing at the shore was a lulling melody, a serenade, and the night air was so soft and pleasant it felt like a velvet caress upon Regina's cheek.
It was a night ideally suited to romance. Such a night dismayed Regina even more. Romance could have been so easily on her mind. Instead, she was considering how she might broach the subject of their marriage, if she dared broach it in regard to Edward. She could not let this topic alone. She had given him her word in accepting his proposal, but she was ready to go back on it.
There was no delicate way to bring it up, either. "I cannot believe what you said in there."
Slade leaned against the rough stone of the house. "I thought that was coming."
She stared up at him. "Is that the way it was going to be? If I wouldn't marry you, they'd bring forth Edward?" Tears laced her voice.
He hesitated.
Regina closed her eyes in misery. No answer was answer enough.
"It wouldn't have come to that," he said forcefully. He gripped her wrist, causing her to look at him. "I know it sounds bad. I-"
"It's horrible!"
"Elizabeth," he said, very firmly, "you were engaged to James, or have you forgotten? And that was arranged, just like our marriage is."
Her head began pounding. "I can't remember James. That's why it doesn't feel wrong to marry you." There was more than that, so much more, in her heart, but she would never tell him so.
Slade hesitated again. "James is dead. Dead, and in the past." For a scant instant, he turned his face away from her. "Rick was using the threat of Edward to break me, that's all."
She moaned. "He had to force you into the idea of marrying me?"
Slade uttered an incoherent curse under his breath. "Rick can't force me to do anything. He just likes trying, that's all. Forget about Edward. You're not marrying him. It was never a possibility, except maybe for Victoria, who would do anything if she thought it would benefit Edward. Sometimes I think she'd commit murder if it would help him."
She regarded him in dismay. How she needed some small sign from him that he cared, even a little, about her!
He shifted. "We're really not so bad. It just may seem that way right now. The Delanza men may not be gentle poets, and we sure as hell aren't very subtle, but we're strong and we take care of our own. Once you're married into the family, you can count on Rick and Edward as if they were your own father and brother, for anything. I want you to know that. Once you marry into the family, you won't be alone, not ever again. Delanzas are notorious for their loyalty. In fact, with the amnesia, you need us."
He had paused. She was hugging herself, expecting him to say, "And you need me." But he didn't. He shifted again. "You're not making a mistake, Elizabeth."
She wanted more than words from him-unless they were the right words. "And you?" Her heart was thundering. "Are you notoriously loyal, too?"
"And me," he said somberly. "I'm a Delanza, too."
Her heart beat harder, faster. Was he making her a promise? The idea of having his loyalty was overwhelming. It was a powerful lure. Yet she could not quite get over the fact that Edward might have been foisted on her had Slade not agreed to marry her, regardless of what Slade had said.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"You were engaged to James, you knew that, but you agreed to marry me. What would have been the difference if you agreed to marry Edward?"
She looked at Slade, trembling. Did she dare respond truthfully? He was marrying her for her money. How could she tell him that she was marrying him for the promise of the future? His eyes seemed black in the shadows of dusk. Black, but so intense. "I wouldn't have agreed to marry Edward."
He didn't move. "Why not?"
It was a painful admission. "He's not you," she managed softly.
Slade didn't even blink. It was his cue, but he did not take it. He turned his head away, staring God knew where. He did not offer her hope.
Regina almost moaned, perilously distraught. "Lord, I f-feel like a b-bag of oats." Her head swam. There was so much desire, and so much pain. She had to think, sort out this mess, before it was too late, but she couldn't think clearly now. She turned, anxious to leave him.
He caught her, taking her loosely in his arms, causing the hopefulness and the wishing to spin dizzily out of control. "Lady, you are the farthest thing from a bag of oats I have ever seen."
Their gazes locked. Very naturally, Regina's hands settled on his shirt, pressing against the rock-hard muscle of his chest. She did not mean to touch him and she did not mean to cling, but she was doing both.
Her senses were only peripherally aware of the stars and the song of the sea and the scent of the summer blooms. She was in Slade's arms. She could not look away from him. Finally he was offering her something of himself. Greedily, she would take whatever he gave her. "B-but that's h-how I feel. Like goods. I-it's awful."
"I'm sorry," he said roughly. He leaned toward her. Regina froze, eyes wide, thinking he was going to kiss her. Despite her second thoughts, her body reacted with enthusiasm. But kisses were not his intention. Low and intense, he spoke. "I'll be a good husband. At least, I'll try to be. I won't… I won't make you unhappy. Not on purpose, anyway."
She was stunned. Instinct told her that she was getting a promise from this man that he had never given before-and that he would never give again. Any battle she had been waging with herself was lost. She gripped his shirt. "And-I will be a good wife to you."
His face was close enough to hers that despite the darkness-and night was settling over them rapidly now-she could see the blaze leap in his eyes. His powerful palms almost crushed the delicate bones of her shoulders. Exhilaration swept through her. They had just made a pact, and although it was incomplete, it was a promise for the future, for their future, a future she knew would be glorious. She strained toward him on tiptoe. She wanted his kiss. She wanted another kiss like the one he had given her on the beach that day, a kiss both powerful and intimate, a kiss both agonizing and electrifying. She craved him, not just with her body, but with her heart and soul.
He stared down at her, tension straining his features. His eyes were even brighter than they had been the instant before. Beneath her fingertips, she felt his heart pounding in a mad gallop. Regina trembled, knowing that before she took another breath his mouth would be on hers.
"Dammit, Elizabeth." He dropped his hands abruptly, and just as abruptly, he moved away from her.
Regina could not understand why he had not kissed her. She was unable to move, filled with shock and disappointment.
"You're playing with fire, lady," he said, stalking away from her. He circled the fountain, not once but twice.
She watched him. Again he reminded her of the caged tiger she had s
een in the zoo. His rigid strides hinted at a hot energy, at an imminent explosion. "What does that mean?"
He paused, legs braced, hands clenched into fists. He had put the fountain between them. "Better you don't know."
Regina had not ceased shaking. Her next words came unbidden, surprising not just him, but herself. "Don't you want to kiss me again?"
"No." He was suddenly, inexplicably, furious. She watched him whirl across the courtyard and slam into the house, into his bedroom, as forceful as a hurricane. The heavy oak doors thundered behind him.
She nearly collapsed against the rough stone wall. She stared after him, shaking harder than before. Now what had she done? What could she have possibly done to bring on such anger? He could not be angry because she had wanted a kiss. He had wanted one too, she was almost certain of it. Was it possible that he was trying to be a gentleman, trying to be honorable, trying to avoid touching her until their wedding night?
There was no other explanation. Regina should have laughed, she should have been happy with such consideration, but instead, she choked on a lump in her throat. Moments ago she had been so certain that their future would be glorious. Now, she wasn't quite so sure. Slade was not going to be an easy man to get to know, not on any level.
But she knew her duty. And regardless of how difficult it might be, she would be patient, endlessly patient, if that was what it took. And it dawned on her that she could cultivate the softness and sensitivity he had dared to reveal more than once, cultivate it gently and carefully, the way one would tend the most precious and fragile of exotic blooms. She would encourage him to leave his hard edges and anger behind.
