“Why would Sir Henry do such a thing?”
“Because ‘twas his idea that I become El Moreno. I was working under his orders to track down Marcus and bring him back to face the gallows. El Moreno had to die so that I might assume my rightful identity.”
“You might have told me. You might have hinted that…” She stopped and took a breath, realizing that she was becoming overset. “Now you have somehow convinced my father that we should be wed.”
“We will be wed, my sweet.” He took her hands in his, tightening his fingers when she would have pulled away. “I never committed half the crimes attributed to me. Most of those rumors were Morgan’s doing. It was all a pretense to capture Marcus.”
“And our relationship? Was that a pretense too, Alex?” She shook her head. “Or is Alex even your name?”
“Oh, it is my name. And you were the only real thing amid all the pretending, Diana. I fought my feelings for you, but in the end, they won out.”
“Who are you really?” she whispered, staring up into his dark eyes. “Are you the man I fell in love with? Or are you someone I don’t even know?”
“I am the same man I always was,” he answered, bringing her hands to his lips. “And more.”
Her flesh rippled with pleasure at his touch and brought to life all the feelings she thought had died with El Moreno. Confused, she yanked her hands away.
“What of your ship? And your men?”
He sighed and accepted her withdrawal. “Birk and McBride are both good friends of long standing. I hired the rest of the crew as El Moreno.”
“And the ship?”
“The Vengeance is mine and always has been. Before my brother died she was called the Miranda. I changed the name when I became El Moreno.”
“Miranda.” Diana closed her eyes. “The countess. You do love her.”
He cupped her face. “Yes. I do love her. Diana…” He waited until she opened her eyes. “She’s my mother.”
“Your mother!” She gaped at him, then glared and yanked away from him. “Do you think me so simple a maid that I would believe such a thing?”
“Never have I accused you of being simple, my love. She is indeed my mother. And as for being a maid…” His voice trailed off suggestively.
“You are no gentleman!” she snapped, blushing.
He seized her about the waist. “Never have I pretended to be. No gentleman would be able to handle a spirited wench like you.”
“I am no mare to be broken, Alex,” she retorted. “Take me as I am or not at all.”
“Oh, I shall take you, amada. To wife.”
“I have not yet decided to accept your suit.” She turned her face away when he bent to kiss her.
“You decided the day you offered yourself to me,” he growled, sensuality heavy in his voice. “I knew the first time I took you that I would have you for my wife.”
“Another unimportant detail that you did not tell me? I do not think I shall marry you, sir. You keep too many secrets for my taste.”
“Taste this,” he murmured, covering her mouth with his.
Diana closed her eyes and let her emotions sweep her away. Alex’s kiss made the anger she felt over his “death” fade from her mind. She curled her fingers into his shoulders, kneading the warm muscles she found there. His heart beat against hers as he deepened the kiss, proving with in a most pleasurable manner that he was not some ghost come to haunt her, but a flesh and blood man.
He finally broke the kiss, and Diana sighed, resting her cheek against his shoulder in contentment. A moment later she jerked her head up and looked at him with a stunned expression.
“Alex, if the Countess of Rothstone is your mother, what does that make you?”
He released her and bowed. “Alexander Rawnsley, Earl of Rothstone, my lady.”
“Another secret? How many more must I discover?” she huffed in exasperation.
He grinned. “As many as I can think of to keep you entertained, my love.”
“Just tell me this,” she said, going back into his arms. “You do not have a secret wife lurking about, do you?”
“No, my love.” He tightened his embrace. “I have told you about Bianca, my first wife, and she is dead. There are no others, I promise you.”
“And you are a man who keeps his promises.” She eluded him when he would have kissed her again. “What about mistresses? I cannot go about waiting to be assaulted by your jilted lovers, sir. Shall I ever carry my dagger with me?”
“Nay, love. Rosana was the only woman who could come close to being called my mistress, and she has left Besosa. She held herself above everyone by flaunting herself as El Moreno’s woman. Once I publicly dismissed her, she lost face and left the island in disgrace. I doubt we shall see her again.”
Diana wrapped her arms around his neck. “No children, either?”
“Only the ones I shall have with you. Provided you accept my offer.” He pressed her against him. She marveled at how well they fit, as if they had been molded especially for each other.
She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I shall. After all, my father has informed me that my reputation is ruined, thanks to the dreadful pirate who ravished me. You are my last hope for a husband.”
“No one will dare utter a wrong word about the future Countess of Rothstone,” Alex assured her. “The rumors will stop once it gets about that we are to wed.”
“I hope so, for Papa’s sake.”
“Your father will quell what talk he can. He knew me as El Moreno, but once he understood that I was working for Morgan, he was most pleased to sign the betrothal agreement.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“We shall be wed immediately,” Alex continued. “There is bound to be someone who insists on spreading lurid tales of your abduction, and I do not want it whispered about that my firstborn child is a pirate’s get.”
“I do not think I am with child,” Diana said with a smile. “I only said that to be rid of a tiresome suitor.”
“It had the opposite effect,” Alex said with a gleam in his eye. “Getting you with child is bound to be the one activity certain to keep me in port.”
“Does this mean you intend to ravish me again?”
“To be sure. And again and again.”
“Oh good.” The rest of her words were lost as she gave herself up to the familiar magic of her beloved’s embrace. El Moreno was indeed gone, she thought, leaving only Alex, whose tormented soul was at last at peace.
About the Author
Debra Mullins is the award-winning author of historical and paranormal romances. When not writing, she is reading or traveling or working on her family tree—sometimes all at the same time. Born and raised in the New York/New Jersey area, she now lives in California with her family, where she doesn’t miss snowstorms in the least and optimistically continues her search for real pizza. Visit her at:
Website: www.debramullins.com
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @debramullins
Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Debra-Mullins
Look for these titles by Debra Mullins
Coming Soon:
Donvan’s Bed
The Lawman’s Surrender
Forbidden love…
Lakota Surrender
© 2011 Karen Kay
Lakota, Book 1
As she heads west to join her cavalry officer father at his Kansas outpost, Kristina Bogard eagerly anticipates new adventures—and her first glimpse of wild Indians. She has long dreamed of flashing black eyes, skin-covered lodges and buckskin and leather.
What she finds in Fort Leavenworth, though, is a far cry from her Indian nanny’s thrilling stories. What few natives are left are crushed, brokenhearted shadows of their proud past. Except for one, a handsome warrior who stirs up a whole new set of dreams.
Tahiska can’t take his eyes off the green-eyed beauty whose graceful hands are fluent in his native sign language. Except he can’t affor
d to let anything distract him from avenging his father, who was killed by two white soldiers.
Though anger fills his mind, Kristina steals into his heart, igniting a wildfire passion that must remain their desperate secret. For soon comes the day of reckoning, when justice will be served…or a travesty will shatter their love.
Warning: Sensuous romance that could prompt you to send up smoke signals for the one you love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Lakota Surrender:
Kristina had witnessed the entire exchange all from close range. In fact, she still stood beside the Indian, only a few inches away. She had situated herself so that she had a clear view of both her father and Tahiska.
When her father turned to speak with the colonel, she took the opportunity to study Tahiska in closer detail. He was utterly handsome, utterly compelling, and he seemed quite unaware of it. His skin was a few shades darker than her own; his hair, which fell well below his shoulders, was neatly combed; his nose was straight and slightly aquiline; his lips were full and sensuous; his eyes black and mysterious, yet always direct.
He glanced at her now and she smiled, averting her eyes. But he would have none of that. Touching her gently under the chin, he brought her gaze back to his.
She blushed. The Indian’s touch was gentle, yet her pulse responded as though she were running. She couldn’t control these feelings and worse, she knew they were radiated in her eyes. Though he lowered his hand, just the remembrance of his touch set her on fire, made her limbs weak, quickened her heartbeat.
What was happening to her? Why did her vision come with a touch that stirred her very soul? Surely she was not attracted to him. He was Indian. There was a gulf between them, between their two cultures, that would be almost impossible to bridge. And yet, hadn’t she jumped at the chance to visit their country, knowing there was something out there for her? But she hadn’t actually envisioned staying in Indian country, and she had surely never anticipated these feelings of…
Covertly she glanced up at him. Her stomach dropped and, despite herself, despite the other company in the room, she wanted him to kiss her so badly she felt almost faint from it. She gazed at his lips. A mistake. For when she raised her eyes back to his, she knew he easily read the desire in them.
Kristina squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply. Who was she trying to fool? She was very attracted to him.
“Will you show us the trading post?” He spoke to her, and when she, at last, opened her eyes, he made the signs in front of her face. Never once did he relinquish eye contact.
“Yes. You—your friends, come with me.”
She swung away and faced the two men at the opposite side of the room, who were still arguing. “Father,” she interrupted, “I’m escorting the Indians to the trading post. Then I’ll prepare for the Fourth of July celebration.”
“Yes,” her father answered, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Go on, Kristina. I’ll join you later.”
Nodding, she pivoted to find three Indians patiently waiting. But only one stared at her, and in his expression was a knowledge of her she wished he didn’t have.
Kristina felt desperate to fly out the door and scramble to the trading post as quickly as possible. However, all of her Bostonian social training came to the fore and Kristina stepped through the door as demurely as possible. Once outside, she glanced back to ensure the Indians were not far behind.
She stopped short.
No one was there.
Picking up her skirts, she backtracked to the colonel’s office. As she peeked around the door, she saw them, still standing in the same place and glaring at her.
She gazed at her father and Colonel Wheeling. They were locked in argument and were unaware that anything untoward was occurring.
Stealing back into the room, she addressed Tahiska in sign. “I will show you the way to the trading post. Please follow me.” She twirled around.
“Hiya!”
She peered back over her shoulder. The Indians hadn’t budged. Kristina didn’t understand what Tahiska had said, but she knew noncompliance when she saw it. Hadn’t she read his signs correctly? Didn’t he want to see the trading center?
Again she turned toward them. She smiled, then signed, “If you will follow me, I will show you the trading post. Did you not wish to see it?”
“I will follow no woman!” Tahiska’s gestures were rapid, his expression grim. “I would not insult my friends by insisting they be led by a mere girl.”
“But I mean you no insult,” she spoke in sign. “How else can I lead you to the post if you do not follow? I cannot point it out from here.”
“Then we will stay here until you discover a way.”
Kristina stared at Tahiska as though he had suddenly grown another two eyes. “You don’t honestly expect me to…” She halted her speech, switching to sign. “It is our custom that a woman precedes a man into and out of a room. There is no insult meant. It is only custom.”
“It is not ours!”
Kristina expelled one long breath, realizing belatedly that being interpreter for these Indians would be no easy task. “Then tell me,” she said, standing directly before Tahiska. “What is your custom?”
“You must discover this yourself, for I cannot speak it to you.”
Kristina took a moment to try to clear her thoughts. She was to show them the trading center, yet they would not follow her to it, for it was not customary to lag behind a woman, nor would they enlighten her as to exactly what was the custom.
Kristina caught Tahiska’s scrutiny and smiled.
“Perhaps,” she gestured, “if you lead the way, I will show you the trading post.”
Tahiska nodded and brushed past her, the other two Indians adhering to his lead.
Stunned, Kristina gazed after them. This was the oddest way she’d ever seen of escorting guests.
She shook her head and, picking up her skirts, tagged along behind.
Now and again one or the other of the Indians would glance back at her to discover which way to turn. Kristina would motion to them in sign and though slow, the quartet eventually found their way across the fort to the trading center.
They had stopped just short of the building and all three Indians stared at the sign affixed to the top of the building.
Kristina glanced at it, wondering what it was about the sign that had captured their attention. It clearly read “Trading Center,” the letters carved into the wooden log, and at each end of the post hung a huge bouquet of flowers, probably, thought Kristina, the feminine touch of the trader’s wife.
Tahiska scowled over his shoulder at Kristina and motioned her forward.
“What is the meaning of the flowers?” he wanted to know. “Must we also trade with women? Is the white man so cowardly that only his women are here to meet strangers, to face possible danger?”
Kristina gasped. She had never heard anyone speak so disparagingly about her race and so condescendingly about her own gender. While she tried to think quickly of a defense, she was reminded that to the Indian eye, her presence here, without a soldier escort, could make the white male appear fainthearted.
“It’s only a sign that says to others that this is the trading center,” she finally responded. “The trader’s wife has most likely hung the flowers upon this post to create beauty.” Kristina motioned toward the beadwork on the Indian’s own clothing. “Even the shirt that you wear boasts of beauty. It was obviously made by one who cares for you. The flowers you see there are meant as ornamentation only. Come inside, you’ll see. It’s not a place where many women dwell.”
While Tahiska’s look at her clearly stated that he would reserve judgment, Kristina stared at the beadwork and porcupine quilling on his shirt, his leggings, his moccasins. Who had cared enough to ornament his clothing in such an intricate fashion? Was he married? Disappointed, Kristina remembered that marriage would not rule out an Indian male’s flirtation with others. They were allowed more than one wife.
Nanny was wrong, she said to herself. My future cannot lie with these people. I could never follow my husband around like a puppy and I could never share him with another. And with this reluctant self-revelation, Kristina followed her guests into the store.
Once a Mistress
Debra Mullins
Her love will capture the ultimate treasure—his heart.
Diana Covington is a dutiful daughter with a boring future all mapped out for her. A shipping fortune and lush Jamaican estate that will someday be hers, a husband of her father’s choice. Romance and Caribbean adventure exist only in her dreams, in which the Black Spaniard, El Moreno, plays a starring role.
Until she is kidnapped by the evil pirate Marcus, and her girlish fantasies quickly turn to nightmares.
Alex Rawnsley’s dark Spanish looks makes him the perfect choice to take on the identity of El Moreno. His mission is to bring Marcus to justice, but his heart thirsts for blood. Vengeance for his brother’s murder is within his grasp when Diana’s kidnapping throws a hitch in his strategy.
Snatching her from Marcus’s clutches is easy enough, but what to do with her now? He cannot return her home lest she be taken again. He has no choice but to keep the distracting, innocent beauty aboard his ship. In his cabin. In his bed. The temptation to make her his own grows stronger by the hour…but opening his heart to love may forever close the door on his quest for revenge.
Originally published in 1999 by Avon Books
Warning: Contains sweeping, high-seas adventure, a feisty heroine who doesn’t let maidenly innocence stop her from unbuckling the hero’s swash, and a hero who finds himself walking the plank of love.
Once a Mistress Page 27
