“But why do you tell me this, Mrs. Quince? Don’t you like Senor Rivera? You seemed so glad to see him, and your manner is quite friendly.”
“Good Lord, child. Of course I like him. I’m quite fond of him, actually. Even when he was a small boy, there was something intense about him, as if he were fated to be a powerful man. The men also think a great deal of him. They consider him most honest and reliable. I’m glad to see he is finally accepted into the society in which he belongs.”
“What do you mean, ‘finally’?”
“Be it because of his Indian mother or just plain humanity, Sebastian’s sympathy is with the Indian. When the plantation began to thrive, he freed his slaves and began to pay them a small wage in return for their labors. And labor they do. They honor Sebastian; they love him. He is their redeemer; their god here on earth. It is unheard of for a master to free slaves in these parts.”
“Unheard of?” Royall was incredulous. “But my father was jubilant because Princess Isabel passed the law of Ventre Livre. I remember reading about it in my school books. When the law was passed saying all slaves were to be free when they reached the age of sixty, my father told me it would be a matter of generations before all men in Brazil were free!”
“You are right, dear. In 1871 the Ventre Livre law was passed. This provided that all children born of slaves after 1871 would be free as well as all slaves that belonged to the State or the Crown. But unscrupulous plantation owners are only concerned with their rate of profit. They cannot find it in themselves to pay even a small wage for the work they have been getting for the price of spoiled food and a miserable thatched hut. Don’t be shocked to come across deplorable conditions here in Brazil. Many of us are petitioning for the emancipation of all slaves. As of yet, the government feels the economy is too shaky. But if enough of us raise our voices, we will have to be heard. Sebastian is a great example for abolition; he owns no slaves and yet his plantation yields the most rubber.”
“How can these unscrupulous plantation owners keep the Indian at work? Surely they want to see their children free men?”
“Most certainly. The Indian’s love for his children is unequaled. Yet, there are those owners who say, ‘If the child will not work in the field beside his parents, there is no room for him here. Put him out!’
“Parents don’t want to be separated from their children, so they stay on and work for the owner, even those over sixty who might want to consider themselves free. Where can they go? Old and worn, who would give them work? No, they stay on at their plantations and labor till they drop dead in their tracks.”
“What of you and Mr. Quince? Have you freed your slaves?”
“We have, those born after ’71. But they are still too young to work in the fields, so it has not strained our budget. And those old folk who are sixty and over, they have nowhere to go, so we give them light chores around the garden or in the dairy with the livestock, and they are grateful to have the food we feed them, and just to stay with their families. Besides, we treat our help most humanely. The conditions under which they live are far superior to those on many plantations.
“Sebastian is forever trying to induce the owners to improve the conditions of their slaves and raise their standard of living. He is indeed worthy of the adulation of his help. Kindness is his bylaw. He is the guardian of the downtrodden people. Make no mistake, though; when he is dealing with the rubber traders, he matches their ruthlessness. He is, on the whole, honest, but he is not to be put upon and cheated. He is wise and compassionate, truly a remarkable man.” Mrs. Quince picked at a piece of lint on the front of her gown and said distractedly, “I had wished at one time he would be my son-in-law. But it was not to be. I can take comfort in the fact that none of the other doting mothers of debutantes seem to be making much headway. I suppose it might seem strange to you that a mother might welcome a man born on the wrong side of the covers for her daughter’s husband. But remember, I told you: Society here is very different from that which you have known.”
Royall smiled and gazed reflectively toward the water. She felt the light touch of Mrs. Quince on her arm. “Forgive me, Royall. I wanted to tell you this in as kind a way as I knew how. I startled you in the beginning, but it was for a reason. I’m proud of you for coming from so sheltered a life and accepting things as they are here. I can see it now. You will give the plantation life some sparkle. All the young men will be after you like flies to a honey pot.”
Royall laughed aloud. As long as Sebastian is the fly, she thought secretly.
That evening Royall dressed with extra care. Annoyed that her hair kept turning into unexpected curls, she tugged and pulled and combed and smoothed until she achieved the effect she wanted. A high coif, not too high, but higher than she was accustomed to wearing. That afternoon she had buffed her nails till they had a soft gleam that enhanced her oval-tapered fingertips. The bath, which the stewards on the paddlewheeler brought to her after many trips back and forth to the galley, carrying the heated water in great jugs, had been scented and taken leisurely.
Picking through her wardrobe, she chose a smoky rose silk gown with a puckering of ribbons at the bodice. “Simplicity itself,” the New England dressmaker had sighed. It was of classic design, soft folds falling unhampered from the slightly elevated waist. A drop neckline left her arms bare and showed smooth, flawless skin against the muted color. Against her tawny hair, its contrast was striking. She picked up the ostrich plumes that were popular, and then abruptly threw them back again on the dressing table. She would feel foolish and flighty wearing them. She knew they had been a mistake when the dressmaker insisted they would be a perfect foil against the simplicity of the rose gown. A simple pendant of quartz was all the accessory she felt she needed. All Sebastian would like to see her in. She did not take him for a man who liked to see women dressed in “gadgets,” as her father had called them. As she sorted through her dainties to select a fresh handkerchief, she thought again of what Mrs. Quince had revealed to her that morning. What a strain he must have lived under, although he seemed to fare with it very well. A doubtful parentage was not exactly a boost to a man’s career, and she was delighted for him that he had overcome its burden.
She stood before the mirror and studied herself. The gown was perfect, but she had doubts about the hairdo. Was it too high? Too affected? “No, silly,” she told herself, “you’ll do just fine. No sense trying to be what you’re not! Still ... no, it’s fine,” she assured herself. Before she could change her mind she hurried down the hall. “Mrs. Quince, are you ready?”
Sebastian was waiting for them outside the dining room. He was handsome in a dinner jacket of white gabardine with snowy frills on his shirt front. His deep tan and dark hair were in startling relief against the whiteness of his dress. He turned in their direction and saw them. His eyes fell on Royall and seemed to drink her in. Her patience in her dressing was well rewarded. He kept his eyes on her face as he bid them hello, and it was with effort that he drew his attention to Mrs. Quince.
With little conversation, he led Royall into the dining room, a steward pushing Mrs. Quince’s chair. The table was the same one as the previous night, and he explained that he had reserved it for the entire journey.
“I wish we had thought to do the same, Sebastian. Were it not for you, we would have been in that din waiting for a table,” Mrs. Quince said, looking toward the doorway where a myriad of people stood waiting to be seated.
“I repeat, Senora Quince, the pleasure is all mine.” This he said as he looked in Royall’s direction. She felt her skin grow warm under his gaze. Why could this man make her blood race through her? Why did she find herself at a loss for words in his presence? Why was she acting like a schoolgirl instead of a poised widow who had had the benefit of an education and profited from a finishing school, not to mention the lovemaking they had shared? Why, when she wanted to be at her best, did she find her confidence in herself falter? But then, when he looked at her as he was doing
now, her fears disappeared and she could feel herself preen under his attention. Her pulse would quicken and the very air she breathed would exhilarate her being. She felt herself fill out—a woman, nothing more, a woman. His kind of woman?
Sebastian picked at his dinner, feeling nourished by Royall’s presence. He watched her. Slim and lithe, poised, quiet. Not babbling on, the way some girls did. She was gracious, almost queenly in her bearing. He, Sebastian Rivera, sometimes described as the most eligible bachelor in Manaus, felt as though he had feathers instead of a backbone. Yet, there were times when she looked at him, waiting for him to answer her question, or looking to him in conversation, when he felt he could be all she would ever want him to be. A man whose opinion was valued, whose words meant something. He believed she measured his words, listened to him. Not like most other women he had known, who patiently waited for him to finish his sentence just so they could lead the talk back to themselves. Or perhaps, while he was speaking, were wondering if their hats were on straight or their hair falling out from some of those outlandish coifs they wore, or were fidgeting with their gloves, or, worse, giggling in punctuation at the end of his every statement. This was a woman who was interested in him and what he had to say, what he was thinking. Nothing would ever convince him she was feigning interest. A man could tell those things. And in her deference to him, he found he weighed his words more carefully, pondered his judgments, considered his banter. He enjoyed himself, liked himself. He felt good to be with her, more a man, and always the memories of the night they had shared. Was she too remembering? He had been wrong. This young lady was different. If he wanted more to come of their relationship, and he admitted to himself that he did, he would have to tread softly.
After dinner Sebastian escorted Royall to the top deck. The night was sultry, and from where they stood, the sound of the great paddle wheel was a low whoosh as it propelled the luxurious boat through the dark waters of the Amazon.
The stars hung in the black sky, shining their dim, celestial light upon their faces. The moon at its first quarter was like an orange slice, precariously teetering in the heavens.
Royall breathed in the heavy scent of the tropical air. She became lost in the moment, entranced in the magic of the Brazilian sky, warm in the nearness of Sebastian.
He watched her as though from afar. Inwardly he groaned with longing for her and silently cursed himself for being at a loss for words. As he watched her, a breeze lifted itself across the water and blew against her. The soft folds of her gown were drawn against her, revealing the sensuous lines of her body. The breeze caressed her and wafted in his direction, bringing with it the scent she used. It reminded him of the earth, the sky, and the river he loved.
She turned to face him, somewhat embarrassed by her long silence, shy that her emotions were all too evident, afraid he would sense her desire.
His expression, as he looked at her, made her feel giddy; she was aware of his feelings and reveled in them. The embarrassing silence became a silent understanding—no words were needed. He approached her as she turned to look out over the water. His arms slipped around her and held her close. She could feel his warm breath against her cheek and she pressed herself closer to his chest.
Suddenly, his lips came down hard on hers, straining, loving, wanting her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. And she was responding to him as urgently as he hoped she would. In their ardent embrace, he caressed her full breasts through the soft silk, feeling their rosy crests grow taut with desire, feeling her body meet his with unrestrained passion. He kissed her hair, her neck, her eyes, as she clung to him, her heart pounding, throwing caution to the winds, wishing it would never end. He wanted to take her right there on the deck, but knew he wouldn’t. With an inward groan, he let his passion subside and held her gently to him as her breathing relaxed and she leaned against him quietly, wanting more than his passionate kisses—wanting his love.
A lifetime passed, and she gave an involuntary shiver.
“You’re becoming chilled. It’s late. Come, I’ll see you to your cabin.”
Silently, she acquiesced and allowed him to lead her down the ramp to her stateroom door.
The door was hardly shut behind him when he took her in his arms again. “So, my little lioness, the hunter has you in his arms at last.”
She thrilled to his words, trembled to the low, husky sound of his voice. He had dropped the cool, courteous tone of the casual acquaintance, and he was once again that stranger, the wild, hot-blooded buccaneer she had known in Rio de Janeiro.
He wanted her naked, wanted to feel her skin warm against his hands. Quickly, he undid the buttons on the back of her gown, helping her to remove it. His hands touched newly exposed flesh, always leaving it warm with the heat from his lips. He placed her hands on his belt, invoking her silently to return the favor. Their garments fell away like dry leaves from a tree, until they were both naked and wild as a winter storm in their hunger.
They tore at each other, each seeking that which the other could give. There on the silken coverlet, they devoured each other with fevered lips and grasping fingers.
When their passion was abated, they touched mouths with lips swollen with passion and tasting of the salt of blood and tears. They lay together feeling the warmth where their bodies touched, and when they sought each other again, it was with tenderness. Gentle mouths, delicate fingers, exploring, caressing. Passion quickened within her, and Sebastian calmed her with his touch and soothed her with words known only to lovers.
He was gentle with her, so gentle, evoking in her a golden warmth that spread through her loins and tingled her toes. His movements were familiar, reassuring; his touch on her naked breasts, light and lingering.
He gentled her passions the way he would gentle a wild cat, with a sure touch and a soft voice. He tamed her wildness, yet loved her wild; he quieted her cries with his mouth, and yet evoked moans of passion with his caress. When passion flamed again, it burned pure.
Sebastian cradled Royall in his arms, a strange expression in his ebony eyes. Only with this woman could he experience such fulfillment, such deep contentment. This girl, no, this woman, with the strange name could match his ardor and without reservation would give herself totally to him. He felt an insane desire to leap from the narrow bunk and shout to all the passengers that he had found a part of life that was missing. How beautiful she was. How gentle she could be, and then she would become a raging riptide, swirling and crushing his volcanic outpourings until the molten lava and thundering waters were a marriage of one. This was a woman. His woman.
Imperceptibly, his embrace tightened. Royall smiled into dark eyes that mirrored her soul. Sebastian’s thumb traced the delicate skin over her sooty lashes. She was a sleepy angel. His angel. He would never let her go. Never. She belonged to him, always had, ever since that night in Rio. Now, he must make her his forever.
His tone, when he spoke, was a husky caress. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Lovemaking gives you the aura of an angel and the soul of a lioness.”
“Mrs. Quince would probably call me a wanton.”
Sebastian threw back his head and laughed, a deep, boisterous sound that was music to Royall’s ears. His smile was almost boyish. “Our lovemaking was just that. Making love. Just as it should be. No restrictions, no reserves. A meeting of a man and a woman who need to become one.”
Royall sighed deeply. She never wanted to leave this bed, leave Sebastian’s embrace. His hard, manly body that molded itself to hers was so comforting, so right. How wonderful that she hadn’t felt compelled to make any apologies, any explanations for her behavior in Rio at the Mardi Gras. Sebastian seemed to instinctively know that her marriage had been stultifying, smothering her in supposed respectability. To say that she was a widow was enough for him. To know that she had experienced her first fulfillment as a woman with him, ended all questions.
Was it possible that she could love him, love Sebastian Rivera, the man? Even
as she thought it, she knew it was true. She loved him fiercely, with every fiber of her being. Now, for the first time in her life, she knew what it was to be loved by a man. She savored the feeling, almost tasting it. She never wanted to feel differently. And pray God he felt the same way.
Again, Sebastian’s hand traced the delicate lines of her face. “Sleep, mi amor,” he whispered huskily. “We’ll awaken in each other’s arms.”
Royall snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm, her cheek against his chest. Her thick lashes fluttered and then were still. A smile tugged at the corners of Sebastian’s mouth. Dark eyes closed in dreamless sleep.
It was Royall who stirred first. She woke, completely alert. She wanted to stretch her long, slim body but negated the idea. For now she would content herself with savoring the nearness of the man laying beside her. How handsome he was, how virile. How tender and yet savage. What did it matter if she had wanton desires or if he had dubious parentage? Nothing mattered save the two of them. She stirred slightly, affording herself a better look at his face. He appeared relaxed, contented in sleep and yet vulnerable. A sudden surge of desire and longing stirred within her. She wanted him, needed him again, again. She shifted her position slightly and leaned toward him. Strong arms pulled her lithe body on top of his. Hungry mouths searched, found and conquered in the dimness of the cabin.
Spent, Sebastian and Royall fell back against the bedding, their bodies glistening with perspiration. It wasn’t possible that perfection could be equalled and surpassed, but it had been. Sebastian let his mind soar to dizzying heights as he ran his hands through his unruly hair. There were no words. He gathered her close, devouring her with his glistening body. He would never let her go, he thought savagely. He would fight to the death anyone who tried to take her from him. She belonged to him; he decreed it. “I must leave you now; it will be dawn soon. Rosalie is an early riser and would question my exit from this cabin at this particular hour.”
Captive Innocence Page 8
