Captive Innocence

by Fern Michaels

  This was a bad dream; this surely couldn’t be happening to her. How could one man be so evil? Carl. Carl couldn’t be marrying Royall Banner. He didn’t love Royall, he loved her, Alicia. Fear settled in her stomach as she raised beseeching eyes to the Baron. “Please, you must not do this to me and to Carl. We truly love each other. Carl’s your son, and he loves me.”

  “Carl loves money and the fine life. Come, child, sit here beside me.” Alicia recognized the words for the iron command they were. Awkwardly, she rose to her feet and then settled herself primly on the sofa. He had to leave so she could think. She had to get her wits together and sort out all of the things he had just said to her. Think, she had to think. God in heaven, this man had just turned her world upside down. He had made insane accusations, said foul, filthy things to her, and then said he wanted to right a wrong and at the same time forbid her to see his son ever again. Think! her mind screamed.

  Tears of humiliation coursed down her cheeks as she felt rather than saw his well-manicured hand cup her breast. A shudder ripped through her. Not Carl’s father. He couldn’t ... he wouldn’t ... take advantage of her.

  Alicia felt flesh touch flesh. Now she knew what the saying meant when someone said their flesh crawled. “I see that you understand,” the Baron said suavely. “As long as you cooperate, Carl will never hear about your, er, shall we call them, escapades? Now,” he said, cupping her breast with hurting fingers, “I’m certain you can see my logic. You have nowhere else to turn besides myself. Without me, you’ll find yourself out on the streets begging for a living. I’d like it if you were ready by noon tomorrow. I’ll have my carriage waiting outside the shop to take you to my townhouse.”

  Alicia wanted to cry out that he was hurting her. She knew her flesh would hold the bruises. She was beaten, and she knew it. Without Carl there was no one, no one. No friends, nothing. Thanks to the Baron her father had died in disgrace, leaving countless debts, many of them owed to former family friends. No one could help her, and without Carl nothing had meaning. He had turned from her, bending to his father’s will, leaving her alone.

  “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” the Baron smiled, assuming Alicia’s silence was her acquiescence. “Fix your gown, Alicia, before I change my mind and stay for the remainder of the day. There will be time enough soon for us to get off on the right footing.”

  Alicia shivered. She knew exactly what he meant when he said they would soon be on the right footing. Hastily, she righted the bodice of her mauve dimity gown. Her tears had long since dried on her face. What did anything matter anymore? At least she knew she would have clothes on her back and food in her stomach. She would have to allow her mind to go to the pretend world her mother had traveled before her death. The world where there was no feeling, no caring, no loving. One just existed from one day to the next. Nothing mattered now. Her world, as she lived in it, no longer existed. Without Carl, there was nothing.

  Chapter Seven

  The early morning ride through the jungle was an exhilarating experience that Royall knew she would not soon forget. The smell of the tropical flowers was intoxicating, and the dew lay heavy on the lush green foliage, causing it to sparkle in the bright sun. Soon it would dry off as the light became more intense. Scarlet and emerald birds shrilled and cackled as they flew through the dense forest.

  Carl pointed out a large python that lay coiled, dozing in the sun. Briefly, he gave Royall a lecture on the snakes of the jungle, especially the poisonous ones, how they attacked and what to do if it happened. Royall shuddered and knew that if a snake ever bit her she would lay down and die.

  “That’s one of the reasons why we don’t want you to venture into the jungle until you know the terrain and can handle yourself. Never fear, it will not take long to learn the ways of Brazil.” Carl smiled at her uncertain look.

  They chatted happily, and Carl gradually lost the worried look with which he had started out. Royall was eager to see Mrs. Quince and have a picnic breakfast at her plantation.

  When they arrived at the Quince plantation, Rosalie was overjoyed at the arrival of her neighbors, and Royall felt that Carl was embarrassed by such a blatant display of emotion. Royall was pleased to see that Mrs. Quince’s ankle was mending nicely. The woman carried a walking stick and the wheeled chair had been discarded.

  “Come, my dears,” Mrs. Quince cried happily. “I also have another guest for breakfast. I can’t quite believe my good fortune this day.” Royall and Carl followed the aristocratic lady into the dim house and onto the veranda. Seated at the table, his plate piled high with food, sat Sebastian Rivera. He stood and gave a slight bow in Royall’s direction. Royall recovered quickly and smiled coolly, surprised at his appearance.

  “Isn’t this good luck?” Mrs. Quince asked happily. “Not one visitor but three! This year promises to be very exciting with the opening of the opera,” she continued enthusiastically. “It’ll be a welcome change to live in town and visit with friends. I look forward to it every year.”

  Carl frowned at the sight of Sebastian Rivera. He wished he’d known the man would be here and had arranged for another day to bring Royall to visit Rosalie Quince. Now he had to go through the social amenities for their sakes. It would be too rude to allow his feelings toward Mrs. Quince’s guest to show. Carl found himself studying Sebastian’s face as he always did when he was in Rivera’s company. The squareness of the jaw, jet black hair, not just dark like his own, but most of all, the sense of power he emanated; power of the same intensity but of a different nature than the Baron. Was it possible, could it be that Sebastian was as much the Baron’s son as he was? Was that the real reason behind the Baron’s hatred for Rivera, and not Rivera’s stand on the slavery issue or the man’s obvious Indian heritage?

  Briefly, Carl remembered those days when he and Sebastian had been boys, stealing out into the jungle to play with one another, each knowing the risk they took if the Baron should discover them. Those had been good days, days when hatred and prejudice had been left to the adults. Even today, Carl knew a secret admiration for Sebastian Rivera and personally agreed with the general consensus that he was an honorable man with acute business sense.

  “Carl,” Rosalie Quince addressed him, breaking him away from his thoughts, “Sebastian came here last night to tell Alonzo and myself that there’s fever on Reino Brazilia. Is this true?”

  Royall’s ears pricked up and she watched Carl, waiting for his answer. The man appeared shocked, whether at the news or the fact that Sebastian was the bearer of the news was not clear.

  “There are a few sick Indians, but the Baron doesn’t think it’s the fever,” Carl answered calmly, aware he was under Rivera’s scrutiny.

  “What do you think, Carl?” Mrs. Quince persisted.

  “I haven’t been down to the compound myself. Other business has prevented me.”

  Rosalie Quince frowned, making it evident that she could not accept Carl’s excuse. “How sick are they? How many?” she demanded sternly.

  “Four, I believe, and they’ve been off work only three days.”

  “Is there any improvement in their conditions?” she persisted. An outbreak of fever would affect every plantation owner on this side of the Amazon and was not to be dealt with lightly.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Quince. The Baron seems to think it’s all part of a rebellion, and he doesn’t believe they’re sick at all.” Plainly, Carl didn’t hold with the Baron’s beliefs. He was decidedly uncomfortable under Mrs. Quince’s questioning, and Royall actually felt sorry for him. Poor Carl, if he would only stand up for his own beliefs, he’d like himself better.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me, Carl, if fever was present on the Reino. Alonzo has told your father many times, and so has Sebastian, to clear out those lowlands and drain the marsh. The very air down there is lethal. The Baron promises but never follows through. There’d better not be another outbreak of yellow jack. We’d all suffer the losses.”

  Royall listened at
tentively. Rosalie Quince was accusing the Baron of neglecting his sick. If he could separate children from their parents, she could very well believe he was just as cruel in other ways. Royall decided this was another matter she would look into. If the Indians’ welfare depended upon the owners of the plantations, she meant to have a hand in it. Mrs. Quince was looking at her as though she could read her mind, and a challenging glint shone in her sharp eyes.

  “Royall, Sebastian must leave now, and this carnfounded ankle of mine still acts up. Would you be so kind as to see him out?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Sebastian hastily interjected. “I’ve known my way around your home since I was a boy.”

  “Hush now, Sebastian. I won’t be said to be lacking in social graces. Royall, dear, please see Senor Rivera to the door.”

  Royall was being manipulated and she knew it, but having no other recourse, she stood and smoothed the skirt of her riding habit. She moved through the veranda doors into the cool interior of the house, aware that Sebastian was following closely behind.

  “The front door is this way,” he told her when she turned the wrong way into the corridor. “You seem to know as much about Mrs. Quince’s house as you do about the condition of the slaves on your plantation!”

  Royall turned on him, heat flaming in her face. “That’s not fair, Senor Rivera. I’ve only just come to the Reino, and I’m only beginning to guess at the condition of the workers.”

  “Save me your explanations, Senora Banner,” he said coldly, his black eyes flashing, his lips curling in a churlish sneer. “You and your father lived off the profits from the Reino for many years. It was your business to learn how those profits were made. And knowing, I doubt it would have made much difference. What matter if a man’s life is hell on earth when compared to a new hat for that beautiful golden head of yours.”

  She wanted to lash out, slap the contempt off his face and replace it with the bloody slash of her nails. “You didn’t know my father, Senor Rivera! He would have thought the slavery here abominable. In America he was an outspoken emancipationist!”

  “And did your father have holdings in the South that depended upon slave labor?” His face was so close to hers, she could feel his breath on her cheek, feel herself locked in those night dark eyes.

  “N-no, he didn’t, but ...”

  “Exactly. It’s easy to be an emancipationist when one’s fortune doesn’t depend on it. And if I’m not mistaken, living in the North, he merely adopted a popular opinion. Having interest in a plantation south of the Equator where his friends and acquaintances couldn’t see the deplorable conditions for themselves, your father was quite safe, wasn’t he?” His hand gripped her arm, pulling her toward him, forcing her to look up at him and see the hatred there in his face.

  “And you were safe, also, weren’t you? Your lovely patrician nose never had to smell the stink of the Reino’s compounds, and you never had to see the suffering. You only knew that nothing was denied you. Education, travel, clothes—all bought for you by the miserable lives of the slaves on Reino Brazilia!”

  His voice was a deep growl, menacing and threatening. Royall tried to pull away, wanted to run away, hide from that murderous glint in his eyes. But she was helpless, caught in a vise, unable to run, even to speak.

  “Ever since I was a boy, I’ve hated the Reino for what it did to my people, what the Baron and your father did. And God help me, but I want to hate you too!” His breath escaped in an audible groan as he seized her with both hands, pulling her hard against him. He frowned, tipping his head to one side, watching her with the alertness of a panther.

  She wanted to escape, needed to hide herself from the rage in this man’s eyes, from the bitter set of his mouth. He was posing a threat, but of what she wasn’t certain. With supreme effort she pulled herself free, turning and running down the corridor, not knowing where it would take her, only praying there was safety on the other side of the door.

  She ran faster, holding her skirts, her booted feet striving for purchase on the slickly polished floor. Reaching the door, she pulled it open. Like something in a bad dream, he was behind her, slamming the door shut with one hand and seizing her with the other.

  “Let go of me!” she panted with desperation, struggling wildly against his grip. “Stay away from me!”

  “If only I could!” he said harshly, his voice barely above a moan, tightening his hold on her, holding her fast, preventing her wild twistings to gain freedom. He seized her shoulders, shaking her violently, making her think her head would snap off.

  His eyes blazed with fire and his mouth tightened into a grim, forbidding line, a muscle leaped wildly in his jaw. Before she could take another breath, he subdued her struggles by pulling her arms behind her back, crushing her against him. His height and massive shoulders made her feel helpless and insignificant, and sudden fear seemed to heighten her senses in spite of a dull roaring in her ears. She was aware of the clean, masculine scent of his cologne, of the feel of his chest, rock hard and impervious against her. He stalked her deliberately, finding the moment to lower his head and seek her mouth with his own. Despite the strength of his hands holding her captive, his lips were tender, teasing, stilling her fears before they crashed down upon hers again, searching and demanding, evoking her response in a bruising possession.

  Royall’s knees buckled under her, making her hold him for support. His lean, masculine body emanated a heat that penetrated her clothes and seemed to burn her flesh.

  Roughly, he pushed her away from himself, an expression of self-disgust banking the fires in his eyes. She felt herself sinking, crumpling to the floor. For a long moment he stood looking down at her, feet spread wide apart, his stance telling her that she was helpless against him, that he could take her if he chose to, that he hated her and hated himself for wanting her.

  Without a word, he turned, walking down the corridor to the front door. He opened it, a bright shaft of golden light outlining his stiffly held frame and proud dark panther’s head. And when he was gone and she was left there in the dim shadows, she felt as though he had taken something of herself with him. Some vital part of herself that she had only discovered in his arms in the quiet after Mardi Gras.

  She shivered in the dim coolness, knowing she should hate him for the way he used her, for what he thought of her. Her eyes burned, but no tears slipped down her cheeks. Her heart seemed to choke off all air and her pulses pounded with despair. She would never really hate Sebastian Rivera, she admitted. He hated enough for the both of them.

  What seemed to Royall like hours later, she finally composed herself enough to go back out onto the veranda where Mrs. Quince and Carl were waiting for her. Rosalie’s sharp eyes must have seen that something was amiss with her guest, because she turned to Carl after a moment and said, “Carl, why don’t you go to the stable and see the new foal? Royall and I need some time for women’s talk.”

  Royall was thankful for the woman’s lack of tact when Carl stood to leave, an expression of chagrin on his face. He stood for a moment looking down at Royall, concern shadowing his eyes. “Is everything all right? You took so long seeing Rivera to the door.”

  Smiling, she tried to reassure him, even though her pulses were beating in crazy rhythms. “Of course, why shouldn’t everything be all right?” she challenged.

  “I just thought it took you so long to come back out here, and I know how Rivera feels about the Reino. If he said anything or did anything ...”

  “Carl, Royall said everything was fine. She probably needed to refresh herself after the long ride. Didn’t you, dear,” Rosalie made her excuse.

  Taking the hint, Royall agreed, daring to meet Carl’s curious glances head on. Forcing herself to smile brightly, she added, “You go on and see the foal. I’ll come down after a while. I think Mrs. Quince wants to try to pry out the secret of what I’ll be wearing to the Masquerade Ball.”

  When they were alone on the veranda with the bamboo blinds closed to w
ard off the sun, cool papaya drinks in their hands, Royall immediately questioned Mrs. Quince about the little girls on the Reino.

  “It’s sad, isn’t it? Unfortunately, it’s also true. Carlyle doesn’t treat his Indians and blacks with a shred of humanity. The living conditions are deplorable! Sebastian has been trying for the last three years to get the children.” Suddenly, something bright green swooped onto the porch and settled on Mrs. Quince’s shoulder. “Lord a mercy! Lord a mercy!” it squawked in a raucous voice.

  “This is my parrot. Bartholomo, meet Royall Banner.”

  “Where’s my sweetheart?” he chanted again, making Royall laugh.

  “At least he’s someone to talk to during the day before Alonzo comes home,” Mrs. Quince said, laughing at herself, fine lines radiating from the corners of her sharp blue eyes.

  “Tell me, child, how do you like it at the plantation? What did you think of the Baron?”

  “He’s been most courteous. I’ve only seen him at dinner. And of course, Carl has been very gallant.”

  “And Jamie?” Mrs. Quince asked, her tone suddenly sharp and her eyes bright.

  “He’s very nice and friendly. He took me horseback riding, to everyone’s disapproval. Evidently he’s not an accomplished horseman. The Baron has forbidden me to ride with him. Jamie was quite angry. He acts like a spoiled child from time to time. But I like him.”

  “And the housekeeper?”

  “She, too, has forbidden me to ride with Jamie, and I think she takes too much upon herself. And yes, she doesn’t like me. You were right, Mrs. Quince. I’ve tried to be friendly, but she’s so cold and unbending. But tell me, Mrs. Quince, what’s this about a fever on the plantation?”

  “Sebastian rode here last night to ask Alonzo if he knew of any cases of yellow jack at Reino Brazilia. So far, it’s only a rumor. A rumor I hope isn’t true. The last epidemic we had was also on the Reino and it spread to our plantation. We lost seventy-two Indians and forty-five blacks. I can’t recall the number the Reino lost, but it greatly exceeded ours. It’s the Baron’s fault. He’s never adequately cared for the Indians. He expects them to work day and night under the worst conditions.”