Captive Innocence

by Fern Michaels

  Royall felt the Baron was leading her on, and she rose to the bait. “But surely you don’t consider yourself old?”

  Immediately, he tightened his hold of her; he smiled down at her. “I’m glad you don’t think so, Royall ... so glad,” he whispered meaningfully.

  At once she became uncomfortable, remembering his intimacy with her when she first arrived. Disgust washed over her, and she concentrated on the dance.

  Carlyle Newsome led Royall across the floor, feeling her lithe form in his arms and reveling in the sensation. She was the most stunning creature he had seen in years. She made all the other women appear dowdy and frumpish compared to her natural grace. He had watched her, studied her, compared her through the midst of the countless parties they had attended since the season began. And always she carried herself with an ethereal poise and an air of sublimity. Her brash tongue and undignified actions could be overlooked and forgiven. Damn fool, that Carl! Here he was with the most beautiful girl in Brazil his for the asking, and he would prefer that mouse, Alicia!

  As the Baron held Royall, he felt a stirring within him, a familiar chord being struck. He wondered why it had never occurred to him to have Royall for his own. He was only slightly past fifty, not too old for someone as mature as Royall.

  Daringly, he held her close to him, and maneuvered her into the reverse position. As he dipped her backward, he could feel the soft protuberance of her breasts, feel her slim torso bend beneath him. He heard the sharp intake of her breath and misunderstood it for excitement.

  When they straightened, he laughed softly and was startled to see her annoyance flush on her face. “Sir,” she said sharply, “I do not reverse! It’s unbefitting a lady!” Her golden-flecked eyes glittered angrily. There was no mistaking the dislike for him in her voice or the trace of disgust in her look.

  Had they been anywhere but here, he would have struck out at that disgust and changed her superior attitude to one of subservience. She would lose her smug look when he slapped her dignity from her and left her cringing at the mere sound of his voice. In that moment Carlyle Newsome knew enmity for Royall, a hate tinged with fear. She caught him unawares and rendered a forceful blow to his image of himself as a man.

  Suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed, drawing attention to himself from the other dancers. Let Carl have her; she deserves him, the thin-blooded New England miss who dared to demand an accounting of her inheritance. They deserve each other! The thought brought on a new burst of laughter from deep in the Baron’s throat.

  He’s mad! Royall thought. She had seen the cruel glittering in his gray eyes and it frightened her. Before she could give it more thought, the music stopped and she was being led by the Baron to Mrs. Quince.

  Later in the evening, Jamie approached her to claim his dance. He was resplendent in his costume, and his courtly manner was impressive. Still, Royall couldn’t help but remember the conversation she had overheard between Jamie and Elena. She really didn’t want to dance with him but realized she had no other choice.

  Jamie danced surprisingly well, and soon Royall was lost in the music. “When will you be returning to the Casa, Royall? I miss your playing the piano.”

  “I’ll be back in a day or two, Jamie.” She smiled up at him. Once again Royall was struck by Jamie’s handsome good looks. Sandy-colored hair, thick and glossy, a strong, firm jaw. Whereas Carl was handsome, he was more the dandy, but Jamie had a rugged handsomeness, like Sebastian. She furtively glanced at Jamie again; yes, she thought she might have been mistaken, but no, there it was—a marked resemblance to Sebastian. Royall looked away quickly, not wanting Jamie to see her staring at him. Sudden anger rushed through Royall. She was angry with Sebastian for his foolish attitude about his parentage, angry with the Baron for his lewdness. She could well imagine how he had used Sebastian’s mother and then tossed her aside. It was slowly becoming apparent to Royall as it had to other people that it was most likely the Baron was Sebastian’s father. Suddenly, it dawned on her: could this be the reason the old Baron had disinherited Carlyle Newsome, as she had learned from her father’s ledger and then from Victor Morrison? It would appear the dates would coincide. From what she knew of her father’s old friend, he would demand that Carlyle do his duty by the girl, and perhaps because he had refused to do that duty, the old Baron had disclaimed him as his son. She meant to find out more about this mystery. “Tell me, Jamie, did you ever know your grandfather?”

  “Oh, no. He died before I was born. It was just after father came back from England; that was where he met and married my mother, you know.”

  “I heard rumors, Jamie”—here she tread carefully—“ that your grandfather had disinherited your father. How is it then that he came back into your grandfather’s good graces?”

  “Oh, I don’t think he ever did gain the old man’s good graces. Once Carl told me that father owns the Reino because no other will could be found, and therefore all properties reverted back to the natural son.” To Royall’s knowing ears, it sounded like another of Jamie’s well-learned school lessons.

  “But surely if your grandfather truly disinherited your father, the properties would not have reverted back to him?” Royall said, testing his knowledge.

  “I don’t know, Royall. That kind of thing doesn’t interest me. It doesn’t seem real, somehow. But take my toy soldiers, they’re real. I had this costume copied after one of my favorites. It’s the kind the British officers wore during the Crimean War.” Noting Royall’s preoccupation with his grandfather, Jamie offered, “I could take you for a ride to see the old plantation if you like. It’s not far from the new one. As a matter of fact, father copied it line for line, room for room. I think I told you this once before, didn’t I?”

  “Yes. But I would very much like to see the old ruins. There was a fire, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes. It makes me sad to think of it. Grandfather died in the fire, you know.”

  Royall’s eyebrows shot upward, “No. I didn’t. I just assumed he died from old age.”

  “Oh, no,” Jamie’s face turned pale. “We Newsomes always die a violent death.”

  “Jamie! Who told you that?”

  “No one. But I like to think it’s true, then I could show everyone how brave I really am.”

  “Don’t talk foolishness, Jamie.”

  “Well, it’s true, Royall. Moriah and her friends think I’m a sissy, but I’ll show them!”

  At the mention of the little girls Royall’s blood ran cold. The feel of Jamie’s fingers on her back chilled her, and she was fearful of the determination in his voice.

  Royall was delighted when the music came to an end. She was glad to be with Mrs. Quince, who could always be relied on to say what she meant. There were never any veiled meanings from that candid lady.

  Jamie escorted Royall back to Mrs. Quince, and she was pleasantly surprised to find the grand lady in conversation with Mr. Morrison, the attorney. At Royall’s approach, Mr. Morrison stood and received her warmly.

  “I don’t want to interrupt, Mrs. Quince. You and Mr. Morrison seemed very deep in conversation. If you have something you wish to discuss privately, I’ll excuse myself.”

  “Quite the contrary, dear,” broke in Mr. Morrison. “Mrs. Quince and I were discussing you, as a matter of fact.”

  Royall glanced from one face to the other. “If that’s the case,” she demurred, “I’m sorry to be the cause of a disagreement.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Nonsense, child. It was merely that we don’t agree on the time and place to tell you something that we both feel you have a right to know.” The look on Mrs. Quince’s face caused Royall some alarm.

  “Whatever it is, I can see you consider it serious.” Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the old lawyer. “Is it what we discussed at your home earlier this week?” Surely, it couldn’t be about her earlier antics on the dance floor with Sebastian.

  “It is,” came the brief reply.

  “As it happens
, I was just discussing the matter with Jamie. I, too, think it abhorrent that the Baron has never claimed Senor Rivera for his son, but since he has not and Sebastian has inherited Farleigh Mallard’s properties these many years now, I feel it’s a matter of beating a dead horse.”

  Abruptly, she turned on her heel to search for her next dance partner, leaving Mrs. Quince and Mr. Morrison with stunned expressions. As Royall searched the dance floor, she could feel the heat burning her face. “I must look a sight,” she thought. After all, she attempted to excuse herself, it is like beating a dead horse. Why can’t they just let it rest? All these reminders about his heritage can’t be comforting to Sebastian. Perhaps if the ugly stories had been allowed to die years ago, he wouldn’t feel this rage toward the Reino and everyone on it. Including me, she thought sorrowfully. Another glance at the dance card told her that this was the waltz she had saved for Sebastian. Poor Sebastian, it would be a long time before he did any dancing. Fresh anger boiled up within her, and she fled to the nearest balcony to escape the din of people around her.

  On the balcony, overlooking the Parradays’ extensive rose garden, Royall breathed deeply. The night air was exhilarating, so cool compared to the heat of the day. Almost at once she could feel herself relax, feel the strain of the past few days seep from her body. She leaned over the marble railing to reach out for a rose that had climbed up to the balustrade.

  “Careful, better let me get that for you.”

  Royall spun around, almost losing her footing, to look into the dark eyes of Sebastian Rivera. Nervously, Royall looked around to see if any of the other guests were in evidence. He would kill her, she could feel it in her bones. By all rights he should be there lying in pain, gasping for breath and hating her for what she did to him.

  “I’ve decided to be magnanimous and allow you to apologize to me for your behavior on the dance floor.”

  “Then you’ll have a long wait because I never intend to apologize to you. You deserved what you got and more.”

  Sebastian ignored her. “I should have dragged you by the hair across the room, taken you outside, and given your bottom a paddling. In fact, I think I’ll do it right here and now. You deserve it!” he said emphatically.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Royall hissed as she imagined the scene with all the men laughing and cheering him on. He wouldn’t dare! She knew he would. Her mind raced. She had to flirt with him, make him forget his threat. Plead with him, even resort to going down on her knees. “I must say,” she said coyly, “you look quite elegant in your costume. Anyone dressed as grandly as you shouldn’t waste his time on someone like me, whom you consider nothing more than a ... romp. Go inside where the ladies are all waiting for you.” She gulped at the cold look on his face. She had meant to flatter him, cajole him, and here she was, adding fuel to the fire.

  “It’s true what you say, that I’m in demand,” Sebastian said airily. “However, since I’ve tasted your delights, the others are less tempting.”

  “You’re insufferable,” Royall spat. “Why aren’t you maimed?” she asked as an afterthought, totally candid.

  “I was wondering when you would get around to asking about my well-being.” His raven’s wing eyes dipped to the golden bow and arrow she carried. “For Diana the huntress, your aim fell short of the mark.”

  He casually reached out and captured the rose, plucked it, and proceeded to break the thorns from the stem. Royall watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was dressed in a black suit with a short, snug-fitting jacket over a snowy white cambric shirt. A bright red satin band encircled his slim waist, topping off narrow trousers. A black sombrero, tilted at a rakish angle on his head, gave his square jaw emphasis.

  “Here, I give you beauty without the barb.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something, Senor Rivera?”

  “Nothing personal, I assure you.” Royall hated his condescending tone.

  “Are you prepared for the evening’s final entertainment before us, Senora Banner?”

  “Us, Senor?”

  “Yes, us. I understand you’ve been judged the most fair and therefore the queen of this ball. It is rather fitting; after all, you are Royall with two L’s.”

  Royall gasped. “How can that be? How do you know?”

  “One has a way of finding out these things. Especially since Mrs. Quince warned me and gave me directives on how I was not to embarrass you with my surliness, even after what you almost did to me. It’s amazing how forgiving other people can be about my body. I’m to be a gracious partner and put aside all feelings, save those that are complimentary.”

  “You, why you?” Royall couldn’t believe that Mrs. Quince had told Sebastian that she, Royall, was voted queen of the ball. On second thought, she could if Sebastian was voted king. Lord a mercy! She hoped not. She couldn’t endure his sarcasm for the rest of the evening. “Are you the king?”

  “That is correct, Senora. I am to be your king. Just remember to act surprised when the announcement is made. I know I can rely on your abilities as an actress.”

  “How dare you!”

  “Oh, yes, before I forget, do steer clear of Senora Roswell. It seems as though the dear lady exerted her pressure to have me named king. Dear soul felt assured that her daughter, Nancy, would be named queen. A bit of matchmaking has been going on in the Roswell household, it seems. When she hears you’ve been named queen, I’m sure the fur will fly. Your fur, and never fear, Senora, I assure you, you’ll find me the most attentive of kings.”

  “Oh, you ... you ...”

  “What? What am I, Senora? I warn you, your opinion of me is becoming tiresome.” He reached for her arm as it rose to strike him.

  “Answer me, Royall, what am I? Am I a person to live off the misery of another human being? Am I? A little sarcasm would not be alien to you, I am sure. And as to being an actress, aren’t you, and a convincing one? Who would have supposed the day you went riding with me on Regalo Verdad that it was to distract me from the sabotage taking place elsewhere? Yes, that’s what I said—sabotage!” She was a better actress than he’d guessed. “Don’t you think I can add two and two together?” He jerked her arm viciously. “That nasty little fire was started at the opposite end of the plantation from where we were riding. Luckily I’ve got good men working for me, and all that was lost was a week’s work. It could have been a year’s work, and well you know it.”

  He held her arm in a fierce grip, squeezing till she cried out in pain. Immediately, he seemed contrite and released her. She stood there, looking at him in disbelief, puzzled over his statement. Actress or no, he felt desire for her well up within him. Before either of them was aware, he had pulled her to him, crushing her lips beneath his in a tempestuous, burning kiss.

  She fought him, pushing him away from her, feeling his burning lips above hers, lingering. She felt the brutality ebbing and something else taking its place, something demanding and sweet and yearning. With a will of its own, her body clung to his, her lips answering his demand. Without removing his mouth from hers, he sighed deeply; she could taste the wine punch he had been drinking, heady, tangy. She felt herself spinning as though she were in a whirlpool and Sebastian was her lifeline.

  Roughly, he pushed her away, his jet eyes peering deeply into hers. In a half audible groan she heard him murmur, “She-devil,” and he pulled her to him for another kiss, this time more searching. When she felt herself stir in his arms, he put her away from him, almost knocking her off her feet. She saw on his face a white, tight-lipped anger. Angrily, he strode off, leaving her alone on the balcony. Royall stared at the crushed rose at her feet, trampled beneath his foot, just as she was.

  Royall didn’t know how long she stood alone on the lonely balcony overlooking the rose garden. She was faintly aware that another dance was beginning, and somewhere a young man would be searching for her to dance with him. She couldn’t go in there, not the way she was feeling. At a sound behind her she turned to see Victor Morrison.

/>   “Here you are, my dear. I’ve been looking for you. This may be the last chance we have to talk before you go back to the plantation. There’s something I feel I must tell you.”

  Royall brought herself to her senses. She could see the old lawyer was struggling with indecision. “It’s most unpleasant, but Mrs. Quince assures me you have the mettle to take it.”

  “I think I do, Mr. Morrison.”

  “I’m sure of it, Royall.” He seemed to stiffen; he came closer to her and put a hand on her arm. “Your father was a friend, both of mine and the old Baron Newsome. Old Farleigh Mallard knew him also, and always had the kindest of words to say about him. I think a daughter of Richard Harding can listen to the truth and bear it.”

  He gazed at her with a stern expression on his face. Whatever the subject was the lawyer had to discuss with her, Royall knew it was serious.

  “Tell me, Mr. Morrison. I’m not a woman prone to vapors.”

  “Ahem. Yes. Remember you came to me and asked that I help you discover your rights to Reino Brazilia? Yes, of course, forgive an old man. However, you also asked me about some cryptic phrases your father wrote in his journal concerning correspondence I had had with him before his death. Now, mind you, child, I have no proof. However, I wrote to your father that I had reason to believe that the Baron, Carlyle Newsome, murdered his father in cold blood and destroyed his will.”

  Royall gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

  “I said I’ve no proof. However, it’s my belief that this is true. I’m only telling you this, Royall, because I fear that if Carlyle would kill his own father to gain Reino Brazilia, what might he do to you if you started to assert your rights as to your inheritance? Think on it, child. It’s a matter of record that the Baron has frequently outspent his credit. Yet somehow he always manages to pay off his debts. Never mind the technicalities; it’s simply this: I have reason to believe the Baron has been using your share of the estate for personal debts for some years now. Your poor father was given to believe that his share of the money was being vested in the plantation. According to the figures to which I have access at the bank as a trustee, this is untrue.