So far they had been lucky. There were only a few cases on the other plantations. The owners had followed his advice and cleaned up the lowlands and the marshes. They had also listened to him when he explained about the sanitary conditions. And today they weren’t sorry. Many of the owners had thanked him in the past few days—all, in fact, but Carlyle Newsome. A poor excuse for a man if there ever was one. His son Carl would have long before now stood on his own feet and become a man if the Baron had not pulled the purse strings.
Sebastian winced as he recalled the day he had offered Carl a job managing his affairs in Rio. The offer had been tempting; Carl admitted that he much preferred the business life to that of working on the plantation. He had thanked Sebastian for the offer, his face lighting with joyous hope and a mixture of friendliness. He also remembered the look that replaced it so quickly. Carl could not leave the Reino, his roots, his inheritance. But if the time ever came when he could leave . . . The rest had been left unsaid, an unspoken agreement between the two men that, should conditions at the Reino become intolerable, Carl would take Sebastian up on his offer. Sebastian had understood, and reminded Carl that all he had to do was ask and the position would be his.
The jungle was so silent that Sebastian felt uneasy. Gone were the raucous cries of the birds. Not a leaf stirred. It was ominous. Great black columns of smoke whirled upward. As they rode into the clearing, Sebastian took in the scene in one swift glance.
It couldn’t be. That beautiful golden angel from New England was no more. In her place he saw a filthy, tattered, soot-blackened witch. Hair once golden was now dirty and gray and hung in limp, bedraggled strands, along with part of a dried vine over one bare, grimy shoulder. Rage boiled up in him once more as he watched the dirty creature raise a torn, bloody hand to shade her eyes. A sound roared from him as he leaped from his mount to catch her as she swayed. He held her soft, pliant form and felt a wave of pity engulf him. The equally grimy Rosalie Quince took matters into her own efficient hands and immediately gave him a brief description of the past days and of the accomplishments of Royall and Elena.
Sebastian looked at the soft face of the girl he held in his arms. As he inspected her bleeding hands and cut, oozing feet, Sebastian swore viciously. Quickly he issued a terse command to Jesus, and the man rode from the clearing as if the demons of hell were at his heels. Within an hour Sebastian’s own housekeeper and several strong Indians appeared. Sebastian, holding Royall in his arms, issued commands like a general. All listened quietly, then sped to obey him. Royall was lowered gently into a wagon. Rosalie Quince and Elena wearily climbed in with the help of Jesus. Sebastian himself took the reins and started for his plantation. He would kill someone, he was sure of it. His mind and body held such an alien feeling he couldn’t put a name to it. He remembered his mother telling him once that when one fell in love there was no other feeling in the world like it. Sebastian would have staked his life on the fact that he had experienced every emotion there was. If so, what was this crawling, creeping feeling that threatened to engulf him? He wanted to kill, to make love, to fill his belly, but he could do none of these things. All he could do was drive the damn wagon and let his mind have its way. Helpless, that’s what he was. In his entire life he had never been rendered helpless. His agile mind flitted like a bird as he risked glances behind him at the girl on the wagon floor. Again he thought of his mother and her wise sayings. He tried to force the thoughts from his mind, not wanting to think of love and its ties and bindings. He didn’t want to give his soul to anyone. He wanted to own himself. What was it his mother had said? To love is to consume the other, or words to that effect. He cursed under his breath and began to drive the wagon even harder over the rutted ground, but the moans from the golden girl as she rolled from side to side made him slow down.
The moment he reined in the horses, women came. Sebastian was pushed gently out of the way while Royall was carried inside and the doors were closed to him.
“Go, Sebastian. You’ll just be in the way,” Rosalie Quince shrilled. “This is women’s work. Go smoke a cheroot or something.”
“A cheroot,” Sebastian said stupidly.
“Good Lord, Sebastian. Must I tell you again, or should I draw you a picture?” she shouted briskly. “If we should find ourselves in need of your presence, we’ll call you. You have my word.”
Sebastian nodded briskly as he obeyed the sharp-tongued Mrs. Quince. He felt like a small boy again at his mother’s knee.
The endless days crawled by on tortoise legs and slowly became weeks as Royall lay in a fever, delirious. Sebastian felt both mentally and physically exhausted. He had walked innumerable miles, pacing the wide veranda. His throat felt white-hot from the countless cheroots he had smoked during his frantic pacing. From time to time his eyes smarted—no doubt from the thick cigar smoke, he told himself. Food, he found to his disgust, would not go down past the lump in his throat.
He flung himself wearily onto one of the rattan chairs and absently stroked the silky ears of the dog that lay at his feet. His touch was gentle and soft. The animal whined in pleasure. Suddenly, Sebastian’s gentle caresses ceased as he looked up and saw Rosalie Quince towering over him. In his haste to get to his feet his movements were clumsy and he stepped on the dog’s paw, eliciting a yelp of pain. Rosalie Quince found it hard not to smile at this awkwardness. She had never seen the debonair Sebastian anything but graceful and completely at ease.
“The child is out of the woods, Sebastian. The fever has finally broken. I tell you now that if she had contracted yellow jack, she would no longer be with us. How she escaped it is beyond me. The poor thing was just worn out. She’s on the mend, Sebastian, so you may go about your business.” Shrewdly, she watched the tall, tired man fling the cheroot over the railing.
“That is good news, Mrs. Quince.” Jet black eyes looked questioningly at the old woman, but no words were spoken. Mrs. Quince also remained silent. Their eyes locked in a stare. Would he ask to see the girl, she wondered, or would he be a stubborn mule and remain silent.
Should I ask to see her, Sebastian wondered. No, she was out of danger, and he’d been absent from his many duties on the plantation for too long. Sensing Mrs. Quince’s thoughts, he smiled crookedly and strode from the veranda. Tonight he would leave for town; he would return by mid-morning of the following day. One couldn’t fool oneself for long. And if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was not being a fool. He contemplated the tearful Aloni when he would tell her, as gently as possible, that their relationship must come to an end. He would soften the blow with a generous settlement. He wouldn’t fool himself. Aloni, he knew, was more interested in the comforts he could afford to give her than she was in Sebastian.
Royall’s recovery was rapid, with Mrs. Quince spoon-feeding her till she regained her strength. Within ten days she was up and about and feeling stronger by the day. She had not seen Sebastian once since her fever broke, and did not ask for him. She accepted the hospitality he extended and wished only to thank him. Something always prevented her from asking for him. Mrs. Quince herself was careful not to mention his name. Royall thought she would go mad wondering why.
It was the eve of her departure for the Reino; Sebastian’s foreman, Jesus, was to drive her in the wagon and then go on, taking Mrs. Quince home.
Royall dressed carefully for dinner in the hopes that Sebastian would arrive, taking extra pains with her toilet. She still looked pale, but she felt she could pass muster if one didn’t look too closely. Rosalie Quince watched her in amusement as she self-consciously patted her own springy gray curls.
As the dinner hour approached and there was no sign of Sebastian, Royall felt almost sick. Not to show up for dinner! He was making a fool of her. He was going to ignore her last evening in his house, and his absence would be all the proof she needed that he didn’t care, that he was still holding her personally responsible for the conditions on the Reino. It was also painfully evident that he had been spending all
of his free time in the arms of his black-eyed beauty in town.
“It appears we dine alone again, Mrs. Quince,” Royall forced herself to smile brightly. She didn’t want Rosalie to know how deeply hurt she was by Sebastian’s action. “I’m positively ravenous. I’m looking forward to returning home to the Reino tomorrow morning. I can hardly wait to leave. I want to see how everyone is. Especially Elena, the poor woman must have been exhausted from tending the sick.” On and on she rambled.
The usually articulate Mrs. Quince found she couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
She merely nodded from time to time at the brightly chattering girl, but she didn’t miss the fact that the supposedly ravenous Royall only pushed at the food on her plate. If she ate two bites, Mrs. Quince would have been surprised. The meal over, Royall suddenly felt deflated. As she pushed back her chair, she heard footsteps approach the dining room. A warm flush stole up her neck and stained her face. So! He arrives now! Well, let him arrive now. I’m leaving! Royall looked up and felt her pulses begin to pound at the mere sight of the tall, dark man in front of her.
Royall took the initiative. She spoke first. “Good evening, Senor Rivera. I’m happy to see you this evening. I did want to thank you personally for the hospitality you’ve shown me during my illness. I’ll always be grateful,” she said, her tone cool, formal. She tilted her head in a brief nod and walked gracefully from the room.
Back in the small room that had been hers for the stay, she collapsed on the bed and let her tears flow freely. You will not, Sebastian Rivera, make a fool of me. It shall be the other way around. How dare he show up after dinner and behave as though she were some stranger who had just dropped in! It was a small wonder he didn’t offer me one of those odious cheroots he smokes. She had never been so insulted in her life. Insulted and wounded to her very soul.
And Mrs. Quince, silent for the second time in her life, had stood by silently, like a wart on a frog. Suddenly, Royall laughed at the thought. There was poor Mrs. Quince with a large wart on the end of her nose, gracefully smoking one of the foul cheroots. And Sebastian, what was he doing? Why, he was just standing with his mouth hanging open and looking like a horse’s ass. Royall broke into fresh laughter, doubling over on the bed.
As Mrs. Quince and Sebastian walked down the corridor, they heard the happy laughter. They looked silently at each other, each busy with his own thoughts.
“Sebastian, I have only one thing to say to you. You’re a fool,” she said sourly.
Sebastian raised startled eyes and frowned at Mrs. Quince’s sharp words.
“Spare me from foolish men in love. You’re all jackasses,” the good lady snarled.
“Who’s in love?” Sebastian barked.
“Who? Who? You ask me who? Get on with you! If I have to tell you that, then there’s no hope for the likes of you. Go! I don’t want to see you again for now. I can’t abide a fool, in either long or short pants.”
“What have short pants to do with it?” Sebastian snapped.
“When you were a small boy in short pants, that was time enough for acting the fool. Now that you wear long pants you should behave like a man!” Turning sharply on her heel, Rosalie stepped into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.
As Sebastian stood there, a look of astonishment on his face, he looked down at his legs and wouldn’t have been surprised to find them naked.
Sebastian made his nightly rounds of the house before retiring, as was his custom. He was pouring himself a last glass of brandy when he noticed a shadow in the lamplight. He waited, the glass halfway to his lips.
“Sebastian, it’s me, Carl. I’m sorry to be visiting you so late, but I need to talk to someone. I just returned today. The plantation . . . My God, what happened? Have you seen my father? Sebastian, have you seen or heard from Alicia? I’m almost out of my mind. What has been going on in my absence?”
His mind raced. What was Carl Newsome doing here at this hour? His first instinct was to toss him out on his ear, but he knew he couldn’t do that, for Alicia’s sake. He had sworn to Alicia that he would do whatever he could for Carl, and he wouldn’t go back on his word. If Alicia loved him, then there had to be good in Carl somewhere. You never kicked a dog when it was down, and Sebastian couldn’t ever remember seeing a more wounded, tortured man than Carl.
Sebastian walked over to the bar in the corner of the room. He poured a generous amount of brandy into a glass and held it out. “Drink this. I have much to tell you. Sit down, relax, you can’t go anywhere or do anything at this hour.” Quickly, he briefed Carl on conditions at the Reino. He ended his tale with Royall’s illness and her complete recovery.
“I’m glad that she’s well, but I can’t comprehend what you’ve just told me concerning my father. Are you telling me, Sebastian, that he stayed in Manaus and left Royall and Elena to fend for themselves?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Now, I want you to tell me what you’re going to do,” he said harshly.
“Give me time to get my thoughts together, Sebastian. I’m sorry that things have gone so sour for Reino. You were right, as usual. At the time I knew you were right, but the Baron is my father. I had to obey him or be cast out. The Reino is the only home I’ve ever known. Tell me about Alicia; have you seen or heard from her? She promised to write me in Belém but there wasn’t one letter. Tell me, don’t spare me, is she ill, has something happened to her? Please, Sebastian, I’m begging you.”
“Alicia is fine. She came to me a short while ago and is now staying at my townhouse. You can go to her in the morning. She’s fine, Carl, believe me. Someone told her you planned to marry Senora Banner, and she believed him. She allowed herself to become . . . ill ... but she’s fully recovered now and is waiting for you. Carl, don’t make the same mistake again, for if you do, Alicia might not be so forgiving. You do recall that talk you and I had not too long ago. Where I offered you the job of managing my affairs in Rio. It would be perfect for you and Alicia. You like city life, and so does Alicia. You can put the plantation behind you and make a new life for yourself and your wife. I’ll help you in any way I can.”
Carl was stunned. It was true, it would be a new life for him and Alicia. Thanks to Sebastian. He could do it; he had wanted to do it when they spoke weeks ago, but he’d been a coward. No more. Not after what he had just heard. Alicia was safe and sound, Sebastian had seen to it. The way he always saw to everything. “Sebastian, are we half brothers?”
Sebastian drew in his breath. “I don’t know, Carl. Somehow, I don’t think so. My mother wouldn’t ... I just don’t know, Carl. Is it important for you to know?”
“Only for my own sake. I wish it were true. I know how you feel about my father, but speaking for myself, I wish you were my brother.”
Sebastian’s voice when he spoke was gruff, almost harsh. “I have no answer for you, Carl. Tell me, will you see your father before you leave?”
“Yes. I’ll face him like the man I want to be. No more hiding. He won’t like it, I know; but I won’t run away like a naughty child.
“He has Jamie. He never understood me or my needs and wants. I owe him nothing. Not a thing. I know he was the one who told Alicia I was going to marry Royall. It wasn’t definite; I never gave my word, and besides, he refused to believe that Royall would have a say in who she marries. You’ll have to stop him, Sebastian, for when he finds out I’ve gone off with Alicia, he’ll force Royall into a marriage that can’t ever be allowed to take place. You know as well as I do that he can be quite cruel when his plans are thwarted. You’ll have to handle it. Don’t let Royall marry him. She loves you!”
Sebastian’s heart leaped, but he said nothing. Carl was overwrought. Royall didn’t love him, couldn’t love him. Or could she? He grimaced when he remembered the way she had sailed out of the dining room hours ago. How could she know that it was impossible for him to sit across from her at dinner and not let her see what was in his eyes? Better to stay away and let her think he was
an ill-mannered clod. Goddamn it, why did he always have all the worries of the world on his shoulders? Women were always at the root of all his problems.
“More brandy?”
“Not for me, thanks. Do you think you could bed me down for the night? I’ll need a fresh horse in the morning.” Sebastian nodded. They shook hands, Carl going toward a room at the end of the hall and Sebastian to his room only a door away from Royall’s quarters.
Sometimes it paid to be magnanimous, like now. There were more ways than one to skin a cat. With him helping Carl and Alicia, the Baron would lose his first layer of fur. You could only hold hatred in your heart for so long before it ate away at you, making you diseased and corrupt. He had no intention of letting that happen to him. The day the Baron got his due would be Sebastian’s first day of freedom.
Sebastian stood in the hall, his eyes narrowed to slits. It was his house. She was in a room in his house. He could open the door if he pleased. In fact, he could kick it down and not have to answer to anyone. Instead of thinking about it, I should do it, he muttered to himself. Why not? Who did he have to answer to, save himself. No one. On the other hand, he could knock discreetly, say something inane, like he wished her a safe trip back to the Reino. But she would know it for the lie it was. Brute force. He would knock down the door and crush her in his arms. While she squirmed and fought, he would smother her with kisses and make love to her like he had done that night in Rio. He wanted to knock on the door so badly his hand itched. Some alien thing hammered in his chest, demanding release. That time in the kitchen in Manaus. His pulses pounded. Christ, what was he doing to himself? The girl had been ill. Though she didn’t look ill when she sailed out of the dining room, after coolly dismissing him from her presence. Damn it to hell, she had really dismissed him as though he were some errant schoolboy, in his own house. Gall! She had more than any three women, ten women, a dozen, he told himself as he brought up his hand to knock on the door. She was a bitch too, always speaking her mind and making him a fool. After she left his house he might never see her again. What if she decided to go back to America, and then where would he be? Should he knock or kick the door down? Damnation, where in the hell was Rosalie Quince sleeping? For the life of him he couldn’t remember. He shrugged. There were no locks on the doors in his house. All he had to do was open the door and walk in. Take her in his arms and do what he had been wanting to do for weeks. Make love to her till she cried in agony. He snorted. Senora Royall Banner with two L’s never gave quarter in the bedroom. She gave as good as she got and was still as frisky as a kitten when he lay exhausted. Agony, my ass, he cursed as he opened the door. If she let out one peel, he’d gag her. This was his house and he could damn well do as he pleased!
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