Captive Innocence

by Fern Michaels

  Royall stared deeply into the housekeeper’s eyes. There was no need for words. She understood. She stared at Elena for a full moment longer. “You’re right, Elena, Jamie was not equipped to ride the gelding.” For one brief instant Royall read relief in the housekeeper’s eyes. “Both of us will carry this secret to the grave, Elena.” Elena nodded.

  Royall was dismissed. Elena was in another world now, a world of her own choosing. She would sit sentinel over Jamie until dawn, when he would be buried. The tightening in her breast became a strangulating knot in her constricted throat. Admiration for Elena’s courage, and pity for poor Jamie, as well as outrage at his crime, became a jumble within her. She had to get out of this room before she suffocated. Moriah was safe now. She could walk outdoors in the courtyard and not have to worry about the child. She needed to clear her head of the cobwebs that were hindering her thoughts. If only Sebastian were here to help me. Her world was crumbling beneath her very feet. Soon there would be nothing left. Nothing at all.

  A low, gray mist hung over the small cemetery on the hill. Heavy dew on the foliage sparkled like diamonds in the misty, humid air. Poor innocent Jamie, poor wicked Jamie. A boy locked within a man’s body, outgrowing a world of toy soldiers and pretend. She was thankful he was dead by Elena’s loving hand rather than the vengeance of the Indians. Killing a white man could have been the beginning of an uprising, Father Juan had said this morning when he arrived. It was just as well that Jamie had had his accident in the jungle.

  All through the long, sleepless night, Royall had wrestled with her emotions. The hours before dawn had also taken their toll on Elena. How cold she looked, as though all the blood had drained from her veins. It had. Jamie had been her life, and now he was gone.

  Royall expected to see the Baron riding up at any moment, demanding an explanation from Elena. He should be here; it was barbaric of him not to attend his son’s funeral. It should be the Baron being laid in the wet, cold ground. His own ignorance had become his son’s destruction.

  “... dust to dust,” Father Juan finished his short eulogy. Elena stood still, her eyes never leaving the deep, black hole. There were no tears, no remorse, only total acceptance.

  The moment Father Juan finished his short blessing, Royall turned to leave. Would Elena stay or follow her? Would Father Juan come back to the Casa for breakfast, as was the custom after a funeral? Her step slowed. Once she looked over her shoulder. Elena hadn’t moved. Father Juan was walking away from the clearing toward the path that would take him to his waiting buggy. Royall debated with herself—should she wait for Elena or should she return to the house? She knew somehow that the housekeeper would consider it an intrusion if she walked back to the gravesite. Never in her life had she seen anyone look so alone as Elena looked at that moment. Nothing helped, not even Father Juan’s whispered words to Elena: “Time heals all wounds. He takes care of all his children. Time, Elena, always remember what I’m telling you.”

  Now she had to clean Moriah up and take her back to the Rivera plantation. Some of the happiness had worn off with the death of Jamie. Still, the child, small as she was, seemed to understand.

  Though the day was hot and sultry, Carlyle Newsome felt a chill run through his body as he hurried down the street to his pink bricked townhouse. It was midday, and as in the axiom, only mad dogs and Englishmen went out in the noonday sun. So it was with surprise that he saw Sebastian Rivera and Malcolm Doyle, a neighbor, deep in conversation. Eager as he was to enter his house and find some relief from the heat, Carlyle turned quickly on his heel and proceeded to stride down a side street, away from Sebastian’s notice.

  Ever since that day when he’d come back to the townhouse and found Alicia gone, Carlyle had lived with a growing anxiety. At first he hadn’t the least idea where she had gone, or to whom, and when no news was heard of her for several days, he’d come to the conclusion that she’d drowned herself in the river or found some other tidy way of alleviating him of the increasing discontent she was causing.

  And then had come the night at the opera and the party Rosalie Quince had given in Royall Banner’s honor, and he’d seen her again—with Rivera. And from the menacing disgust he’d witnessed in Rivera’s glance, it was evident the stupid girl had confided in him. Carlyle had expected a confrontation with his nemesis at that time, but the announcement of yellow jack had forestalled it. Now, seeing Rivera on the street, only yards away from his townhouse, the Baron knew the inevitable was upon him.

  Droplets of perspiration beaded the Baron’s brow. His armpits were soaking wet, as was his back. It was madness to walk in the sun this way, but it was even madder to make himself available to Rivera’s tirade. His head ached, his stomach rolled, and he told himself he needed another drink. Not for anything would he admit that Rivera frightened him.

  He had to keep walking and stop thinking. He had to concentrate on making it around the block, getting into his townhouse without Rivera seeing him, finding the bottle of Scotch and taking it to bed with him. Gloom plagued him as he walked; anxiety ate at his innards. Even Rivera wouldn’t be bastard enough to tell anyone about Alicia. Regardless of the man’s hatred for the Newsomes, he would still protect Alicia’s reputation, wouldn’t he? Then what was Rivera doing on his street? And what was he talking to Malcolm Doyle about?

  Once more around the block and back to the beginning of the street. Perhaps if he was careful he could meander between the buildings to see if Sebastian and old man Doyle were still deep in conversation.

  The corner to be turned loomed ahead. The Baron drew on his willpower not to turn for one last look in Sebastian’s direction.

  Sebastian carried his end of the conversation with Doyle, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he had said just seconds ago. The cheroot clenched between his strong white teeth tasted bitter as he transferred it from the right to the left side of his mouth. His steely gaze followed Carlyle Newsome’s back as he trekked down the street in front of the long row of townhouses. He heard himself refusing, for the third time, Doyle’s invitation into the house for a cool drink, and knew the conversation was drawing to a close.

  Sebastian watched the old man enter his house. Christ, he had thought he was going to stand in the sun and talk the day away. His dark eyes searched the deserted street. The wily fox no doubt was going to circle the block once again. Well, two could play at that game.

  Tossing the frayed tip cheroot into the gutter, he sprinted down the block and up the steep front steps of the Newsome townhouse. Forcefully, he let the knocker sound against the brass plate. The door was opened almost immediately. “I have an appointment with Baron Newsome,” he said, pushing past the startled housekeeper. “I’ll wait inside until he arrives. Fetch me a brandy while I wait.” Authoritatively, bridging no objection, he stepped across the foyer and into the parlor. “I’ll, wait in here.”

  The housekeeper let her eyes flick over Sebastian and then to the front door. Quickly she backed away, out of his line of vision, and headed back to the kitchen.

  Sebastian brought a match to a fresh cheroot and puffed deeply. A billowing cloud of fragrant smoke permeated the room. The brandy snifter found its way to his lips, and he nodded appreciatively. Carlyle certainly didn’t stint himself when it came to the finer things of life like expensive cigars and good brandy.

  As Sebastian’s eyes traveled the perimeters of the room, he found himself admiring the tasteful decorations and furnishings. He had expected nothing less, since it was well known that the Baron liked to surround himself with beautiful things. And beautiful women. He couldn’t think about Royall now, not here in this madman’s house. He was only grateful for the fact that the Baron had remained here in Manaus rather than return to the plantation. From what he knew about Alicia, no woman was safe around him.

  Just the thought of another man touching Royall brought Sebastian to his feet, his face convulsed in rage. The Baron! If that weasel so much as touched a hair on her head, he would kill h
im with bare hands. He would choke the life from his body and laugh while he was doing it! Royall Banner was his! He decreed it!

  Rivera’s black rage was all the Baron saw when he walked through the foyer into the parlor. At that moment Sebastian was bigger than life, meaner than a cornered rat. Carlyle knew that physically he was no match for the younger half-breed. He’d have to use his brains, his wiles, anything, but he would have to get him o t of the house!

  “I don’t believe we had an appointment, Rivera.” Cautiously, he kept his walking stick at his side, swinging it gently. “I really don’t have time to see you, not that I could imagine what business you have to discuss. You should have left your card when you discovered I wasn’t at home. Or have you come to spy on me?” he demanded, his voice less confident than he would have wished.

  “Spy on you? What makes you think I would be interested in your affairs? I already know what you’ve done.” His last statement had the expected results, and he saw the Baron’s hand go to his brow to wipe away the perspiration.

  “Are you referring to the fact that I didn’t run back to the Reino when some idiot announced a breakout of yellow jack?”

  “He wasn’t an idiot, Carlyle, and you know it. It’s a pity you never went to the Reino to see what’s become of it. Shall I tell you? You’ve lost everything. It’s all over. There was a meeting several days ago, and I’m afraid we plantation owners intend to come down hard on you, Carlyle.”

  Hate spewed from the Baron’s eyes as he stared at the face that so closely resembled his own. He hated Sebastian Rivera, hated him and wished him dead. As long as the man was alive, he, Carlyle Newsome, would never really be safe, and neither would the Reino.

  “Bah! You can’t hold me responsible for yellow jack. So a few Indians and blacks came down with it. So what? The weak always die to make room for the fittest. Don’t stand there and tell me it’s all over. I’m a wealthy man, and I’ve got resources to build over again.”

  “No, Carlyle, you were a wealthy man. Senora Banner is going to have her say about the management of the Reino from now on. It’s over, Carlyle. Jamie’s dead, and Carl is never coming back. You’re alone.”

  “Leave my house, Rivera. I don’t want anything to do with you. I never did.” A lopsided sneer marked his face. “I know what you’re, after. I always have. You’ve noticed the resemblance between us, others have. Well, it won’t work. I wouldn’t give you the air you breathe, and I wouldn’t give you anything else, either. Not my time, my money, or my name!”

  “You goddamned, miserable bastard!” Sebastian thundered. “I wouldn’t carry your name though I be damned to hell! There are those who believe you’re my father, and in truth, I don’t know if you are or not! I don’t want any part of you or what you stand for. And what you stand for, Carlyle, has finished you here; the planters’ association will see to it! Moments ago I told you Carl is never coming back, and it was the truth. He’s on his way to Rio. An opportunity arose and he took advantage of it, with my assistance. Alicia is with him,” he said quietly, watching the Baron’s face for his reaction. “You didn’t know that, did you? You thought Carl would come whimpering back to you. You’re slime, Newsome, and I should kill you, here and now. But killing is too good for you. I know what you’ve done; Alicia came to me and told me.”

  Carlyle’s mind raced. Rivera said Carl was with Alicia. No, it couldn’t be! Not after he’d told Carl what kind of a woman she was ... It was a trick! “You’ll say anything to try to get back at me, won’t you? You’ve had little to complain about all these years. Old Farleigh Mallard left you his land, his house, he even educated you—but you’ve always had your sights set on the Reino Brazilia. All these years you’ve thought I was your father and you’ve wanted to claim what you thought was your rightful inheritance. Carl is my son. Jamie was my son. You’re nothing but a bastard, born on the wrong side of the covers. Was it my fault that your mother was a whore!”

  Sebastian’s fist shot out and his aim was true, landing squarely on the Baron’s chiseled jaw, followed with alacrity by a solid punch to his midsection. Gasping and heaving, the Baron fell backwards onto the sofa.

  “I should kill you right now!” Sebastian shouted, “but I won’t. You don’t deserve to die an honorable death. But your day is coming, Carlyle. You’re not dead yet! And when that day comes, you’ll give me the pleasure of watching you suffer. I believe in divine retribution, Carlyle. Furthermore,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “I’ve never for one moment entertained the idea that you’re my father. Now stand up and pretend to be a man. I have something else to say to you and I want you on your feet to hear it!”

  The Baron struggled to his feet, one finely manicured hand holding his jaw. His eyes were full of hate as he stared at Sebastian. He waited.

  “Carl won’t be returning to the Casa. At my suggestion and with my help, he’s decided to cut his losses. He’s making a new life for himself and Alicia. If I have to, I will personally spend the rest of my life making certain the two of them are free of you. Alicia is of sound mind now, no thanks to you, and I intend for her to remain so.”

  “She’s a whore! A slut!” the Baron roared.

  “Wrong! Whoremaster that you are, you would like to think so. You forced yourself on Alicia. There were no choices for her. Don’t ever malign her again, or you’ll have to deal with me. Go back to your precious Reino and pack your things. You’re finished.”

  “You think so, you bastard. Not yet. Royall will marry me and things will go on as before. I proposed to her the night of the Parradays’ party. You should remember the party, Sebastian; that was the night she attacked you in the middle of the dance floor. Don’t tell me what to do or where to go. And as for Carl, if he wants to live with a whoring twit, let him. They deserve each other. Now get your ass out of my house before I call the authorities. Oh, one last thing, Sebastian, I give you my word that Royall and I will name our firstborn after you. What do you think of that?”

  “You mealy-mouthed, lying bastard!” Sebastian shouted. Rage engulfed him, causing him to lose all reason. His fist lashed out, knocking the Baron to the floor. Angrily, he reached down and pulled him erect. Again his fist shot out. Again and again he drove his fist into the Baron’s soft belly. Each time his fist crunched bone, he cursed the most vicious words he knew.

  “Senor! Senor!” the housekeeper had come running into the room, pulling his arms back to keep him from hitting the Baron again, to keep him from killing him. “Senor, please! You’re killing him!” The housekeeper threw her weight against Sebastian, pushing her way between the Baron and this wild-eyed man whose fists were clenched, tough and hard knuckled.

  The Baron took advantage of the woman’s interference, backing away, cowering. His glance fell on his silver-handled walking stick, and he reached for it just as Sebastian brought his booted foot down on his hand.

  “Fight like a man, damn you!” Sebastian cursed.

  “Get out of here! Get out of my house!” the Baron’s voice rasped, his cheek twitching.

  “Damn right, I’m getting out of here. You’re the slime of the earth. But I’m warning you, you’ll never marry Royall. Even if I have to kill you myself. I won’t wait for someone else to do it for me!”

  Heaving with exertion and rage, Sebastian straightened his clothing, and without another glance in the Baron’s direction, he stalked from the room, his stride angry and purposeful. Royall had accepted the Baron’s proposal? And he had felt so sorry for her while she lay so sick. The man was lying; he had to be!

  A bellow of rage ripped from his throat as he visualized Royall in the Baron’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  One weary day after another passed. Royall paced the wide veranda as she wiped at her perspiring brow. What was wrong with her? By now she should have been to town to see Mr. Morrison and get her affairs on the way to being settled. The heat was becoming unbearable as she paced the wide floor. A splash of color caught her eye behind one of t
he wicker chairs. With an effort, Royall bent down and reached beneath the chair. Her hands closed over something round and hard. When she held out her hand to inspect her find, she recoiled in horror. It was one of the scarlet and blue heads from a toy soldier. Before she could think or reconsider, she tossed it over the railing. How hateful the innocent piece of wood was; how dirty it made her feel. It was all over now. She had to put such thoughts from her mind and think of other things.

  Dejectedly, she sat down in the white wicker chair. The crimson flowers on the rattan tables made her eyes ache. Other things. Other things meant the Baron and Sebastian. It was time to put her life in order and get on with whatever it was she was going to do. Tomorrow she would go to town and talk with Mr. Morrison. She would ask his advice and then follow it. On the way back from town she would stop by Mrs. Quince’s plantation and perhaps stay for dinner and spend the night. If she had the nerve, the following day, she might, just might, stop at the Rivera plantation to see how the little girls were faring, especially Rosy. And that was another thing, she thought furiously; why hadn’t Sebastian Rivera come by to thank her for returning the children? While there was no love between him and Jamie, it wouldn’t have hurt him to stop by. I can’t blame him, she muttered to herself. I’m just being selfish, wishing he would stop by so I could see him. He had no feeling for her, that was evident. Time and time again he had made a fool of her, and she had permitted it, even enjoyed it at the time.

  Idly, Royall flicked at the pages of a book. She felt drowsy, unable to concentrate on the printed words in front of her. The heavy lashes lowered, and then she was asleep.

  The sound of pounding hooves startled her later in the afternoon. Quickly, she sat up and rubbed her aching shoulders. She felt cramped and irritable, her damp dress clinging to her, making her perspire all the more. Moist tendrils of hair drooped over her forehead, giving her a gamin look. The very earth seemed to be shaking in front of the wide veranda. Perhaps it was Sebastian in one of his black fits of rage. If that was so, she would have to make herself presentable for his latest tirade against her.