Penny emerged twenty minutes later with his reply. He would meet the Señora tomorrow afternoon at 3:00, if it was convenient.
Christina spent the time until her meeting with Locklyn in suspended anxiety. She knew that she must ask Locklyn to warn Michael and Julian that Luis was closing in on their guerilla activities; and was aware, in another part of her, that in doing so she was aiding the enemy.
Yet she had no choice. Luis must not kill or capture either Michael or Julian. If she were a traitress, so be it.
She took Penny along with her as an escort, since Maria Juana disliked horses; and besides, had she known her mistress’s mission, Penny would be more than eager to be a part of it. Penny, when they were alone, spoke of Lord Michael and Mr. Julian and Dos Rios - until Christina was forced to shut her up. Talking of them hurt.
Christina was early for her appointment. She and Penny stood their horses along a tree-lined avenue, in open view. Eventually a black, closed carriage drove up to stop beside them and Locklyn got out. But he was not alone. Emerging from the carriage behind him was a tall man whom Christina recognized only too well.
She was speechless. Penny, however, let out a screech.
“M, lady! Look, it’s . . .”
Christina leaned over to grab the girl’s arm and squeeze it. Penny got the message, and a bruised arm in the bargain. Her voice subsided.
Christina slowly dismounted. He was coming toward her, dressed in the dark frock coat and beaver hat of a gentleman. He didn’t bother to smile, only to narrow his eyes in concentration on her.
He stopped a few feet away. “Señora.”
She inclined her head. Words were still beyond her. She felt as though reality had tilted, and she was not in Mexico City standing in a park with Michael Brett in broad daylight - she was in an illusion made of her own wishes. Only a sense of imminent danger helped her to retain her hold on the present.
John Locklyn had approached also, his smile apologetic. “Señora, I hope you don’t mind that I brought our friend along with me. He stopped by the embassy just an hour ago, and I presumed to ask him to accompany me to our appointment.”
Christina looked at John. “I suppose it is just as well. I had wanted you to send him a message anyway.”
“Now you can tell me in person. Let’s walk.” Michael snatched Christina’s reins and tossed them to John, then took her arm and propelled her off the lane and into the trees. He allowed her no chance to resist him even if she wanted to.
When they had gone a few hundred yards or so he stopped. They were barely visible now from the road.
Christina jerked her arm from his grasp. “I see that your manners have not improved.”
“Sorry, but I don’t have much time.”
“I’m sure of that. What are you doing here? Do you know what will happen if you are recognized?”
“I have a fairly good idea. Would my execution bother you, love?”
“I think you are loco. You are crazy to come into Mexico City, into the Alameda, in daylight! If you are caught you will deserve it.”
“Then I should spend my time wisely.” He pulled her to him as casually and as ruthlessly as if they were alone in his garden, and took her lips as though they were his, too. He played with her mouth and her senses until both were pliable and weak. His arms around her tightened, until she was pressed so firmly against him that the bulk of their clothes almost didn’t seem to matter and her skin felt scorched by his.
If he hadn’t remembered where they were and released her, she thought she would have responded to the demands of his body unconditionally there in the park. She steadied herself against a tree, automatically checking that although her bonnet had fallen, her hair was still up and her bodice buttoned. She recovered her breathing and some of her dignity.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I should’ve done more.” His back was to a tree, his arms were folded in front of him. His hat also lay forgotten on the ground. “What did you wish to tell me?”
His change of subject was almost too abrupt for her. It angered her to bluntness. “I thought you should be aware that Luis Arredondo knows that a guerilla troop is stealing his silver. He has a description of the troop’s leader, who exactly resembles Julian. He plans to fight back, and capture or kill the guerillas.”
“Michael’s slightly amused expression did not change. “Does he?”
His nonchalant acceptance of her news enraged her. “Yes, and I wouldn’t underestimate him if I were you! Luis will make a dangerous enemy, and you will be a fool to ignore him.”
“I don’t plan to ignore him, Chrissie, and neither will Julian. But I’d bet on Julian any day to outwit him. Don’t worry, love - Julian is prepared.
Christina’s anger dissolved slowly. Michael sounded so confident; surely he was correct. Julian would never fall into any traps Luis could devise.
“Will you tell Julian, anyway? Luis is leaving soon for the mines. He will probably set heavy guards on his next silver shipment.”
“I’ll tell him. But only if you answer a question for me. Shouldn’t Arredondo’s interests be yours as well? Or have you decided not to marry him after all?”
Michael’s tone was uninflected. But a spark of intense interest made his eyes seem bluer and keener.
Christina wouldn’t meet them. “Luis and I will marry in two weeks. That doesn’t mean I would have him kill Julian. Or you.”
There was a moment of silence during which Christina kept her eyes averted. Then Michael spoke.
“You are too kind, Señora.” His drawl grew exaggerated and cruel. “We don’t need your charity. But by way of thanks for your condescension, let me give you a little information. Arredondo wants your silver, ma’am, and so does Santa Anna. That’s why the Marquès proposed, not, as you may think, because of your charming person. You possess an inheritance from your first husband that can be used to enrich Arredondo and aid the Mexican war effort.”
“What are you talking about?” she murmured in stunned tones. She faced him now, her gaze taking in his closed expression that belied the perplexing scorn in his eyes.
“Your silver mine. The supposedly dead one. It isn’t dead at all, the silver’s there in abundance - or so the old timers say.”
“I know about that mine, Luis is going to check into it for me. It’s not a secret.”
“It’s why he is marrying you.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
Michael shrugged then, and stood away from the tree. “You certainly don’t have to believe me. But I happen to know it’s true. Julian especially thought you should be told.” He bent to casually retrieve his hat and brush it off.
“Luis is already rich, Michael. He doesn’t need money.”
“What man doesn’t need a mountain full of silver?” Particularly a man with powerful ambitions.”
“Luis has no political plans. He told me so.”
“You’re very well informed, aren’t you?” His voice took on a mocking lilt. “Do you know about the young girls your fiancé keeps to wait on him at his hideaway in the country? They’re children, actually; of all races. I wouldn’t doubt that he keeps a boy or two, as well. He pays them, but that’s only to keep them quiet about the bruises.”
“Por Dios! You’re disgusting. I wouldn’t believe that about - about even you. I would never think that such an honorable man as Luis . . .”
“I’ve been to his estate. He offered me one of the girls to sweeten a mining deal.”
“You’re lying! You’re hateful . . .” her words choked. Fury swept her, fury that he would attempt to blacken Luis when his accusations were little worse than things he had already done. Michael had used her, ruthlessly, for his own ends; he had flung his own mistresses in her face. He had not offered her love or respectable marriage, and Luis had done both. How dare he try to drag Luis down to his own level? “I hope I never see you again!”
She retrieved her bonnet and turned to make her way q
uickly through the trees, half blinded by tears of rage that she refused to shed. Madre de Dios, how she hated him!
She did not look back to see if he followed. She reached the road and went to her horse, taking the reins from John. “Thank you, Señor. My business with your friend is concluded; I won’t take up any more of your time.” She mounted with bewildered assistance from Locklyn.
“Please consider me your servant, Señora,” he said, glancing uncertainly from her toward the woods, where Michael now emerged.
“Goodbye. Penny . . . please come with me.” She spurred her mare and set off down the lane at a fast trot. Penny remounted her own horse.
“Goodbye, sir . . . y our lordship,” she called wistfully. “Be sure to tell Ernesto and Thomas hello!” Regretfully, Penny moved to follow Christina out of the park.
Luis stared at the pock-faced man before him with a combination of distaste and demand.
“Tell me again, precisely.”
Arturo shifted his feet. He did not want to tell the Marquès what he had seen; when enraged, the Marquès could be cruel even to those who had obeyed him exactly. But neither could he lie to Don Luis. That would be worse.
“The Señora and her English maid waited in the Alameda this afternoon for two men who arrived in a carriage. One of them, I know, is connected to the British Embassy. The other one, the dark-haired gringo who went walking with the Señora - him I do not know. He and the Señora walked for many minutes, and talked, I think. Then the Señora returned alone and left in a huge hurry.”
Luis’s dark eyes were narrowed and penetrating. “Is that all they did, Arturo? Did you see the man touch her? Tell me.”
Arturo’s gaze shifted away. “The Señora must have tripped, because the gringo steadies her in his arms.”
Luis was silent. Arturo, fearing the burst of his anger, refused to look at him. When he finally peeped, Luis’s eyes were black and his expression frightening.
“Arturo.” His voice was unnaturally soft. “You must continue to watch the Señora, for her protection, as I have said before. Follow her whenever she leaves the house and report her movements to me. You might also instruct one of the other grooms to observe the English maid.”
“Yes. But I could question the maid if you like.”
“No! Do not approach her. Have her watched. And see that you remain well-hidden from the Señora’s eyes.”
“I will.”
“There is one other thing you must do. Go now to the British Embassy and wait outside. Look for the dark-haired man you saw earlier. If you find him, note his direction and return to me at once. I have reason to believe he is a dangerous enemy of Mexico’s, a spy; he must be caught and imprisoned.”
“I will find him if he is still in Mexico City. But likely he is not.”
“Do you know his plans? Of course not, imbecile! Go to the Embassy and learn what you can.”
Arturo was glad to rush away from the Marquès, who was liable to strike him at any moment.
Chapter 29
Michael Brett did not leave Mexico City. Instead, after taking care of some business at the British Embassy for General Scott, and after discussing plans of a more personal nature with old friend John, he changed into rough clothes that blended into the evening darkness and went out by a side door to the streets. The city retained its air of nightly gaiety that he remembered from earlier visits, despite the encroaching war; and amidst the bustle of traffic he slipped unnoticed toward the object of his determined quest.
Luis Arredondo’s home was well-lit and graciously imposing. Michael positioned himself in the shadows of a wall opposite, crouching in the dirt with the brim of a disguising sombrero pulled low over his face. He was reasonably certain that his movements had not attracted the suspicions of any passerby.
There did not seem to be a dinner party or fiesta in progress at the Arredondo casa tonight. Having learned of a reception at the residence of an important supporter of Santa Anna in another part of town, Michael suspected that Arredondo and his fiancée would be in attendance there. He settled in for a long wait.
Three hours later a carriage bearing the Marquès’ crest stopped at the front steps, and its occupants alighted. Christina was wearing a dark cloak and had draped her high-piled hair with a lace mantilla; Luis was dressed in his usual almost foppish elegance. Michael watched as Luis guided Christina up the steps and into the house with one hand placed possessively on the small of her back. They did not turn around.
Michael moved from his cramped position when the carriage was driven off to the stables. He made his way toward the rear of the house, to a door in the wall surrounding the gardens that he had learned of from a servant of John’s. He went through the door and into the garden, where he took up a new vigil concealed within a copse of trees. He was looking toward a balcony outside windows he knew were Christina’s.
John had not bothered to remonstrate with him over the foolishness of this new whim. John had discovered, during their days at Eton years ago, that attempting to talk Michael Brett out of anything dangerous he wished to do was a waste of breath. But he did inquire, only half sarcastically, whether Michael had any sinister intentions of killing the very powerful Marquès. He would leave town himself in that case.
Michael had replied so obliquely that John was nearly alarmed. Killing Luis was probably a smart idea, for the war effort and for other reasons. But Michael knew that assassinating Luis and escaping town safely would be difficult. And then there was Christina, who might be implicated in the affair, and who might, after all, take it amiss if he killed her fiancé.
He could see a figure moving in the light behind the tall, open windows. The outline was feminine; likely Penny or some other maid. Then he caught a glimpse of a shape that was taller, and slimmer. Christina. Preparing for bed. Would she sleep alone? Or did Arredondo habitually join her, anticipating the wedding night so soon to come?
He would find out. He was here, still in Mexico City against all common sense, to do so. And to prove to Christina de Sainz that she could not dismiss him as easily as she thought.
Julian would understand, if not approve, of this reckless intention. Julian had concentrated his entire life on revenge. And if Michael’s desire for a kind of revenge against Christina was not at all like Julian’s - or his own - for Santa Anna, still the blinding urge was there. Christina had repudiated him this afternoon, had thrown his damning truths back in his face. And she had run home to Luis, the sadistic, dangerously ambitious Marquès whom he knew to have two very different sides.
Michael had warned her of Luis, that the man’s air of sophistication concealed only too well his perverted sensual appetites. At least he had tried to warn her. She had still betrothed herself to Luis, so either she hadn’t believed the truth about her beloved, or she didn’t care. And today he had told her of Luis’s designs on her silver. His words had slid off her like water. She believed in Luis’s integrity over his own.
Well, he knew one way to get Christina’s attention and hold it. Whether or not she planned to marry Arredondo, whether or not she screamed her hatred for him. He knew how to master Christina, how to make her forget about Luis. He knew how to make her love him - almost. And he would show her, one last time, even if it killed him.
He waited until Christina’s lights had been long extinguished and the night was well-advanced before moving.
It was an easy climb up a spreading tree and into the verandah that ran the length of the back of the house. The tall window shutters were still thrown open to catch the breeze. He slipped inside the bedroom silently, having left his boots down on the ground.
The moon was high outside, and cast just enough light in through the windows to enable him to make out the big four-poster bed, draped with webs of silk and mosquito netting. She was inside this cocoon, twisting in her sleep, dreaming something bad to judge from the restless movements her body made.
He checked to make sure that the door was locked, and took off his cloth
es. He was hard just from looking at her. Jesus Christ, it was difficult to control the intense ache she managed to arouse in him . . . the anticipatory pain that was worse with her than with any other woman he’d ever known. His hips eased toward her of their own accord as he got into bed, the predatory emotions of revenge and desire throwing any wish to proceed cautiously out of his brain.
The weight that dropped across her legs roused her from her dream. She made a startled noise and half-sat up, her eyes open; he shoved her back down, with a rough hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.
“Sorry, love, it’s only me, not your fiancè. But I promise not to disappoint you.” His voice was low with a harsh edge. Not exactly the tone of a dream-lover. But then, he was only here to satisfy himself with her once more, and to teach her a resounding lesson concerning the hazards of making a fool out of him. Not to treat her with courtesy.
She was making desperate, protesting sounds behind his hand, and he wondered, feeling cruel, if he should gag her. But at the same time her body was squirming beneath him and the covers, and in just a few seconds he lost his ability for rational reasoning.
He raised his anxious hips just enough to jerk away the sheet that covered her. She was wearing some kind of nightshift, and that had to go, too. It buttoned up the front; leaving her mouth free and gasping, he used both of his hands to rip all of the buttons free. Then he pushed aside the cloth and her body was bare and warm and he pressed himself against it, hearing her soft cry and hoping with one part of his mind that it hadn’t been too loud.
He spared himself most of the preliminaries to possessing her, doing only those things which he especially wished to do. Like sucking on her breasts, both of them. And pushing one hand between her tightly closed legs to pry them open and stroke her so that when he was ready, she would be, too; finding her already surprisingly moist. After that, he only bothered to take her mouth as a swift prelude to crashing into her body, which met his in an amazingly total agreement of will. Her arms came around him, and her legs, and then he stopped recording those things . . . only able to concentrate on the pleasure that was building and building, and then going off somewhere inside him like a full barrage of guns.
Stronger Than Passion Page 33
