Tides of Passion

by Sara Orwig

  His features softened, losing all their harshness, and her racing heartbeat began to slow. “Lia, it was only a rabbit. You’ve hunted with me and enjoyed the kill.”

  “But a deer or a bird killed by a clean shot is different. The rabbit was smaller than the dogs, alone and defenseless…”

  “Oh, querida,” he said, crushing her to him and laughing. “I’m sorry if we upset you. You don’t have to watch the dogs kill a rabbit!” He held her away, his eyes filled with curiosity. “Why didn’t you say so when I first asked?”

  “I didn’t want to displease you,” she answered softly, and her heartbeat quickened for a new reason as she saw the flare of joy in his eyes.

  “Ah, Lia, how I love you! You’ll never displease me,” he said, tilting her chin up.

  “I pray not.” She wound her fingers in his hair and stroked his neck, feeling a swift, hot rush of desire.

  His dark eyes focused on her mouth and she stood on tiptoe. His eyelids lowered and he bent to kiss her, murmuring, “You always please me.”

  His hands fondled her breasts, pushing aside her riding coat, tugging at the laces at the neck of her silk blouse.

  “Armando, the others—”

  “Won’t disturb us. Shh, touch me, Lia.”

  His hands were callused and rough, but his touch was gentle and magic, a silken torment that made her forget where she was or what was happening or anything else except Armando.

  He swung the full cape off his shoulders and swirled it, spreading it on the leaves. He sat on it, tumbling her down in his lap, her clothing half off as her own eager fingers pushed his garments aside.

  As he entered her, she watched him for an instant, seeing his hard shoulders, his smoldering gaze, hearing only bird cries as dappled sunlight played over their bodies through pine boughs. She closed her eyes, lost in a swirling vortex of passion that took all her senses. She heard his cry only dimly, and her own voice sounded as if from a distance. His weight came down and he held her, stroking her face, murmuring endearments.

  “Armando, I shall die of shame to join the others again! My hair…”

  He laughed, kissing her and silencing her protests. “We’ll ride straight back to the castle.”

  Late that afternoon Quita lazed in a tub of hot water that had been brought to the bedroom. They were still living in the bridal rooms of the castle and stayed in seclusion most of the time. Quita had dismissed Yolana because she wanted to soak alone. As she stepped from the tub and started to pull on her pale blue velvet robe, she paused, glimpsing her reflection in the oval mirror. Her black hair was loosely fastened on top of her head. She lowered the robe to stare at her flat stomach. They had been wed over a month now and she had not conceived.

  Suddenly she became afraid she would lose Armando’s love if she bore him no children. He talked constantly of an heir, a son. She closed her eyes to pray there would be one soon.

  “Lia.”

  She whirled around, pulling the robe up to her chin, and saw Armando filling the doorway. His countenance was solemn, and her breathing stopped, because she knew something had happened.

  “Lianna, there has been a messenger from England.”

  16

  For an instant the room swam before her eyes while she wondered if Squire Melton were coming to visit. As Armando approached her, she knew she couldn’t hide the truth from him if he questioned her.

  “Lianna,” he said sadly, placing his hands on her shoulders, “your father had an accident. He’s dead.”

  Dizzy with relief, Quita closed her eyes while his arms enfolded her. She tried to summon tears and found it was easy to cry with relief. She lived with threats turning up in unexpected ways and unexpected moments, and each one seemed to pull her nerves more tautly than the last.

  Armando picked her up and carried her to a chair, where he sat with her on his lap, pulling the robe over her to cover her.

  “I’m sorry, querida.”

  She sat up, wiping her eyes. “Armando, my father was my parent…but he was a cold man, not cruel, just cold. I don’t think he loved me.” She was afraid to look into midnight eyes that could discern the truth too frighteningly well. She toyed with the laces on Armando’s shirt. “He loved money and ships more than all else on earth.”

  “I know, Lia,” he said so gently that her eyes flew wide. He smiled. “What kind of father would have married off his daughter in the manner yours did?”

  “Thank heaven he did!” she said, love welling up inside her. “Armando, I don’t want to go back to England. This is the first happiness I have known. I don’t want to remember a honeymoon spent on a long journey back to a cold English home where I was always lonely!” Her plea tumbled out as she kissed his throat between words and felt his arm tighten around her waist.

  “Then you won’t go back. It’s unnecessary now. Someday you may want to see to your inheritance. I don’t care if we never see it. In the meantime, I’ll send word to your father’s solicitor to appoint someone to manage the estate.”

  She raised her head to stare at him, and his brows arched quizzically. “What’s the question I see in your eyes?”

  “You must be a man of great wealth to treat my inheritance so casually!”

  He laughed. “Sí cara, I do have wealth. And I want to give it all to you. Give me a son, Lia,” he said, and suddenly she knew the one thing he wanted that wealth could not buy. His dark eyes were intense, and her body trembled with desire and an overwhelming longing to produce the heir he wanted, to bind him to her so tightly that if he ever learned the truth, he could forgive her.

  He pushed the blue robe away, his hands following the path of the material as it slipped off her naked body.

  A week later, he wanted her to travel with him to La Coruña to see the progress on a new ship he was having readied for them to sail on their coming voyage to the New World.

  She didn’t want to make the long journey to La Coruña, but she was terrified to protest even slightly. Armando could far too easily detect when she wasn’t telling him the truth, so she agreed to go, but each day of the journey brought her that much closer to danger.

  As the carriages rolled into town, again she had a feeling of dread, fearing that the Fate that had given her Armando and a life of wealth might snatch it away as swiftly.

  From the shadows of the carriage she stared at the women who washed clothes in the fountain, and to her relief, she didn’t recognize any. She felt somewhat better when their carriage rolled down the dusty lane to dockside and she saw the great ships. She leaned forward, her spirits lifting, for it was unlikely she would see a familiar face aboard ship. Her gaze fell on a prow with a familiar figurehead—a lion’s head with a flowing mane and teeth bared. Her eyes searched for the name—El Feroz—and her heart stopped beating.

  She stared in disbelief, as if a specter had risen up to haunt her. Turning to ice, she wondered what conspiracy would bring them all together—did Armando know and intend to confront her with Lianna Melton? The world spun and spots danced before her eyes until Armando spoke in a lazy voice.

  “For someone who fears ships, you seem fascinated by them.”

  She glanced at him. He lazed back in the corner with one booted foot propped on the seat, his elbow resting on his knee while he watched her with a slight smile.

  “I felt faint. I’m weary of riding and needed fresh air,” she said, suddenly realizing whatever had brought El Feroz to Spain, Armando knew nothing of it.

  “Lia, I’m sorry. We’re almost there,” he said, at once solicitous as he sat up.

  She glanced again at El Feroz. Lianna Melton was on that ship, only yards away. Quita trembled, wondering if Lianna had changed her mind—yet she doubted that happening. What had brought El Feroz to La Coruña?

  She forgot as arms closed around her waist and she was pulled onto Armando’s lap while he nuzzled her neck. “We’re almost there. I should have left you at home, but I want you with me.”

  “I’m all righ
t. I’m glad I’m here,” she said, winding her arms around his neck, feeling safe.

  Within the hour, as they started up the gangplank of his ship, Quita glanced over it. Her gaze drifted over the three masts rigged with lanteen sails and the extended quarterdeck, then along to the bow, and she gasped with delight. “Armando!”

  He grinned as they both looked at the name freshly painted, La Lia. “You named it for me!” she exclaimed, squeezing his arm.

  He laughed and hugged her shoulders in return. “Come look at her.”

  They walked the deck of the ship he was having redone for their trip. It was magnificent, yet Quita couldn’t shake her fears. It made her nervous to have El Feroz so close at hand, yet not know why it was in Spain. Once, when Armando finished giving instructions to his men and linked his arm in hers, she pointed to the ship. “El Feroz. Is that one of your ships, Armando?”

  “No, Lianna. I’ve been told they rescued Spanish sailors whose ship had gone down and brought them into port. I want you to see the rest of the ship.” He took her arm to help her down a companionway, and El Feroz was lost to sight.

  Relief that the presence of El Feroz had nothing to do with her mixed with new worries. Squire Melton was dead. If she let Lianna know her father had died, Lianna could go home and claim her inheritance. Armando seemed to have no interest in the English possessions—and Lianna would not have to spend a life in servitude. Edwin Stafford was at home—the man Lianna loved—and Quita realized how fortunate a woman was if she were able to marry the man she loved. Compassion and gratitude warred with caution, because the wise course would be to let it go, to let Lianna Melton struggle in life in her own way. Yet how much she owed to Lianna!

  Emotions tugged at Quita. She didn’t want to risk anything that might disturb her precarious hold on Armando’s affections, yet Lianna might be safer tucked away in England than sailing to the New World. Armando held no love for England, telling her more than once he had found it a cold country with cold people. She barely heard what Armando was saying and realized she must pay closer attention. They spent the night on the ship in a half-furnished cabin and the next day they planned to start for home with Quita still worrying about Lianna.

  The problem seemed to solve itself because she had no opportunity to get word to Lianna. But midmorning Armando helped her into the carriage for the ride home, and he was suddenly called to go back to the ship, leaving her alone. It was hot in the carriage and she stepped out to walk, moving to the shade of small shops yards back from the waterfront. As she sat on a bench and stared at the ship, wondering where Lianna might be, she made a decision. Hastily she penned a note and took coins from her reticule. She looked around and saw a lad tethering a horse nearby. “Un momento, por favor,” she said softly, and motioned him over, knowing she was out of sight of Armando and his men.

  An hour later, she climbed into her carriage and they headed for Madrid. She turned once to look back through the window, wondering if the message would get delivered and what would happen afterward. She had asked the lad to wait until El Feroz looked ready to sail, but already second thoughts were besieging her that she had made a mistake. If Lianna claimed the inheritance and Armando wanted to go to England…Quita shoved the thought aside. It had been far more risky the other way. The New World was Armando’s next destination, Santiago, Chile—the exact place Mr. Summers had said Captain Joshua Raven intended to sail!

  Now Lianna could go home to Edwin and live a life with the man she loved, just as she had given Quita the opportunity to do. Quita smiled at Armando, slipping onto the carriage seat beside him and turning to him as she dropped her hand to his thigh.

  The sun climbed over the horizon, and the air warmed. Midafternoon they passed through a pine forest and the coolness was welcome. As they left the edge of the woods, moving into sunlight again, a commotion started. Shouts and a gun blast deafened Quita as Armando sat up.

  “What the hell?”

  The door burst open, and a ruffian thrust a pistol inside.

  Quita screamed. Armando lunged, kicking at the man. The pistol fired, its noise blasting Quita’s ears in the confines of the carriage.

  As soon as the man had fired, Armando hit him and the man fell from the carriage.

  A man on horseback rode alongside the carriage, and to her relief, she saw it was one of Armando’s men. Her relief was short-lived as Armando started out the door.

  “Armando!” she cried, and grasped his arm.

  “It’s bandits!” He shook free and grabbed the man riding beside them, pulling himself onto the back of the horse behind the rider.

  “Armando, come back!” she cried, knowing it was useless, but unable to keep from calling to him.

  He shouted to the rider and the man reached for the coach, pulling himself off the horse and clinging to the side of the coach. He scrambled up toward the box out of sight while Armando slipped into the saddle and turned the horse to go after a bandit who was riding away. He aimed a pistol and fired and the man toppled off the horse, then got up and began to run.

  The door banged and air rushed in as the horses plunged ahead. More shots were fired and then the carriage slowed while Armando and his men brought three bandits together.

  Quita climbed out of the carriage as Armando dismounted and waited while a fourth thief was rounded up. She expected Armando to return to the carriage, to let his men shackle the bandits. Wind tugged at his white collar, blowing it against his dark jaw, and he turned, seeing her watching him.

  “Get inside the carriage, Lianna,” he said.

  For the first time she realized and she stared at him, seeing him as the man she had heard whispered about, the cruel man of iron who was so unyielding.

  “Lianna!”

  She climbed into the carriage and shut the door, staring stonily ahead, realizing he had another side to him that was as harsh and cruel as the stormiest sea.

  Four shots were fired. Each one made her flinch, and she clasped her fingers together. If Armando ever discovered her identity…In that moment she lost all illusions that he would forgive her.

  The carriage door opened and he climbed inside, slamming shut the door as he sat down and looked at her.

  “You shot them,” she said, knowing she shouldn’t say anything.

  “Perhaps word will travel that the Marcheno carriage is one to leave alone. They were thieves, Lianna. That man would have shot you or me if I hadn’t kicked the pistol and ruined his arm. They’re brigands. Only a little over a year ago soldiers spread across this land trying to drive the French out. Wellington’s men, our men, French soldiers, men from three armies overran Spain in the fight against Napoleon. There has been riffraff on the road in abundance ever since. They wouldn’t treat you with kindness and they don’t deserve any. Forget them.”

  She looked down at her hands, knowing he was right about the thieves, yet it frightened her to see how callous he could be.

  Silence lengthened between them, and as the carriage lumbered along, warmth began to return to her again. She glanced at him to see him staring out the window, a scowl on his features. She leaned forward to take his hand.

  “Armando, are you angry with me?”

  He turned and his features softened as he reached for her to pull her to him.

  “Of course not!” He smiled at her, his black eyes developing lusty fires. “Lia, we have a long, leisurely journey home, and I will show you how happy I am with you.”

  Aboard El Feroz, as Lianna brushed her hair, Captain Raven appeared carrying a kettle of hot water.

  For a moment she gave no thought to the object in his hands, so taken was she by the sight of him. His wide smile dazzled, but below the smile, his clothing made his appearance breathtaking. Instead of the customary black breeches and linen shirt, he was wearing an elegant white silk shirt with a snowy white cravat. The shirt tapered to flawless fawn-colored breeches and gleaming black Hessians, all of which looked incongruous on a man tending to the chore of filling a t
ub with water.

  She couldn’t think of a male acquaintance who would look as appealing as Captain Raven did this moment. The clothing was, without a doubt, expensive and carefully tailored. She watched with open curiosity. As soon as the tub was filled, he crossed to the wardrobe, searched among the dresses then produced a filmy white gauze dress shot with silver, and her woolen cape. Placing them across a chair, he made an elaborate bow. “This cabin is yours, love. I’ll return shortly.”

  With that, he left, and Lianna remained perplexed. Why the fancy dress? She rose and lifted the white dress, fingering the delicate material. Why was he so well-dressed? What did he plan? Rushing with eagerness to discover what lay ahead, she bathed.

  They were in Spain. Perhaps he intended to put her on a ship bound for England! And briefly the idea brought a pang of regret that she would never see Joshua Raven again. There were moments when he was exciting and more fun than anyone she had known in her life. And when he touched her…She drew her breath sharply, shaking her head as if to clear it of such thoughts. She wanted to go home, but she would miss him—and remember him forever.

  She dressed, gazing at the lovely gown. It was a ball gown, not a morning dress, and her curiosity increased. The door opened, and Captain Raven stepped inside.

  “How beautiful you are,” he said, and the warmth in his eyes made her smile with pleasure. He crossed the cabin to place his hands on her shoulders, and the faint contact, merely fingers resting lightly on her shoulders, was as jolting as if the ship had been suddenly rocked by a giant wave. His clothing smelled fresh and clean, his hair was drawn back, framing his face.

  “Will I be allowed to go ashore?”

  “Aye, you’ll go ashore with me.”

  Curiosity was rampant. His eyes twinkled with devilish satisfaction. She tilted her head to study him. “I suspect that you are up to something wicked!”