by Sara Orwig
He sat up to look down at her. “I haven’t farmed since I was a fifteen-year-old lad. I can’t take your farm and settle there to do something I know little about.”
She could feel the bubble of joy that had held them for the past hour bursting, leaving them both more vulnerable than before. Desperately she said, “You’d remember what you knew and learn the rest as quickly as you learned to sail!”
“We can have a house in London, where we can have friends. That’s why I need to stay and fight here, Lianna. I’m beginning to win over men who had listened to my father and shut me out at home. I’m doing this for you too.”
“I’d rather have you!” Her blue eyes widened, and he felt pulled apart, seeing in her eyes what she wanted, but knowing what he had to do. “You may lose your life in this battle. The patriots have been defeated every time they’ve tried to fight. And to cross the Andes—you know it’s an impossible trek filled with danger. I want you, Josh.”
“We’ll work it out, Lianna, if we love each other,” he said tenderly, wanting to do what she asked, yet knowing he couldn’t.
“No,” she whispered. “What you’re saying is we do everything your way or not at all. I don’t want to give my heart and love to a pirate!” She closed her eyes wearily. “Go, Josh…go now!”
“You hold me with your kisses, you send me away with your words. What do you want?” he asked, the pain he fought becoming so bad he was tempted to capitulate to her wishes.
“Go fight your damnable battles, Josh! You love battle more than all else. Go!”
Swearing, he rose, snatched up his clothes, and went to his room, slamming the door behind him. Lianna rolled over to place her face in her hands, lying on the floor while she cried silently. Finally the tears stopped, yet she lay still, stretched on her stomach, her cheek on her arm until a woman’s voice asked, “Señora? Doña Lita, are you well?”
Startled, Lianna sat up and looked at Juanita, whose black eyes swiftly took in her appearance.
“May I help you to bed?” Juanita asked.
“Thank you, Juanita, no. I’m all right. I’d like to be alone.”
“Sí, señora.” Juanita left quietly and closed the door behind her, a smile hovering on her thin lips.
Lianna stared at the blank door. Had Juanita eavesdropped? And if she had, how long had she listened? Whatever else she had learned, Juanita would pass the word along that all was not well between her master and mistress. Would it matter? Would it increase the danger they were in?
Lianna went to the window, gazing out as the sun set and darkness fell. Across the treetops and rooftops of Santiago was the Governor’s Palace, where Quita would stay. All of them were caught in events beyond their control. Their lives would change because of a man named San Martín, because of an army of determined people, men who were willing to risk their lives for freedom. She herself would leave soon, sail for England, but what lay ahead? Would it be years of emptiness?
Lianna ran her hand across her flat abdomen. Why hadn’t she been with child since the few wild nights of love with Josh? Her heartbeat quickened as she thought about a baby. If one of them didn’t yield—Josh give up the sea or she give up the demand to have him at home—Josh would still dissolve the marriage once they were back in England. Lianna knew his resolve wouldn’t waver, but if there were a child…The thought made her heart skip. The baby would have a name, it wouldn’t be illegitimate, and at home there waited an estate. There were her father’s two ships and his house, sufficient to care for both her and a baby. She turned to stare at Josh’s door.
Her throat felt tight. She thought she had shed all the tears possible, yet more threatened. She looked out the window again.
“Josh…” she whispered.
Christmas came and went, a forlorn holiday called La Noche Buena, the Good Night. Gifts were exchanged later on El Día de los Reyes, Twelfth Night, an occasion when Josh presented her with a diamond necklace while she gave him a new set of dueling pistols.
She turned the sparkling diamonds in her hands, feeling a tug on her heart. They were the first lavish gift she had received in her life, and she was breathless looking at them, yet their cold glitter reminded her of her dilemma. She wished Josh had cared enough to fasten them on her.
“They’re beautiful! Thank you.”
“You don’t sound sure, cara,” he said.
“I’ve never had such a gift. It’s overwhelming.”
He stared at her solemnly until she blushed and said, “Open your gift.”
He unfastened the wrappings and opened the box. “Pistols! They’re excellent.” He lifted one to examine it. For a moment a sardonic grin crossed his face. “You see me only as a cutthroat pirate! Well, perhaps I am. There’s little else for me to be.” He rose swiftly, taking the pistols with him, leaving her with an empty feeling that seemed to haunt her days.
Then two days later she saw him briefly. She heard a rustle and opened her eyes to see him rise from the pallet on the floor.
Lianna had been uncertain if he still slept in her room. He came and went at odd hours, and if he were there, he came while she was asleep and left before she awoke, taking all traces of his presence with him.
He glanced at her. “Sorry if I woke you.”
Her gaze flicked down across his bare chest, his tight breeches, and she became too hot to breathe.
“Lianna,” he said softly, making her pulse drum, “any day now I’ll leave for the mountains and Simms will take you back to El Feroz. You can’t pack many things, because it’ll reveal our plans. Put the things you don’t want to leave behind where you can get them at once.”
“All right.” She had barely heard what he said. They would leave. It was over. She felt no elation, merely regret, loss, desire.
She wanted him desperately. “Josh…”
He turned around. “Yes?”
Her heart thudded as she looked into his cool green eyes. She shook her head. “I’ll be ready.”
He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him without a sound.
Tuesday morning more than a week later, Quita sat in the courtyard of the Governor’s Palace. She watched the fountain, waiting for Marie, one of the servants, to tell her when the men were finished with their meeting.
They had been in Santiago a week now and parties were being planned to introduce them to society. Quita was beginning to relax because she hadn’t seen any sign of El Feroz or heard of a ship with an English captain; adding to her relief, she had learned that Spain wouldn’t allow any ships to put into ports of the colonies except their own, so perhaps Captain Raven had to sail on to other places.
She laughed softly, thinking nothing could disturb her now, yet she still hoped she could persuade Armando to sail soon for Spain. She didn’t like Santiago, but she couldn’t admit to him why. Francisco and Salina Marcheno were gracious to them—particularly Salina to Armando. Quita would have had to be blind to miss Salina’s obvious flirting with Armando, yet he was gallant and nothing more. Quita smiled, sure of holding his love now, so very sure. And with the threat of Lianna Melton and Captain Joshua Raven evaporating into nothing, life held bright promises. She frowned, momentarily thinking of the one cloud. Armando had hinted there might be an uprising—and that he could give Francisco help. Quita didn’t want to lose her dashing, handsome husband because of unrest in a colony across the world from Spain! She wanted Armando back at home where life was safe, and she intended to use all her wits to persuade him to return.
Marie’s quiet footstep was impossible to hear as her shadowy form drifted past the fountain; the slender maid halted in front of Quita.
“Condesa, the men leave the salon.”
Quita’s pulse quickened in eagerness. “Good. Will you tell my husband I am ill and need to see him? I’ll be in my bedroom.”
“Sí, condesa.”
Quita hurried, moving as swiftly and quietly as Marie had, while her heartbeat hammered in happiness. “Now, Armando…you wil
l be mine forever!”
She hurried into the bedroom that was part of the quarters she and Armando had to themselves in the east side of the Governor’s Palace. The bedroom had baroque black wrought-iron torchères on both sides of the intricately carved rosewood bed. There was a niche in one wall with a shell motif carved above it, forming an altar on one side of the room; on the wall beside it was a tin carving of a saint. A brazier with a copper bowl stood in the center of the room if they needed warmth.
Quita had put a bright red silk coverlet on the bed. Armando’s sword was in one corner, his books on a table. The room held their personal touches and she felt satisfied with it. She turned to look at herself in the oval mirror, to make certain her appearance would be right and would please Armando. She wore a soft white batiste dress with lace at the throat and along the sleeves and around the hem. It was the dress of a young girl and made her look sixteen again. Her black hair fell free and she had picked a bright red hibiscus blossom downstairs to tuck behind her ear. Around her neck she wore a simple gold cross Armando had given her when they had been in port in Bahia.
Without warning, the thickly carved wood door burst open and with a clatter of his boots and spurs on the stone floor, Armando swept into the room, a scowl on his face. He closed the door and halted abruptly, his features softening. “Marie told me you were ill.” A faint smile played over his mouth as he watched her, and Quita smiled in return.
“I wanted to be alone with you. Forgive me because this one time I had to tell a tiny lie.”
He laughed softly, the sound deep in his throat as he crossed the room to look at her. Her heart quickened as she looked at her handsome husband with his white silk shirt open at the throat, a gunbelt slung low around his narrow hips.
He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Shame on you for worrying me, Lia,” he said huskily. “Perhaps I shall worry you a little in return.”
“You knew it could be nothing serious. You left our bed only an hour ago.”
“You cannot imagine what worry you caused! And I told you, I want only the truth—although maybe this once I’ll take my revenge and then forgive you.”
She smiled, winding her fingers in his hair.
“You little witch!” he murmured, and his fingers caressed the underside of her breast, making her gasp and look up at him through eyes almost closed.
“Armando, stop a moment. Wait—”
He chuckled again, a husky male sound that tickled her senses. “Ah, you don’t want to be tormented, yet you unnecessarily cause me woe…”
“Armando!” She caught his hands and stepped back. “I have something to ask for and something to tell you. I’ve never asked you for anything, have I?”
“Only to stay in Spain.” His brows arched while he gazed at her with curiosity. “So what do you want from me?”
“Take me home to Spain.”
He laughed and dropped his hands to his hips. “I will soon enough, but now there’s trouble here, and Francisco needs me.”
“That’s all the more reason to go! I want you! I love you!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Please…”
“And what did you have to tell me,” he asked flatly, and she suspected he was growing impatient with her requests to go home, making him remember things he had planned to do at the moment instead of staying to talk to her.
She slipped out of his arms and spun away from him to face him, feeling her heart pound against her ribs. “I had to wait to tell you until I felt sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“How do I look?” She held out her arms and turned slowly in front of him.
The faint smile returned to his features and he unbuckled his gunbelt. “You look,” he said, and his voice lowered, “good enough for me to make Francisco wait for me a little longer.”
“Armando, look at me!” She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him.
His brows arched again and he paused, his fingers tangled in the laces of his shirt. He frowned. “Lia…” he said impatiently.
She reached behind her to gather the fullness of her dress and pull it tight so it molded her figure. His gaze drifted down slowly, making her breasts grow taut and the nipples harden.
“You’re lovely,” he whispered.
“And you’re too slow for words!”
His head snapped up, and she laughed. “Armando…” She caught his hands, placing one on her breast and one on her stomach. “Now, look at me,” she whispered. “And feel…feel what we have made together, feel how my heart beats…”
His dark eyes seemed to widen endlessly, and his breath left as if he had received a blow. “Querida!” he whispered. “A child?”
She laughed. “Yes, Armando! Your son!”
“Mi amor, Lia!” He crushed her to him, showering her with kisses while she clung to him and laughed with joy.
“Armando, suppose…” she whispered while he knelt and buried his head between her breasts, kissing her, his breath hot on her skin even through the batiste. She caught his dark head to turn his face upward to her. “Armando!” she whispered, shocked to see tears in his eyes.
“I’ve waited so long, Lia. Finally you give me an heir.”
She felt as if she would melt with love for him as she held his head to her breasts. “Suppose it’s a girl?”
“There have been strong women in history. Our baby will be strong whether a boy or a girl.” He stood up and laughed. “And hopefully, we will have both!”
She laughed with him, clinging to him. He stepped back to unfasten the tiny buttons and laces and hooks, swearing as his big fingers fumbled and delayed him. Finally he pushed away her garments to hold her at arm’s length while he looked at her.
“This is when a woman looks most beautiful—now,” he whispered in a raspy voice.
“Armando, come here.”
“Un momento, querida,” he whispered. “How beautiful you look.”
“I hope you think so months from now!”
“I will.” He scooped her up and placed her on the bed to stand over her, looking at her until she held out her arms.
“Armando, please…”
“Shh…you carry our child, my heir.” He sat on the bed to kiss her stomach, saying softly, “Lia, I will give you the world in exchange.”
His kisses set her on fire, but she knew she should persist now. She reached down to tangle her fingers in his hair and turn his head. “Give me the one thing I’ve asked for—take me home to Spain. I don’t want our child born here or at sea.”
“Dios!” His chest expanded with a deep breath. “We’ll go. Give me two weeks to help Francisco, then we’ll start for Spain.”
She closed her eyes. Two weeks. Fourteen days, and she would be headed safely home. What could harm them in such a short time? “Gracias, Armando!”
“Shh, don’t thank me! I’m the one to thank you. And I will show my gratitude like this,” he whispered as his tongue touched her nipple, “…and like this.” His head lowered and his lips and tongue trailed over her flat stomach while his hands began to move on her. “You’re a woman now, querida, my woman. How fiery you are! You make my heart dance like the fandango.” He kissed her thigh, his warm breath fanning over her while she moaned and shifted.
“Armando, please…”
“Shh,” he whispered, his tongue stopping her words and thoughts.
Wednesday morning Lianna smoothed the folds of her green silk dress, took a deep breath, and entered the Governor’s Palace. Last week she had sent her calling card, leaving it for the Countess of Marcheno. She had received an answer, that Doña Lianna would be happy to meet her Wednesday morning.
The reply lay folded in Lianna’s reticule, embedded in her memory, her own name signed in Quita Bencaria’s tiny script. What a winding path each had taken. Lianna refused to look back, to think what might have been if she had loved Josh from the beginning.
She was frightened about the meeting with Quita. She prayed they would be alone, that
no one would witness the first moment Quita would see her, and she wished there had been some way to warn Quita who she was.
Lianna stepped into the long hall with its white walls and dark log beams in the ceiling, and she stiffened. Near a doorway down the hall stood Governor Marcheno, General Farjado, a soldier, and another man. All glanced in her direction, murmuring greetings.
“Buenos días.” Lianna nodded, replying stiffly, barely aware of her words. All of them could see and hear everything! She prayed they would go before Quita appeared. She wanted to turn and run. There was nowhere to stand where the men couldn’t see her.
Swiftly she considered pleading ill or returning to the carriage immediately. She couldn’t face Quita with the four men watching. General Farjado was quick and shrewd. Lianna’s pulse raced in fright while she stood waiting.
“Marquesa…” came a soft-spoken greeting from a voice Lianna recognized instantly.
She turned to see Quita appear in a doorway on her left. Quita wore an elegant silk dress, her black hair piled high on her head, her neck adorned in rubies, and her brown eyes widened alarmingly as she screamed.
Then Quita, who had become the Condesa de Marcheno, collapsed in a faint.
26
“Lianna!”
Lianna’s head jerked up. A handsome man who was fully six and a half feet tall rushed to pick up Quita.
The Count of Marcheno. Lianna felt as if she might also faint. Her head spun, and she glanced at the others hastily approaching. A pair of black eyes watched her with the attentiveness of a swooping hawk. General Farjado reached out to steady her.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
“No. I can’t imagine what happened,” Lianna answered. “I merely said hello.”
The count lifted Quita effortlessly and walked into a salon. Lianna’s mind raced as she glanced at the governor and the general.
“Perhaps…” She paused and frowned.
“Yes?” General Farjado snapped the word.
“Perhaps it is a woman’s matter. Let me go help.”
