The kisses and the wine

by Violet Winspear

`All because of a storm?' Lise murmured. But you were on your way to see Franquista. What could be more important than that?'

  `That you might get away from me before I had a chance – ah, you gave a jump just then, which tells me that you were going away, regardless of my threats.'

  `I am still going—' She tried to pull free of him, but as always he was too strong for her and she had to stay still or be bruised against him. 'I mean it, Leandro. Your grandmother knows everything—'

  `Santo Dios, you did not dare—?'

  `No, she overheard me in conversation with Manuela. I had to talk to someone – but she took it so well, and she is going to arrange that I leave the castillo for good, in the morning.'

  `Really?' His tone was so mild, but when Lise looked at his mouth she saw that it was edged with temper. 'So on

  Tuesday I was to return to find you gone . . . and every single singing bird as silent as the grave! Every bit of sunlight like a shadow.'

  ‘Leandro' Lise spoke faintly. `I'm not with you, but I truly thought you were going to Madrid to be with—'

  'Shut up!' he said rudely. 'And listen! In my time I have

  known several women, and Franquista was certainly one of them. She was gay, sparkling and clever, and we did business together, and sometimes -we went to the bullfight and she adored nothing better than being given the ears and the tail of the brave bull. I know what you believed about her in connection with me, and it suited my purpose to let you think that I was in love with her. Had you guessed for one moment that I had no intention of loving anyone but you — yes, matadora, you — then in a virginal flurry of panic you would have fled me. You would never have believed the truth, that I wanted you for yourself and not for any other reason. You are such an independent, very British little creature that if I had told you that our engagement was never for one moment a sham on my side, you would have scorned the very idea that a man can take one look at a woman and know she is the only woman for him. It is a fallacy that the female of the species is more romantic than the male. From the moment I brought you to my castle I meant to keep you here. You fitted into my plans so well. You fitted into my heart so perfectly. And in my arms you felt so slim, so adorable.'

  In his arms, shaken and weak, Lise felt like hitting him for the torment he had put her through `Y-you blackmailed me,' she accused. 'You said I had to marry you for the sake of your grandmother. You set such a trap for me that all I wanted was to get out of it.'

  'Yes,' he said thoughtfully. I went a bit too far, didn't I? You will have to forgive me for that, guapissima.'

  `I won't,' she stormed. 'You've behaved like a — a devil and you don't deserve to be loved—'

  `Loved?' he whispered, bending close to her. 'Loved, my lily, by you? Kissed by you, wanted by you, eared and tailed like the bull itself, my matadora.'

  `Stop it!' She thrust a hand against his shoulder. 'You can't say you're going to see Franquista, and then come here to me with all this talk about — about loving me.'

  `It was you, my little bit of fire, who said I was going to see Franquista. No doubt I would have seen her in Madrid, as she is seen everywhere, but the truth of the matter was that I was going to sign the agreement regarding our new factory, and as the papers are in the hands of the lawyer, I had naturally to go to his office, which is in Madrid. While there I planned to buy you this and that, but all the presents can wait. They can wait, my dear, but this can't!'

  And swiftly, while her lips were still apart in surprise, he swooped and took them ... the hawk with the dove . . . but a dove who was not tame to his hand, or likely to coo more often than she fought with him. She fought now, but the warmth, the hard, searching caress of his lips was too flamy sweet for resisting, and with her surrender came the true awakening to all he had said to her.

  She was loved by him . . . the lightning of the soul had flickered and they were forged as one. A feeling of quicksilver seemed to be running through her veins and her bones, while all the lovely images were alive in her mind as his lips took their pleasure of her. Soon in the cathedral at Jaen the candles would shine among the sprays of golden cassia, there would be a litany of bells, and the marriage vows would be read in beautiful Latin. That day the sun would blaze, and she would call him esposo mio . . . husband mine!