“Fine. Time will tell.”
He threw on his shirt and left the front undone, the only thing he could do since half the buttons were missing now. The reminder of how hungry she’d been to seduce him dumped more fuel onto the already smoldering embers of desire.
There was no way he could stay here with her and not touch her again.
“Get dressed,” he said as he turned to face her.
But she wasn’t there and neither were her clothes. He stormed around the bathhouse, checking everywhere.
“Allegra!”
The slamming of the door was his only answer.
Miguel pushed outside just as the rain commenced anew. The wind picked up speed again. Beneath the portico, he saw her running toward the door.
He tore off after her, his steps slowing once he’d reached the protection of the house as well. Now was not the time to catch her. He needed to purge himself of the conflicting feelings and refocus his energy on what he would do with his wife.
Let her think she escaped him for now. She’d find out before long that he was far from finished with her.
In bed. Or out of it.
Allegra woke with a start, a frantic sensation that made her heart race and her pulse pound. It happened so often she should be used to it by now, but it always unsettled her.
This time it was worse, perhaps because of seeing Cristobel’s grave. Perhaps because she’d made love with Miguel again.
She stretched gingerly in the luxurious bed, testing muscles that hadn’t been used in months. Her legs, back, between her thighs—all were unusually tender. How rambunctious had she been with Miguel?
Extremely, she recalled with a flush. If only he’d felt it with his heart, but she knew for Miguel sex was nothing more than satisfying an itch. If their vows had meant anything to him, he wouldn’t have left her here as a virtual prisoner, dominated by his mother.
He wouldn’t have cut her out of his life.
Even so she’d sat in her room until the wee hours, fretting if he’d visit her here. But he hadn’t.
She’d served her use to him.
She’d been painfully reminded just how wonderful her sexual life had been with Miguel. And just how hardheaded he was when it came to believing her.
He stubbornly insisted she’d had an affair with Amando Riveras. Nothing could be further from the truth, but he hadn’t asked her to explain what she’d been doing. Perhaps he didn’t wish to admit that he’d failed the gentle Mayans who were escaping Guatemala.
Perhaps his indomitable pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that his English wife had taken over the task to help those less fortunate.
A glance at the clock showed it was half past nine. She hadn’t slept that long in months.
Allegra leaped from the bed and darted into the en suite bathroom. Thirty minutes later she emerged refreshed.
She chose a simple pair of jade slacks and charcoal blouse for today and left her room. What would this day hold in store?
As she entered the dining room her mother-in-law set the delicate cup and saucer down with care, though Allegra sensed it was done to draw out the moment and strain Allegra’s patience. “You are not welcome here.”
Allegra didn’t even flinch at the coldly delivered statement. “Where is Miguel?”
She donned a disgusted mien. “He said he must visit Tumbenkahal and inspect the damage done in the wake of the hurricane.”
“When is he expected to return?”
“I do not know. A day. Maybe two.”
Señora Barrosa feathered her fingers over the white brocade tablecloth, the movement deceptively serene. But the cold glint in her eyes told the truth. She hated Allegra, and with Miguel gone she would unleash her wrath.
“Miguel told me that you returned to Cancún to sell the beach house,” she said.
“Yes.” She refused to divulge more to this critical woman.
Her mother-in-law inclined her head in the manner a queen would acknowledge a lesser subject. “I will give you twice the value of it if you agree to leave Mexico now and never return.”
Allegra stilled as the same proposal triggered a memory. Like before, it came and went in a puff of smoke. But this time she couldn’t shake off the feeling that her mother-in-law had tried to buy her off before.
But since her memory prior to the accident was intact, that meant she’d offered to pay her to leave Miguel right before it happened.
“Well?” Señora Barrosa asked.
She stared at the woman. “Mexico is a big country.”
The senora’s mouth thinned. “Fine. Agree to stay away from the Yucatán Peninsula and the money is yours.”
It would be more than enough to provide a cushion for her as she started life on her own. Miguel would surely be so furious with her for depriving him of his vengeance that he’d divorce her without hesitation.
She’d be free. And alone.
Yet she refused to take the money from her mother-in-law, partly because she was not about to bow to the old harridan’s wishes, and partly because she couldn’t forget the look in his eyes when he realized he’d been lied to about Allegra’s injuries.
“Keep your offer,” she told Miguel’s mother.
Anger snapped in Señora Barrosa’s dark eyes. “You are a fool! There is nothing for you here.”
“My daughter is buried in the Hacienda Primaro Cemetery.”
The señora tossed her hands in the air and snorted. “You have not bothered to visit once in the past six months. Why drag forth this concern now?”
“I couldn’t make the trip before.” But she kept the reason to herself.
“You shouldn’t have made it now,” she said, venom dripping off her words as she got to her feet. “Think about my offer. It is the best you will receive from my family.”
That truth would hurt more coming from Miguel. She waited for her mother-in-law to leave before doing the same. With Miguel gone, she wasn’t about to stay here a moment longer than she must.
An idea had began forming in her head the second she learned what Miguel was doing. This time she’d follow through on what her heart bid her to do.
The small altar in the alcove to her right caught her attention. She skittered to a stop, overwhelmed with love and grief as she stared at her baby’s face.
Cristobel was a beguiling mix of her and Miguel. His dark hair and coloring. Her nubbin nose and blue eyes.
Her arms still ached to cradle her close, kiss her baby’s soft face. Her heart broke to know that if she hadn’t taken her with her that day, she may still be alive.
Regret was a horrible thing to live with. She’d made so many mistakes in her marriage. Why had she left the casa that day?
She’d tried and failed to remember. She was likely going to the beach house, her respite when she was troubled.
A chill feathered up her spine. So why hadn’t Amando Riveras accompanied her?
She gave up trying to force the memory and focused on the altar. She’d seen others in the house—one dedicated to Miguel’s father—one to his brother who’d died when she was a child. They were tastefully arranged to depict objects that held importance to the deceased in this world.
Cristobel had been too young to form attachments, but there were items that would appeal to a little girl. The porcelain doll like those found in the tourists’ shops was dressed in an exquisitely embroidered huipil blouse and woven corte skirt.
The stuffed bear was one she’d purchased herself, a whimsical creature intended to make her baby smile. Given the animosity between her and Señora Barrosa, it warmed her heart in that it had been included to the altar that was painstakingly designed to reflect a Mayan theme. How odd she hadn’t chosen Spanish, but then maybe this was to honor Miguel who’d done tremendous work helping the Mayans.
Allegra thought of the young Mayan couple who’d come here seeking help from Miguel. She’d taken it upon herself to spend long hours teaching them rudimentary English so they’d blend wel
l further north. She hoped that unlike her, they had settled in a new home now.
She’d had no qualms about helping the Mayans then. She certainly had none now.
She returned to her room and changed into jeans, T-shirt and track shoes in less than fifteen minutes. Another two minutes and she was outside standing beneath the portico, twisting her hair up under a ball cap and deciding how to put her plan into motion.
The memory of doing just this countless times washed over her as she left her room. If Miguel had just asked her about her secret meetings then, she’d have told him. But now he didn’t believe she was doing good. He had chosen to believe the worst of her and Amando Riveras.
She shivered as she stepped from the casa, a cold icy bleat of a memory touching her when she thought of the guard. Perhaps that was triggered by her earlier question of why he hadn’t accompanied her when she left the hacienda.
Moments passed before Jorge, the gardener’s youngest son, rushed over. “It is good to see you back home, señora.”
She smiled, not wanting him to think her return was permanent. “How is your sister and brother-in-law?”
“They are doing well now,” he said. “Their journey to los Estados Unidos de América cost them their savings and more, but they have applied for citizenship now. Maria is working as a domestic for a good family, and her husband found a job as assistant supervisor for a janitorial firm because he can speak Inglés.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Their trip was paid for.”
Jorge shrugged. “Señor Riveras told them if they didn’t pay the going price, he would have them kicked off the truck.”
She went still, again questioning Amando Riveras’s motives to help the refugees travel across Mexico unscathed. Had she sought help from a man who was involved in human trafficking?
“I’m glad they are safe now,” she said, and earned an enthusiastic nod from Jorge.
If only Miguel had been here to do as he’d promised. But he’d been off in the village helping them. It was time she did what she’d wanted to do all along—be a part of his world.
“Do you know the way to Tumbenkahal?” she asked.
Jorge bobbed his dark head. “Sí.”
“Then show me how to get there. I need to borrow a vehicle, too,” she said.
Jorge fidgeted, seeming instantly wary. “Señor would not like it if you traveled that deeply into the jungle alone.”
“Señor wouldn’t have liked me helping your family, either, but I did it anyway because he didn’t have time to attend to it at the time.”
A ruddy flush stained the young man’s dark cheeks. “He would dismiss me if he knew.”
“Then we won’t tell him. Now, Señor Gutierrez needs help.” She glanced back to make sure nobody was listening. Still she lowered her voice. “I need to buy water and food and take them to those in need in the village.”
His brow creased. “Señor Voltez was to do that.”
“Has he left already?”
“Sí, but he was going to Tulum first to help his novia.”
Allegra silently fumed. That trip would take all day, while the Mayans in the jungle waited for supplies.
She smiled at Jorge. “Do you think Señor Gutierrez will be happy his people have been left waiting?”
“No, señora!” Jorge said, clearly ill at ease now. “I can’t help you access the vehicles stored in the family’s garage, but there is an old Jeep behind the gardening shed that I use to buy supplies. It would do well on the muddy roads.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Jorge.”
“Come,” he said, moving away from the house.
“Draw me a map. I must hurry,” she said.
Thirty minutes later Allegra drove into Merida to stock up on supplies. She filled the Jeep with provisions, consulted the map Jorge had drawn for her and set off into the jungle.
The Mayans in this region had saved her life six months ago. It was time she paid back their kindness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE whine of an engine slashed through the dense jungle like a machete, growing louder as it neared the village. Miguel straightened and swiped the sweat off his brow, his gaze narrowing on the spot where the narrow jungle track opened into the clearing.
Without a doubt a vehicle was churning its way up the trail that was little better than a quagmire following yesterday’s torrent that had pounded the Yucatán.
He’d known there would be severe damage. But he hadn’t realized the village would be this devastated.
The majority of the huts, farm animals and the crops were now scattered, lost or destroyed. The Mayans had virtually nothing to sustain them for a day, much less a season—not even pure water to drink. But they would soon.
He’d phoned his estate manager and apprised him of the conditions shortly after he’d arrived. Voltez should have dispatched someone here an hour ago with much needed supplies. This had better be him coming up the trail.
But instead of a truck overflowing with supplies, a battered Jeep Cherokee popped over the rise and fishtailed in the mud.
He could barely make out the small driver this far away with the sun glinting on the windshield. Perhaps one of the Mayans who held a job had finally managed to get home.
Miguel returned to the task of helping the men rebuild another hut that had been destroyed, furious the aid he’d promised had not arrived yet.
But a deeper rage burned in him, too, for he couldn’t discount Allegra’s claim that she’d gotten involved in helping refugees escape Guatemala. How the hell had that happened?
Shouts rose from across the village plaza. “Someone brought in water,” said the worker toiling beside him. “Come.”
Miguel slid a glance that way and licked his parched lips. He didn’t want to deplete the resources brought in to the poor, but he had to hydrate himself, too.
He jabbed his shovel in the mud and started toward the Jeep Cherokee. Halfway there he recognized the vehicle as one of his own. Had Voltez decided to bring the supplies in this?
A bevy of women clustered around the rear of the SUV. He caught the litany of “blessed angel” in Mayan and assumed the women were offering up prayers.
That thought changed when the women moved aside and his gaze fell on the lone Samaritan smiling and handing out bottles of water and small bundles that he assumed were food.
Allegra, here? His wife wore blue jeans that rode low on her hips teamed with a T-shirt that molded to her breasts and nipped in at her narrow waist. She looked incredibly sexy.
And undeniably generous.
He backhanded the sweat from his eyes and stared again, certain his eyes were deceiving him. But no, it was her, his delicate English rose amid a score of natives, standing in mud that ruined her shoes.
“Explain yourself,” he said by way of greeting after the crowd thinned and he could get close to her.
“That should be obvious, even to you,” she said, not sparing him a glance as she pressed a bottle of water into his hands.
“Who brought you here?”
“Nobody.” She straightened and looked at him then, and the fatigue ringing her eyes tore away his spate of anger. “I asked Jorge to draw me a map—”
¡Dios mio! He wanted to wring her neck over risking a drive here though less than hospitable terrain. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and adore her with kisses, for her kindness was something he hadn’t expected.
He swore. “I’ll dismiss him for this.”
“No, you won’t,” she said, getting in his face. “I asked him for directions, and if he’d have refused, I’d have tried to find my way here anyway.”
“Fine, then I will take you home.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen that these supplies are disbursed among the people,” she said.
He stared at this beautiful, stubborn woman, stunned by her vehemence. “Why are you doing this?”
“They need help.” The passionate enthusiasm in her eyes mirrored h
is own dedication to this cause. “I need to repay the kindness they gave me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The accident. One of the nurses in the Cancún hospital told me that Mayans happened on the accident shortly after it happened.” She scanned the people bent to their work and gave a sad smile that made his own breath catch. “If not for them acting so quickly, I’d be dead.”
Without another word, she returned to her task of handing out supplies while a new cluster of women emerged from their palapas, seeming to know instinctively that help had arrived.
Miguel watched her, still having difficulty believing that she’d been injured—that she’d nearly died. But that would explain her weight loss, as well as the haunted look in her eyes.
If she was telling the truth, then his madre had lied to him. He didn’t know, but he’d deal with his madre later.
Right now he had to decide what to do with the woman who’d just taken it upon herself to do this kindness to his people at great risk to herself. He’d always suspected she possessed this reckless bent. That was why he’d forbidden her to leave the casa without a bodyguard.
She’d argued the point then, insisting she didn’t need a keeper. That she wouldn’t go far.
But he’d learned a painful lesson when he was a boy. Danger lurked everywhere.
He’d failed to protect the brother he’d been charged to watch. He vowed he wouldn’t fall short of keeping his wife safe.
But he had. He’d hired a bodyguard who’d not only seduced Allegra, but he’d embroiled her in some scheme to lend aid to refugees fleeing Guatemala. Or was that a lie too?
Miguel wasn’t sure who to believe, but he could wring her neck for taking such risks. She should not be volunteering her time when she could dispatch another to do so in her stead.
Very few women he knew, not least his own madre, would stand in the sun handing out water and supplies to the campesinado. That was far below a noble Castilian.
No, Señora Barrosa was prejudiced against the indigenous people of Mexico, and though he did not believe Allegra would be that narrow-minded, he never dreamed she’d go out of her way to help the Mayans. He’d been so sure of it he’d never given her the chance to prove him wrong.
Proud Revenge Passionate Wedlock Page 9
