by Anne Mather
Rafael tried to draw her back into his arms, but she resisted him. “What does it matter what I think?” he demanded impatiently. “I am here now—we are together—” He sighed. “I have not always been honourable, Miranda. Once, when I was younger, when my father was alive—there were many women. I thought I was sick of women—and then I met you.”
She tore herself away from him and walked to the door. “I’d like you to leave now, please,” she said unevenly.
Rafael stared at her incredulously. “Miranda—”
“No, I mean it. Your mother will never accept me as your—woman.”
“My wife,” he corrected gravely, crossing the room to stand by the door she had opened. “My mother is most eager to welcome you to the hacienda. After you left three weeks ago, I could no longer fool myself that it was possible to put you out of my mind. You were in my thoughts every minute of the day. I had to see you again to find out whether you might conceivably feel the same. I told my mother I intended to marry you, if you would have me. Can you imagine the furore that caused? And then, when she was calmer, she said that if I would return to the hacienda, she would approve our marriage. I would have married you anyway, you understand? But if I had her approval, so much the better. However, that was not all I wanted. I have her agreement to divide the lands of the estate between the tenants. Everyone shall work for themselves in future, and not for the aggrandisement of an inanimate hunk of land, verdad?“ He turned to go out of the door. “I am sorry you do not feel as I do. My apologies.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Miranda more shattered than before. Had he meant everything he had said? Had he really come here with the intention of marrying her?
She wrenched open the door, his name on her lips, but the passage was empty, there were no steps on the stair. He had gone!
She closed the door again and sought the settee. Then with trembling fingers she reached for the phone. She could not go out with David Hallam this evening. She doubted she would ever go out with any man ever again.
By midnight, she had rung all the major hotels she could think of where she thought he might be staying and drawn a blank. She lay in her bed, sleepless and dryeyed, unable to believe that she had been stupid enough to send him away. Was she such a prude? Was she so proud? Rafael had had every reason to suppose she had had lovers. His was not a society like hers where women could live as the equals of men without giving more of themselves than they wished. He could only have seen her behaviour as reckless, and yet—in spite of everything—he still wanted to marry her! Or he had. Who knew what he might feel now?
She pressed her face into the pillow, wishing she could cry. Anything to destroy this façade of numbness that made her head and stomach ache with suppressed emotion.
And then she heard the sound of a key being inserted in the lock of the outer door and she jack-knifed upright, her whole body tensing. Rafael still had a key, she thought dazedly. Had he come back? Or had he returned the key to Bob and he had thought to come and try and persuade her to change her mind? The idea that it might be an intruder did not occur to her.
She slid out of bed, pulling on her robe. It was an unusually warm night and since returning from Mexico she had taken to sleeping without clothes. She opened her bedroom door a crack and peered through. There were no lights yet, but a shadowy figure was silently closing the outer door. Her heart rose suffocatingly into her throat and almost choked her.
“Rafael?” she whispered desperately, “is that you, Rafael?”
He touched the switch and lamplight flooded the room “Who were you expecting, querida?” he enquired mockingly, dropping a parcel on to the couch, and with a little cry she sped across the room and into his arms.
Between kisses, she murmured incoherently: “But why—why did you go? Why did you leave me to worry myself sick about you?”
“And is not that what I have been doing since the moment I first laid eyes on you?” he demanded huskily. “I gather you wanted me to come back, after all.”
“Oh, yes, yes!” She pressed herself closely against him, feeling his immediate response. “Oh, Rafael, I love you!” And she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.
For several minutes there was silence in the flat, and then Rafael roused himself, his eyes glazed with emotion. “And you will marry me?” he commanded, and she nodded eagerly.
“As soon as you like.” She paused. “Why did you go away? Just to teach me a lesson?”
Rafael half smiled. “Partly. And partly to bring you this parcel. I think you forget I still have your pants and shirt, no?”
Miranda gasped, “I’d forgotten!”
“I had not.” Rafael’s mouth twisted with self-derision. “I have kept them close to me ever since they came into my possession.”
“Oh, Rafael!” She shook her head. “But where have you been to take so long? Where are you staying?”
“I have a distant cousin who is a priest working at a hospital run by the fathers at a place called Maidenhead, do you know it?” And at her nod, he went on: “My cousin invited me to stay with him and I agreed. I did not expect to get to you so easily. I had thought—but no matter.”
“No. What had you thought?” Miranda wanted to know.
“Well, I admit, I had thought your brother-in-law would be here. I expected to have to—persuade you to leave him.”
“Rafael!” She stared at him indignantly.
“Well—” He moved his shoulders apologetically. “No matter—you were here, and you were—beautiful! I did not want to leave you, but perhaps I thought it was best—then.” He sighed. “I drive back to my cousin’s apartments and then I find I cannot relax. I tell myself I will come back tomorrow, but it is no good. I have to know—tonight.”
Miranda pressed her hot cheeks against his chest. “And now?”
Rafael shrugged. “That is up to you. We will fly back to Mexico as soon as possible. We will get married there—in the chapel. Father Domenico would wish to perform the service, you understand? Naturally your brother-in-law and Lucy are welcome to join us for the celebrations. I will arrange the matter of tickets, of course.”
“Oh, Rafael!” Miranda looked up at him adoringly. “You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.”
Rafael gathered her closer against him. “And you, querida? Now will you make me happy?” he demanded possessively.
“If that’s what you want.” Miranda could not deny him.
But Rafael only held her for a few moments before pushing her away from him. “No,” he said huskily, shaking his head. “No, we will wait. I am not worthy of you, amada.“ He smiled. “Go to bed, querida,” he insisted, his eyes caressing. “Go to bed before I change my mind for purely selfish reasons!”
Four weeks later, Miranda and Rafael were married in the little chapel in the valley. All the villagers were there, as well as the Cueras family and their relations. Miranda wore a white lace dress that had once belonged to Rafael’s mother, and she was given away by Bob, with Lucy as bridesmaid. Even Juan seemed totally quiescent to his new position as estate mananger, and he was having another house built some distance from the hacienda for himself, his mother, and his sisters. Valentina was back in the picture, and somehow Miranda sensed it would not be long before she and her mother succeeded in persuading him that the betrothal should be renewed.
For herself, Rafael was all she needed. She didn’t care where they lived, in the magnificent hacienda, or in the stone house down by the river. So long as they were together, nothing else mattered.
On the morning following their wedding night, she awoke in the villa at Acapulco, which he had taken for their honeymoon, to find Rafael lying watching her, a lazy smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
She stretched sensuously, aware of his gaze and revelling in it, and said “Well? Was I satisfactory?”
Rafael laughed, and buried his face between her breasts. “Oh, Miranda,” he muttered, desire banishing his amusement, “I’m sorry
if I hurt you.”
Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair and she drew his head up to hers. “Only at first,” she admitted huskily. “And afterwards—oh, Rafael, you do believe me now, don’t you?”
Rafael looked down at her caressingly. “My woman,” he said wonderingly. “Yes, I believe you, Miranda. And dare I admit that I’m old-fashioned enough to be glad you never belonged to anyone else but me.”
ISBN: 978-1-472-09726-2
PALE DAWN DARK SUNSET
© 1975 Anne Mather
Published in Great Britain 2014
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
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