Sirena moved to the rear of the room to check the serving tables. Her practiced eye told her everything was in order. The Spanish lace that had been in her family for ages was pressed and draped to perfection on the long tables, and she knew the linen skirts under the fine lace held no wrinkles either. Satisfied that the dining room and buffet tables could not be improved upon, she turned and peered over the heads of a young couple ready to move onto the dance floor. Fury whirled by in the arms of a dashing young man who devoured her with the eyes of a puppy, warm and adoring.
Catching sight of her mother, Fury grimaced, either at her own clumsiness on the dance floor or at her partner’s obvious devotion. Sirena winked at her daughter to show she understood perfectly and then lost sight of her as the crush of dancing couples swallowed them up. Suddenly, Sirena found herself blinking back tears, and she hurried away.
When Fury lost sight of her mother, she returned her attention to the engaging young man in her arms. Ramon was everything a girl could wish for—charming, well brought up, and classically handsome, with olive-toned skin and ink-black eyes. He was also sweating profusely, and at last Fury took pity on him. “It’s beastly hot in here, Ramon, would you like a breath of air? I know I would.”
“Yes, yes, I would,” he replied eagerly, his heart beginning to pound as she linked her arm in his to lead him off the dance floor and through the wide double doors to the veranda. If only he could kiss her, hold her face in his hands and kiss her until . . . He stumbled, and Fury’s tinkling laugh made him bolt for the open door.
“What is it, Ramon, do you feel faint?” Fury asked as she noticed the young man’s trembling shoulders.
He hated Fury’s sisterly tone. “No, it’s just that I—I had this sudden urge to . . . kiss you in there,” he said, waving toward the ballroom. “You look so beautiful, carida. Everyone always said your mother was the most beautiful woman in Cadiz,” he blurted out, “but they’re wrong, you are.”
Fury stepped backward, aware suddenly that the air about them was no longer still. Trees rustled overhead, a familiar sound. Gaspar was close, probably perched on the veranda roof observing her. She craned her neck to peer past the lanterns that were strung along the sloping roof.
“What is it?” Ramon asked, looking about uneasily.
“Nothing, why do you ask?” she replied, her eyes searching past the lantern light for some sign of the hawk. “You said you wanted to kiss me; well, here I am.” At twenty-one, Fury had yet to be kissed. Now she decided it was time. She moved closer to her young man, holding up her head, eyes closed, and puckering her lips in a classic pose of breathless anticipation.
Ramon swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in excitement as he licked at his dry lips nervously. He reached out and grasped Fury’s shoulders with both hands.
How long did it take to kiss someone? Fury wondered peevishly—and then a sudden rush of air in the warm evening startled her. She knew it was not Ramon.
Her eyes snapped open the next moment as she heard the sound of wings. Gaspar and Pilar swooped down from the veranda roof, and there was nothing playful about their descent. In the lantern light she could see the birds’ glittering eyes as the tips of their huge wings bombarded Ramon, knocking him over the veranda railing. Fury knew instantly that the birds were merely warning the young man: their talons were curled; otherwise they would have ripped Ramon to shreds. But he knew nothing of the kind.
Forgetting herself, Fury hiked up her skirts and leapt over the railing. “No!” she shouted sternly. “Gaspar, no! Pilar, no! Now look what you’ve done!” She tried to stifle her laughter at Ramon’s ungainly position in the oleander bush. “He’s fainted. No doubt from fright.”
Gaspar circled overhead, his eyes intent on the figure on the ground. “He wasn’t going to hurt me,” she called softly. “Kisses don’t hurt. I . . . wanted to see what it felt like.”
Pilar’s wings flapped twice before she headed back to her perch in the trees. Gaspar circled the couple several times, his wings flapping angrily before he headed back to the veranda roof.
Fury knelt over the prostrate young man. “I’m so sorry, Ramon . . . Ramon, wake up. It’s all right.” Fury leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. She blinked and then kissed him again, just as lightly, savoring the feel of his lips beneath hers. She wondered then what it would feel like if he were awake and responding. She sat down amid the oleander leaves, her elbows propped on her knees.
“Fury, what in the world . . . ?”
Fury looked up into Sirena’s emerald eyes . . . and sighed. “It’s a long story, Mother, and I don’t think you’d believe it. It’s not what you think.”
Sirena dropped to her knees to peer at Ramon. “He looks like he was attacked. Darling, did he fight over you?”
“What’s going on?” Regan demanded, hurrying down to join his wife.
Fury laughed then, a delightful tinkle that wafted through the garden as she tried to explain what happened. “He’s not dead, is he, Father?” she asked anxiously.
Regan felt for a pulse, then shook his head. “I doubt it, but he looks as if he was damn near frightened to death.”
“My God, Regan, what will we tell his parents?” Sirena asked anxiously.
“Nothing, Mother. Go back with Father, and I’ll . . . I’ll think of something to say when he wakes up. He’s going to be embarrassed when he comes around, and doubly so if you’re here.”
Sirena nodded. “She’s right. Come along, darling, and let’s leave these two . . . lovebirds to their explaining.”
Regan shivered when her laughter, so like Fury’s, rippled about him. How was it possible they could be alike in so many ways and yet so opposite in others? Could two predatory hawks truly be emotionally tied to his daughter? If one of his men had told him such a story, he’d never have believed it.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered as he suffered through a second dance with his nimble-footed wife.
“Damn you, Fury, if you didn’t want to kiss me, all you had to do was say so instead of knocking me over the railing!” Ramon grumbled as he got to his feet.
“It wasn’t me,” Fury said, stifling a giggle at the look on his face.
“What do you mean, it wasn’t you? There wasn’t a soul out here but us.” His voice carried the full weight of his indignation and bruised pride as he swiped at the crushed petals and leaves on his clothing.
“It was Gaspar. He’s on the roof. I guess he thought you were going . . . to hurt me,” Fury explained. “You’re lucky, Ramon, he and Pilar could have torn you to pieces. He was playing.” She smiled indulgently.
“Playing!” Ramon cried. He eyed the huge bird uneasily, afraid to move toward the veranda. Fury linked her arm through his and led him around the garden to the wide, white steps.
“They kill, and you keep them as pets. It’s insane,” Ramon sputtered. “Their wings alone could crush a person to death and those feet . . . My God, Fury, they’ll turn wild when you leave!”
Fury sobered instantly. She’d thought the same thing more than once. “They have their little ones now to protect; they’ll miss me for a while, but I don’t think they’ll . . . You’re wrong, Ramon. If the servants continue to leave food for them, they’ll stay here. They’re the way they are because I saved Gaspar once from the talons of a kite. It’s his way of repaying me.”
“And you’re scarred for life. Your mother told my mother you almost lost your arm,” Ramon said heatedly.
“Well, I didn’t, and that’s behind us. You’re not hurt, only your dignity is wounded. No one knows but us, and I won’t mention it.”
“Well, I certainly don’t intend to stay here any longer, not with that . . . that vulture guarding your every move! Good night, Fury,” Ramon muttered, and marched toward his parents’ waiting carriage.
Fury sat down on one of the veranda’s wicker chairs. She supposed she should be upset, but she wasn’t. Ramon was such a . . . boy, even if he was her age. Kissing him
would have been like kissing one of her brothers.
The shadow was ominous as it sailed gracefully into the lantern light to perch on the veranda railing. The bird’s glittering eyes stared at the girl, and one wing lifted slightly in apology. Fury inclined her head and smiled.
“Apology accepted,” she said softly.
The bird soared upward, the white tips of his wings eerie-looking in the yellow light.
Inside, the musicians were readying the guests for the quadrille. It was her party, and she’d been outside far too long. Fixing a smile on her face, she sailed through the door to join in the dance.
Regan stood on the sidelines and watched his wife and daughter on the dance floor. His eyes sparked dangerously as he noticed Sirena’s partner—a slick, overdressed dandy twenty years younger than his wife—blatantly attempting to seduce her. His wife, he noticed, was flirting outrageously.
Suddenly he laughed. There was a time when he would have hauled the younger man out to the veranda and whipped him soundly for such behavior, but he’d mellowed over the years. She was his, she always was and always would be. He was the one who sat across the table from her, and it was his arms that enfolded her at evening’s end—he who made wild, passionate love to her until break of day. While he may have mellowed, his passions had not. She still excited him beyond comprehension. All she had to do was look at him, smile or wink, and he wanted to snatch her by the hair and drag her off to his lair.
He could watch her now and feel sympathy for the man twirling her around the dance floor. No one but Regan van der Rhys would ever taste Sirena’s charms.
Sirena whirled by again, her tinkling laughter swirling about him like a soft caress. He played the game and scowled, to his wife’s delight. Then he looked around, and noticed that the eyes of all his guests were on Sirena. She was easily the most beautiful, the best-dressed woman in the room, or perhaps the second best. It was hard for him to make that particular decision when he compared her with Fury.
The dance ended with a loud fanfare. Sirena smiled at her partner and placed her hand on his arm as he escorted her to Regan, who was still scowling. Sirena lowered her lashes and then inclined her head slightly. Regan blinked at the searing passion he saw in her eyes. Involuntarily, his loins twitched. Sirena laughed, her gaze now bold and openly seductive. “Later,” she cooed as she was whisked away in the arms of another guest.
“Jesus Christ,” Regan muttered under his breath. Later was still hours away. She always did this to him, and he always reacted in the same way. Just as she was his, he was hers, and she was letting him know it. He inched forward, and as Sirena danced by, he mouthed, “I love you.” She smiled radiantly and blew him a kiss. He was the envy of every man in the room, and he loved the feeling.
Watching them, Fury flushed at her mother’s open display of love for her father. Then she laughed—to her partner’s delight. Unlike her mother, she’d never flirted or pretended to like men much. It might be fun to try. She smiled and stared into her partner’s warm gaze.
“You look especially handsome this evening, Diego,” she purred, her hand on his arm tightening imperceptibly.
Diego stiffened and then relaxed. This wasn’t the Fury he’d grown up with. And what about Ramon? he wondered. Wasn’t he her favorite? He’d seen Fury go out to the veranda with him, yet she’d returned alone. “Did you kiss him?” he blurted out.
Fury laughed gaily. “But of course, and if you draw me closer to you, I’ll kiss you too . . . on the cheek,” she murmured, and slipped from his arms to those of another as the dance ended and another began.
Suddenly Fury realized she was having a wonderful time, something she’d thought impossible, as she flitted from one partner to another like a bird. Out of the corner of her eye she became aware of a tall, handsome stranger, a guest of the Parish family. In another second her partner would swoop her by the Parishes, and if she so desired, she could smile at him the way her mother did. Without a second thought she turned her head and stared directly into the eyes of Doña Louisa’s guest. What would it be like to kiss him? she wondered. She laughed, a gay, throaty chuckle—much to the surprise of her partner, who wondered what it was he’d said to make her laugh.
Breathless from her dancing, Fury walked over to her parents. When she turned back to give the handsome stranger a demure smile, she saw that he was not even aware of her! No, he was too busy bowing low over her friend Daniella’s hand and ogling her low-cut gown. Daniella was blushing and making cow eyes at him in return. Annoyed with herself, Fury turned to meet her mother’s gaze.
“He didn’t come through the receiving line, so he must have arrived late,” Sirena said softly. “I’m surprised that Doña Louisa hasn’t brought him over to be introduced. Handsome devil, almost as good-looking as your father.”
“No one is as handsome as Father,” Fury said loyally. She wondered if he would ask her to dance; good manners dictated it, but this man, Fury decided as yet another man led her out onto the floor, this man did not abide by rules of any kind. She flushed again, wondering where and how she’d come by such a thought.
“You look angry, Fury,” her partner observed quietly.
“Angry? Me? How absurd!” No, she wasn’t angry, Fury told herself. She was . . . jealous—jealous of Daniella, an emotion she’d never felt before. She hated it. “Ruiz, I really could use a breath of air if you wouldn’t mind.” Cheeks burning, she almost ran from the ballroom to the coolness of the veranda.
“It’s such a beautiful evening, isn’t it? I love the darkness with the stars and moon for light. Look how silvery everything looks. It’s so . . . so romantic, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for Ruiz’s reply but rushed on. “I wonder how many lovers have kissed and embraced under the stars. Thousands, probably. Even the animals like darkness, it protects them, but there’s no one to protect lovers except . . . Why aren’t you saying anything, Ruiz?”
Ruiz smiled wryly. “Because you haven’t given me a chance. Fury, we’ve known each other since you came to Spain at the age of eight. In all those years I’ve never seen you act this way. Is it because you’re leaving tomorrow for . . . your holy life, or is it that you’re beginning to realize you’re making a mistake? I—I couldn’t help but notice the way you looked at Don Parish’s guest. We’ve been friends a long time, Fury, and if you want to talk about this, I’m willing to listen. You have my word that it will go no further.”
“Even to Daniella’s ears?” Fury teased. “Were you jealous when she danced with . . . him?”
“Yes, very. Daniella told me she wants a man who makes her blood sing. I don’t think I’m that man,” Ruiz said ruefully.
“How is that possible, to make your blood sing?”
Ruiz shrugged. “I have no idea, but Daniella said that’s what every woman wants from a man. If I knew how to accomplish that, I’d probably be the most sought-after man in all of Spain.”
Fury contemplated him with thoughtful eyes. “I think Daniella was teasing you, Ruiz.”
“No, she means it. I would marry her in a minute, but she won’t have me.”
“Because . . .”
“I don’t make her blood sing.” Ruiz threw up his hands in disgust.
They stood together for several moments in silence, staring out across the manicured gardens. At last Fury turned to Ruiz and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Come, let’s go in, Ruiz. I have to speak to my mother, and it’s almost time for the food to be served. Father plans on making a toast or two. . . . And I wouldn’t worry about Daniella. She’ll soon see what a wonderful person you are. I believe that, I truly do.”
He drew her arm through his and began to escort her back inside the ballroom. “You’ll never know, will you? You’ll be off praying for all of us, and we’ll never see you again. You’ll never know who will marry whom and who will have children.” He stared down at her with wide, troubled eyes. “Oh, damn you, Fury, why are you going off to some damn-fool convent never to be seen again?
It’s not natural!”
Fury stopped in her tracks. It was true, everything Ruiz said. Soon all her friends would be just a memory.
“And another thing,” he continued bitterly, “don’t go praying for me. Pray for yourself. . . . Oh, never mind,” he muttered. “Happy birthday!” And with that, he stomped off in Daniella’s direction, leaving an astonished Fury to return unescorted to her parents.
“Mother, can I ask you something?” she said as Sirena took her arm and drew her in beside her. “It’s . . . what I mean is . . . Ruiz said something to me out on the veranda just now that . . . Well, it seems impossible, but he did say it, and I was wondering . . . Does Father . . . does he make your blood sing?”
Sirena laughed. “Twenty-four hours a day, my sweet. From the first moment I saw him. Come, let’s ask your father the same question.” She turned to her husband, who was several feet away chatting with an elderly gentleman. Catching his eye, she beckoned discreetly.
Regan excused himself and joined his wife, giving Fury an affectionate smile. “Yes, my dear?”
“Regan, Fury has a question for you. Do I make your blood sing?”
Regan stared first at his wife and then at his daughter. He fought the laughter bubbling in his throat when he saw from his daughter’s face that she was quite serious. “Yes, my darling daughter, she does. The moment I laid eyes on her, she captivated me. My blood has never been still. It’s called love, Furana.” Regan held her chin in his hand and stared into her eyes. “I truly regret that you will never experience this particular emotion.”
“I, too, regret it,” Fury said, so softly her parents had to strain to hear the words.
Captive Secrets Page 3
