The Alvares Bride

by Sandra Marton

  “Thanks to temporary insanity,” Carin said coldly.

  “He’s determined to do the right thing for your child, and for you.”

  “Oh, sure. That’s why he hasn’t even called to apologize for saying I lied, for believing I’d been with Frank when he was the only…” Carin took a deep breath. “This is silly. What Raphael Alvares believes is his affair. Please, let’s go now.”

  “All I’m asking you to do is to be fair, darling. To yourself, to the baby…and to Rafe.”

  “I don’t believe this. Are you going to defend him?”

  “Well, I do think you could have been more open with us, Carin. Why you let us think that the two of you had just spent that one night together…”

  Carin stared at Marta, who fell silent. Had everybody gone crazy?

  “What are you talking about, Mom? It was only one night. Why would I make that up, if it wasn’t true? I don’t know what fairy tale Rafe’s told you, or why, but—”

  “I told her everything, querida, as I should have, from the beginning. It is the best thing to do, for us all.”

  Carin swung around. Rafe stood framed in the open doorway. He was wearing a snug black T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed black leather boots, and he had an enormous bouquet of bright yellow roses in his arms.

  He looked incredibly handsome; his smile almost looked real and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought of how it would have been if he’d known about Amy all along, if he were here to gather them both in his arms and take them home…

  “Bom dia, Marta.”

  “Good morning to you, too, Rafe.”

  Marta smiled as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. A look passed between them, one Carin couldn’t figure out. It made her feel like an outsider…An uneasy outsider.

  “And Carin.” He turned to her, his dark eyes sweeping her in quick appraisal and she felt a quick stab of anger because he’d suddenly made her aware of how she must look. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, and the dress she’d put on strained across her too full breasts and still-rounded belly. “And bom dia to you, as well, querida.”

  “Rafe,” she said carefully.

  “You have seen the test reports.”

  It was a statement, not a question. She angled her chin up a notch. “Yes.”

  “Good.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile. “This is a very special day for us both.”

  “It certainly is. I’m going home. And you’re getting your surname on Amy’s birth certificate.”

  “Amy?”

  “Yes. Why do you look surprised? Surely, you didn’t expect me to go on referring to her as ‘my baby,’” Carin said with a tight smile.

  “Our baby,” Rafe said quietly. “And I only wonder, didn’t it occur to you to discuss the choice of a name with me?”

  “Why would it? You wanted to be acknowledged as her father and I’ve accommodated you, but all other decisions are mine.”

  “Are they,” he said, though it seemed anything but a question, and then he dipped his head in agreement. “Very well, querida. Amy it shall be.” He smiled, and she could see the steel behind the smile. “I like the name, so it is no problem.”

  She thought of telling him the only problem lay in his arrogance but what was the point in arguing with him? Soon, mercifully soon, Rafe Alvares would be out of her life.

  “Actually, ‘Amy’ could be thought of as a shorter version of a name I have always loved. Amalia.”

  Carin smiled brightly. “I’m sure that some woman in your past would be delighted by that news. Frankly, I don’t care what you love or don’t love. Your tastes are of no interest to me.”

  “Carin.” Marta cleared her throat. “Darling, Raphael is only saying—”

  “He’s saying far too much. He’s not going to be raising Amy. I am.”

  “Ah. Well, I know that’s what you…I mean, that’s how it…Rafe? Don’t you—don’t you want to tell Carin something? I really think—I think you should.”

  Carin stared at her mother. Marta was worrying her upper lip with her teeth. She was never easily disconcerted but she was now.

  “Tell me what?” Carin said warily. Rafe had gotten his way. Amy carried his name. What more could he possibly want? Visitation rights? Maybe he’d contacted an attorney. She’d been afraid of that, concerned about getting involved in a lawsuit with a man whose resources would be endless.

  “Marta,” Rafe said, though his eyes never left Carin’s, “would you leave us, please?”

  “Oh. Oh, of course. I just…Carin? Darling, I know you’re still angry but please, try and think of the baby. And of how much you and Rafe cared for each other before all this happened.”

  “What are you talking about? We didn’t—”

  “Marta.”

  Rafe spoke softly, but the single word resonated in the room. Carin felt a sudden clenching in her gut, one that grew more intense when her mother threw her a nervous smile and hurried from the room with Amy in her arms.

  Rafe closed the door, turned and folded his arms, and she knew something terrible was going to happen.

  “What’s going on?” she said in a shaky voice. “How did my mother come to this amazing conclusion, that you and I have some sort of—of history?”

  “She was distressed by the terms of our relationship.” He smiled lazily, though the smile never reached his eyes. “I simply did what I could to alleviate her concerns.”

  “We don’t have a relationship.”

  “We created a child. I know you would prefer not to acknowledge my role in that, querida, but it is a fact.”

  “Let’s not argue over who didn’t want to acknowledge what. Just tell me what you told my mother.”

  He shrugged again, hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans and came slowly towards her. Her heart banged into her throat. She wanted to back away but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “I told her that it was true we’d met that night, at Espada, for the very first time.” He reached out, slid his hand against her cheek. She tried to turn away from his touch but he rested his thumb against her cheekbone, slid his fingers into her hair. “And then I added some details, to make everything else more acceptable.”

  “What details?”

  His hand was soft against her skin, his fingers gentle as they combed through her hair. Memories flooded through her. He had touched her like this on that night. Gently, at first, then with power and hunger…

  “What details?” she repeated sharply, and she took the step back she’d promised herself not to take. “Stop doing that.”

  He smiled, closed the distance between them. The foot of the bed hit the backs of her legs; she was trapped.

  “I like to touch you,” he said softly. He bent his head, breathed in her scent. “All these months, I remembered how good it was to feel the softness of your skin under my hands and mouth.”

  Carin clenched her hands at her sides. She remembered, too, but she would never admit that to him. Never.

  “Answer my question. What did you tell Marta?”

  Rafe took her face in his hands. “I said that we met that night, at Espada, for the very first time.” His gaze fell to her mouth, then lifted. “I didn’t say it, but I permitted her to think that we were intimate that night.”

  “You permitted her to…” Carin gave a hollow laugh. “Anyone who can count from August to May can figure that out for themselves.”

  “What they cannot figure out, querida, is that we saw each other many times after that, in New York.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said, but it’s a lie.” She clasped his wrists, tried to keep him from sliding his fingers into her hair. “You never saw me again, Rafe. You never even saw me that morning, at Espada. You had left, without a word.”

  His gaze flattened. He let go of her, stepped back and tucked his hands into his pockets.

  “Perhaps you noticed my absence eve
n before that, when you finally unlocked the bathroom door,” he said coldly. “Is that your usual behavior with your lovers?” His smile was quick and unpleasant. “Surely, it’s not the way you treated the love of your life.”

  “Who?”

  “Your Frank. I cannot imagine you put a bolted door between you, after a night spent in his arms.”

  Frank had never made her feel vulnerable enough to want to bolt a door, she almost said, but that was another admission she’d never make to this man.

  “You can’t be foolish enough to think there’s any comparison between the things I did with Frank and the things I did with you, can you?” He didn’t move but she saw a slight tightening around his mouth. Good, she thought bitterly. She’d hit Rafe Alvares right where he lived. “And it isn’t Frank we’re talking about, it’s you, and the nonsense you fed my mother. Did you think she’d feel better if she believed we’d seen each other in New York? I’ve had a child out of wedlock, Rafe. I know it may not matter to lots of people in today’s world, but—”

  “It matters to me. And it matters to your family. That’s why I offered a more palatable story to your mother.”

  “Thank you so much.” Carin’s words were cold with sarcasm. “It’s nice to know you’re the thoughtful type.”

  “Listen to me,” Rafe snapped. “And pay attention, querida, so that there are no discrepancies in our stories.” His eyes darkened and locked on hers. “I told her that we saw each other many times, that we were much drawn to each other but that we had a lovers’ quarrel, before we knew of your pregnancy, and that we parted.”

  “I don’t know why you bothered with such an elaborate lie. I’m sure it pleased her to think we were lovers instead of—”

  “It pleased everyone, or so it would seem.” A thin smile curved his mouth. “We have had messages offering good wishes from your stepbrothers, and from Nicholas and Amanda. Did you know they left for Paris yesterday?”

  “Yes. I know. Amanda stopped by here, and…Good wishes?” Carin shook her head in confusion. “For what? Did my mother pass along that ridiculous fairy tale? I can’t believe anybody in my family would fall for it.”

  “Ah, but they did.” Rafe’s smile was slow and intimate; so was the touch of his hands as he cupped her shoulders. “Perhaps you come from a family of romantics and they’d prefer imagining you in a marriage based on love, and not on necessity.” He read the shock in her eyes and his smile tilted. “That’s right, querida. I explained to Marta that we intend to marry.”

  His words stunned her. Married? To Raphael Alvares? She knew he didn’t mean it, that he’d invented a story to ease the situation, but even thinking about such a thing, imagining herself as his wife…

  “You shouldn’t have done that!” Carin moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “It’s only going to make things more difficult.”

  “I disagree.”

  “She’ll nag me, now. She’ll want to know when we’re getting married.”

  “She won’t ask,” he said, very softly.

  Slowly, carefully, he undid the top two buttons of her dress, slipped his hands inside, cupped her naked shoulders. She caught her breath, told her heart to stop banging like a drum.

  “She will. You don’t know my mother. She’ll ask, and ask, and—”

  “There will be no need, querida, because I have already answered the question. You and I are to marry today.”

  Carin felt the blood drain from her head. She swayed; Rafe’s hands tightened on her.

  “Is this supposed to be funny? Because it isn’t. And I resent your lying to my mother about something like this. When she finds out the truth—”

  “She already knows the truth. You are to be my wife.”

  “You’re definitely not funny, you’re crazy.” She twisted away from him, took a quick step back and closed the buttons with trembling fingers. “I am not going to be your anything!”

  “I’ve made all the arrangements.”

  “You’ve made all the…” Carin laughed. “You really are crazy, senhor!” She reached behind her, snatched a sweater from the bed. “You need a stay in this place more than I ever did. I think the psychiatric department is on the top floor. Just check with the nurse, as you go—”

  He caught her by the arm as she started past him. “You think this is a joke, Carin?” His mouth thinned; anger flashed in his eyes. “It is not. I have the license.”

  “You can’t get a license by yourself,” she said stupidly.

  Rafe laughed. “You can, if you have the right contacts.”

  He was serious. Crazy, but serious. Calm down, she told herself, just calm down.

  “Maybe. But you need more than a license.” She jerked her arm free of his hand. “You need a warm, willing body. You can’t marry a woman who refuses to marry you. Not in the United States. Women aren’t property. My mother could have told you that.”

  “Your mother,” he said coldly, “thinks that this is all wonderfully exciting. She knows how happy this news will make you.” His teeth glittered in a quick, tight smile. “You will tell her that it has.”

  “Forget it. I’ll tell her the truth. And, once I have—”

  “I have more than our marriage license, querida. I also have all the documents I need to take my daughter home, to Brazil.”

  Carin had started towards the door. She froze, then turned and looked at him.

  “I don’t believe you. Proceedings like that take a long time. Months, even years…”

  She fell silent. Rafe was holding a sheaf of papers in his outstretched hand.

  “Take a look. Here are the custody papers, and here is her passport. And please, do not waste my time telling me what one can and cannot do, in the United States.” His eyes lanced into hers. “I have friends. Powerful friends. By the time you manage to get the documents you’ll need to stop me, my child and I will be on Brazilian soil.”

  “My child,” Carin answered, her voice trembling.

  “Our child, if you use your head and do the only intelligent thing.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, hating him, hating herself, hating the hour of unbridled passion that had put her at his mercy.

  “You have no right to do this to me,” she whispered.

  “I have the right to see to it my child grows up properly.”

  “You wanted her to have your name. I gave it to her.”

  “That does not make her legitimate.”

  Carin laughed. “My God, just listen to you! Talking about legitimacy in one breath and blackmail in another.”

  Rafe looked at his watch. “Make a decision, please. The official who will marry us is already waiting at my hotel.”

  “Rafe.” Carin shuddered. It had been cold in here before. Now, she could almost feel her blood turning to ice. “Rafe, listen to me. You want access to my daughter? You can have it. I’ll give you visitation rights. You can see my child—”

  “Our child. Why is that so difficult for you to say?”

  “Our child.” She swallowed dryly, fought to keep her head. “Yours, and mine. We’ll work something out. A plan—”

  “The hour grows late, Carin.” He spoke brusquely; his face might have been carved from stone. “I told my pilot to have my plane ready by noon.”

  “Your plane?”

  “It is a long flight to Brazil, but do not worry, querida. I have spoken with your doctor and I’ve carried out all his recommendations for your comfort.”

  “For my…” Carin reached behind her, felt for the bed and sank down on the edge. “Rafe. At least give me time to think. Just—just put things off until tomorrow…”

  She lifted her face to him and he saw how pale it was, saw how her eyes had turned into bottomless pools of darkness and the memory came to him, unbidden and unwanted, of how she had lifted her face to him that night, of how deep and dark her eyes had seemed as he’d possessed her.

  And then he remembered the rest of it, how she had used him, how she had r
ebuffed him, how she had tried to pretend he had no child, and his heart hardened.

  His daughter was all that mattered.

  He held out his hand, his face expressionless. “We’re wasting time. Are you coming with me, to tell your mother our good news?”

  “But—but my home is here. My life is here.”

  “Your life is with me now. In my country.” He gave her a thin smile. “You will be Amy’s mother, and my wife. An obedient, dutiful wife, who shares my bed and never looks at another man, nor breaks the vow of fidelity.”

  “I’ll never share your bed, you son of a bitch! Do you hear me? Never. Nev—”

  Rafe lifted her to her feet, gathered her into his arms and kissed her, moving his mouth against hers until her lips softened, parted, clung, however unwillingly, to his.

  “Querida,” he whispered, “querida, do you see how it can be, between us?”

  She pulled back, breathing hard, and stared at him through eyes gone dark and blind.

  “What I see,” she said, her voice trembling as much with anguish as with the depths of the lie, “is that I can pretend you’re Frank. Is that what you want? For me to go to your bed, shut my eyes and imagine another man, moving inside me?”

  He didn’t think, he reacted. He drew his hand back, saw her flinch but hold her ground…

  No. Deus, no. He dropped his hand to his side. He had never struck a woman. She wasn’t going to reduce him to the kind of man who did, no matter how she tormented him.

  “The child is all that matters. Get that through your head, my soon-to-be wife. I will do anything for Amy and if you are wise, you will not get in my way.” Without warning, he swung her into his arms. “Your mother says it is hospital policy for you to be escorted from the premises when you are discharged, Carin. But I am the only escort you will need or want, from this moment on.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  SIX weeks later, Rafe stood in the tall grass alongside his private airstrip in southeastern Brazil and watched as his plane lifted into the sky.

  The jet was taking Carin’s physician and his nurse back to New York. Rafe had flown them to his ranch for his wife’s post-partum checkup. Carin had refused to see the specialist his own doctor had recommended. She’d said she preferred to fly to the States to be examined by her own gynecologist but Rafe was not a fool. He suspected she’d have found an excuse to stay in New York, once she was there, so he’d arranged for Dr. Ronald to come to her here, at Rio de Ouro, instead.