She made him crazy.
Deus, she was making him crazy again, and under his own roof. Well, that was done with. He no longer felt desire for her but she had a role to fulfill. She was his wife. His commands were to be obeyed.
Rafe whistled softly to the stallion. The horse pricked its ears and looked at him. He opened his hand so it could see the shiny red apple on his palm. The stallion tossed its head and trotted to the fence. Rafe smiled and rewarded its behavior by giving it the fruit.
The horse had been difficult, when he’d first brought it to the ranch. It had been headstrong, almost wild, but, with patience, he had changed that. Now, the stallion came when he called it; it no longer nipped his fingers. Simple training had worked wonders. Good behavior warranted a reward. Bad behavior warranted none.
Rafe rubbed the horse’s ears. Women were not so different, when you came down to it. They could learn, the same as horses.
Carin would learn, too.
If she wanted her life to continue as it had gone these last weeks, if she wanted her own rooms, her privacy, then she would learn to come when called, smile when required, dine at his table if he had guests, and carry on a civilized conversation. She would treat him with respect in private, with deference in public, cling to his arm if he demanded it. She would say the right things and pretend she was happy.
If she didn’t behave, there were ways to bring her to heel.
He could fire the nanny who spoke American English, tell the grooms his wife was not permitted to visit with his horses, demand she give up the room she slept in, alone, and force her to share his room, his meals, his bed…
His bed.
Rafe stepped back from the fence.
What was he thinking? He didn’t want Carin in his bed. Even if he did—and he didn’t—since when was that a method he would use, to get her there?
Behave yourself, or I’ll take you to bed. I’ll take off your clothes, slowly, until you’re writhing in my arms; I’ll make you stand before me while I kiss my way down your body and when I reach that sweet, secret place between your thighs, I’ll open you with my fingers, taste the bud that flowers there, torment you until you clutch my hair, cry out my name, beg me to lay you back on the bed and sheathe myself deep, deep inside you…
Deus.
He was hard as stone. And it was crazy, because he didn’t want Carin, didn’t desire her, didn’t…
Hoofbeats thundered towards him. He stared in disbelief as his wife rode past on a stallion so huge it dwarfed her. Carin’s dark hair flew behind her; she was laughing, bent low over the horse’s neck as she rode into the narrow, cobbled courtyard that separated the two wings of the stables. The animal snorted and obeyed when she pulled back on the reins, though it still danced impatiently as Rafe ran towards it.
“Are you insane?” he shouted, and grabbed the bridle. “Do you have any idea of the power of this stallion?”
The horse whinnied nervously and tried to toss its head. Rafe tightened his hold.
“Get down!”
His wife’s smile disappeared and she shot him a look filled with loathing. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way.”
“I’ll speak to you any way I please, dammit. Get off that horse!”
Carin threw her leg over the pommel. One of the grooms had come hurrying into the courtyard. Rafe handed him the reins and reached for his wife. She tried to bat his hands away but he ignored her and lifted her from the saddle. She kicked hard as he lowered her to the ground; one boot caught him just below the knee and he grunted with pain but he didn’t let go. Instead, he manacled her wrists with his hand.
“Who saddled this beast for you?”
“That’s none of your damn business.”
“Ricardo?” Rafe looked at the groom, who was cowering against the horse. “Was it you?”
In his rage, he spoke in English but the boy seemed to understand. He nodded his head in mute misery.
“Collect your things,” Rafe snarled. “Tell Joao to give you your pay. You’re fired!”
“It’s not the boy’s fault,” Carin said, as she struggled to free herself of Rafe’s grasp. “I chose this horse. I told him to saddle it.”
“He should have known not to do anything you asked. I am his master, not you.”
“What you are is a savage and a brute. And I hate you!”
Rafe smiled through his teeth. “That is not news, senhora, nor does it distress me. Hate me all you wish but it will not change the facts. I am your husband. If you wish to ride, you must first ask my permission.”
He knew he sounded like a monster but he didn’t give a damn. This was his wife. She had ignored him, made a fool of him, tormented him long enough. Deus, she might have hurt herself. Killed herself. She could be lying in his arms, broken and bloodied…
Rafe took a deep breath.
“Ricardo!”
The groom looked at him. “Sim, senhor?”
“You are not fired. Take this animal and cool it down. And remember, I am the only one who gives orders around here.”
“You—you bastard,” Carin hissed. “You no good son of a—”
Rafe had had enough. He mouthed an obscenity, picked up his wife and tossed her over his shoulder. Carin shrieked in fury.
“Put me down!” Her fists pounded, hard, against his back. “Damn you, Rafe! Put—me—down!”
He strode up the hill, towards the house. He could hear his breath whistling because he was breathing hard but it was because of anger, not because of his wife’s weight. She was light. Too light, he thought furiously; wasn’t she eating properly? The doctor had said she was fine but what did he know? Nothing, for clearly, he had not forbidden her to ride a horse.
“You are not well enough to ride,” he said grimly, as he banged open the massive front door and marched through the big tiled foyer, then up the stairs. “Didn’t the doctor tell you that?”
“I specifically asked him if I could ride,” Carin panted, as Rafe kicked open the door to her bedroom. “He said I could.”
“The man is an idiot. You are an idiot. Or didn’t you tell him your plan was to ride an elephant?”
“For God’s sake…Oof!” The air rushed from her lungs as Rafe dropped her on the bed. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I can ride. I’ve been riding since I was a little girl. The doctor gave me a clean bill of health. I…” Carin’s eyes widened. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he said coldly, as he ripped her clothes from the closet and tossed them on the floor. “Elena? João! Where in hell is everyone?”
His roar echoed from the walls. His housekeeper rushed into the room. She stared at Carin, who sat against the headboard of the bed, then averted her eyes as if the sight were too awful to watch.
“Sim, Senhor Raphael?”
Rafe swung towards her, legs planted apart, hands on his hips. He looked wild and angry, and Carin’s heart lurched at the sight of him.
“Find João. Have him help you move all my wife’s things to my rooms.”
“No,” Carin said quickly. “Elena. You are to leave my things right where they are.”
“Didn’t you understand what I said before, Carin?” Rafe stalked to the foot of the bed and glared at her. “I am master here.” He jabbed his thumb against his chest. “I make the rules. You are my wife, and I am tired of playing games. Elena!”
“Sim, senhor.”
“You will have the senhora’s things moved by dinnertime. Is that understood?”
The housekeeper shot a quick look at Carin, then nodded. “Sim.”
“And you will plan a meal appropriate for a small dinner party, for tonight.”
“Oh, that’s it,” Carin said. She sat up straight and folded her arms. “Celebrate my humiliation with a party. What are you going to do with me while you and your pals are laughing it up, huh? Chain me to a wall?”
“Six people,” Rafe said, ignoring her outburst. “The se
nhora, myself…” He paused. “I shall decide on the other four. Yes, that sounds fine.” He turned to Carin, a cold smile angling across his mouth. “Don’t you agree, wife?”
Carin swung her legs to the floor. “What I agree is that you’ve lost your mind. I am not attending a dinner party, not unless you’re being served up as the centerpiece. You want to have a party? Fine. Have one. Elena?”
“Sim, senhora?”
“I will have my dinner here, in my room. Actually, in my sitting room.” Carin addressed the trembling Elena, but her eyes never left Rafe’s. “Something light, please. A salad, some iced coffee…”
“Prosciutto with melon,” Rafe said. “Then prawns with that sauce I like so much. Tell João to bring up some of that French white wine from the cellar.” He turned a polite smile on Carin. “Drinks at eight, I think. How does that sound? And dinner at nine, on the patio.”
“Dinner in hell, you son of a—”
“Thank you, Elena. That will be all.”
The housekeeper scurried from the room. Carin glared at Rafe.
“I don’t like prawns. I hate white wine. I never eat melon. And any guests of yours will automatically be enemies of mine.”
He folded his arms. “Are you done?”
“For the moment.”
“In that case, I’d suggest you pay attention. I don’t like repeating myself.” He smiled tightly. “You will bathe and put on perfume. You will dress in something long and feminine. And you will join me, at a few minutes of eight, so that we are ready to greet our guests together. It is time I introduced you to my friends.”
“I’m not the least bit interested in meeting them.”
“Throughout the evening,” Rafe said, as if she hadn’t interrupted him, “you will smile at me and say the sort of things a woman says to her husband. My guests are not to be treated to your sharp North American tongue.”
Carin lifted her chin. The simple action made his breath catch. She was still filled with defiance, and it only added to her beauty.
“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to meet your friends.”
“You will do as you are told.”
“I will not! You may have had the power to force me into this marriage, to bring me here, to this—this godawful corner of the earth where you play at being emperor, but you can’t force me to pretend I like it.” She swung her legs to the carpet and stood up. “I am not your property. I am not…What’s so damned funny?”
He came towards her, smiling. When he reached her, he took her shoulders in his hands, drew her unyielding body forward.
“That was a fine performance, querida. Truly, it was excellent. But you are wrong. I can do whatever I wish with you. You are my wife. My property.”
“That’s nonsense.”
She spoke sharply but her voice shook. Good. It was time she feared him. All these weeks, watching her waltz through his home as if it were a hotel, as if she were visiting royalty and he was a servant…
“You’re trying to scare me, Rafe, but I’m not a fool. This is a civilized country. It has laws.”
“Indeed, but the laws are very different than they are in your country.” His eyes dropped to her mouth, then rose to meet hers. “I thought I would let things go on as they have been,” he said, “that we would live in this house together, as strangers.”
“We are strangers. We have nothing in com—”
He kissed her before she could finish the sentence, his mouth gentle against hers despite the anger of the past few minutes. When she would have turned her head away, he clasped it between his hands and went on kissing her, until she sighed against his mouth.
“I could take you by force, querida, but I won’t.”
She let out a breath. “Then—then why—”
“Husbands and wives should not sleep apart.”
“I have no intention of sleeping with you, Rafe.”
“You will sleep in my arms tonight, even if that is all you do. But I promise you, querida, there will be more, and it will be because you come to me of your own choice.”
She gave an unsteady laugh.
“You find that amusing?”
“I find it amazing, that you should even think—”
He lowered his head, kissed her mouth again, with slow deliberation, until he felt the first, faint tremor slide through her body, heard the whisper of her first, soft moan. Then he tilted her face up, slipped the tip of his tongue between her lips, coaxing them open. He waited until she sighed and gave him access to the honeyed warmth of her mouth, until her hands rose to clasp his wrists.
Then, as much as it killed him to do it, he let go of her and stepped back.
“You said we have nothing in common, querida, but we do. It isn’t what either of us would wish, perhaps, but it’s more than many people have.” He looked at her, then ran his hand down her cheek, to her throat, to her breast, and she took a shuddering breath as he cupped her flesh. “You will beg me to take you, Carin. I promise you that.”
“I won’t,” she said in a shaky whisper. “I swear it, Rafe. You’ll wait forever before that happens.”
He smiled, lowered his head and kissed the pulse that raced in the soft hollow of her throat.
“Until tonight, minha mulher,” he said softly.
It took every bit of his control to leave her there, and walk out the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CARIN stood in the center of her bedroom and watched as Elena and Joao emptied it of the last of her possessions.
At first, she’d tried to stop them. “Don’t do this,” she’d said. “You don’t have to obey the orders of a barbarian.”
She’d spoken in English, which she was sure João understood, even if he pretended he didn’t, but she knew it didn’t matter, that neither he nor the housekeeper needed to understand her words to get the message.
Elena’s face was flushed. She cast a couple of seemingly apologetic glances in Carin’s direction, as if to say she regretted her role in this but what could she do, except obey?
“The master has spoken,” Carin said bitterly. She flung herself into a chair and folded her arms. She had never felt so helpless, or so angry, not even when she’d realized she’d been nothing but a one-night stand for the man who was now her husband.
The housekeeper and the houseman shuttled back and forth until, finally, João stopped in the doorway with Elena just behind him. João made a stiff little bow.
“Senhora.”
If ever Carin had heard a one-word speech, this was it. He was telling her that he and Elena had completed the job. As if she couldn’t see that for herself, Carin thought grimly. The closet stood wide open, stripped of everything that had hung there. The bureau drawers were empty. The bathroom vanity no longer held her toiletries and cosmetics.
There wasn’t a sign she’d ever occupied this room that had been her sanctuary.
She looked up at João, who still stood in the doorway, his face expressionless, his arms at his sides, as if he were waiting for his next command. Did he expect her to thank him for a job well done? Was he waiting to be dismissed?
That was a laugh. Rafe had just made it clear that she had no rights in this house, that she was nothing but property, like his horses and his land. Now, his servant was waiting for her to send him on his way.
She rose to her feet, thumbed her hair behind her ears, stood as straight and tall as she could when, inside, she was trembling with rage.
“Go,” she said. “Just—just get out of here.”
The houseman gave her another stiff bow and did as she’d asked. Elena lingered a second longer, her hands knotted together at her waist. She looked as if she wanted to say something but what was there to say, after The Great God Alvares had spoken?
“It’s all right,” Carin said wearily. “Really, it is.”
“He is good man,” Elena said softly. “He has kind…” She searched for the word, then thumped her chest. “He is kind in here, sim?”
; The housekeeper gave her a wan smile and hurried from the room.
Rafe, a good man with a kind heart? There was no explaining some things. For all Carin knew, someone might have said as much about the Roman emperor Caligula. She felt like laughing but she sensed that if she let any sort of emotion show right now, she’d never be able to keep it under control.
Anyway, there was no point in wasting time laughing or crying or feeling sorry for herself. Giving in to emotion wouldn’t change a thing. She’d figured that out weeks ago, during that endless flight from New York, when she’d sat staring out the window as the world she knew slipped away from her. Her thoughts had chased after each other like rats in a maze until, finally, she’d let fear and exhaustion drag her into a dream-tormented sleep…
Sleep that had become soothing and peaceful when she’d suddenly felt herself cocooned in the warmth of Rafe’s arms.
Carin walked to the window, stared out at the flat prairie and the distant mountains.
Why had he held her all those hours? And why had she let him do it? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known she was curled in his arms. She’d come awake long enough for that, to feel the strength of his embrace, the heat of his body, the steadying beat of his heart.
Tell him to let go of you, she’d thought, but it had been so good, to be in his embrace. The lights in the plane had been dimmed, there’d been no sensation of motion, only the moon and the stars lighting the heavens as Rafe took her from her old life to a new one. She’d waited for the terror to rise up again and choke her but it hadn’t. What she’d felt, instead, was a hot excitement at the knowledge that she was Rafe’s wife, that she belonged to him now, that he would not leave her again…
Carin swung away from the window and strode from the room.
Maybe she was married to a crazy man. How else to explain why he could be so tender one moment and so unfeeling the next? Maybe she was crazy, for even trying to make sense out of it, but she was a captive in this house, in this marriage, trapped until she could somehow force Rafe to see that the life he’d planned couldn’t possibly work, that he couldn’t expect to create a happy little family by chaining the members together.
The Alvares Bride Page 9
