Chapter Eleven #2
His aunt was taller, thinner, more frail than his mother, but her eyes were shrewd.
“I am pleased to meet you, also, Senorita McConnell.” She assessed Carly from head to foot, then glanced once more at Ramon, whose gaze was now carefully hooded.
“Now that we have been introduced, I remember seeing you with my nephew the day of the horse race.”
Carly smiled softly. “Yes, Don Ramon was very gallant that day.” She was almost afraid to look at him her heart was pounding so hard.
His aunt’s keen eyes continued to assess her.
Then she tilted her head toward the musicians playing at the far end of the platform.
“Listen, Anna,” she said to the other woman.
“The music is beautiful, no?” She turned and smiled at Carly.
“My nephew is an excellent dancer, just like his father, Diego, may God rest his soul. Ramon—why do you not show the senorita how a Spaniard dances the waltz?”
His fine black brows tilted into a frown. “I do not believe the senorita’s uncle would find that a very good idea.”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Carly said impulsively. No matter how much it angered her uncle, she would never behave toward Ramon as she had done before.
A brow arched up, then he smiled that incredibly masculine smile she had worked so hard to forget. Her palms went damp and a trickle of perspiration seeped into the space between her breasts. Perhaps dancing with Ramon was not such a good idea after all.
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I can think of nothing I would like better, Senorita McConnell.”
They left the old women beneath a red paper lantern and a bright crescent moon, and crossed to the wooden dance floor.
When Ramon turned her to face him, settling a hand at her waist, it seemed to burn through the beautiful golden gown.
The strains of the music rose up and he swept her along in its wake, as graceful in this as he had been astride his magnificent stallion.
He smiled down at her, the golden flecks glinting in his eyes.
“So … I am still alive. I was not all that certain that I would be.” His long sinewy legs brushed intimately between her own, sending warm little shivers racing through her.
Her fingers tingled where he clasped them, yet Ramon seemed unaffected, every movement perfectly controlled, his warm smile exactly in place.
And he took great care to keep the proper distance between them.
El Dragón would have scoffed at such proprieties. Carly discovered she was slightly disappointed.
Still, when she looked up at him, she couldn’t help but smile. “You’re surprised I didn’t tell my uncle? I think you’re not in the least surprised. I think you knew very well that I would not turn you in.”
A smooth black brow arched up and a hint of amusement tinged his voice. “How could I possibly know?”
Carly ignored the flutter in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not certain. Perhaps it’s the number of women you’ve known. Perhaps you can tell when your charm has won one of them over.”
He laughed, a mellifluous, softly rough sound. He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. “So it was my charm that won your promise? Not my fiery kisses?”
A rush of heat rose into her cheeks. “You play the gentleman tonight,” she teased, “but a gentleman would not remind a lady of such a thing. Perhaps it is that Don Ramon and the Spanish Dragon are not so different as you would like people to believe.”
Ramon’s hold subtly tightened and the gold in his eyes seemed to glow.
“I assure you, Cara, in most ways we are exactly the same.” She couldn’t mistake that too bold look or the heat that blazed to life in his expression.
Just as quickly it was gone. The music ended abruptly and Ramon released his hold on her waist.
“I hope you enjoyed the dance. I assure you that I did. Now it is time I returned you to your friends.”
She forced herself to smile. “Of course,” she said, oddly irritated by his matter-of-factness.
“By now, my uncle is certain to have discovered where I am … and Vincent no doubt will be waiting.” She felt a jolt of satisfaction at the scowl that darkened his face.
Still, he left her in the company of some of the women and returned to his mother and aunt, standing beside the Montoyas.
Carly waited only a few more minutes, then excused herself and headed off toward the barn. She had promised Vincent she would join him, and she meant to do just that. Especially now that Ramon was dancing with the beautiful widow, Isabel Montoya.
It was dark in the shadows of the big adobe barn but moonlight shimmered in through the open windows, and Vincent had lit a lantern in one of the stalls.
The smell of hay and horses drifted faintly on the cool night breeze.
In the soft yellow glow of the lamp, dust motes filtered toward the hard-packed dirt floor and insects shuffled into corners.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” He stepped closer as she approached, reaching out for her hand and pulling her toward him. The buckles on his stylish, square-toed shoes gleamed in the lamplight. His white wrapped cravat was tied in a big, puffy bow beneath his chin.
“I can’t stay long,” Carly said. “What is it you wanted to show me?”
He stepped back from the rough board fence that divided two of the stalls, and sitting atop the rail was the most elegant ladies’ sidesaddle Carly had ever seen.
Vincent grinned appealingly. “You mentioned once before that you wanted to learn to ride. In a recent letter to my father, your uncle mentioned you’d begun your lessons. I wanted you to have the proper equipment.”
She kept staring at the saddle. The leather skirt was carved in a delicate floral design, and a beige tapestry, petit-pointed in small pink roses, covered the padded seat.
The saddle was exactly her size, smaller than the one she had been riding, which was an old one borrowed from one of their neighbors.
“It’s beautiful, Vincent.” She stepped closer, ran her fingers lovingly over the finely crafted leather.
“Magnificent.” She looked into his face, feeling guilty for the thoughts she’d had about him, wishing she could care for him the way her uncle wished.
Her smile of pleasure faded. “Unfortunately, I can’t accept it. ”
Vincent looked crestfallen. “You can’t accept it? Why not, Caralee?”
“Because we aren’t … because it’s too expensive. I couldn’t possibly—”
Vincent drew her against him. “Don’t you understand, Caralee? I want you for my wife. The saddle is only the beginning. I intend to buy you jewels, clothes, everything your heart desires. I’ll make you the talk of San Francisco—the queen of the city.”
Inwardly Carly winced. No mention of love, nothing of feelings he might hold for her.
All he ever thought of was money. He wanted her because of the way she looked, the clothes she wore, and the social graces her fancy schooling provided.
He didn’t care a thing about the woman she was inside. He didn’t even know her.
“I can’t marry you, Vincent. The truth is I don’t love you. I want to marry a man I love.”
He gripped her shoulders, strands of sandy hair falling over his brow. “I don’t expect you to love me … not in the beginning. Our affection for each other will grow in time. What matters most is that we’re so well suited.”
“We aren’t well suited, Vincent. You’re nothing at all like me. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I can’t accept your gift—and I can’t marry you.”
The warmth slid away from his features, making him look older than he usually did.
In the light of the lamp, there was an odd set to his jaw and his lips appeared grayish and thin.
“Your uncle said you wouldn’t agree. But the fact is, Caralee, you’re going to be my wife.
” He looked so determined for a moment she wanted to laugh.
There was no way she would ever marry Vincent.
“I have to get back to our guests. I’ve been gone too long already.” She turned away from him, but he caught her wrist and dragged her into his arms.
“You can’t leave yet, Caralee.”
“Let go of me, Vincent. My uncle—”
“In time you’ll understand this has happened for the best. Someday you’ll even thank me for it.
” A clumsy kiss followed. She tried to break his hold, but his arms were like vises around her.
His wet tongue slid across her lips, and a wave of fury broke over her.
Damn him! Who the devil did he think he was?
She kicked him hard in the shins, eliciting a yelp of pain, but he didn’t let her go.
Instead, he covered her mouth with his hand and forced her backward onto a thick pile of straw.
“I’ll try to be gentle,” he said, beginning to fumble with his clothes. “I promise it’ll be better the next time.”
The next time? Rage swept through her. He meant to force her, to take her virginity and make her marry him. The length he was willing to go to get his way told her exactly the kind of man he was. She tried to cry for help, but he was stronger than he looked and he pinned her easily with his body.
His hands shook as he fondled her breasts, and a fresh wave of anger blazed through her.
She struggled against him, scattering the pins from her hair and tumbling it down around her shoulders, then succeeded in whacking him squarely in the chin.
Vincent swore foully. The gown made a ripping sound.
She realized he was shoving up her skirts, once more groping at the front of his breeches.
Anger made her strong. She fought against his heavy weight—and then it was gone, lifted off her as easily as if he were a child instead of a full-grown man.
Ramon de la Guerra stood a few yards away, his long legs splayed, his hands balled into fists. Vincent Bannister sprawled in the hay at his feet.
“Stay out of this, de la Guerra.” He sat up to face Ramon. “This is none of your business.”
“Perhaps I am making it my business.”