Page 35

“I know.” They’d been over this a hundred times, too. He wasn’t letting her go to Valle Verde without him, and that was that. He had no intention of arguing.

“You’re a very stubborn man, you know,” she said crossly.

He gave a faint smile.

They passed the last mile in silence.

“The gates need painting,” Isabella observed as the carriage drove through the entrance to the Valle Verde estate. “And the stonework needs repair.”

Luke leaned back against the comfortable squabs and watched her.

Dressed in her new cream and blue dress and wearing that impudent corset that pushed her breasts up, she looked so delicious that it had been all he could do not to while away the journey by making love to her.

But she was nervous and jumpy, and so cross with him for what she called risking himself unnecessarily, she was in no mood to be seduced.

Though Luke had always enjoyed a challenge.

But right now he was interested in her reactions to Valle Verde. Her eyes were everywhere, comparing, assessing, looking for signs of mismanagement.

The carriage jolted from pothole to pothole, and her mouth tightened. “The driveway was always smooth as silk.”

But as they drove deeper into the estate, it became clear the neglect wasn’t universal. The vines were well pruned, their rows neat and weed-free. Horses looked at them curiously over sturdy, unpainted fences. Nice-looking animals, too, Luke observed. Sleek and glossy.

“Ramón’s built up the herd,” Isabella conceded. “There look to be almost as many as before the war.”

Luke’s mouth twitched at her reluctant admission. “He probably stole them,” he said in a comforting tone. She blinked in surprise then, realizing he was teasing her, she gave him a haughty look. Her dimple gave her away.

They passed a freshly plowed field where a dozen men and women worked, preparing the field for planting. The strange carriage had caught their attention, and they’d stopped work to watch it go by. Clearly not many visitors came to Valle Verde.

“Oh, oh!” Isabella leaned out of the window and waved. “I know these people.”

One of the field-workers gave a shout, dropped his hoe, and, with a wide grin, ran toward the carriage, waving. The other laborers downed their tools and followed, hurrying to welcome Isabella home.

Luke rapped on the roof to tell the driver to stop the carriage. He opened the door and swung Isabella down. In minutes she was surrounded.

“Little Master, you’re back—”

“Welcome home, Little Master! Welcome home!”

Little Master? What was that all about, Luke wondered.

“Senorita Isabella, we never thought to see you again—”

Isabella greeted them each by name, smiling, weeping, shaking their hands, and embracing some.

“It has been too long since you came among us, Little Master,” an old man said, tears in his eyes. “The true blood of Valle Verde.”

“Oh, Madonna, how like your mother you have grown, little one,” a motherly looking woman exclaimed.

Another woman nodded, wiping away tears with a blue rag. “The image of our dear condesa , the very image of her.”

Isabella did not look too thrilled to hear of the resemblance, Luke observed, but she asked after each person eagerly, inquiring about their families and exclaiming over the news.

She’d told him there was nothing for her at Valle Verde anymore, but she was loved by these people, he saw. And she loved them.

And he was taking her to England, where she’d be regarded as a foreigner and an outsider.

Finally, when all the personal inquiries were done, and she’d introduced him as her husband, and he’d been cautiously approved—he at least spoke Spanish like a Spaniard, even if the accent was a southern one—the talk turned to Ramón.

“He is not a gentleman, like your father, but he works hard,” one man said.

“He might not be a conde by blood, but—”

“He’s not a gentleman at all,” a woman interrupted, and there was a general murmur of agreement. Beneath it, Luke thought, there was also some level of approval. Interesting. The old order was changing.

“He’s a sinner and will burn in hell,” another woman muttered. “Taking that girl to his bed and no talk of a wedding.”

Isabella shot a glance at Luke. Her sister?

“The conde needs to marry money, you know that. The estate needs it.” Several people glanced meaningfully at Isabella. Luke wondered if she’d noticed. Clearly Ramón wasn’t the only person who thought she should have married her second cousin. Twice removed.

“No excuse for him to live in sin, though, is it?” the first woman said fiercely. She shook her head. “He’s a godless man.”

“As to that, the old conde was hardly a pillar of the Church—” The man broke off and glanced at Isabella in embarrassment. “My apologies, Little Master,” he said. “I meant no insult.”

She shook her head. “None taken, Elí. I know what my father thought of the Church. But now, we must hurry along, or the new Conde de Castillejo will be wondering who the people are who keep his workers from the fields.”

She made her farewells and returned to the carriage, and they continued their jolting path down the potholed driveway.

Isabella sat silently, her thoughts far away, her brow furrowed.

“Little Master ?” Luke said after a while.

She gave a rueful half smile. “A pet name.”

“I guessed that much.” Luke waited for the rest.

She hesitated, then explained. “My father always wanted a boy. When it became apparent that my mother would never give him one, he started to treat me as the heir. He took me out among the people with him and taught me about the running of the estate and… oh, and all manner of things that a boy should know.” She stared out of the window a moment.

“And after Mama died, he even dressed me as a boy, and that’s when the people started calling me Little Master, just for fun, you understand. ”

He understood more than she realized, and not only her attachment to her breeches, but all he said was, “Those people love you.”

She nodded. “I’d forgotten what it was like to belong.” She stared out of the window, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears and added in a husky voice, “And I’d forgotten how beautiful Valle Verde is.”

A large, square stone house came into view. Nine graceful stone archways flanked the front entrance, with five more along the balcony of the upper story. Poplars lined the driveway leading up to it, and an ornamental pond lay to one side.

“It’s a beautiful house,” Luke said.

“My family built this in the sixteenth century,” Isabella told him, pride evident in her voice.

“It was called El Nuevo Castillo for about three hundred years, but in my great-grandfather’s day he announced that everyone must call it El Castillo de Castillejo.

” She said nothing more, but the lurking dimple told Luke the story wasn’t over.

“And so now people call it… ?” he prompted.

“El Nuevo Castillo.” She laughed. “People are slow to accept change in this part of the country.”

“They seem to accept Ramón, all right,” he pointed out gently.

Her smile faded. “They have no choice. He inherited the title and the estate. No matter that he is a vile bully and a thug, he is still the Conde de Castillejo.”

Luke said nothing. The people they’d just been talking to might not love Ramón the way they loved Isabella, or respect him as they did her late parents, but neither did they give the impression they thought him a vile bully or a thug.

The carriage drew to a halt in front of the graceful line of archways. Isabella wiped damp palms on a handkerchief. “Do you have your pistol?”

“He’s not going to shoot me out of hand,” Luke assured her.

“You don’t know that.” She picked up her cloak, whichshe’d already folded in a bundle, and clasped it to her chest.

“I’ll take that.” He took the bundle from her arms, felt between the folds, and removed the pistol he knew would be there.

“But—” she began.

“You will not call on the sister whom you haven’t seen for eight years with a pistol in your hand.”

“But what if Ramón—”

“Leave Ramón to me.” He handed her the cloak and returned the pistol to the concealed hollow in the armrest.

Servants ran out and put down the steps to the carriage. Luke descended first then turned to hand Isabella down. She descended the steps like a young matador entering the ring.

As she stepped into the sunlight there was a gasp from the waiting servants. It was a repeat of the earlier scene, with tears and exclamations of “Little Master!” and “Senorita Isabella!” She greeted them by name, hugging some, having her hands kissed by others.

“Where is Marta?” she asked, looking around for her old nurse.

“Marta has not lived here for years, senorita .”

“And her daughter, Carmen?”

“Married a man in the next valley. Marta lives with them.”

As Isabella caught up with all the news, it became clear that many of the beloved old house servants she remembered no longer worked at Valle Verde. She gave Luke a significant look. Ramón.

And then a sudden hush as the servants fell silent and drew back as a tall, grave young woman glided into the entrance.

No need for introductions; it was obvious who this was, even though there was not much of a resemblance between the sisters. Half sisters.

Perlita was tall and stunningly pretty, with red gold hair smoothed back in an elegant chignon and gray green eyes fringed with long, sooty lashes.

Luke stepped back. Isabella’s big moment; the reasonthey’d come here. He waited for the joyous reunion.

Nobody moved.

There was a long silence as the two young women eyed each other. No long-lost reunion here. Luke was reminded of two cats circling each other, hostile and wary, each one waiting for the other to pounce first—only these two didn’t move. What on earth was going on?

The people of the estate edged closer, craning to see, to hear. They would have known about these two girls from the day each was born. The daughter of the mistress, now in charge of the house. The daughter of the house, now a visitor.