Page 29 of Sweet Savage Love

29

S teve Morgan did not arrive at his grandfather’s hacienda until the very day of Don José Sandoval’s name day fiesta, and by that time Dona Maria had transformed Don Francisco’s normally quiet and orderly household into a state of perpetual hubbub.

She had taken over the running of the house immediately, and there were servants constantly scurrying here and there carrying out her orders. Every room must be cleaned from top to bottom—the floors freshly waxed, the furniture moved around. And she insisted on taking Ginny in hand, as she termed it. Every one of her new gowns had to be critically examined for even the slightest flaws, she must spend less time reading, and more time learning how to run a large household. She must wear more jewelry, she must have her hair arranged more elaborately.

Don Francisco took to locking himself in his study with his accounts—even Renaldo, quite unnerved by his mother’s presence and her constant carping, came less often to the big house.

Ginny felt completely helpless, but in some strange way almost relieved to have the responsibility for planning her days taken from her. Dona Maria gave her hardly any time to be alone with her thoughts, although by the time Steve finally decided to turn up Ginny felt she had heard his name so often, mentioned always in a disapproving tone of voice, that she would go mad if she heard it again.

She felt nothing but a coldness inside her—a coldness born of a combination of anger and despair—when one of her maids burst into her bedroom, panting, with her eyes big with excitement.

“He’s back! Don Esteban has returned at last!” Remembering her manners the girl dropped a kind of abrupt curtsey. “Dona Genia—he’ll be here to see you soon, I’m sure! He’s with el patrón, in his study now. May I help you to change your dress?”

Ginny found herself retorting more sharply than she’d meant to.

“Heavens no! What’s wrong with the gown I have on? I’ve changed so often today I’m tired already.”

When the girl had left, Ginny started to pace nervously around her room immediately. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—the new gown Tia Maria had insisted she wear this morning was quite becoming, and in the very latest style, caught up in an intriguing bustle at the back. Not that it mattered, she caught herself thinking viciously, for he never noticed what she was wearing—his one aim in the past had seemed to be tearing the clothes off her back!

It did not in the least help Ginny’s nerves when her duenna, the self-effacing Senora Armijo, came bustling in, all of a dither. It was she, in the end, who had to calm the excited Senora, assuring her several times that indeed, she was positive that she was by no means nervous—she was quite calm, why shouldn’t she be? It relieved her greatly, however, to be informed that Dona Maria was visiting her son this morning and would not be back until sometime later in the afternoon.

“Such a shame! She will be sorry to miss Esteban’s arrival,” Tia Alfonsa kept repeating, “she’ll be very put out, I know it!”

Ginny had seated herself with some embroidery, more in order to calm her duenna than because she needed something to do. She kept telling herself sternly that she was not in the least afraid, not at all upset, but when she heard those familiar footsteps just outside her door she sprang quickly to her feet, feeling the blood drain from her face.

“You need not go,” she whispered almost imploringly, “after all, it’s not as if we’re romantic children, or strangers to each other!”

“But he’s your novio! Don Francisco said it was permissible for you to see each other alone,” the woman said with some surprise. As soon as Steve appeared in the doorway, she made her excuses and hurried away tactfully.

There was no escape for her now, she had to face him, and hope that her face would not betray her inward quailing.

“I hear we are to be married,” were the first words he said, and although his voice sounded surprisingly mild, Ginny was not deceived—she had seen the mocking, almost evil look in his narrowed eyes as he took in each detail of her appearance, before he veiled them again with his ridiculously long lashes.

He lounged against the doorway, apparently quite at ease, but she had seen immediately that his lips were drawn taut and white with suppressed anger, and he could not hide the frowning look that the drawing together of his black brows gave him.

He was carrying a package of some sort, which he now tossed carelessly onto a chair.

“I brought you a present—a new gown. Although I can see it was hardly necessary. But you might wear it tonight, if it pleases you.”

How politely he spoke, and how calmly, but all the time he was raging inside, his anger just barely controlled—she had seen him like this before, and she knew too well what it meant when his eyes seemed to gleam like hard blue stones, and his nostrils flared just so…oh, he was furious! But just as obviously he was trying hard to control his rage, and the idea that she was safe from it, that he dared not raise his hand to her made Ginny’s chin tilt slightly upward as she faced him boldly, her eyes staring contemptuously into his.

“Thank you! You must forgive my surprise—I’m not used to such considerate gestures from you.”

“That’s what my grandfather seems to think too—that I’ve treated you in an inhuman fashion. Shall I try to make amends? Perhaps I should court you with all kinds of sweet words and loverlike phrases—maybe that’s the way to a woman’s heart!” His eyes narrowed at her hatefully and he showed his teeth in a positively wicked smile. “You seem tongue-tied suddenly, Ginny. That isn’t like you. Are you disappointed that I haven’t greeted you properly yet?”

Before she was fully aware of what he was on about, Steve had crossed the room to her with his long strides and grasped her in his arms.

He brought his face closer to hers and Ginny closed her eyes instinctively against the blazing anger she could discern in his. Or was it merely in anticipation of his kiss? She did not know, she was merely conscious of her own weakness, of the almost hypnotic power his embraces still seemed to wield over her. He had not kissed her yet, but she could almost feel, like a physical thing, the burning gaze of his eyes on her face, her lips, her shoulders and breasts. What was he waiting for? How dared he hold her pinioned this way while he studied her, feature by feature, as if he had never seen her before? Ginny summoned up the strength to whisper fiercely, “No, don’t! Let me go!” Her hands pressed against his chest, trying to push him away.

But his arms only tightened even more, holding her so closely that she felt her breath cut off.

“Hadn’t you better get used to my embraces, my love? Is this the way to greet your prospective husband? I’ve been told how anxiously you were awaiting my return, why don’t you prove it?”

Her eyes flew open at last and glared into his.

“Stop it! I hate you!”

He gave a sudden, sarcastic laugh that startled her into silence.

“Ah, yes, of course,” he drawled mockingly, “how could I have forgotten that? And here I thought you’d changed your mind, and were marrying me for love! Are you sure you’re not nurturing a secret passion for me, Ginny? Try kissing me back, I shall expect more willingness from you after we’re married, you know!”

She began to struggle against him, but he had bent his head and was kissing her, long and hard and almost hurtfully, with his fingers tangled in her hair to keep her from turning her head away; pulling its carefully arranged coils loose and sending pins scattering all over the floor. She had tried to forget the way he kissed her; the way his mouth almost seemed to take possession of hers, bruising her lips, forcing them apart while his tongue ravaged her mouth; demanding, almost compelling her own response.

His arm was clamped around her waist, and as her head fell back under the fury of his kiss she was suddenly, painfully aware of the hard, muscular promise of his body against hers. Why did it always have to be this way? It was humiliating, degrading, to be forced thus into the full realization of her own weakness and the almost sordid sensuality that his touch could arouse in her.

Ginny was almost past reason when the kiss ended and she found herself freed as abruptly as she had been swept into his arms. She was still breathless, as if she’d run a long distance, and in order to stand erect she had to hold on to the back of a chair with both hands. It took her a moment to realize that Steve, on the other hand, seemed quite unmoved—he had stepped back, and his narrowed eyes surveyed her critically. Anger flared up in her, replacing the sensuous languor of a moment before.

Her hair fell loosely to her waist, her cheeks wore a feverish flush, and her eyes, which a moment ago had appeared a soft, cloudy green seemed to darken like the surface of the sea when a storm is at hand. Even her voice sounded stormy, and choked with emotion.

“What did you think to prove by that? That you are still physically stronger than I am? You disgust me!”

He had hooked his thumbs in his belt, a gesture she had always hated. And now he sneered at her, his voice a sarcastic drawl.

“I didn’t always disgust you, as I recall very well. In fact, you seemed only too anxious to discover what it was you’d been missing all the time you were still a frightened little virgin! What I cannot understand is why you want to marry me. Do you crave respectability that much? Think of all the new experiences you’ll be missing, Ginny—no more exciting new lovers—no more adventures. Won’t you become bored? You’re a very passionate woman, even if you are still too much of a puritan to admit it; it’s so easy to arouse you, my love! Don’t you remember how quickly you turned to Carl Hoskins after me, and then to your handsome French captain? Come, I know you could have done better than to choose me for a husband, I’ve no intentions of settling down, and I’m an outlaw, a miserable half-breed wretch, remember? How is it you’ve changed your mind?”

He might as well have slapped her—his sneering, contemptuous words drove Ginny almost out of her mind with rage. And still he stood there with that jeering half-smile twisting his lips, waiting calmly for her reaction.

“You dare say those things to me?” Her voice rose, and she had to use all her strength of will to control it. “You dare accuse me of—oh God! What kind of hypocrite are you? Do you think I don’t know what you were up to on your mysterious urgent trip to Mexico City? Or that her name is Danielle? Oh, yes,” she went on furiously, pleased to see that her barb had struck home and the smile had vanished from his lips, “I’m not quite as foolish and ignorant as you seem to think! I knew exactly what I was doing when I told your grandfather I’d marry you—didn’t I always swear to you that some day I’d be revenged, I’d make you sorry you ever decided to kidnap me in that high-handed fashion? Did you imagine I’d ever forgive you for the brutal, vicious way you’ve treated me? No, Steve dear, for once you’re going to find out how it feels to be forced into something you don’t want—you’ll marry me and set me free; don’t imagine I want to live with you and be your prisoner any longer! I mean to travel—wherever I want and whenever I want, and if I desire lovers I shall have them too—won’t that be quite a change for you to be the one to wear horns? I’ll keep you informed, of course, but there won’t be anything you can do about it—take as many mistresses as you like, I don’t care, but I’ll be your wife, and I’ll bear your name!”

She was breathless when she had finished, her narrowed, hate-filled eyes gleamed at him like a cat’s.

“What a bitch you’ve turned out to be!” His voice sounded quiet and almost conversational, but Ginny was not deceived, she knew very well the extent of his anger. His face looked as if a mask had been dropped over it with every muscle in it strained and tense.

“But I’ve had such a good teacher, in you, Steve!” Deliberately, and almost flirtatiously she widened her eyes at him and was rewarded when she saw his jaws clamp together. For an instant she thought she had gone too far, and that he would spring forward like a wolf and crush her throat between his hands.

But he took a deep breath, and was suddenly smiling at her.

“Some day, my love, you must tell me what you and my grandfather have planned for me. But in the meantime, perhaps we should try to enjoy what time we’ll have together. You’re really magnificent when you’re angry, do you know that?”

How infuriating he was! One moment she had almost expected him to be breathing fire, but the next he seemed to be maddeningly, completely self-possessed, his voice sounding cool and even slightly amused. How could he regain control of his emotions so quickly?

“Please don’t bother to pay me compliments at this point,” Ginny said haughtily. “I think we both know how we stand!”

“Well, I’m not too sure about that,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re a little bitch all right, but I think you can be brought to heel. Perhaps I’ve just used the wrong techniques! At any rate, I’ve been given my orders. I’m to treat you with nothing but respect—I’m to whisper sweet nothings in your pretty ears—my grandfather tells me it’s high time I started acting like a prospective bridegroom. If we’re to be married, I suppose we might as well make the best of it, don’t you think?”

He reached his hand out and touched her face lightly, laughing when she flinched.

“You’re as flushed as if you have a fever, my sweet! Are you sure you feel well enough to attend the festivities this evening? Which reminds me, I’ll call for you promptly at seven o’clock, do so try to be ready then, my grandfather hates to be kept waiting, and we’ll have a long drive ahead of us.”

“You’re really insufferable!” she said in a freezing voice.

“You’re really quite like a gypsy, when your hair’s down like that, and your eyes turn as dark as a sunless forest,” he mocked her, his voice teasing. “You see, you can inspire even a hardened sinner like myself into becoming poetic! Actually, you’re most desirable when you’re all fiery and dishevelled like this, it’s a pity we aren’t married yet!”

“Ohh!” Ginny gasped angrily, “I can’t take any more of this! Will you get out? I won’t hear any more!”

She turned her back on him and ran like a coward for the seclusion of her bedroom, angrily aware of the sound of Steve’s cynical laughter behind her. Ginny slammed the door shut as loudly as she could, hoping to close herself in with silence, but all the same she was obliged to put her hands over her ears to still the pounding of her heart.

It was only some time later, when her duenna re-entered her room carrying a package in her arms, her face reproachfully inquiring, that Ginny remembered what Steve had brought her. She did not want to open it. She would have preferred to rip the gown that reposed inside the carefully wrapped parcel to shreds! But under Senora Armijo’s watchful eyes she had to force some excuse from between lips that still felt painfully bruised, and fumble with string.

However, once the wrappings were thrown aside and the gown lifted out, its folds and flounces shaken loose, Ginny could not repress a spontaneous exclamation of delight. It was a ball gown, the most beautiful she had ever seen—really exquisite! It appeared to be green until the light caught the material it was made from, and then other colors magically appeared in its folds—flashing, iridescent, constantly changing and seeming to merge into each other. She had never seen anything like this before, how was it possible that one piece of cloth should contain so many different, subtle shadings?

Even Senora Armijo’s normally impassive face seemed transformed with admiration as she gazed at the gown—the beautiful, shimmering dress that was now laid carefully across Ginny’s bed so that they could study and admire it further. It’s cut so low in front! Ginny found herself thinking, most of me will be exposed! And yet, wearing it, I’d feel like a fairy princess!

Tia Alfonsa’s voice cut across her thoughts at that moment.

“Oh! But I’ve never seen anything so lovely! You’ll be the envy of every woman, Genia! It is a good thing you are safely betrothed, or I should never be able to keep all the young caballeros away. What excellent taste—how much dear Esteban must think of you!”

The mention of Steve’s name brought Ginny back to earth with an unpleasant jolt, although at the same time her fingers could not help touching the soft, almost flimsy material caressingly.

Steve—why did he have to be the one to give her this particular gown? And where on earth could he have found such a treasure? No doubt, she thought resentfully, he had stolen it. Perhaps it had belonged to the Countess Danielle—oh God! Perhaps he’d gone so far as to steal it from the Empress Carlotta herself! He’s capable of any act, no matter how low and despicable, she thought angrily. And yet, in spite of all her misgivings, Ginny knew that she would not be able to resist wearing the gown that very night.

It’s green—and yet it reminds me in some way of an opal—a fire opal. Yes, that was it, she decided. She’d wear this gown tonight, and with it the magnificent fire opals that Don Francisco had presented her with. They were the only jewels that she could possibly wear with this dress.

“I’ll wear it tonight,” Ginny said aloud, and watched Senora Armijo take up the dress almost reverently.

“I’ll press it myself,” the older woman said. “I wouldn’t trust either of those stupid girls with such a task. I’ll bring it back soon, and hang it up for you—you ought to try and get some rest before tonight Genia, the dancing is likely to go on until dawn!”

“Oh, yes, the dancing,” Ginny thought listlessly after her duenna had left once more. She felt strangely restless—and curious too.

What kind of role was Steve playing this time? And what methods had Don Francisco used to bend his grandson’s stubborn will to his own? It really would be most interesting to find out just why Steve had given in so easily, it just wasn’t like him, especially as he had made it clear he hated the idea of being married to her.

Thinking about him always had the effect of making her furious! With a muffled exclamation of disgust Ginny threw herself on her bed and closed her eyes, determined to conform to custom for once and take a siesta.

She would have been more than a little surprised if she knew that at this very moment, Steve Morgan was thinking about her—his thoughts almost as angry and full of bitterness as hers were.

He had returned to his room, and was preparing to take a bath, but for some reason he found he needed a drink more urgently. Wine! That was all his grandfather kept outside on the big sideboard in the main dining sala. He needed Scotch or bourbon, but the wine would have to do for now.

Morosely, Steve looked at his own stubbled reflection in the mirror and rubbed his jaw reflectively. He needed a shave badly—for two pins he’d stay the way he was and announce flatly to his grandfather that he intended to grow a beard again but the thought of another unpleasant interview following on the heels of the one they’d just had filled him with an unusual reluctance to force any minor issues. Damn it, he thought savagely, so I’ll be cleanshaven tonight. Maybe it’ll please her better too.

The thought of Ginny did nothing to improve his temper. Damn her for the sly little schemer she was! She’d been offered her chance to get even with him and had seized it eagerly—he had no doubt that she’d meant every threat she’d flung at him. He’d relieved her of her virginity and taught her that sex was enjoyable—and she’d promptly turned around and sought further enjoyment in numbers—until he’d been damn-fool enough to abduct her.

Dispensing with the glass he’d been using, Steve tilted the bottle of wine and drank half of it in about three long swallows.

Ever since he’d met Ginny Brandon things had started to go wrong. Although he had to admit reluctantly, that it hadn’t been all her fault. He should have kept to his resolution to stay away from her in the first place. And in the second place, he should never have kept her with him all this time. It hadn’t been hard to shake off his pursuers—he could have done it alone, without her to slow him up. So why in hell had he dragged her along, especially when he knew he was coming home? He might have known his grandfather would find out, and that being the kind of man he was he’d not be content until he’d met and spoken with the female his unconforming grandson had dared to bring home with him. He should have known what would inevitably happen—he should have taken precautions. Most of all, he should never have permitted himself to have anything to do with Ginny Brandon!

Steve swore to himself, and the Indian maid who was carrying in more hot water for his bath jumped as though he had bitten her. He smiled at her absentmindedly and gestured rather vaguely for her to continue with whatever she had to do. She gave him a pert, rather shy smile in return, bobbing her head, and left to bring more water.

Steve stared broodingly at the door the girl had closed so carefully behind her. What a mess! He had returned from Mexico City as quickly as he could, with all of the information that Bishop had needed. In fact, Bishop himself, in the guise of a rich American cattle buyer, would be at the Sandoval hacienda this evening, on the invitation of Diego Sandoval, Don José’s son, and Steve’s friends from childhood. Diego, an ardent, if secret supporter of Porfirio Díaz, was also a part of the Juarist movement. He had arranged for this meeting, having recently returned from a trip to San Francisco—and he had, in fact, told Steve before he left that Bishop had another important mission for him when he returned. What could he tell Bishop now? “My grandfather treats me like a little child—he’s posted guards on me, he’s even arranged a wedding for me”—the thought made his face turn dark with anger. There would be no quarreling with him over his methods—in their branch of the service, men like Steve would use any means they had to in order to attain their ends. But in this case what it all amounted to was that he had made a mistake—a stupid, costly mistake! Thank God that at least he had the information they’d needed so urgently. Even without him, they’d still be able to act, carefully coordinating their planning on both sides of the border.

In spite of his rage and self-disgust, Steve could not help grinning when he suddenly imagined the lovely Danielle’s fury when she found he’d disappeared. She would be even more furious when she found her new gown, sewn for her in Paris by Worth himself from material shipped all the way from India, had also disappeared. It had been a gift to her from a high-ranking English admirer—a duke, no less. Yes, Dani would be having screaming hysterics right now, he’d no doubt. What a vixen she was, especially in bed! She’d been insatiable; alternately pouting, pleading, clawing or screaming encouragement in gutter words she’d picked up in every language conceivable. Still, he’d found himself growing bored with her demands and her tantrums after a while—it was more or less in revenge for her having begun to make herself tedious to him that he’d appropriated her new ball gown. Maybe she’d be more cautious in her choice of lovers from now on—her husband really ought to thank him for it!

But the thought of Dani’s husband, away fighting Maximilian’s war while she appeared publicly with her lovers, made Steve start frowning again. Juana had returned again, this time with the last can of hot water, and she was standing expectantly by, ready to help him have his bath. An old custom in the bachelor wing of Don Francisco’s house. At least, Steve thought bitterly, he had to give the old martinet credit for having that much consideration for the normal physical needs of hot-blooded young men.

But as for the rest of it—no, his grandfather still lived in a closed-in, autocratic world that should have vanished a long time ago. Grown man or not, his grandson was still his grandson, and el patrón’s word was law. It was impossible! His grandfather must be made to understand that he couldn’t keep him prisoner, like any one of his peons who had committed some misdemeanor!

His black brows drawn together in an unconsciously fierce frown that scared the pert Juana into silence, Steve began to undress, tossing his travel-stained clothes carelessly at the girl who blushed and began to giggle as she caught each one adroitly.

Thinking almost absentmindedly about escape, Steve glanced once at the door and then shrugged. He supposed that Perez still stood guard outside his room. Big, taciturn Jaime Perez who was his grandfather’s bodyguard, and had patiently taught him to shoot a rifle. The fact that Jaime watched him was proof enough that his grandfather did not trust him, and in fact Don Francisco had told Steve so quite bluntly.

“Any blood relative of mine who would forget his honor and do what you have done is not to be trusted,” the old man had said icily. The mixture of anger and contempt in his grandfather’s voice had made Steve feel, for a moment, like a stupid, callow youth again, and he’d been unable to prevent the slow, embarrassing flush that rose in his face.

The interview had gone badly from the start, and without raising his voice Don Francisco had not minced any words, nor tried to hide his scorn and contempt and cold, deadly anger. He had made Steve fully aware of the consequences he might have faced if Ginny had not agreed to a wedding—the same consequences he’d face if he didn’t immediately give his word that he would marry her—and even more—treat her with unfailing consideration and respect.

“She deserves much better, I’m sorry to say,” Don Francisco had said with disdain, “but since you’ve ruined her, it’s up to you to make amends. I trust that you have some vestige of the sense of family honor and obligation I’ve tried to instill in you still left!”

Stiffly, cautiously Steve had given his word, thinking the matter would end there. He’d marry her, if his name would magically restore her respectability! What did it really matter, after all—he didn’t intend to stay with her for the rest of their days.

But his grandfather, just as if he’d read his mind, had other demands to make, and they were phrased as outright commands.

Steve listened almost unbelievingly as he was ordered to hand over his guns. He glanced up casually, and Jaime lounged in the doorway, his rifle pointing floorward, although Steve was well aware how quickly the man could bring it up if it proved necessary.

He had, for one split second of pure, unthinking fury, considered whirling around and going for his gun, but sanity returned just in time and he was forced into the realization of two things—that Jaime would not hesitate to shoot, even if it was to maim rather than kill—and that his grandfather would certainly do so, not caring whether he killed or not!

And as far as that went, he was fond of Jaime—the man had been kind and patient with him when he was a boy—almost as close as a father, in fact. Could he really have pulled a gun on Jaime Perez?

Silently, seething with a rage he could barely control, Steve had unbuckled his gunbelts and handed them to his grandfather.

“Good. And now—your word that you will not seek to obtain any other weapon, nor wear one again, until I give you my permission to do so.”

His eyes blazing blue fire with an anger that defied his grandfather’s, Steve refused.

“I’ve given you my promise that I’ll wed the girl, and that I’ll deal with her honorably from now on. But this time you go too far, sir! I’ll not be treated like a green boy who can’t be trusted to wear a gun.”

“And I tell you, Esteban, that you have acted like one! The wearing of guns around your waist like any bandit from the mountains and the use to which you have put them is what has sent you to the depths of villainy in the company of other low-life thieves and murderers who carry weapons only for the purpose of killing! You’ve had every opportunity in life that I could offer you, but it wasn’t enough. You were too stubborn to learn anything, even to live like a gentleman. And you’ve dragged the honor of my family in the dust by your heartless treatment of a young woman who was trusted to your care—an inexperienced girl whom you seduced; and as if that was not enough, abducted her from the care of her family and paraded her in the worst, most infamous places as your paramour! How would you have me treat you, you young whelp?”

His grandfather’s lashing contempt had made Steve go pale and tense with anger, but he stood there silently until the old man had finished his diatribe. A stubborn sense of pride kept him from making any attempt to defend himself or offer any explanations—and in any case, what could he say without betraying himself or his “employers?” There were things that his grandfather could never understand!

“Your word, if you please,” Don Francisco repeated when Steve said nothing.

“I’m sorry, sir. I cannot give it.”

Steve noticed the way his grandfather’s hands clenched themselves around the stock of the riding whip he invariably carried, and remembered suddenly his many “disciplinings” of the past, always inflexibly meted out—his eyes went to the silent, watchful figure of Jaime, still standing before the door.

Deliberately, Steve controlled the anger that might have shown in his voice, softening it to a tone of almost exaggerated patience.

“I would not, however contemptible you think me, lift my hand against you, my abielo, nor my old friend here, nor any of your men. I think you know that. But I must tell you—” his voice hardened slightly in spite of all his resolutions “—that at the first possible opportunity I intend to obtain another gun, and to wear it, if I feel like doing so.”

Don Francisco’s hooded eyes looked like chips of ice.

“I find you impudent, as well as irresponsible. You leave me with no choice but to make sure that you confirm with my dictates, whether you will or not!”

Steve gave a short, bitter laugh.

“What will you do with me, grandfather? Turn me over to the law? Load me down with chains? Or will you shoot me instead? It will be difficult for me to play the part of bridegroom under such conditions, won’t it?”

“Guard your tongue, you reprobate!” Don Francisco struck angrily at the arm of his chair with the whip he held. His cold, angry eyes bored into Steve’s as he spoke again, very slowly this time.

“There is another alternative, if you insist upon being stubborn. I could arrange matters so that you would meet with a slight accident. To your right hand. It will not cripple you, but you would never again draw a gun quickly enough to kill a man…” he halted in mid-sentence, seeing that no further words were needed, for Steve had sucked in his breath, his face whitening beneath his tan. So his grandfather would actually go that far? Still, he himself was too angry and too stubborn to back down.

“You do that, and you might as well kill me.” Steve’s voice was even, toneless. “You’d have to, before I’d let you even try.”

His eyes locked with those of his grandfather in a battle of wills, and Jaime Perez, standing just inside the doorway, thought how much alike they were in some ways, these two. He found himself hoping that this time at least the patrón would not do as he had threatened—it was really too bad that Don Esteban had turned out to be so reckless and so willful.

Jaime could not know it, of course, but for an instant, as he looked into his grandson’s eyes, Don Francisco saw his daughter Luisa, with the same long-lashed blue eyes challenging him after he had just declared passionately that he would have her Yankee lover killed. This had been after he and his most trusted vaqueros, after pursuing them for miles, had finally caught up with the eloping couple. Like her son did now, Luisa had faced him defiantly and without fear.

“You kill Daniel and you might as well kill me too,” she had said softly. “He is my husband, and my life. Take his life, and I swear that mine is ended too.”

Looking into her eyes he had known bitterly that she was no longer his—and that she meant what she said. He had let her go—Luisa and her husband, and when she had finally come back to him later, with her child, he had seen, with a terrible sadness, that she had spoken truly—her life was finished.

Now Don Francisco found himself thinking that perhaps he was getting too old—or too soft. This was his only grandson, just as Luisa had been the only one of his children to survive. And Esteban had always been too strong-willed and defiant for taming. Not even the many whippings he had received so stoically as a boy had changed his willful, headstrong nature. As a man, he was still just as stubborn, just as headstrong. Yes, Esteban’s stiff-necked pride matched his own, the old man thought grimly. He would back down no further, even if it meant death.

To hide his unwonted emotion, Don Francisco banged the stock of his riding whip on the floor between his feet—so hard it sounded like an explosion. He continued to frown.

“If you will not give me your word, then I’m sorry to say that you will, from now on, consider yourself a prisoner here,” he said forcibly. “You will be watched at all times, to make certain you do not obtain a gun, and you will not be allowed to leave here until I feel that you have earned the right to be turned loose on the unsuspecting world outside.”

“I see! And am I to be watched on my honeymoon as well, to make sure I perform satisfactorily as a husband? Or am I not to be permitted to hold my blushing bride in my arms in case I might do the poor, unsuspecting girl some injury?”

In spite of his age, Don Francisco could rise from his chair as quickly as a man much younger, with no stiffness or creaking of bones. He stood up now, his craggy face white with anger.

“You will, for one thing, learn to curb your insolence in my presence, and in the presence of others as well. Perhaps this will serve to remind you that I am still the head of this family.”

Don Francisco’s arm lifted, and the quirt, wielded so easily and expertly by him, lashed down twice with vicious force—back and forth across his grandson’s chest, drawing blood through the thin cotton of his checkered shirt.

Steve had half-expected what might happen, but pride forbade his trying to avoid his grandfather’s blows, or cringing from them. His lips went taut, and he winced almost imperceptibly, but that was all. His arms stayed down at his side, hands clenched into fists, and his eyes never left his grandfather’s face.

Don Francisco gave him a cold smile.

“A reminder that your manners need mending, my grandson. And while we are on the subject—let me remind you that you are to treat your betrothed at all times, with the utmost respect and consideration, both in public and in private. You will not be watched in your marriage bed, but I trust that even you would not force her to submit to your rough and uncouth passions unless she herself is willing! A man who calls himself a man would surely not rape his own wife—or is it impossible for you to persuade a woman to give herself to you of her own accord?”

Don Francisco’s words cut deeper than his whip and Steve remained silent under their sting. He felt every muscle in his body tense with the strain of holding his temper in check. How much more would he be expected to endure? But clearly, his grandfather was not through with him yet. Now his voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I take it, since you’ve seen fit to give me your word on this at least, that there will be no foolhardy attempts at running away until after the wedding at least?”

In spite of his anger and bitter frustration Steve began to discover a kind of macabre humor in the situation that made him smile rather wryly, surprising his grandfather. It was really ridiculous that he, a grown man who cherished his own independence and freedom above all things should stand here so meekly and let an old man heap insults on him—yes, and order his life and behavior as well!

“Why should I want to run away from my beautiful bride?” he said, shrugging slightly. “Do you think she’s so lacking in charm that I’d desire to escape the prospect of bedding her again?”

Don Francisco’s eyes flashed for an instant, but he responded coolly enough.

“I’m really surprised that in this instance, at least, you’ve displayed some good taste. Meeting Ginny was not only a pleasant surprise but a pleasure.”

Although he did not relax his vigilance, Jaime Perez found himself able to relax slightly at last.

Ah, these two! It was always like this. First the heated words and the tension, and then a sudden quieting as they remeasured each other’s worth as adversaries.

“You had better go and make yourself a little more presentable before you visit your novia, ” Don Francisco was saying now, as he poured himself a glass of wine.

Bowing formally, Steve turned to leave, but his grandfather halted him at the door with one last question.

“I find myself curiously puzzled that you should have brought the girl here. You are usually more discreet—or should the word be cautious?—about your peccadilloes. Have you considered that for once you might have fallen in love?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed just a fraction at the unexpectedness of the question, but his face stayed expressionless.

“I had not given it much thought, sir. Perhaps, since we’re to be married it might be more convenient if I were to feel some—affection, instead of dislike for her.”

“It might be even more convenient if Ginny felt the same way, would it not?” Don Francisco said, and the conversation was ended.

Stripped, with his body immersed in water up to the waist, Steve Morgan was hardly in the mood to enjoy either his bath, or the attentions of the pretty Juana. The knowledge that Jaime stood on guard outside his door was frustrating enough—the thought that he was actually to be treated as a prisoner, with no freedom of movement, was intolerable. To make matters worse, there had been the meeting with Ginny. What was there about her that constantly had him losing his temper? This afternoon he would have dearly enjoyed striking her—slapping her into silence, and then flinging her backward onto the bed with all her brand-new petticoats thrown over her head while he exacted an unwilling, but inevitable response from her squirming body. That’s what he should have done, and would have done if his grandfather had not forced him into a ridiculous position. How amusing Ginny must think it all! He gritted his teeth when he thought of the way she’d stormed at him.

Juana’s soft, commiserating voice interrupted his black thoughts as she exclaimed with shock and pity over the weals that criss-crossed his bare torso.

She bent over him with her large black eyes soft with concern, and her full, unbound breasts were fully revealed under the thin cotton camisa she wore. Clearly, Juana did not wear more than the barest minimum of clothing, and just as clearly, she did not care if he knew this.

Her fingers trailed across the marks on Steve’s chest.

“Ah, Senor! They must hurt, no? I can get some salve, it will not take a minute…”

It was almost habit that made Steve take her hand and move it to his lips, tickling her palm with his tongue.

“It’s not salve that I need,” he whispered against her fingers, feeling them tremble uncertainly before she pulled her hand away with a nervous giggle.

“ Senor! And you to be married so soon!”

He cursed inwardly. So it was to be soon, was it? It seemed as if everyone here knew more about his own wedding than he did. He felt trapped, and very angry—there had to be a way—some way out!

Aloud, Steve said insinuatingly, “‘Soon’ is a long time away from today and now, pretty thing. And you have beautiful black eyes—a man could easily lose his honor in their depths.”

She giggled again, more from nerves than anything else, and almost imperceptibly, she leaned over him.

Steve smiled at her with his lips, but his thoughts were bitter. Honor! Why had that particular phrase sprung to his lips? “No honor” his grandfather had said, and he was right, of course. Honor was nothing but an empty word, used by old men to cover weakness. A man did what he had to do or wanted to do, as long as he was prepared to take the consequences of his actions.

It was possible, that this little Juana might be persuaded to find him a weapon. It would be easy for her to smuggle one in to him. And in any case, she was an attractive wench—her breasts were quite beautiful…Almost without thinking, his fingers were pushing the loose blouse she wore down off her shoulders, freeing her really magnificent breasts. He heard her gasp softly as he bent his head and pressed his mouth against the hollow between the mounded flesh. Her skin was warm, and a small vein pulsed under his lips.

“Why don’t you take those uncomfortable garments off and join me in the bath? There’s room in here for both of us…”

His tongue found her nipple and her fingers tangled themselves in his hair.

“Ohh— Senor! ”

Neither of them noticed, after a while, that the water had become cold, and the floor was wet from their splashings.