Stronger Than Passion (13 page)

But Christina was having no part in it. She had been insulted by the young blonde, and both the French lady and the man were staring at her as though she were a freak at a fair. She gently laid her napkin on the table, pushed her chair back and rose. “I will withdraw.”

“No, you won’t. Sit down.” Michael moved around to her side of the long table, placed both hands on her shoulders, and forced her to sit. She looked up at him, and the glare in her green-gold eyes was both freezing and, Michael thought, possibly a little hurt. He wondered if perhaps he was beginning to know her, after all; unsure if the idea pleased him or not.

Michael looked at his combined uninvited company and took a deep breath. “This lady - -“ he kept his voice slow and dry - “is the Doña Christina de Sainz, lately of Mexico, formerly of Spain. She is my guest for the present time. Christina, please make the acquaintance of my Aunt, Lady Torrance, her guest, Lady Scott-Gould, and my cousin, Rowan Torrance. With whom I intend to have a long conference, later.”

Rowan made a correct bow in Christina’s direction, then began with, “It wasn’t me, Mike, I swear - I don’t know how they found out! I kept my promise not to tell that I’d seen you.”

“You knew Michael was in Washington?” came the astonished voice of Antoinette, her attention on her son.

“The question is why, my dear Lord Brett, did you prefer to keep your presence here a secret?” Lady Elizabeth purred, rather than spoke. “Unless it was to prevent this very thing from happening - you might actually have callers.”

Michael’s gaze remained deliberately bland.

Elizabeth was a witch he had dealt with before, in England; and he knew she was simply warming to a jealous tirade. Christina’s soft shoulders had tightened beneath his hands, and again he had to exert pressure to keep her in her seat. The last thing he wanted was for the two of them to tangle. It was time for a good, believable explanation?

“Certainly I do not want nosy callers. Aside from my work, which I will not discuss - there is the question of Lady de Sainz.” He met Elizabeth’s accusing hazel eyes, while one hand casually stroked Christina’s left shoulder, which he had gripped so painfully a second before. “I’m afraid that Christina is here under duress.”

“What?” Roman cried out, nearly dropping the biscuit he had been reaching for.

“Mon cher, what are you saying? I must be seated.” Antoinette went to the table. Hager, hovering wide-eyed in the background, hastily rushed forward to pull out a chair for Madame. Antoinette sank gracefully down, folded elegant hands before her to rest her chin upon, and peered up at her nephew . . . and across at the young lady who set paralyzed beneath Michael’s possessive grip. “Please continue.”

“Would you care to sit, too?” He raised one eyebrow at Elizabeth, who silently and with compressed lips complied. Rowan leaned against the buffet table and nibbled his biscuit.

This was all too much for Christina - unwilling to stay and become an accessory to whatever tale Michael was planning to spin. She craned her neck upward to look him directly in the eye, and spoke in Spanish. “Let me go, before I create a scene.”

“You already have, querida. Let me undo it.” He replied in Spanish as well, his voice soft.

“No! I will tell them what a bastard you are . . . .”

“Do it then. But sit still for ten more minutes. Remember what I said about this town’s hatred for Mexicans? I intend to protect you from it, if you’ll give me half a chance.”

He could tell that she didn’t believe him. She observed him warily, probably noting the glint of something in his eyes that meant he was thinking hard, and possibly enjoying himself, as well.

But he was able to force his will on her. Shrugging, she dropped her gaze. She would at least hear his story.

“You said the Señora is here unwillingly?” Antoinette prodded.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Michael tried what he hoped was a fond glance at Christina, which, thank God, she couldn’t see. This new role he was fabricating might prove to be a perverse amount of fun, but would entail its share of difficulties. “Christina is the widow of an old friend of mine, Don Felipé del Rivera, son of the famous Mexican Condé de Castillo. We met while I was in Mexico on mining business.” He paused to scan his audience and gauge their reactions so far. Elizabeth looked skeptical, but his Aunt and his cousin would probably believe even the most blatant lies he could think of. “Sadly, I didn’t hear of Felipé’s death until recently. I immediately wondered about Christina - left all alone in a country which was not even hers, and on the brink of an ugly war, to boot. Christina is a Spanish noblewoman; aren’t you, my dear?” He pinched her shoulder, prompting her to speak.

“Si. My father was Don Lorenzo de Sainz y Estepa, Marquès de Cabra y Olvera. A nobleman of the court of Spain.”

Trust Christina to sound impressive. Even Elizabeth wore a different expression. Michael continued smoothly -
“ a lady alone, mistress of a huge estate, in wartime - I had no honorable course but to rescue her.”

“You took me from my home!” she cried, looking up at him.

“So I did. But for how long would you have kept your hacienda? It’s highly likely that part of the war will be fought amongst your banana groves.”

“Even so, they are my banana groves.”

“That’s a foolish attitude to take,” he snapped out, this argument of near-truths one that had never occurred to him before. But he could see that it was convincing his audience. And Christina was reacting just as though he had coached her.

“I want to go home.” Michael knew that these were words from her heart. She glanced away from him. Perhaps the thought of war on her own grounds had never entered her mind before now. He regretted bringing it to her attention. But of course it was possible, even probable, that a battle may be fought on her lands, since her estate lay very near the National Highway that connected Vera Cruz to Mexico City. If the American army proved victorious, it would certainly march to the Capital along that road. And what about her property, her house, her servants and tenants? He could see from the stricken pallor in her face that she was wondering that very thing. Unfortunately, there was little she could do for her estate even if she were there.

There was a note of sincerity in his voice now that was not feigned. “You will go home, Chrissie. I promise. But not yet. Not until it’s safe; and not at all, if I can convince you to remain with me.

These last words completely over sat the listeners, all but Christina, who didn’t seem to pay them any attention.

Elizabeth slammed one delicate fist down on the table, hard. “Are you saying that you intend to marry this - this lady?”

Michael grinned at her nastily. “That isn’t up to me, because I doubt if she’ll have me. But a man can hope.” He bent down and kissed the shining top of Christina’s head.

Christina, startled, reached up to swat at him at the same time Elizabeth cried, “I don’t believe it!” and Antoinette demanded some sherry.

*

It was Lady Antoinette Torrance who interjected reason into the dreadful fracas that ensued after what she considered Michael’s foolishly dramatic announcement. It was plain, from the Señora’s outraged torrent of Spanish, that she was displeased with Michael’s statement - if, indeed, he had really meant it, which Antoinette doubted. The Señora had attempted, again, to depart the room, and Michael was equally determined that she should stay. Elizabeth, who had proven herself a sometimes disagreeable companion before now, had stated flatly that Michael was up to something (a sentiment Antoinette secretly agreed with) and desired to return to Antoinette’s home. Even Rowan, normally no rattle, had added to the incipient hysteria in the morning room by choking with laughter.

Drastic action was called for, and Antoinette knew her duty. She had faced rampaging Indians, hostile Mexicans and the cutting civility of the English without losing her composure; she was certainly capable of keeping it and her good sense now, in the midst of a scene that could turn into a horrible scandal if voices were not lowered and some believable solution to the Señora’s presence here found.

She called for silence. And her tone, normally so soft and accented so prettily, rang with the authority of a general quieting his troops.

Michael broke off his argument with the Señora to look at her with an eyebrow raised in amusement; everyone else stared as well. Having garnered their attention, she took a delicate sip of her sherry and prepared her advice.

“Michael, mon cher, although it is very good to see you, it seems that you are again in a predicament that will likely do you harm, although perhaps not in the same way as some of your other exploits. You and Julian! Can you never stay out of trouble?” Michael neglected to answer this rhetorical question, but as he smiled Antoinette grew of the conviction that perhaps Julian, too, had had something to do with this Señora.. Her curiosity certainly whetted to know more, she continued. “Regardless of how or why the Señora is here, the fact remains that she is here. Alone in the house with you, if I am not mistaken. Unchaperoned! And already the entire town knows that you are in residence. I was informed of your arrival by no less than five people last night at a dinner party, who had spotted you earlier in the day at the Capitol! Now, what is to be done?”

“I feel sure that you will tell me.” Michael’s tone was dry, and his face had lost its humor.

She frowned. “Do not take this matter lightly, Michael. Washington is such a fussy town when it comes to the proprieties, particularly now, with Mrs. Polk as first lady. You may do as you like in Texas - but not here. And the significance of the Señora’s connections with Mexico cannot be underestimated.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Good. Then you will admit that you do not care to subject the Señora - or me, or yourself - to any condemning talk.

“Which was why I intended to remain incognito during my hopefully brief stay.”

“Do not be sarcastic. I had no intentions of discovering any secrets by coming here, love, only of visiting my nephew and perhaps learning the whereabouts of my unpredictable son. But we will talk of Julian later. Now, I will tell you what I have decided to do to save this situation. Since it is only a matter of time before the Señora’s presence is discovered by all the gossips of Washington, we will display her quite openly. I will take Señora de Sainz into my home, as my guest. We will say that she has just arrived, from either Spain or Mexico, whichever will better serve; and I will chaperone her. It is perfect!”

“No. Christina stays in this house.”

The Señora, who had followed the conversation about her with a distant and uncaring expression on her coldly, lovely face, now directed a comment to Michael. “I would prefer to stay with this lady.”

“You’re staying here.”

“Really, Michael . . .” Antoinette said.

“If you choose to move in here, Antoinette, I will be pleased to have you. In fact, I’ll pay for you to redecorate your house as an excuse, or we’ll burn it down if you like. But Christina is remaining in my home.”

“What about me, Michael? Is the invitation open to me, as well, or must I put up at the inn?” Elizabeth’s blue eyes narrowed on Michael in a kind of provocative anger that told the story of their former relationship to anyone in the least perceptive.

“You’re welcome here along with my Aunt. Just don’t plan any parties; I find at-home affairs excessive boring.”

“Oh? You never used to, in England. I seem to recall one instance, before your father passed away, when . . .”

“My memory is just as good as yours, Liz,” stated Michael flatly.

Antoinette, perceiving yet another quarrel about to spring to life between Michael and Elizabeth and possibly, to judge from her haughtily astonished expression, the Señora, agreed to move in with Michael at once.

“Although it is very bad of you to put me to the trouble of moving my things, when I have just settled in from far too long abroad. You are ruthless when it comes to getting your own way.”

“Yes, he is,” agreed the Señora.

“Mm, hmm,” murmured Elizabeth, with a tiny smile.

Michael glanced at the three woman currently complicating his life and frowned. “Then why do I feel as though my wishes are the last thing considered here this morning?”

“Because they are, Cousin,” Rowan pointed out. “Can’t fight the ladies!”

Christina left the breakfast table finally for the refuge of her room, away from the ladies whose probing questions had given her a headache, and away from Michael Brett, whom she now had to truly deal with. It had become imperative to her that she must escape.

It was as though a display of fireworks had gone off in her mind, lighting her thoughts in an ugly pattern of colors. How selfish she had been! For weeks, she had concerned herself with her comfort and her fears, without pondering the reality of the war with America and how it might disturb her isolated, dreamy Hacienda de los Flores Rojas. What a terrible Patrona she was! She had known all along that she should be at home, listening for news of the war, preparing and reassuring her people in case the fighting grew near. But it had taken Michael Brett’s callous reminder that the war could be fought close to her home to jolt her mind away from her personal troubles; to convince her she must refuse to continue drifting idly while others charted her future. She must escape Washington. She must escape Michael Brett.