Tears of Gold (25 page)

Nicholas smiled regretfully. “No, I suppose I’m still that much of a gentleman.” Nicholas sighed as he released Mara and lay back against the pillows, an amused expression softening his features as he watched her untangle herself from the bedclothes and struggle to her feet.

As Mara found her robe on the floor, she felt his green eyes burning into her slender back. As she turned, wrapping the robe around her naked body, she caught his gaze sliding over her, possessive pleasure in his eyes.

Mara hooked her thumbs into the silk sash tied securely around her narrow waist. She couldn’t find anything to say as she stood unhappily tongue-tied before him. He lay stretched out on the bed, his feet casually crossed, his muscular arms folded behind his head as he silently watched her, noting her uncomfortably flushed face and nervous shifting from foot to foot.

She dragged her eyes away from the sardonic look on his handsome face. “I’m leaving.”

But before she could reach the door, Nicholas had risen from the bed and caught her from behind. She could feel him against her through the fine silk of her robe. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her hard against his chest and thighs. He pressed soft kisses along her neck and jaw, his hands finding their way beneath the thin covering of silk. He caressed her tender breasts. With gentle determination Nicholas raised her chin, arching her throat against his shoulder as his lips closed over her mouth.

“Just to make sure you remember me, ma petite,” he whispered. Finally, he let her go, his hand lingering against her buttock as he opened the door for her, glancing out first to see that they were alone. Turning her into his arms, he kissed her with slow deliberation before letting her leave the room.

Mara stood for a moment in the gloomy darkness of the corridor, her lips still tingling with his kiss as the door closed softly behind her. Then she ran silently across the courtyard to her room as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.

She fell across her bed and buried her head in her arms. What cruel twist of fate had brought Nicholas Chantale into her life?

“Damn, damn, bloody damn,” Mara swore beneath her breath as she tried to erase the night’s events from her mind. But it was useless. The Creole was as much a part of her as she was of herself.

Mara’s bitter laugh was muffled by the bedspread. She realized that Nicholas had had his revenge on her without even being aware of it. “And ’twas far crueler and more vindictive than you could ever have planned otherwise,” Mara whispered, “for I’ve fallen in love with you, just as Julian did with me. And you wouldn’t be any kinder to me than I was to him.”

Mara closed her eyes, blocking out Nicholas’s face, wishing it were just a dream she was waking up from but it wasn’t, for her skin still tingled from the touch of his hands.

“Why is nothing ever as it seems?” Mara murmured into her pillow, her eyes finally closing in exhaustion as she dozed fitfully.

Chapter 6

Mara opened her eyes to the sun streaming brightly through her window. She could hear the singing of birds. She rolled over, momentarily forgetting the previous evening until she felt the soreness of her breasts and noticed the faint bruises covering her body.

She was about to get to her feet when there was a knock on the door. She scrambled quickly beneath the covers, her shoulders disappearing behind the sheet. Mara expected to see one of the servants with her usual cup of morning chocolate. Feliciana entered instead.

Mara eyed her suspiciously as Feliciana awkwardly handed her the cup from her still-bandaged hands, her dark eyes avoiding Mara’s unblinking stare. She stepped back from the bed. “This is unusual, isn’t it?” Mara asked coldly, taking out her mood on the young Californian for whom she felt little affection anyway.

“I must tell you…confess…what I have done,” Doña Feliciana said hesitantly, an embarrassed flush staining her cheeks.

“You’ve come to the wrong place for confession, haven’t you? The church is next door,” Mara reminded her unsympathetically. “Listen, thank you for the chocolate, but I’ve got a blinding headache and I’m just not up to any gossip. So if you don’t mind?”

Feliciana clasped her hands together nervously, grimacing in pain as she forgot her burns. She was still undressed and wearing a robe over her long, white nightdress, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders. “It is my doing that you have suffered discomfort since coming to the rancho,” she admitted, shame on her face as she looked quickly away from Mara’s golden eyes, now narrowed in interest.

“What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

“You fall from your horse, sí? I loosen the strap. You never say, but I am the one who planted the scorpion in your boot.” She paused diffidently, then asked, “You have suffered from the headache, sí? You have not slept well? It is because I placed the crushed laurel leaves beneath your pillow and rubbed the essence into the silk where you would place your cheek. You have breathed deeply of it. I am sorry. I ask—no, I beg your forgiveness. It was wrong of me, but I hated you so. You seemed to have everything. You would have taken Andres from me. I could not bear it.” Feliciana’s dark eyes pleaded for absolution. “You saved my life. You did not have to, but you did. I have been so horrible to you, and yet you risked yourself for me.”

Mara laughed shortly in disbelief as she began to realize the depths to the seemingly demure Feliciana. She and Brendan had underestimated everyone around here, their own arrogance and intricate strategies allowing them to ignore and overlook the more simple and open hostilities. At least she was relieved to learn that it hadn’t been the mischief of Jeremiah Davies and Raoul, for that would have indicated a more serious threat to her because of her knowledge of their unlawful activities; instead, it was just malicious mischief by a jealous girl.

“You must forgive me, instead,” Mara said, “for I seem to be the one who wronged you, Feliciana. I thought you a weak nonentity, hardly worth a second thought.”

“I do not understand,” Feliciana said as she came closer to the bed, the cynical, amused smile on Mara’s face confusing her. “You forgive me, please?”

“Certainly,” Mara said, suddenly tired of playing with other people’s feelings. “As long as I don’t suffer any more unexplainable accidents. And you will see that my headaches disappear, won’t you? Of course, as I’m not planning on a protracted visit, that won’t be any problem,” Mara added softly.

Feliciana nodded her head eagerly. “Sí, and you do not hate me? I will accept you as Andres’s wife and even leave the rancho should you desire,” Feliciana assured her in a trembling voice, properly humbled for her misdeeds.

“Please,” Mara sighed, holding up a slender hand. “You are forgiven, although I’m thinking ’tis me who should really be asking
your
forgiveness. So please, no more of this.” Mara wished Feliciana would leave now that she’d cleared her conscience.

“I do not always understand what you say, Amaya,” Feliciana said in puzzlement, “but as long as I am forgiven, then I will feel free to enter the convent and make my pledge to God.”

Mara eyed the young Californian thoughtfully. “I’d advise you to wait awhile before committing yourself to a life of wearing black for the rest of your days. Who knows what could happen soon to change your mind?” Mara asked. She thought of the certain future for Feliciana, at the hacienda as the wife of Andres and the mother of a brood of small Villareales.

Mara was to remember her fateful words on the morrow.

All the rest of the day passed quietly enough, although Brendan was openly curious as he watched Nicholas and Mara at lunch, aware that something was going on between them. He was not sure he liked it whatever it was.

“Damned impertinence of the man,” Brendan complained as he accompanied Mara on a ride later that day. He stared over his shoulder at the Creole who was riding a discreet distance behind them, then stared hard at Mara’s averted face. “What’s going on between the two of you? It’s not decent the way he’s been looking at you all day.”

Mara raised her slim eyebrows in disbelief. “
You’re
complaining about someone not being decent? Surely my ears are deceiving me,” Mara retorted, masking her embarrassment with sarcasm.

Brendan snorted derisively. “Even a fool couldn’t miss it.”

Mara smiled slightly. “And you’re certainly no fool, are you, Brendan? Perhaps, however, a bit fanciful. And what do you mean, ‘couldn’t miss it’?”

“He’s making love to you with his eyes. The way they rove over you, as if he has some intimate knowledge of you. It’s damned insolent of him.”

“Don’t be absurd, Brendan,” Mara scoffed, her face flushing a bright pink.

“Ridiculous, am I?” Brendan demanded angrily. “Just don’t go and get involved with that Frenchman. It can only mean trouble, mark my words. Besides, he’s not rich. It wouldn’t be worth your time, my love,” Brendan added warningly.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Mara began hesitantly. “Can’t we leave the rancho now? Do we have to wait for Don Luís to return? How do we know he will? He could be lying to us again, couldn’t he? You do want to get to the gold mines, don’t you?”

Brendan stared at Mara incredulously. “What the divil’s got into you anyway? And just how are we to leave—on foot? And what explanation are we to give our host? And where will we put up for the night? Are we to pay our bill with our good looks? I think not, my love. You’ve been the one cautioning me to be patient, and now all of a sudden you’re having qualms about the whole thing?” Brendan eyed Mara suspiciously. “Has it something to do with the Frenchie? Has he found out something?”

Mara bit her lip indecisively. Should she tell him? He could become so unreasonable, and the last thing she wanted was a confrontation between Nicholas and him.

“You might as well tell me. You’ve never been good at lying to me.” Brendan sighed.

“Very well, Brendan, you might as well learn the truth,” Mara gave in. “The Creole recognized me from London. He suspected I was a certain actress, called Mara O’Flynn. He remembered seeing me on the stage.”

“The divil he does!” Brendan exclaimed incredulously.

“At least he did suspect the truth. Now I think I’ve convinced him that I am not Mara O’Flynn, but I’ve only allayed his suspicions temporarily. And it certainly wouldn’t do to have him find out the truth.”

“Well,” Brendan speculated, “if worse comes to worse I suppose we could always take him into our confidence, even offer to pay him to keep his silence. He’s blackguard enough to accept.”

“No!” Mara cried out in dismay. “You mustn’t tell him the truth. You see he has little respect for the O’Flynns and would relish the chance to expose us, even see us prosecuted.”

Brendan frowned thoughtfully. “Damned if I remember him. We’ve never met him, have we? Why should he hate us? To be sure I’m a friendly fellow, and no one’s bearing a grudge against Brendan O’Flynn.” He pondered the disturbing thought, then shot an accusing look at Mara’s flushed face. “Or is it Mara O’Flynn, not ‘the O’Flynns,’ that he’s no liking for, mavournin? He just wouldn’t happen to be one of your discarded swains? No,” Brendan answered his own question as he laughed harshly, “I can’t see the Creole letting a woman get the best of him, so it’s got to be…let me see…a friend of a friend, out to even the score?” Brendan took a lucky guess, not realizing how close he came to the truth.

“I can truthfully swear that I’ve never met him until now, and I really don’t know why he bears a grudge against me,” Mara lied, unwilling to have Brendan know the whole truth. “But you can see why I’m uneasy and do not care to be around should he discover I really am Mara O’Flynn.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry unduly about it, because Don Luís should be here anytime now. Then we’ll be gone from here. And while we are still here, what can he do? Don Andres would hardly take kindly to slurs cast upon his adored Amaya. Why, he’d probably have the Creole thrown off the rancho!” Brendan declared, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. Mara nodded in agreement, looking away from Brendan. How could she possibly tell him that she had fallen in love with Nicholas? He would laugh in her face, be stingingly contemptuous of her weakness, amused that the proud and disdainful Mara had finally succumbed. Brendan could be merciless in ridicule if he wanted to be. She wouldn’t have her love for Nicholas subjected to that.

“I just hope you’re right and we do have the time,” Mara finally murmured as she urged her horse back toward the hacienda.

“Now, now, you’re not to be worrying. The O’Flynn luck is riding with us, I can feel it,” Brendan promised with a laugh as he rode along beside her.

In fact, for the rest of the evening Brendan stayed close to Mara’s side, giving Nicholas no chance to move up closer for conversation. The one time he tried, Brendan acted the consummate bore, monopolizing the conversation and rudely interrupting. Finally Nicholas had turned away with a slight shrug, and for the remainder of the evening Mara was presented with a view of his wide-shouldered back, while her fingers itched to run through the dark curls that just touched his collar.

Mara didn’t know if she had expected a knock on her door after midnight or not, and so she wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved when it never came. She ignored the fact that she had sat for over an hour brushing her long hair until it crackled and shone in the candlelight, or that she had touched more of her favorite scent between her breasts and on the inside of her wrists where the pulse beat erratically. Finally she gave up waiting and snuffed out all the candles but the one flickering beside her bed. As Mara climbed into bed she noticed for the first time something tucked just beneath the edge of the cover of her pillow. Curiously, she pulled back the spread and stared down at a single rose.

How? How had he planted this in her bed? As she slid beneath the covers, she heard a rustling, and feeling down lower, her hand encountered a piece of paper. Her lips curved in a smile as she read the carelessly scrawled message:

I thought your watchdog might be guarding your bed as well, so this lonely but very fortunate rose shall have to take my place. Bon nuit, ma petite, and dream of me.

N.

The arrogance of the man, Mara thought with a grin as she held the fragrant rosebud to her nose and breathed deeply of it. She blew out the flame and settled down under the covers. She kissed the soft petals of the rose, and pressing it between her breasts, she curled up and fell to sleep, dreaming of Nicholas.

The following morning, Mara was dressing when she heard loud voices from the courtyard. Her curiosity urged her to the door of her room. It might be Don Luís returning.

Brendan had come from his room as well and was already standing on the edge of the patio, an interested onlooker to what was happening in the center of the courtyard.

At Mara’s approach he glanced up from the apple he was neatly peeling with his penknife and shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the voices as he asked curiously, “And what do you make of that, mavournin?”

Mara’s eyes followed his gesture and opened wide as she stared at the small group gathered in the center near the fountain. The most startling person was Jeremiah Davies, for once the center of attention as all eyes focused on his startling change.

He was dressed in a beautifully cut frock coat with velvet collar and cuffs, and as he pulled out a heavy gold watch from his pocket, Mara could see the expensive satin lining and the fine, striped silk of his waistcoat. An ornate breast pin was stuck in the folds of his cravat. Several rings now adorned his stubby fingers. He was tapping an ebony cane with an agate head against the unmarred leather of his shiny new shoes. His sandy head was now covered beneath a tall silk hat, but as Doña Ysidora joined the group to stand regally beside her son, Jeremiah doffed the hat and bowed.

“Well, well,” Brendan murmured thoughtfully, “it looks as though Jerry boy has come into an inheritance. I wonder where he discovered this newfound wealth. To be sure, I’d no idea cattle stealin’ was so lucrative.”

“It would seem as though a lot of people are curious about his finances,” Mara said as she saw the looks of incredulity and confusion mirrored on the Californians’ faces. By now Raoul had sauntered up to the group, as well as Feliciana, Doña Jacinta, and other guests.

“I can’t say that I think much of his taste,” Brendan remarked as he eyed the two garish females standing behind Jeremiah. They were dressed in gaudy gowns of striped silk adorned with a profusion of ruffles and bows, their faces painted heavily with rouge and powder that didn’t cover their lines of age and dissipation. Each one’s hair had been dyed a different but equally brassy shade of red.

“Jerry boy has quite an entourage with him,” Brendan remarked as he noticed for the first time the three hulking figures standing warily around Jeremiah Davies and his two female companions. “Lovely trio of ruffians I’d not enjoy the pleasure of meeting,” Brendan commented dryly. He quickly took their measure, noting their broken noses and the pugnacious expressions on their battered faces. They stood menacingly behind the American, their heavily booted feet planted firmly apart, their large-knuckled hands curled into casual fists.