The Christmas Treasure (5 page)

"Gabriel, I'm --" she stammered softly.
 

He hushed her with kisses, and slid his hand down her arm. She was firm and smooth, her limbs lightly muscled. When his fingers drifted back over to tease the distended tip of her breast, she gasped, sucking air from his mouth, and her body tensed, then relaxed just a bit. Enough for him to notice.
 

Ah, she only needed some petting. His desire was rising, fueled by her very slowness to respond. The woman knew how to tantalize a man. Gabriel let his hand roam further, caressing her ribcage, noting her narrow waist then the swell of her hips. Her concave stomach was tautly muscled, unusual in a woman who had born a child.
 

He stopped, his hand splayed over her stomach, his head resting in the hollow of her shoulder. He was so ready he feared what would happen if he didn't slow down.
 

Another surprise. He had entered into this enterprise with his usual single-minded determination, examining all the possibilities before deciding on the most expedient way to assure an heir. Then he'd taken the steps to make it happen. It had never occurred to him that this widow, who had already born and lost a child, would be so young or so appealing.
 

Lorilla smelled of the same scent that had always pervaded this house, the delicate flowery odor of the French soap his mother had used, then his wife. Gabe shook his head, ridding himself of thoughts of Elena. At the same time, Lorilla's hand crept up around his neck, her fingers shyly toying with the hair at his nape.
 

He drew in a ragged breath and let his lips explore the hollow of her neck. Another quiet gasp rewarded his efforts.  He moved his hand lower and felt her legs tighten.
 

"Has it been a long time,
chiquita
?" he whispered. "Just relax. I will not disappoint you." He ran his tongue along her collarbone, then moved lower, to take the point of one breast in his mouth. At the same time he began to caress her in earnest, touching, rubbing, coaxing her body to ease the way.
 

Lorilla moaned, and with satisfaction, he felt her hands press his head into her breast. He laved and suckled, drawing the tip in, then letting it go, then in again, until it was tight and throbbing with reaction. He moved his fingers lightly, caressingly, and her breathing escalated.
 

Carefully, slowly, Gabe delved into her with one cautious finger. Her body arched, whether in desire or in shock, he wasn't sure. But his ministrations had not been in vain. The way was wet and slick.
 

He took her mouth in a sweet, torturous parody of lovemaking. "Ready?" he whispered.
 

"Oh, Gabriel?" she breathed as he urged her knees apart. Raising himself above her, Gabe slid into her.
 

And stopped.
 

His head whipped up. His heart thundered. He cursed softly in Spanish.
 

Lorilla moved beneath him. "What?" she gasped. "Did I do something wrong?"
 

His shock had not decreased his desire, so he pushed again, hoping against hope that he was mistaken. But no.
 

Growling like a wild beast, Gabe threw himself away from her and rolled off the bed in one swift motion. Despite his shaky limbs, he managed to don and tie his robe. He lunged out the door, slamming it behind him.
 

He had to get away from her. He had to think.
 

Gabe stalked to his room and threw on a pair of pants. Anger and astonishment burned through him like wild fire as he stalked out of the house. He stopped at the well and cranked up the bucket, glad for the exercise.
 

With muscles straining, he lifted the bucket over his head, turned his face up and poured. The cold water hit his hot face with a shock. It splashed over him, soaking his robe and breeches, and cooling the desire that lingered inside him.
 

Blowing water from his mouth, and pushing both hands through his hair, he glanced back at the house, his eyes drawn toward his bedroom window, which was dark. He cursed again, then whirled and stalked away.
 

He walked for an hour, across the hills, through the scrubby brush behind his house, then finally, as the sun rose, he found himself at the family graves.
 

In the pink and orange glow of the awakening sun, he stood, looking at four gravestones. Stepping past the graves of his parents, Gabe drew the sign of the cross, then kissed his fingers in obeisance. He trailed his fingers across the small gravestone that marked the final resting place of his son, whom he had never seen, then stopped at the last grave. He brushed a leaf off the headstone, and sat back on his haunches and read the words the stonemason had carved. Each one of them felt carved upon his heart.
 

 Elena Maria de Calvos y Beltran. Beloved wife of Gabriel.  1820 - 1842. Her soul flies with the angels.
 

"Elena,
mi paloma
, I think I have made a big mistake. I wanted a son. Another son. I have felt so empty these past years, and there's no one to continue the Beltran name. I am the last, as you know." Gabe had often visited his wife's grave when he felt the loneliness eating a hole in his soul, or when he was uncertain of a decision. But this time was different.
 

"I feel I have betrayed you in my heart. But how was I to know? I never thought I would desire another woman."  He laughed without humor. "I even wondered if I would be able to perform. But Elena, you know my plan. I paid for a woman with experience, a woman who had borne a child, who would catch quickly. I knew I would never care for this woman, but I planned to give her a good life. And I would have a son to bear the Beltran name. Not my --" Gabe stopped. His throat closed over his next words. He swallowed hard and continued in a broken voice. "Not my firstborn son. Not our child,
mi paloma
, but a son."
 

Gabe wiped his hand over his face and stood, looking up at the glow of dawn in the east. "This--this innocent looking woman has cheated me. Her letters said she was a widow whose son had died in an accident. She lied." Gabe's fists clenched and the last words were ground out between clenched teeth.
 

"She lied to me, Elena. The woman in my bed is a virgin bride." He paced back and forth beside his wife's grave.  "And God help me, she is young, and innocent, and desirable. I don't know what to do. My brain tells me to send her away now, before another day passes. My body tells me to take what I have bought and use her as I intended.  But my heart…my heart, Elena, is torn and bleeding."
 

Gabe rubbed his stinging eyes, then leaned over and placed a kiss on the cold granite that marked his wife's grave.  "Fly with the angels, Elena. And please, please, watch over me."
 

h

CHAPTER FIVE

Lorilla woke with a delicious sense of renewal. She had been so tired. Her body had ached for five months, day and night. But now she was surrounded with clean soft sheets and downy pillows. She felt wonderful. She took a long, yawning breath and drew in the scent of soap and wood and fresh air.
 

Immediately, the scent reminded her of Gabriel. She opened her eyes, and cautiously turned her head, but the bed beside her was empty. A touch of her fingertips told her the bedclothes were cold.
 

He had not come back after he withdrew so abruptly and stormed out of the room, apparently in a mad rage.  Lorilla's cheeks burned when she remembered what they had been doing immediately prior to his sudden exit.
 

Her breasts tightened, and a thrill rippled through her. He had kissed her and caressed her. He'd done things to her that were incomprehensible, yet strangely enjoyable. Then, when she thought she couldn't stand it if he didn't fulfill the burning need inside her, he had done that last, most intimate thing. But far from quenching her need, he'd cursed and run away.
 

Lorilla had no idea what she had done wrong. She'd been dazed by his intoxicating kisses and his intimate touches. She had wanted him more of everything. She had ached for the completion he had denied her. It had felt right. Even now, just the thought of him entering into her body in such an intimate way caused a tingling between her thighs.
 

Lorilla moved and felt the soft cotton of the sheet against her sensitized breasts. She shivered in reaction and a thrill coursed through her as she remembered Gabriel's warm, strong fingers caressing her. A quiet moan escaped her lips. She had never even considered sleeping nude. She snuggled down further into the bedclothes. She liked it. It felt rich and sinful. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned.
 

A knock sounded on the door.
 

Lorilla sat up in shock, then pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts. "C-come in."
 

Josepha backed into the room, burdened down by a huge tray. "Buenos Dias, Senora," she said, her sharp black eyes taking in Lorilla's appearance and the mussed bedclothes. "You are feeling good, no?"
 

Lorilla knew her face was bright red. "Yes. I mean…um…yes."
 

The aroma of fresh hot coffee and some kind of bread or cake filled the air. Lorilla realized she was starving.
 

Josepha took a good look at her and clucked in good-natured disapproval. "Where is your nightgown?" She peered around the room.
 

Lorilla licked her lips. "It's in the--my dressing room."
 

Chuckling, Josepha set the tray down on the foot of the bed and bustled into the other room, returning with the neatly folded nightgown. "It appears it is as good as new," she said slyly. "You manage without it?"
 

"Josepha!" Lorilla said in shock.
 

Josepha laughed. "Do not mind me, Senora Lorilla. Benito say I am shameless." She grinned and handed Lorilla the garment.
 

Hurriedly, Lorilla slipped it over her head and down, then pulled the covers back up. "Benito. Is he your husband?"
 

"Si. He is the little rooster, yes?"
 

Lorilla nodded and smiled as Josepha laid the tray on her lap. "You want me to come back and help you dress?"
 

"No, Josepha. I can dress myself. Please. I'm not used to being waited on."
 

"Waited on? Ah, served? Well, Senora, you will become accustomed. You are now the wife of a wealthy landowner."
 

Josepha shook her finger at Lorilla, then left the room.
 

"The wife of a wealthy landowner." Lorilla tried out the words as she raised the coffee cup to her lips. They sounded wonderful, but Lorilla wasn't sure she was truly Gabriel's wife. Not yet. Apparently she and Gabriel had some misunderstandings to clear up.
 

After breakfast, Lorilla quickly dressed in her second best outfit and went downstairs, carrying the tray. Josepha met her at the bottom of the stairs and snatched the tray away with a frown. "What I tell you, Senora Lorilla? You must become accustomed to being served. You do not carry trays."
 

"But what am I to do all day? I am accustomed to being busy, Josepha. My life was very different from this." She gestured around her, then shook her head in disbelief. "Very different."
 

Josepha clucked. "Senora Elena spent the morning in bed, the she write the letters in the afternoon or do embroidery."
 

"I can't stay in bed all day. Isn't there something I can do? What about cooking?"
 

Josepha looked horrified.
 

"Never mind," she said. "I'll ask Gabriel."
 

"You will be busy enough soon, if I am not mistaken. You will be
enceinte
."
 

"
Enceinte
?"
 

Josepha leaned close. "With child."
 

A thrill of apprehension mixed with wary excitement rushed through Lorilla's breast. "With child.
Enceinte
. Oh." She blushed. "Do you really think so?"
 

Josepha's eyes sparkled. "I have no doubt."
 

"Um, Josepha, where is Gabriel?"
 

The little woman nodded toward a set of double doors behind Lorilla. "In his office," she said. "He spends many mornings there. He does not like to be disturbed."
 

"He doesn't?"
 

Josepha shook her head. "No, no! You wait until he come out."
 

Lorilla stared at the heavy, carved doors. "I don't think so. I need to talk to him."
 

Josepha clucked and spread her hands.
 

"Okay," Lorilla muttered. "Here we go." She took a long breath, patted her hair, ran her hands down her shirtwaist, then marched up to the door and rapped on it with her knuckles.
 

"What?"
 

The voice, even muffled by the doors, was obviously Gabriel's and obviously irritated.
 

Lorilla closed a shaking fist around the knob and turned it. She blinked. As bright as the foyer was, that was how dark his office was. The curtains were drawn, and a single lantern burned on the desk. She slipped inside and closed the door. Where was he? He was not seated at the desk.
 

A movement to her left startled her. She turned just as a shadowy figure threw back a cover and sat up, wiping his face.
 

"Gabriel?"
 

"Well? What is it?" he barked.
 

She stared at him in the dim lantern light. His shirt was clean and pressed but his breeches were wrinkled and appeared to be damp. His hair was slicked back, pushing his sharp features into relief and giving him a devilish look.  He was magnificently handsome, with the lantern light planing his face. Handsome and frightening.