The Spanish Outlaw (3 page)

Chapter Two

Vivian
took a deep breath to calm the hammering of her heart. She had the upper hand. At least for now. But it worried her, because Anton was good. Almost too good. The sensations her body experienced from his touch were almost impossible to control. This man knew how to get his way.

Her wild cousin, Anna, had educated
Vivian with stories of her escapades with men. Anna showed her how to flirt, and explained how a woman feels when a man touches them. Vivian didn’t really want to know—didn’t want to be reminded of her mother’s past mistakes—but Vivian listened anyway since it would help her charade with Anton. How else could she pretend to be a woman of experience any other way?

With a practiced smile, she followed him through the wide double doors into the parlor, then to the fireplace. Margaret still slumped on the couch and looked as though she purposely tried to catch flies with her opened mouth.
Vivian frowned. What would possess Anton’s manservant to drug her?

Shrugging away the concern, she reminded herself to be watchful. If she wanted to prove to her employer she could make a great agent, she dared not act like a worrisome female.

Anton’s sensuous smile took her breath away. Resistance to his charm was almost futile. Already, a few times, she’d wanted to lose herself in his arms and allow his mouth possession of hers, but she was barely able to control her emotions as it was. Kissing him would only complicate matters. It was essential to stay focused on her objective. She couldn’t let passion rule her feelings.

Not like it had her mother.

Vivian vowed she would never become the woman her mother had. Temptation and yearning for a man’s touch would not weaken Vivian.

She said a silent prayer, thankful Anton had decided to play things her way for now. Perhaps she’d get some answers now.

“Would you like another drink?” he offered.

“Surely you jest. After what your
servant did to my companion, I’m skeptical about accepting any more refreshments from you.”

When he took the poker and bent to stir the fire, his supple movements stretched beneath the fabric of his clothes, straining across his muscular frame.
He was very well put together, and she couldn’t stop improper thoughts from flooding her mind. Silently she cursed and bunched her hands into fists.

He stood and faced her. “So,
mí dulce
, what do you want to know about me?”

“What does
mí dulce
mean?”

“That you are sweet.”

Her burning cheeks betrayed her stoic act, and she willed herself to gain control. If only she could find a way to control her blush… “I find it fascinating you were born and raised in Spain, a country I know little about. Tell me about your family and Spain.”

He led her back to the opposite end of the sofa from where Margaret slept. Anton patted the cushion next to him. Reluctantly, she sat.

Anton relaxed and crossed one leg over the other knee. “I am the only child, the male heir passing on my father’s name. In Spain, most large families are very close, but not so with my father’s. My uncle’s callous and greedy nature made it impossible to form any bond, and because of him, my father hired an army of men to protect our family and our inheritance. The small island we call home was given to my grandfather, Nicholas.”

She arched a brow. This, she hadn’t heard.
So perhaps he wasn’t the thief she was after. “An island you say?”

“Padre Island.”

“Are you wealthy?”

He shrugged. “It depends on what you consider wealthy. Where we live, we are like kings, but here in America, I am considered a pauper.”

“Indeed? Why, so?”

“Because Spain’s way of life is so different.
There we have ancient family treasures that only mean a lot to us. You would not understand their worth.”

Her heartbeat picked up rhythm, and she sucked in a breath.
Then again…maybe he was the thief after all. The conversation might well turn to talk about the jewels Anton had stolen from his uncle...the very man paying the Pinkerton Agency to find his nephew. “Do you have those treasures with you now?”

“No. When I left home, I took only my clothes and a few personal belongings. Here in America, and wherever I travel, I carry with me no wealth other than my talent. To me
, that is worth far more than any treasure.”

A groan of defeat hung in her throat that she dared not release. She would not admit failure yet. No matter what it took, she’d get him to confess.
“I agree. I have never heard a man with such a beautiful voice.”

He folded his arms and stared at her. “Now we will talk about you.”

Vivian straightened. “There is not much to tell. My life does not compare to yours. Besides, you haven’t answered all my questions.”

By the narrowing of his eyes, he didn’t want to continue the conversation. Once again, her heartbeat quickened. She had to do something in order to discover if he was the man for whom she searched.

There was no way around it. She had to use her womanly wiles on him, even as unskilled as she was at doing this. She must remember what her cousin had taught her about charming men. Could she charm him without being affected herself? Her mother had been a wanton woman, so maybe the daughter had this talent, also.

After much hesitation, she touched his knee and leaned closer. “Please, Anton, tell me more about your home, about your estate.”

His chest shook with silent laughter. “But I am not a story teller, Vivian.”

“Just for a few minutes longer?
Please?” She lowered her eyelashes. “Besides, I cannot return home until my companion awakens.” She displayed a pout, hoping it would work. This gesture always seemed to help other women get the upper hand with a man, so her cousin had told her.

He laughed out loud this time. “Now who is putting on a performance?”

“I’m just trying to get my way.”

He ran his finger and thumb across his well-groomed mustache, drawing her attention to the gentle curves of his lips.
A mouth that might be heaven to kiss.

She silently scolded herself.
Stop it! You must be strong.

“I assume you always get your way.” The tone of his voice lowered.

“Usually.”

“Has anyone ever refused you?”

She shrugged. “On rare occasions.”

As Anton continued to rub his mustache, his gaze moved over her face,
and swept down her neck. His close inspection made her squirm. He ceased toying with his facial hair, peered into her eyes and smiled.

“I, too, rarely lose, but it seems after meeting you tonight that is all I have done.” Closing the gap between them, he leaned closer and stroked her cheek. “I have a deal to make with you which will proclaim us both winners this evening.”

“And what is that?” Her voice shook and she prayed she could gain back the control she had just lost.

“You give me what I want, and in exchange, I will give you what you want.”

Did he mean what her wayward mind thought? Her face burned, and her throat turned dry. Anticipation rushed through her.  Her chance had finally come to charm him into submission.

She had to, but she had to remain professional about it and not let the emotions get the best of her.

“What do you have in mind?”

* * * *

Despite her bold attempt, Anton detected her underlying innocence. She couldn’t hide her timid nature. He’d been with plenty of experienced women…and Vivian was certainly not in that class. What game did she play with him?

He
teetered between doubt and amusement, knowing he shouldn’t laugh aloud at her expression. He cupped her face, enjoying the way she snuggled against his hand.

“You are very beautiful.” He inched her face closer to his, his mouth descending. “And it makes me wonder if you use your beauty to get what you want.”

“I fear I do not know what you mean.”

“I will explain myself.” His lips hovered closer to hers. “But first, I want a quick sample.”

When his mouth touched hers, a small sigh breezed through her lips, but she didn’t pull away. Her shoulders stiffened, yet her lips moved with his. He took his time, savoring her tender flesh, nibbling on her top lip then the bottom.

This woman tested his ironclad control and drove him to the limits of his endurance. The newfound feeling exhilarated him...and confused him.

Her fingers caressed his neck, and he slanted his head to deepen the kiss. Vivian moaned, and his heart soared with triumph. Finally, she was under his spell.

Her kiss seemed
quite inexperienced, which told him his suspicions were correct. She wasn’t the type of woman he was used to consorting with. Was it her bold personality that made her so courageous? He’d love to find out and perhaps be the one to teach her about passion, but at a different time. He couldn’t cross that bridge until he received some answers.

Ending the kiss, he placed a few smaller pecks on her lips before pulling away.

Her eyes opened half-mast as she looked at him. “Is that what you wanted?” she asked with passion still laced in her voice.

He detected a hopeful note and grinned.
“Not exactly.” He paused only for a moment before scowling. “I want to know why you have been following me. Why did you sneak into this party without an invitation? And why is it so important to know personal things about my past?”

Her eyes flew open, and she
jumped back as if he was on fire and she couldn’t stand to be so near.

“Are
you accusing me of something, Sir?”

“You are not whom you pretend to be,
Señorita
. I may not know your secret, but what I do know makes me suspicious.”

“And what is it that you think you know about me?”

“You are not Vivian Harring, a noblewoman as you have proclaimed, but Miss Vivian Wentworth.”

Her face lost color.
Just as he’d suspected. He wasn’t the only one in charade tonight. Disappointment washed over him. He’d hoped he’d been wrong about her.

She shook her head, and in an apparent attempt to regain her composure, smoothed her skirt and took a breath. “Once again, I think you are talking nonsense. What have I done to make you doubt me?”

He lifted himself off the sofa, strode to the liquor tray, and poured a drink. “Gossip spreads quickly through the operetta.” He faced her with a drink in his hand. “What I have heard from my informant, it seems a pretty little
señorita
has been asking questions about me, seeking answers even my closest friends from the opera do not know. A few days ago, one of my friends, Pedro, discovered something interesting about you, and since then I have been suspicious of your persistent actions.”

After taking a sip of his drink and setting it on the counter, he walked to the sofa and stood in front of her. Bending, he took a lock of her
blondish-brown hair and twisted the loose ringlet around his finger with tender care.

Her body stiffened, and her lips narrowed into a thin, taut line. Anton puffed his chest in victory and straightened to full height.

“Now,” he said, staring down at her, “are you going to tell me the truth before I embarrass you further by releasing more information about your falsehood?”

Despite her square shoulders, she wore a strained smile. “Anton, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Very well. I will proceed.” Anton cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “You were born and raised in Chicago, not in England as your accent indicates.” Her eyes widened, and he chuckled. “I have to admit, you are a good performer, better in fact, than most of the women I work with.”

She sat still, keeping her mouth pursed.

“Pedro followed you one day and you blindly led him into the office of Allan Pinkerton, the owner of Pinkerton Detective Agency. Pedro watched for hours before leaving, but you never came out. I can only assume that you work for Pinkerton.”

He knelt beside her, taking her stiff hand in his. “Now, the question running through my head is, why would a detective agency want to send their most seductive agent to talk to me?”

Trailing his finger down her arm, he kept his attention on her face, waiting for a verbal response, but still, she remained quiet. A quiver danced across her skin, but other than that, she was certainly out of character.

“Have I slept with Mr. Pinkerton’s daughter?” he asked.
“His
esposa
? If not his wife, then his sister, perhaps?” Her lips tipped at the corners from his humor. “Or maybe my singing is legendary in New York and a jealous opera singer is after me for stealing his part?”

Her smile stretched, but she didn’t speak.

“Tell me, Vivian. Why are you so curious about me?”

She took him by surprise and pushed him so hard he teetered on his heels and fell on his bottom.

She stood, and through narrowed eyes, challenged his stare. “Anton, your imagination has run away, and I fear has left you addled.” She maintained her British accent. “I assure you, I am who I say.”