The Tiger Lily (18 page)

Suddenly
Bonita's face cleared. "Ah, senor, of course! What a silly old woman I
am—she must have gone to the gazebo at the lake. It is a favorite place of
hers, and she often goes there for an early-morning swim. How foolish of me not
to have had someone look there. I shall see to it immediately!"

"Never
mind. Just tell me where it is, and I'll do it," Brett growled. If Sabrina
was there, he was going to wring her neck for alarming old Bonita. And if she
wasn't . . .

His
face hard and unfathomable, he listened to Bonita's directions, and in a mood
of mingled suspicion and uneasiness, he set out swiftly for the gazebo. Finding
Sabrina sound asleep inside the little building did not allay his mistrust of
the situation. If anything it reinforced it—the scene was too reminiscent of
last night for him not to be instantly on his guard. Last night had not gained
her what she wanted, so she would try again. And yet, while his suspicions were
fully alive, the feeling of relief that swept over him when he discovered her
slim form stretched out on the orange cushions left him curiously shaken and
weak. Unfortunately that feeling didn't last very long, and in a matter of
seconds, relief was replaced by an odd fury. How could she frighten poor Bonita
this way? he thought irrationally, completely ignoring the fact that he, too,
had been frightened and that half his anger was sim.ply because he had been,
even for a moment, filled with fear for her.

Walking
over to where she lay, he looked down at her, his mouth curling in a sneer.
Violently he shook her, saying roughly, "Wake up, Sabrina, if you're
really asleep! Bonita's had the entire household looking for you."

Groggily
Sabrina stared up at him, momentarily disorientated. But then suddenly
ever3^thing came flooding back and she jerked upright, the bright sunlight
causing her to blink. Childlike, she rubbed her eyes with her fists and then
yawned hugely. Still not quite fully awake, she glanced at Brett standing so
rigidly nearby and muttered crankily, "What did you say? Something about
Bonita?"

"Merely
that this little stunt of yours has her frightened to death! She's been
entertaining notions of your capture by the bandits!"

Sabrina
appeared incredulous. "Bandits? Here? They are not so foolish as to try
such a thing! The Rancho del Torres is safe. No one could harm me here!"

"Not
only is this place not safe," Brett said nastily, "but you shouldn't
be roaming about like some wild gypsy! What the hell is your father thinking
of! Anyone could come across you here!"

Instantly
enraged at the implied slur upon her father, Sabrina sat up even straighter and
said frostily, "I beg your pardon!"

"You'll
do more than beg, little girl, if you pull another escapade like this! Next
time, if there is a next time, I'll tan your backside so hard you won't sit for
a week!" Brett said brutally, and grabbing her arm, he jerked her to her
feet. "Now let's get going. I haven't had any sleep, and I'm in no mood to
argue with you."

"Let
go of me!" Sabrina snapped, ineffectively trying to free her arm from his
iron-hard grasp. "You're hurting me!"

"I
thought you said no one could harm you here?" he shot back sarcastically,
giving her a painful little shake.

Sabrina
was dimly aware that he was deliberately being disagreeable, but it didn't stop
her temper from flaring, and as he dragged her out of the gazebo, she quickly
reached down into her boot and pulled out her knife. Before Brett realized what
she was about, the blade had cut a neat slice across the top of his hand and
Sabrina had danced free of his slackened grasp.

The
jade-green eyes nearly black with fury, Brett first glanced at the thin line of
blood on his hand and then at her. "You little hellcat!" he muttered
thickly. "You're a damned sight too quick with that knife, and I think
it's time that someone taught you some manners with it!"

He
was very handsome as he stood there outside the gazebo, the lake shimmering in
the distance behind him. A slight breeze ruffled the thick blue-black hair; his
black silk shirt intensified the darkness of his hard, lean features, and the
hip-hugging black breeches made her very aware of those long, powerful legs.
Legs that had pressed intimately against hers only hours before, she thought
with a catch in her breath. The air of suppressed violence that radiated from
him frightened her, though, and nervously her hand tightened on the knife. She
didn't want to fight him—all she wanted was for him to love her!

But
Brett wasn't giving her any choice. With the quickness of a hunting cat he was
on her, and instinctively Sabrina raised the knife in defense. Her defenses
were useless; he had fought too many brawls in too many dark alleys to be
stopped by a slim if determined girl. Unerringly his fingers closed around the
hand with the knife, and with one sharp movement he brought her hand down
painfully on his thigh, the shock of the impact against those steel muscles
breaking her grip. The knife went flying, and with a sound of satisfaction,
Brett saw it land near the edge of the lake.

Releasing
Sabrina, he whirled and moved to pick it up, and looking back at her, a tight
smile curving his mouth, he asked softly, "And now how are you going to
defend yourself?"

"I'm
not," Sabrina said calmly. Disconcertingly she began to walk slowly toward
him.

Brett
eyed her warily as she approached. When she was only inches from him, she
stopped and extended her hand, palm down. Coolly she said, "You may take
your own if you like. Perhaps it will make you feel better."

He
stared at her for a long moment, wishing she weren't quite so lovely or that he
weren't quite so conscious of her slim body and the isolation of this spot. He
looked at her, looked at the knife, and then shrugged his shoulders. A twisted
grin creasing his face, he handed her the knife. "Your win, I think,"
he said dryly.

CHAPTER
TEN

 There
was silence between the two of them as they walked slowly back to the hacienda.
Each one was very conscious of the other, but neither was willing to break the
fragile peace that existed at the moment.

Upon
reaching the hacienda, they were greeted by a scolding and vastly relieved
Bonita, and any opportunity for private conversation was lost. Her round face
wreathed in a smile, she said to Brett, "Oh,
Senor
, thank you! I
am so pleased that you found her!" And turning to Sabrina, she frowned and
muttered, "And you,
chica
, should not be so free in your ways—there
are bandits about, and you would make a tasty morsel for them!"

Like
a hen whose lone chick has been returned, Bonita continued to fuss and hover,
and with an amused grin, Brett bade both women good day and gratefully went in
search of his bed. He slept until late afternoon, rising barely in time to
shave and bathe before joining Alejandro for the proposed trip into
Nacogdoches.

The
mission Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe de Nacogdoches had been carved out in the
early 1700s, but it had never been more than a not very successful outpost
inhabited by only a few soldiers and even fewer gritty priests. At times it had
been abandoned, and it wasn't until the late 1770s that a village had grown up
around the old mission site. Presently, though, the village supported a
thriving population of nearly six hundred residents. And as Brett rode down the
narrow red-dirt streets lined with various framed buildings, he saw a wide
variety of people—Indians, farmers, traders, soldiers, and robed priests.

The
most imposing structure in the village of Nacogdoches was a large stone
building that served as a storage area for merchandise. It had been built by
Gil Antonia Ybarbo, one of the leading settlers of the area, in 1779, and
staring at the stone walls nearly a yard thick, Brett decided slowly that it
would serve admirably as a warehouse for Alejandro's sugar crop—if there ever
is a sugar crop, he reminded himself wryly.

It
hadn't taken him long to realize that Alejandro's whim to suddenly grow sugar
was just that—a whim. Granted the land was suitable for it, but a great deal of
time and back-breaking effort was going to be involved before the crop could be
planted. And more importantly, except for the residents of the Nacogdoches
area, there was no commercial outlet for any surplus. Once harvested and
milled, the sugar would have to be sent overland to Natchitoches, in the
Louisiana Territory, and from there sailed by barge through a long, circuitous
and uncertain route to New Orleans. It was both an unprofitable and an
unpractical situation, but when Brett had pointed out this fact, Alejandro had
shrugged and smiled charmingly. "We shall see,
amigo
, we shall
see," Alejandro had murmured carelessly.

Brett
had thought to argue further, but then he, too, had shrugged his shoulders—if
Alejandro wished to waste time and money, why should he care? The problem was
that he did care. And while Alejandro seemed in no hurry to begin the project,
Brett threw himself into the scheme wholeheartedly. It might prove to be a
foolish whim on Alejandro's part, but Brett was going to see that it did not
fail because of poor planning. The preparing and clearing of the land, the
planting, and the harvesting would be faultless. What Alejandro did with it
after that would be no concern of his—he would have done his best.

The
visit to town was more for social reasons than because of any desire on
Alejandro's part to seek a warehouse for his crop, and as they rode slowly down
the streets, they stopped often to converse with first this person then that.
It was obvious that Alejandro was an important, well-respected member of the
community, and it was only natural that Brett's presence at his side aroused a
great deal of friendly curiosity. Proudly Alejandro made the introductions to
the various people they met, and by the time they started homeward, Brett's
head was reeling from trying to remember the many names and occupations of the
individuals he had met.

They
were at the edge of the village, just entering the pine woods, when they
encountered someone Brett would have been pleased to avoid—Carlos de la Vega.
The dislike between the two younger men had escaped Alejandro's notice, and
seeing Carlos at the side of the road he reined in his horse with an
exclamation of pleasure. Doffing his heavily embroidered sombrero, he
acknowledged Carlos and the young woman who stood nearby.

''Buenos
dias
,
Senora Morales. Good day to you, too, Carlos," Alejandro said warmly
before introducing Brett to Carlos's companion. "Senora Morales, allow me
to present my nephew, Brett Dangermond, to you. He is newly arrived here from
Natchez and will, I hope most sincerely, be making an extended visit with us at
the Rancho del Torres. Brett, I would like you to meet Senora Constanza Morales
y Duarte. Carlos you of course met last evening."

Constanza
was a full-blooming Spanish rose, who could have been any age between twenty
and thirty, although Brett suspected she was nearer thirty than twenty—there
was something about the way her eyes lingered on his mouth and shoulders that
bespoke amatory wisdom. A lovely, sensuous creature, Brett thought to himself,
his gaze moving appreciatively over her beautiful face and ripe figure.
Lustrous black hair veiled by a black lace mantilla framed her features,
intensifying the creaminess of her magnolia skin, making her ebony eyes gleam.
There was a slightly feline cast to her face, which Brett found intriguing, but
there was nothing feline about her body—the lush, voluptuous curves were
decorously but clearly revealed by her stylish gown of amber-bronze silk.

Brett
suddenly became aware that Constanza, from beneath her lashes, was assessing
him almost as thoroughly as he had her, and he grinned. When their eyes met, a
look of complete understanding passed between them.

The
introductions having been made, the four of them stood talking for some
minutes, until Constanza, her fine, dark eyes revealing her unmistakable
interest in Brett, suggested softly that the gentlemen might prefer some
refreshments at her house. "It is only a short distance down this street.
Senor de la Vega and I were on our way there when we met you. Do say that you
will!"

When
Alejandro would have demurred, it was Brett who said casually, "An
excellent idea, Senora Morales. It is very kind of you to offer your
hospitality to a stranger like myself."

Oblivious
to the other two men, Constanza smiled coyly and said dulcetly, "But you
are no stranger, Senor Dangermond—not when Senor  del Torres is your
uncle."

Alejandro
frowned slightly, not at all happy with the turn of events, especially not
Constanza's undisguised eagerness to ingratiate herself with Brett—or Brett's
apparent willingness to allow her to do so. It was Sabrina who was supposed to
make him look as he did now—admiring and attracted—not this forward young widow
of uncertain means!

Carlos,
who had been noticeably silent, suddenly smiled sourly and murmured, "You
will find that we Spaniards are a very hospitable people, Senor Dangermond—even
to relatives who can claim no blood tie."

"Carlos!"
Alejandro said reprovingly. "Where there is great affection and trust,
there is no need for blood!"

Carlos
flushed and muttered something under his breath. The subject was dropped, but
an odd air of tension seemed to hang over the remainder of the visit.

Constanza's
home turned out to be a modest but elegant frame house only a few yards from
where they were standing. Leaving their horses tied to a shrub nearby, Brett
and Alejandro followed the other two to a small, pleasant patio at the rear of
the wooden building. A sharp clap of her slim hands brought an Indian servant
to Constanza's side, and in minutes the three gentlemen were seated at a small
table enjoying a glass of Madeira. Constanza contented herself with a tall
glass of sangria, saying with a sigh, "I do hope that the Madeira is
satisfactory. Since my husband's death three years ago, I seldom entertain any
gentlemen, and it is surprising that there was anything in the house suitable
for your palates." She glanced over at Brett and added, "I live here
with my husband's maiden sister, but as she is very old and cares nothing for worldly
things, she is little help to me in chosing what would be appropriate to have
on hand for the occasional male caller. She is nearly deaf, so I suppose that
might account for her reluctance to mingle with others." Her eyes moved
on, and sending Carlos a pensive smile, she said fondly, "Senor de la Vega
has been most kind to me during my widowhood. He and my husband were good
friends, and I don't know what I would have done without his help after Emilio
died. ..."

The
conversation went on from there, consisting of polite chatter, but by the time
Alejandro and Brett departed, Brett knew all he needed to know about Constanza
Morales y Duarte. She was a widow who wasn't averse to male companionship, and
he was fairly certain that if she and Carlos weren't lovers now, they had been
at some time in the not too distant past.

Constanza
Morales was the type of woman Brett recognized instantly, the type of woman he
usually chose for his mistress—a lovely, amoral creature, whose only difference
from the common whore was an aristocratic birth and family. She had also made
it clear that she wouldn't be reluctant to share a deeper intimacy with him. He
was too well versed in the art of dalliance not to have understood immediately
what was behind the seductive glances, the swiftness with which she had made
her widowed state known, and the fact that her only companion was an elderly
deaf sister-in-law! He smiled cynically. She had made so very certain that he
knew she was available, even going so far as to murmur low when they said
good-bye, "I am sorry to see you leave, Senor Dangermond. It is very
lonely for me since Emilio died. Perhaps we will meet again . . . soon?"

His
eyes meeting hers, he had said softly, "Of that you can be certain,
Senora
.
Very soon."

Alejandro
hadn't been blind to what was going on, but as Constanza was considered a
respectable young woman, he merely dismissed her actions as perhaps more
forward and flirtatious than was strictly proper. If he could have overheard
the conversation taking place between Constanza and Carlos just then, he would
have drastically changed his mind and forbidden Sabrina even to acknowledge
Constanza on the street, much less allow the woman access to his home.

"Are
you going to take him as your lover?" Carlos asked interestedly as he and
Constanza continued to sit on the patio after Brett and Alejandro had departed.

Constanza
sent him a teasing glance. "Would you be jealous,
querido
?"

Carlos
frowned and stared at the Madeira in his glass. "I don't know," he
said at last. "But yes, yes, I think I would be jealous."

Surprise
on her face, Constanza said perplexedly, "But you never were of the
others. Why him?"

"The
others were different!" Carlos snapped defensively. "They were not
like Brett Dangermond. They meant nothing to you. But Dangermond . . .
Dangermond is different."

"How?
He is a man like the others. Perhaps more handsome, it is true, but you have
nothing to fear from him—just as I have nothing to fear from the other women in
your life,
si?"

"I
do not fear Dangermond!"
Carlos ground out angrily.

Well
used to Carlos's outbursts of anger, Constanza looked almost amused as she
said, "Very well then, you don't fear him. And you will not be jealous of
him either, will you?" When Carlos did not reply but continued to look sullen,
she leaned across the small pine table, and touching his strong hand with hers,
she murmured, "Come on,
querido
, what is bothering you? Surely it
is not that he will share my bed? We decided long ago, before I even married
old Emilio, that we would put no bonds on each other. I have my men and you
your women, and in between"—she smiled impishly—"we have each other.
So why are you so disturbed by this man? Besides," she added slyly,
"I thought the entire purpose of your visit today was to ask my help in
seducing him. You did say you wanted me to make him so mad for me that he would
have no eyes for Sabrina, didn't you? Am I not to provide a distraction for him
and keep him away from Sabrina? Keep him enthralled so that you will have no
rival for her hand? Is that not what we planned?"

Carlos
relaxed suddenly and grinned across at her. "I should have married you,
instead of allowing that old lecher, Emilio, to have you."