The Tiger Lily (45 page)

Perhaps,
her niece thought slowly on a warm, muggy day in mid-May, Tia is waiting for
Carlos to arrive. Or else, Sabrina decided with an impish smile, Tia is so
pleased with all the lovely new things Brett is so generously paying for that
she has thought it prudent to hold her tongue in his presence.

And
Brett was being generous to Francisca. Without a murmur he accepted and paid
the older woman's bills when they were sent to him along with Sabrina's
purchases. Francisca's bills were considerable, for as she had exclaimed to
Sabrina more than once, she needed some compensation for having to put up with
him!

Sabrina,
too, was ordering new gowns, shawls, shoes, bonnets, and all manner of
delightful fripperies. It was such a pleasure to shop for colors after ne£u*ly
two years of wearing black that she threw herself into an orgy of buying,
telling herself frequently that she didn't really need to worry about
expenses—after all, it was her own money! And yet there were times when she was
distinctly uncomfortable knowing that her bills were sent directly to Brett.
Buying clothing was such a personal task, and she blushed when she thought of
all of the delicate, intimate bits of silk and frothy lace that she had
purchased, imagining the sardonic lift of those black brows when he read the
descriptions on the bills.

Brett's
manner completely bewildered Sabrina. She had been prepared for him to extract
a certain measure of vengeance from the situation in which they found
themselves, but beyond the first evening when he had kissed her, his manner had
been precisely that of a guardian . . . well, not exactly, she thought with a
slight frown. There was a look in his eyes, something about the way his gaze
would sometimes travel over her, that made Sabrina remember vividly what it
felt like to be held in his arms. Yet at other times, times when he was being
his most sarcastic and provoking, she would find it hard to believe that once
his derisively curved mouth had plundered hers, that once those strong arms had
been locked passionately around her, his big, hard body joined with hers.

It
was peculiar, Sabrina reflected with wonder, how quickly she and Francisca had
settled down to living with Brett. They had come here determined to fight him
to the bitter end, but here it was already the middle of May and they were
comfortably, if not ecstatically, established in his home. A faint smile
crossed her lips as it occurred to her that one of the reasons for the apparent
tranquillity was the fact that Brett was seldom at home—occasionally he had
joined them for breakfast, and a few times he had dined with them, but for the
most part, they went about their daily life as if he didn't exist.

Sabrina
grimaced. Francisca might be able to pretend he didn't exist, but she herself
was always very aware of him, even when he wasn't around, very aware that once
he had been her love—her lover. At the strangest timesbrushing her hair in the
morning or seemingly absorbed in the selection of material for a new gown—she would
find herself thinking of him, visualizing the way his thick black lashes could
hide the expression in those jade-green eyes, the way his mouth would quirk
with sardonic amusement, and regrettably, the way her heart would plummet to
her toes every time she glanced up and found his eyes upon her.

Restlessly
she stirred on the stone bench where she was sitting beneath one of the
magnolia trees in the courtyard. She didn't want to think about Brett, didn't
want to acknowledge that the idea of challenging his guardianship was growing
less and less desirable, becoming less important. . . .

Angrily
she brought herself up short. Of course she was going to fight for what was
hers . . . eventually. Naturally this situation couldn't be allowed to
continue. After all, he was a blackguard! A conniving, scheming scoundrel who
had utterly hoodwinked her father!

The
truth of the matter, though, was that Sabrina was finding it harder and harder
to whip up the righteous indignation she had once felt so deeply. She had forgotten
nothing, not the terrible pain she had experienced when she had faced Constanza
and realized the full extent of Brett's villainy, nor the fury she had known
when Alejandro's will had been read. Yet it all seemed so long ago, so removed
from now, that entire days would go by without her ever thinking of the
guardianship or what had happened six years ago.

She
sighed heavily, conscious that she no longer really even held her father's will
against Brett. She might have ranted furiously at first, too stunned to think
clearly, but her own sense of fairness had reasserted itself, and she was
willing to admit that Alejandro's will hadn't been Brett's fault—he'd made it
abundantly clear that being her guardian was the last thing in the world that
he wished. No, she couldn't blame him for her father's stubborn determination
to bring them together again, and she more than Brett, perhaps, was aware of
precisely what Alejandro had hoped would happen if they were forced into each
other's company.

A
sad little smile flitted across her lips. How wrong could her father have been?
But then, he hadn't known the truth, hadn't known the real reason Brett had
wanted to marry her, hadn't known of Constanza. And, Sabrina admitted
miserably, it wasn't just that Constanza and Brett had been lovers that had
caused her to reject him. That she could have forgiven him, if he had loved
her, if his affair with the other woman had been over with before he had asked
her to marry him. She had known that he was no monk, knew that there were bound
to have been other women in his life; she had even been aware of the affair
between him and Constanza—Carlos had been so very kind to point it out—but
Brett's past hadn't mattered to her—provided it was his past. To discover that
after he had made love to her, had asked for her hand in marriage, he had still
been seeing Constanza, still been making promises to the other woman, had in
fact seduced and ruined Constanza—that type of reprehensible conduct could not
be borne.

And
yet . . . and yet, while she could and did, for the most part, bury the past,
bury her pain and disillusionment deep in her mind, the memory of the love she
had once felt for him would not be banished along with the other ugly memories.
She was shamefully aware that time may have blunted her anguish and rage, but
it had done nothing to lessen the shattering impact his very nearness had upon
her.

Her
expression bleak, Sabrina stared down at her clenched hands. How could she
possibly feel anything for such a man? How dare her heart continue to long for
such a wicked creature! She was no fool, no silly, naive child falling in love
for the first time. She was nearly twenty-four years old, a woman who should
know better. Yet she felt as foolish and deluded as any female who had ever
yearned for a handsome, unscrupulous rogue, knowing full well that if she
persisted upon this mad course, the future would only bring pain and
humiliation.

Which
was why she could not allow herself to drift any longer, she thought painfully.
Coming here, seeing him again, was the most ridiculous and unwise thing she
could have done. She would have been far better off if she had never seen him
again, never subjected herself to his powerful lure. For a second tears stung
her eyes. What a weak, maudlin creature she was! Surely she had more control
over her actions than did the poor besotted moth, fascinated by fire? Or was
she doomed, like the moth, to be consumed by the beckoning flame?

Her
chin lifted slightly. She must speak with Brett. Must make her escape while
there was still time. While she could still think clearly, still clearly see
the pitfalls that lay in front of her. Things must be settled between them
before her own treacherous emotions betrayed her, before they blinded her to
everything but the craving need to accept him on any terms.

She
started to rise, to go in search of Brett immediately, but then, with a sigh,
half-impatient, half-relieved, she sank back down, remembering that he had left
five days ago on business and that he wouldn't be back until evening. That
would be soon enough, she reflected slowly. She would leave word that she
wished to speak to him, and she would carefully plan what she would say. And
pray God that she could convince Brett, the guardianship aside, that it would be
best for all of them, if she returned to Nacogdoches.

It
was unusual for Sabrina to find herself with this much time all her own, but
today there had been nothing planned. No fittings. No shopping trips in town.
No visiting with Tia Francisca's friends—her aunt was currently nursing a mild
indisposition and was resting in her rooms. Tonight, too, was free—no
amusements, no soiree, no opera or theater to attend. Nothing.

It
was actually her first opportunity since she had arrived in New Orleans to sit
down and think, to examine her own emotions and to realize how effortlessly she
was falling under Brett's spell once again. The first time she'd had to
speculate about him, to wonder about his actions . . .

He
was a complete enigma to her. He could have made things very unpleasant, and
she had every reason to believe that he would do so, but he hadn't. Of course,
he hadn't made them precisely pleasant either, she thought with a twist to her
sweet mouth. He treated her with an infuriating sort of detached, friendly
contempt that she found difficult to accept or understand. But then there were
times, precious few, when for long moments she would catch dizzying glimpses of
the Brett who had so fascinated her, moments when he would completely disarm
her Yet, a second later, almost as if realizing that he had lowered his guard,
his face would close up, his smile fade, and she would be left with the caustic
indifference that he usually accorded her. He did well at keeping her confused
and unsettled, at never letting her totally relax in his presence. And yet,
more perturbing than anything else, she had the uncomfortable sensation that
behind the detachment, behind the sardonic manners, he was merely biding his
time, playing with her, waiting for something. . . .

For
what? she wondered uneasily. For her to lose her temper and lash out at him?
Was that why he acted so provokingly at times? Because he was deliberately
driving her in a direction of his own devising?

Well,
what did it matter now? she asked herself wearily. She would see him tonight
and convince him, somehow, that she no longer wished to remain in New Orleans.
That she belonged in Nacogdoches and that, as soon as was practical, she should
return to her home. It was the wisest thing to do.

What
her servants and Francisca were going to think, she didn't even want to
speculate on. First she had dragged them willy-nilly to New Orleans, and now,
with almost as little warning, she was preparing to drag them back to
Nacogdoches. She shook her head at her own folly. What a fool I am! But at
least, she told herself grimly, fool or not, I know when to retreat!

Her
mind made up, Sabrina would have liked to have proceeded instantly with her
plans, but the arrival of a note from Brett informing his household that he would
not return until well after midnight this evening delayed her meeting with him.
It also gave her a long and restless night in which to struggle with her
thoughts, to question her own wisdom, to speculate on what his reaction to her
request would be, and to rehearse again and again in her mind the cool, mature
way in which she would counter any arguments he might put her way.

She
had left word with Ollie that she wished to see Brett at the first possible
time the following day, but she was considerably surprised when Ollie knocked
on her door at eight o'clock the next morning and said gaily, "The guvnor
says that if you must see him today, now's the time. Otherwise it will have to
wait indefinitely."

Sabrina
muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath. She wasn't prepared to see
him this early in the morning—her hair had just been brushed and was tumbling
about her shoulders, and she was gowned only in a simple frock of apple-green
muslin. She looked very young and innocent, certainly not the cool, collected
woman she had planned to present to him. For a second she hesitated, torn
between the desire to have the meeting behind her and the equally strong desire
not to give him any advantage. But if it meant waiting indefinitely . . .

Swallowing
her dismay, trying to gather her flying thoughts, she walked beside Ollie as
they made their way to the wing where Brett's rooms were located.

Brett's
voice came muffled through the doors in response to Ollie's knock. Stepping
aside, he motioned her to enter. An impish grin on his face, he said, "I
expect you and the guvnor want to talk private-like."

Sabrina
nodded her head, and then, her heart thumping uncomfortably, she pushed open
the door and entered Brett's bedchamber. She had never been in this wing of the
house, much less his personal rooms, and curiously she glanced around.