When the Splendor Falls (88 page)

Leigh lifted her head, breaking the intimate contact and a button off her blouse as she pulled free of Neil’s hands and struggled to her feet, trying to button up the rest of her blouse and smooth her skirt as she walked carefully toward the ladder, her hips swaying as she tried to keep from slipping.

Neil closed his eyes for a frustrated moment, then got to his feet, his hand grasping her elbow firmly as he guided her the rest of the way. Their eyes met once, before Leigh glanced away in confusion, her fingers fumbling with one of the tiny pearl buttons, and Neil thought better of handing her the one he’d accidentally pulled off.

“Do you know, Leigh, I’ve always thought you had a very nice derriere,” he said conversationally.

Leigh looked startled for a moment, then reluctantly, as if she were trying not to smile, her mouth started to curl at the corners.

“What?” he asked, uncannily able to read her thoughts.

He was caught off guard, however, when she eyed him up and down and said in the same conversational tone of voice, “And I’ve always thought the same about you.”

She was glad they’d reached the ladder, for even though he was still laughing, the look in his eye warned her he would not let her comment go unchallenged.

“I’ll go down first,” he told her, easily stepping over the edge and onto the top rung, then down a couple of steps. He waited there for her to sit down and swing her legs over the edge, his hand guiding her as she turned and found her footing. Leigh felt his hand resting lightly against her hip until she’d gotten a little over halfway down, then, already standing on the ground, he caught her around the waist and swung her down the rest of the way.

“Thank you,” Leigh said politely, her haughty tone not intentional, but it sounded to Neil as if she were thanking a footman.

Neil smiled crookedly. “You’ve got straw in your hair, m’lady, and you’re missing a button,” he said, reaching out and touching the pale flesh revealed by the gaping pieces of linen as Gil, still in his leather apron, entered the barn, followed by Diosa, Luis, and Courtney Boyce.

“Neil!” Diosa cried out in genuine pleasure, lifting her skirts to run to him, ignoring Leigh as she brushed past her. Throwing herself into Neil’s arms, Diosa rested her cheek against his bare chest, her hands spread against his shoulders, as if feeling him to make certain he was truly there, before her arms slid around his neck and, standing on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his.

Breathlessly, Leigh—and Gil, who was staring at Diosa in slack-jawed disbelief—waited for Neil’s reaction, but before he could do anything, Diosa had stepped back, glancing around with a fine show of flustered embarrassment, but Leigh would have sworn her lips were tight with anger.

“Please, forgive me,” Diosa begged, gazing up into Neil’s sun-bronzed face, her black eyes full of tears, “in my excitement I forgot propriety.”

And his wife
, Leigh thought.

“But my prayers have been answered now that Neil is back from that horrible war. If only he had never gone in the first place. Such a tragedy. Everything would be so different,
sí
?” she asked, not speaking of the tragedy that had befallen the North and South, but the tragedy in her own life—for Neil had returned from the war a married man. “Oh, but I am in despair that I was not in Santa Fe when you returned. I heard you were there,” she said, meeting Leigh’s eyes with a meaningful glance. “After such a long journey, how disappointing for you to discover that I had traveled to Mexico City and was not here to greet you. After all of this time, such a long separation, between friends, for we have always been such dear friends. I should have been here to welcome you home,
querido
.” She added the endearment in a low voice, her eyes drawn back to Neil’s face, and seeming to burn through him.

Leigh was staring at Neil too, but her gaze was icy. So, he had been to Santa Fe to see Diosa, she thought unhappily, realizing what a fool she’d been just minutes ago.

“One usually travels through Santa Fe coming from the east, or the south,” he murmured, his eyes resting on Leigh’s face for a moment. “Remember, Leigh, the trail you followed across the plains ended at Santa Fe.”

Leigh nodded, wanting to believe him, for if he had been in Santa Fe the day he arrived at Royal Rivers, then he would have learned of Diosa’s absence then, and not disappeared the very next day in order to see her, Leigh realized, her blue eyes warming a degree and Neil’s mouth twitched slightly at the corner as if he had followed her train of thought to its logical, and favorable, conclusion.

But Diosa was fuming as she glared at Leigh Braedon, not having missed anything about her disheveled appearance; not the straw in her hair, not the button gone from her blouse, nor the telltale dampness that caused the linen to cling to her breasts and outline them most seductively. But her fury came from the scent of jessamine and lavender that clung to Neil’s bare chest, the fragrance of which she had caught a whiff when pressing her cheek against his skin, as if he and this
wife
of his had been embracing, Diosa thought, snapping the quirt she carried against her knee as if barely able to keep from striking out at the other woman.

“Neil! It is good you are back at Royal Rivers, and apparently in good health,” Luis said suddenly, perhaps having sensed his volatile sister’s furious state of mind, and he held out his hand, his arm stretched between the two women. Neil took the hand offered to him, for he’d always found Luis a likable fellow.

“How are you, Luis?” he said, but his grip was perhaps too firm, because Luis grimaced slightly.

“Until now, quite well, thank you, Neil,” he said with a wide grin, bearing his momentary discomfiture well, for Luis Angel Cristobal de la Cruz Martinez Sandovares de Jaramijos was a gentleman, from the top of his low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat trimmed in silver, to his high-heeled Spanish boots of cordovan leather. And like Diosa, he was very proud of his pure Castilian blood—blood of the
conquistadores
. Dressed in his customary black trousers and short jacket, with a ruffled shirt front, he was quite an elegant figure, although the boots allowed him more height than he actually possessed, but his aristocratic profile would have been envied by many a Spanish grandee, as would his faultless manners, which was where he and his sister differed, for Luis was soft-spoken and very genteel. “Ah, Leigh, a pleasure to see you again,” he said, bending over her hand.

“Luis.”

“But you have not met our friend and business associate,” he said, sounding very upset at his unintended slight as he gestured to the stranger, as if about to introduce him.

“Oh, how remiss of me,” Diosa said first, sidling up to the man, her gloved hands entwining around his arm. “Neil Braedon, my dearest Courtney Boyce,” she introduced him in a soft, seductive voice, as if he held some special place in her heart.

Leigh knew what Diosa was up to—she was using Courtney Boyce to try and make Neil jealous. Leigh glanced back at Neil, wondering if he was still enamored of his Spanish mistress, for this was their first meeting in over four years, and dressed in a severely tailored black riding habit with a black felt hat, a diaphanous black veil framing her creamy-complexioned face, the only touch of color a crimson silk scarf around her white-collared throat, the Widow Alvarado was quite a stunning woman.

But Neil was looking at Courtney Boyce as he reached out to take the hand being extended to him.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you since I’ve been here in the territories,” Courtney said with Southern courtliness, shaking Neil’s hand.

“Mr.
Boyce
, was it? I knew a Charles Boyce when I was at Yale. Any relation to you?” Neil asked in polite conversation.

“Oh, no, sir, I’m a South Carolinian. Thought my Southern drawl would have marked me. Wouldn’t ever catch me up North, no, sir, and certainly not at school,” he said. “In fact, wouldn’t have caught me at school at all,” he added with a deep laugh. “Though, actually, sir, I attended South Carolina College,” he admitted.

“Then perhaps you knew my cousin, Adam Braedon? He went there.” Neil asked.

Courtney frowned thoughtfully. “No, can’t say I did, sir,” he said, looking sheepish. “’Course, my academic career is one I’m not overly proud of. When I did manage to attend class, bein’ fonder, sir, of the racetrack and gaming tables, it was probably during a different year than when your cousin was there. Apparently, we just missed each other.”

“Apparently, although there was a time when Adam enjoyed the racetrack and gaming tables more than his studies,” Neil said, obviously agreeing with the man.

“Poor Courtney was also in this war you fought,” Diosa said, leaning against the Southerner in closer intimacy and engulfing him in a cloud of heady perfume. “He was wounded most seriously when he arrived in Santa Fe, and I have helped him to recover, haven’t I,
mi amado
?”

Courtney stared down into Diosa’s upturned face, his feelings for the beautiful Spanish woman evident by the blatant manner in which he caressed her cheek, which was the delicate shade of a damask rose, the rosy blush of maidenly modesty, he thought with just a flash of a twisted smile.

“Ma’am, so grateful am I, I intend to make you my bride one fine day,” he said with lover-like fervor, grasping her gloved hand possessively, but Diosa removed her hand to adjust her veil.

“I trust you have fully recovered from your injuries?” Neil questioned, thinking the South Carolinian must have for he looked in extremely good health. The man was of average height and build, although his waistline was thickening from too little activity and too much fine food and wine, Neil speculated, smelling the alcohol on his breath. With his black hair and carefully trimmed mustache and side whiskers, his eyes a tobacco brown shade, and his features of a classical mold, he would be considered quite handsome by most, although there was a flaccidness about his face; showing in the weakness of the line of his chin and the soft fullness of his lips.

“Why, thank you, sir; I have recovered completely,” Courtney replied easily. “And you, Mr. Braedon? Not wounded, were you?”

“I was lucky. Not a scratch,” Neil replied, automatically touching the blue ribbon around his braid of golden hair, and drawing several curious eyes to it.

“I had heard, sir, that you spent much of your youth with the Comanche, but I must say I hadn’t expected to see you looking rather like one,” Courtney commented with a smile. “After all, sir, you stand before me bare chested, wearing buckskins and moccasins, the shoes those heathens wear, and sporting a braid. Not the usual gentlemanly attire.”

“You will find that Neil is not the usual gentleman but is
muy macho
,” Diosa advised.

Courtney Boyce flushed a ruddy hue as he glanced down at her, only to find her gaze intent on Neil. “Quite the savage, eh?” he said, some of the good humor, and the refinement, gone from his voice.

“You must be familiar with the saying, Mr. Boyce, ‘A leopard can’t change its spots.’”

“Indeed, sir, and I trust no offense was taken by my comment. Well, I am pleased to hear you suffered no injuries in the war, for although I suspect we fought on opposite sides, I certainly wouldn’t wish you ill. Last I heard, the war was over, except for a few foolhardy Southerners who won’t give up,” Courtney stated. “It’s time to start over.”

“Poor Courtney, he lost everything. He had a big home in a big
pueblo
called Charleston, and he had the very big
rancho
with hundreds of slaves. But, alas, all is lost,” Diosa said pityingly. “And now he has had to go into business with my uncle. Courtney works for
Tío
Alfonso in the freighting business.”

“I am a full partner, Diosa,” Courtney corrected her grimly, then turned away, the ugly expression instantly replaced with a smile intended to charm. “Leigh, Miz Braedon,” Courtney began, but quickly altered his address to a more formal greeting as he caught a flash in her husband’s eye—something he was ever aware and careful of when flirting with a man’s wife—but now it had his curiosity piqued and he wanted to know if Neil Braedon was interested enough in his wife to be jealous.

Glancing over at Diosa for an instant, there was a glint in his eye as he held out his hand to Leigh. “Forgive me, ma’am, but I haven’t said a proper hello to you yet, lovely lady,” he greeted her, stepping between her and her husband, and taking her hand in his, pressed a kiss against it, although some of the effect was spoiled since his lips came into contact with the leather of her glove.

“As beautiful as I remember,” he complimented her, taking a good-sized step backward, and well away from Neil Braedon, for without ever glancing at the man, he had felt the tensing of the muscular body, and suspected the hairs on the back of his neck had been singed by the smoldering look he had just received from the lady’s husband.

A smile of satisfaction curved his lips as he noticed Leigh pulling together her blouse, glancing at Neil as she did, and seeing the straw in her hair, he guessed what had just taken place between them.

“I’m not surprised, sir, you managed to get through the war unscathed, knowing you had a beautiful young wife awaiting your return. And not just any wife, but a
Travers
of Virginia, sir, that is indeed an accomplishment. I knew Miz Braedon’s former fiance, Matthew Wycliffe, a fellow South Carolinian. Such a pity, he was killed. A fine gentleman, sir,” Courtney said, knowing how to pour salt on a wound, and make a husband especially jealous and eager to convince his wife that
he
was now the only man in her life. “And, I suspect, sir,” he said, making a point of glancing at Leigh, “that we have interrupted you folks at a rather delicate moment, not that I can blame you, for I am one of your wife’s greatest admirers, and she has many,” he said, glancing this time at Gil, who turned beet red in the face, then at Luis, who had just crossed his leg and nearly lost his footing on his high heels. “I’m certain, sir, you didn’t linger long in Santa Fe,” he said, glancing at Diosa’s livid face, and having managed in a few short minutes to offend everyone present as he winked at Noelle, who had moved close to Neil’s side. He started to reach out and tickle her beneath her chin, but thought better of it as he encountered the pale, grayish-green eyes of Neil Braedon as he placed his hand on Noelle’s thin shoulder.