Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (13 page)

      
A sudden chill made her shiver when he rolled away, leaving her sweat-slicked skin bared to the brisk night air. She felt soiled and painfully vulnerable as she watched him slip easily from the pallet and readjust his hose. Now that her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, she could see altogether too much. He had removed his shirt and shoes earlier, before she arrived. He must have been waiting for her in the bed, as if he, not Benjamin, had been the recipient of her note. Benjamin! God, what had she done? How had this happened? She sat up and covered her lower body, then began to fumble with the lacings of her gown, trying to frame her thoughts into coherent questions. When he spoke, she gasped and leaped from the bed.

      
“What by all the saints were you doing, coming to me in the middle of the night?” He watched her struggle to pull her gown together as she jumped from the pallet.

      
“Coming to you!` she echoed in amazement. “I was coming to Benjamin!” Even saying his name made her wince in misery.

      
“You did not mistake me for my brother. You called me by name, Miriam,” he said contemptuously.

      
“I gave a message to Paul for Benjamin before we departed here, saying I would meet him in this place. How did you come by it? Why did you betray your brother this way?” she asked desperately, battling with her own guilt.
Rigo. I said it aloud. He knows!

      
“Benjamin has been abroad, tending a sick patient since the ball ended,” he replied furiously. “He received no note, nor did I in his place. Twas you who betrayed your betrothed, my lady. I was merely waiting for a whore in a convenient trysting place.” His voice reflected fury and sarcasm now. “So you came expecting my brother, then lay with me in his place. In the dark we are much the same. Did I perform well enough as substitute?” he asked cruelly.

      
Miriam felt her throat close as she choked back tears. “Benjamin has ever been gentle and chaste with me. He is nothing like you!”

      
“Yet you allowed me to bed you. I did not force you to betray my brother,” he said, cold rage building within him as her rejection stung.

      
The tears overflowed now, purging some of the white-hot shame from her trembling body. Her voice was steady when she spoke. “Yes, Spaniard, I allowed you to defile me, to my everlasting shame.”

      
“I have none of the French pox, if that is the defilement you fear,” he said, nearly ripping a sleeve from his doublet as he donned it.

      
Seldom in her life had Miriam Toulon let temper overcome her. This man goaded her beyond her own formidable control. He swaggered across the room to stand before her and she slapped his arrogant, hateful face. “Tis not French pox but Spanish, brought to us from the savages of the Indies!”

      
Rigo grabbed her wrist and held the fragile bones tightly. With but a flick of his powerful hand he could snap them. “So now that your passions cool you revert to your former opinion of me. I am not only an accursed Spanish idolater and a bastard, but a filthy savage in the bargain!”

      
She did not whimper in spite of the painful grip he had on her wrist, but faced him squarely. “Would to God Benjamin had let you die on that battlefield.”

      
His hold loosened slightly and he massaged her small hand, turning it over to examine her delicately formed fingers. “Twas you as much as Benjamin who saved my life. Regret your own actions as well as his, my lady.”

      
“I do, heartily, I assure you,” she said, pulling free of his oddly gentled touch. I first fell beneath your spell tending you when you were wounded. She met his eyes, puzzled by the shift in his temper.

      
Rigo could see the trail of tears on her cheeks. She was guilt-stricken now that it was too late. He muttered a curse and turned from her, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “We have dishonored a man who deserves far better,” he said bitterly. And I still want you!

      
Patrice Farrier heard the murmur of low, angry voices as soon as she approached the door. One was definitely female. At first she turned angrily away, but then the cultivated accent of the voice piqued her curiosity. The woman was not some rude serving wench Rigo had taken when she was late for their assignation. Motioning for her litter bearers to wait, she lifted the latch and stepped inside.

      
Her eyes nearly popped from their sockets at the sight of Judah Toulon's daughter, the haughty Jewish doctoress. A slow, feline smile’ curved her lips, and she purred, “Well, Rodrigo, art thou fallen ill with impatience while waiting for me?” Turning to Miriam, she scoffed, “I was given to understand you only practiced your healing arts on females and boys.”

      
“This man is far beyond my healing arts, I assure you. Would'st care to try your skills with him? I am certain you have had infinitely more practice at such than I,” Miriam replied with cold disdain, ignoring a series of particularly filthy Spanish expletives from Rigo as she flung her cloak about her shoulders. She turned to him and said calmly, “Have no fears for your brother's honor, I will end our betrothal on the morrow. I leave you to the whore you summoned.” With that she marched toward the door.

      
Ignoring Patrice's outraged gasp, he brushed by her and thrust his arm across the door frame, blocking Miriam's escape. “Do not be foolish. You cannot walk alone through the streets during the middle of the night.”

      
“I have already been foolish, more than foolish,” she said in as steady a voice as she could manage. Mercifully her faithful servants had followed her instructions and were coming up the hill with her litter. “I have my escort. Please, let me go, Rigo.”

      
“What will you tell Benjamin?” he asked bleakly.

      
“Twill not involve you. He longs to return to the Indies. Now he can do so and remain there. Go with your brother, Spaniard. I would never lay eyes on you again.”
      
With that she stepped past him, pulling her hood over her head as she walked toward the litter and vanished inside its velvet-curtained interior.

      
Patrice's hand, glittering with intricately wrought heavy rings, fastened on his shoulder and then inched higher to caress his beard-stubbled jaw. “Come, surely that green girl cannot have sated a fine stallion such as you...can she?” Her voice was both taunting and cajoling.

      
He looked down at her, trying to suppress the distaste rising like soured wine in his throat. “If you think to flatter my male vanity, do not. I know I am capable of performing, but I do not choose this as a time to prove myself.” He looked to see her litter bearers waiting patiently just down the alley. Raising his hand to signal them, he gently ushered her outside. “I have much to ponder, my lady.” He saluted her hand gravely.

      
Patrice sighed. “Perhaps another time,” she murmured as he assisted her into the conveyance, knowing there would be no other time. All the way home, she cursed her fat, stupid husband, who for once in his miserable life had not possessed the good grace to get drunk quickly enough!

* * * *

      
Judah Toulon sat at the head of the polished ebony table in the spacious dining hall of his palace, the opulence of his surroundings forgotten. So were the cheese and fresh oranges with which he was accustomed to break his morning fast. He stared at his only child in blank astonishment. “You have taken leave of your senses. I cautioned you about overwork among the indigent women and children of the city.”

      
Miriam sat rigidly on the edge of her chair, the food on her plate untouched. “No, Father, I am not grown feebleminded from overtaxing my strength, but I must break the betrothal. Benjamin and I quarreled last night. His bitterness over being forced to live here would ever be between us. He will be happy no place but Espanola.” She had rehearsed her speech very carefully.

      
“He has pledged his word to live here and he is a man of honor. I, too, have pledged mine and given you in a betrothal contract. The rabbi is set to perform the marriage within the month. You will not dishonor our house by disavowing the match at this late date.” His voice was as steely as his cold, dark eyes.

      
She met his gaze squarely. “Twould be a far greater dishonor to go forward with the marriage and consign Benjamin to a lifetime of unhappiness.”

      
He rose and paced the floor, impatience in every gesture. “Benjamin will not be unhappy. I know I did a bit of scheming, using Richard DuBay, but that merely proves how much Benjamin loves you. He would not see you wed to anyone but him.”

      
“He will be unhappy. Do you not see, Father? He only came to terms to save me from wedding against my will.

      
After twas done he bitterly regretted the pledge.”

      
“Art saying he would break faith and hold you in the Indies against your will?” Judah asked incredulously.

      
She waved her hand, dismissing the notion. “No, of course not. He would return here after presenting me to his parents, but once having been to the home of his heart, twould be all the more painful for him.”

      
“We will speak no more of this matter. Tis settled. I have always given you your way, Miriam, but this time you go too far.”

      
“I will not wed Benjamin.” She rose and faced him, her voice calm, her expression as steely as his. “Today I am going to release him. You will see that tis for the best.” With that she walked from the room.

      
His voice stopped her in the wide doorway. “If you break faith with the House of Torres, I will treat with Richard DuBay once more. He is yet eager to wed you. You have a duty to me, to our family name. I have worked hard and long to amass a great fortune. I would not see it divided up among the poor Jews of the city for want of heirs to inherit.”

      
Her shoulders slumped for a moment, then she said, “DuBay wants only that very fortune you speak of, but if after all is ended with Benjamin you still feel I must wed him, so be it.” She turned and walked from the room, praying that time would temper Judah Toulon's resolution. If not, well better it be that greedy, self-serving DuBay she dishonored than a noble friend like Benjamin Torres.

Chapter Seven

      
Miriam did not have to rehearse her speech for Benjamin, nor did she have to travel across the city to speak with him. She had scarcely left her terrible confrontation with Judah when voices echoing from the front entry hall told her that her betrothed had come to her.

      
As a felon facing the executioner's axe, she left her upstairs apartments and descended the stairs to greet him. He looked haggard and exhausted. No doubt the patient he visited last evening had been gravely ill. Then she saw her letter in his hand and her heart stopped beating. His clear blue eyes stared up at her, filled with concern and tenderness.
God help me. What am I to do?

      
“Miriam, we must talk. Will you walk with me in the garden?” he asked.

      
She nodded dumbly and finished descending the stairs on wooden legs. They walked down the long corridor and out the doors. Once seated on a stone bench beneath a pine tree's shaggy branches, he leaned forward and unfolded her letter. “When I arrived home Paul gave me this. I came immediately. Last night as soon as everyone left the ball I was summoned to tend old Jean Le Bruge's stomach ailments. I was with him all night.” He turned to her and smiled wickedly, adding, “I would far rather have spent the night with you. Please forgive me?”

      
He drew her into his arms and his mouth lowered to hers before she could summon her wits. He kissed her fiercely, his lips bold and familiar.
In the dark we are much the same.
She froze in horror, unable to speak or push him away when he finally ended the kiss.

      
“I was so afraid you were out in the night with naught but servants to protect you...” He paused, noting her silence. “I have hurt you.”

      
She reached up and touched his cheek tenderly. “No, Benjamin, tis I who have hurt you. You see, after our failed meeting last night, I spent a great deal of time thinking about our marriage.”
Well, at least that much is true.
“And about our quarrel.” She moved out of his embrace and hugged herself as she spoke. “The note was a mistake.”
Masterful understatement there
, she admitted bitterly to herself.

      
“I was but trying one last desperate gamble—to consummate our betrothal in hopes that it would bind me to you and your world. If...if you had come and we had done as I asked, it would have solved nothing, only made matters worse.” She knew now her face was flaming. Somehow doing with Benjamin what she and Rigo had done seemed impossible. Benjamin had been her friend and colleague, her champion at Padua, her hero, but it suddenly became clear to Miriam that he was never destined to be her lover.

      
“I am not certain that reflects well on my masculine charms at all,” he said, feeling a distinct sense of discomfort. He watched her stand up and walk away from him with growing unease.

      
“No, tis not that at all. Tis just that...” Words failed her. How to explain?

      
“So, you have reconsidered and still wish to remain in Marseilles.” He knew his voice was laced with anger as he stood up and moved closer to her. “You have never been a changeable woman, Miriam. Here of late it would seem that your nature has been significantly altered.”