Stronger Than Passion (45 page)

Michael Brett did not leave Mexico City. Instead, after taking care of some business at the British Embassy for General Scott, and after discussing plans of a more personal nature with old friend John, he changed into rough clothes that blended into the evening darkness and went out by a side door to the streets. The city retained its air of nightly gaiety that he remembered from earlier visits, despite the encroaching war; and amidst the bustle of traffic he slipped unnoticed toward the object of his determined quest.

Luis Arredondo’s home was well-lit and graciously imposing. Michael positioned himself in the shadows of a wall opposite, crouching in the dirt with the brim of a disguising sombrero pulled low over his face. He was reasonably certain that his movements had not attracted the suspicions of any passerby.

There did not seem to be a dinner party or fiesta in progress at the Arredondo casa tonight. Having learned of a reception at the residence of an important supporter of Santa Anna in another part of town, Michael suspected that Arredondo and his fiancée would be in attendance there. He settled in for a long wait.

Three hours later a carriage bearing the Marquès’ crest stopped at the front steps, and its occupants alighted. Christina was wearing a dark cloak and had draped her high-piled hair with a lace mantilla; Luis was dressed in his usual almost foppish elegance. Michael watched as Luis guided Christina up the steps and into the house with one hand placed possessively on the small of her back. They did not turn around.

Michael moved from his cramped position when the carriage was driven off to the stables. He made his way toward the rear of the house, to a door in the wall surrounding the gardens that he had learned of from a servant of John’s. He went through the door and into the garden, where he took up a new vigil concealed within a copse of trees. He was looking toward a balcony outside windows he knew were Christina’s.

John had not bothered to remonstrate with him over the foolishness of this new whim. John had discovered, during their days at Eton years ago, that attempting to talk Michael Brett out of anything dangerous he wished to do was a waste of breath. But he did inquire, only half sarcastically, whether Michael had any sinister intentions of killing the very powerful Marquès. He would leave town himself in that case.

Michael had replied so obliquely that John was nearly alarmed. Killing Luis was probably a smart idea, for the war effort and for other reasons. But Michael knew that assassinating Luis and escaping town safely would be difficult. And then there was Christina, who might be implicated in the affair, and who might, after all, take it amiss if he killed her fiancé.

He could see a figure moving in the light behind the tall, open windows. The outline was feminine; likely Penny or some other maid. Then he caught a glimpse of a shape that was taller, and slimmer. Christina. Preparing for bed. Would she sleep alone? Or did Arredondo habitually join her, anticipating the wedding night so soon to come?

He would find out. He was here, still in Mexico City against all common sense, to do so. And to prove to Christina de Sainz that she could not dismiss him as easily as she thought.

Julian would understand, if not approve, of this reckless intention. Julian had concentrated his entire life on revenge. And if Michael’s desire for a kind of revenge against Christina was not at all like Julian’s - or his own - for Santa Anna, still the blinding urge was there. Christina had repudiated him this afternoon, had thrown his damning truths back in his face. And she had run home to Luis, the sadistic, dangerously ambitious Marquès whom he knew to have two very different sides.

Michael had warned her of Luis, that the man’s air of sophistication concealed only too well his perverted sensual appetites. At least he had tried to warn her. She had still betrothed herself to Luis, so either she hadn’t believed the truth about her beloved, or she didn’t care. And today he had told her of Luis’s designs on her silver. His words had slid off her like water. She believed in Luis’s integrity over his own.

Well, he knew one way to get Christina’s attention and hold it. Whether or not she planned to marry Arredondo, whether or not she screamed her hatred for him. He knew how to master Christina, how to make her forget about Luis. He knew how to make her love him - almost. And he would show her, one last time, even if it killed him.

He waited until Christina’s lights had been long extinguished and the night was well-advanced before moving.

It was an easy climb up a spreading tree and into the verandah that ran the length of the back of the house. The tall window shutters were still thrown open to catch the breeze. He slipped inside the bedroom silently, having left his boots down on the ground.

The moon was high outside, and cast just enough light in through the windows to enable him to make out the big four-poster bed, draped with webs of silk and mosquito netting. She was inside this cocoon, twisting in her sleep, dreaming something bad to judge from the restless movements her body made.

He checked to make sure that the door was locked, and took off his clothes. He was hard just from looking at her. Jesus Christ, it was difficult to control the intense ache she managed to arouse in him . . . the anticipatory pain that was worse with her than with any other woman he’d ever known. His hips eased toward her of their own accord as he got into bed, the predatory emotions of revenge and desire throwing any wish to proceed cautiously out of his brain.

The weight that dropped across her legs roused her from her dream. She made a startled noise and half-sat up, her eyes open; he shoved her back down, with a rough hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

“Sorry, love, it’s only me, not your fiancè. But I promise not to disappoint you.” His voice was low with a harsh edge. Not exactly the tone of a dream-lover. But then, he was only here to satisfy himself with her once more, and to teach her a resounding lesson concerning the hazards of making a fool out of him. Not to treat her with courtesy.

She was making desperate, protesting sounds behind his hand, and he wondered, feeling cruel, if he should gag her. But at the same time her body was squirming beneath him and the covers, and in just a few seconds he lost his ability for rational reasoning.

He raised his anxious hips just enough to jerk away the sheet that covered her. She was wearing some kind of nightshift, and that had to go, too. It buttoned up the front; leaving her mouth free and gasping, he used both of his hands to rip all of the buttons free. Then he pushed aside the cloth and her body was bare and warm and he pressed himself against it, hearing her soft cry and hoping with one part of his mind that it hadn’t been too loud.

He spared himself most of the preliminaries to possessing her, doing only those things which he especially wished to do. Like sucking on her breasts, both of them. And pushing one hand between her tightly closed legs to pry them open and stroke her so that when he was ready, she would be, too; finding her already surprisingly moist. After that, he only bothered to take her mouth as a swift prelude to crashing into her body, which met his in an amazingly total agreement of will. Her arms came around him, and her legs, and then he stopped recording those things . . . only able to concentrate on the pleasure that was building and building, and then going off somewhere inside him like a full barrage of guns.

She cried a little, later. Whispering fiercely, “Why did you do this, Miguel?” And he realized, then, that she was more affected by him than he had ever thought. And he had treated her now and in the past more like a puta than anything else. Was that, at least partly, why she had chosen Luis? But then, he had never made it clear to her that she had a choice, Luis or him. And now it was too late.

So he held her, with more tenderness than he could remember feeling for anyone. Held her until her sobbing stopped, and she lay tensely within his arms, her wet cheek pressed to his chest. Held her, not knowing what else to do, uncomfortable with his own uncertainty.

Until his body began to twitch again and desire took over. But this time, he kissed her and touched her for long minutes before parting her legs and filling her. And he whispered to her throughout, soft repeating nonsense that was nevertheless gentling and encouraging.

It was afterwards, as he lay staring at her body which was becoming clearer all the time with the dawn, and remembering where he was, that he decided to ask her the one question he shouldn’t have.

“Are you still planning on marrying Arredondo?”

The implication being that he had only visited her tonight to get even with her by making her change her mind. Which, of course, he had. Partly.

He knew as her body tautened and she pulled up the covers that he had made a mistake. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

“You’re crazy if you marry him, Chrissie. He’ll end up making you miserable, for all his money and his manners. He’s bad too . . .”

“Shut up! Please. And leave, before the entire household is awake.”

“You want me I’ve just proved it.”

“Yes, you have. But that changes nothing. What would you have me do?” Her whisper sharpened with anger, maybe frustration. “Leave with you, and go back to Dos Rios? To play the part of your neglected mistress? No, I won’t do it! Luis loves me, and wants to make me his wife. That is more important to me than anything else.”

Their faces were half-visible in the uncertain light, and he stared at her, trying to will her to see things differently. But he knew that they had reached an impasse. She would never marry him even if he asked her, which he had no intention of doing; hell, for all he knew he might be dead tomorrow. And unless he abducted her again and forced her into his bed, she would not consent to becoming his casual lover. So where did that leave them in the aftermath of tonight’s unexpected passion?

Parting ways, for good.

The thought annoyed him. It more than annoyed him, it downright angered him. She was refusing him in the long run for arredondo, no matter their respective terms. She was giving herself away to someone else, when he still wanted her!

She was right: nothing had changed, tonight. Not a Goddamned thing. Except that he was sure that in the coming months, he would desire her more than ever. And she would remain unsatisfied in the arms of Luis Arredondo.

She was a stubborn, arrogant bitch. Best that he remember that, in the future.

“I hope you don’t live to regret your decision, love. If you do, just send for me by the way of John Locklyn. I’m sure I can manage to lie my way through the Mexican army again, anytime you want me in your bed . . .”

She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught it and twisted her wrist until she flinched in pain. “ . . . until we invade your city, of course, and then I’ll be here as a conqueror. Maybe I’ll take you prisoner again, who knows? Maybe you’ll enjoy it.”

Her eyes glinted, but this time the tears were from hate. “I’m going to scream, as loud as I can, if you don’t get out of here, now!”

He twisted her wrist one last time and then released it and got out of bed. He dressed quickly, the room light enough for him to see without difficulty.

He looked down at her. She was crouched in the tumbled bed, holding her wrist, her breasts bare, shivering. Her hair half-hid her face, which was just as well. If anything was in it besides the contempt he recognized, he didn’t want to know.

She said nothing else to him and he turned abruptly for the window and left without speaking again to her. What else was there to say, after all”

Their strange consuming passion for one another had more or less been declared finished.

The week stretched out interminably. Luis was gone into mining country, taking with him several newly-hired former soldiers as gunmen and eager to play a game of wits with the silver thieves he loathed. Christina, who had no wish to be near Luis herself these next days, but would have restrained him bodily from going if it were possible, was left with nothing but empty hours of inane socializing to endure until Luis was back with news of either success or failure. And, of course with her own insupportable thoughts.

Michael’s bold and dangerous foray into her bedroom had been conducted almost like a military manner, a guerilla attack in the night - a surprise strike intended to leave the enemy devastated and wrecked. He had certainly succeeded, in both counts. She felt overwhelmed, invaded, and conquered.

They had fought sexual battles before. But this time she had a despairing feeling that he had resoundingly won. What had begun as an almost hostile encounter had turned into something no different that it penetrated her guard and cut into her heart. Before, she had been able to ignore the secret part of herself that yearned for him. Now that recess had been breached and taken. She knew she loved Michael, had loved him before and would love him still whether she married Luis or not.

But she must marry Luis and carry on with the expected progression of her life. There was simply no other alternative, no future she could accept that would oust Luis and replace him with Michael. Luis was a man of her own world, and Michael a being of another. Luis would deal with her according to rules that she knew. Michael lived by other rules, alien and incomprehensible. Luis loved her, and Michael did not; and despite her own almost frightening passion for him, she had lived with a man who did not care for her once and would not do it again.