Surrender to Love (27 page)

Michael said nothing.

XXX

Had she?

Had she made the right decision by approaching Michael in so forward a manner?  It seemed so natural to want to be in his arms, feeling the silky strands of his blond hair as they slipped through her fingers, delighting in the tender caress of his mouth on hers while his strong hands drew her against the hardened muscles of his chest.

Sabine touched her lips tentatively, savoring the remnants of his kisses,  her body still surging with passion, still wanting him to make love to her right there amongst the roses.
  She loved him. God help her, she thought as she closed her eyes against the elation and anxiety that flooded her being.  She didn’t know how it happened, but she loved him, needed him more fervently than she had ever needed anything.

But she had known him only a few weeks – a month or two at most.  Was it even possible to come to love someone in such a short period of time?

“Ah, there you are,” Marta exclaimed as she sat down next to Sabine, her dark eyes shining in her crinkling face.  “I saw Luís with Michael not ten minutes ago, and I wondered why he’d dare leave you alone among all these eligible bachelors.”

Sabine laughed.  “”I don’t exactly see throngs of people flocking to this table.”

“But did I not see you dancing with the Melendez brothers earlier?  And Ricardo Zaragosa?”  The older woman clicked her tongue admonishingly and shook her head.  “All of them handsome young men, and from some of the most respected families in the province.  If Michael isn’t careful, he may find you swept off your feet by one of those boys.”

Sabine smiled shyly in reply, embarrassment flushing her cheeks as she recalled the dances, the laughter, the flattering words that had been offered to her this evening; handsome dark-haired men who’d guide her across the dance floor with fluid, practiced steps as they attempted to capture her attention with their charm
.

“I am sure Michael is not foolish enough to let those young men steal you away,” Marta said, squeezing
Sabine’s hand companionably.  “And I am glad you are having a grand time tonight.  I have been looking forward to meeting you ever since Michael mentioned you.  I have a feeling we will be close friends,” she was intimated, her grin flashing in the lantern light.

“I hope so.  It would be nice to have another woman to talk to – “

“And Michael’s preoccupation with his position here must be quite tiresome after a while.”

“Actually,” Sabine admitted with a shrug, “I don’t know much about what he does.  Michael really hasn’t discussed it.  In fact, he really doesn’t discuss much of anything.”

“A very private man, that one. But he is a good one, Sabine, and it is plain in the way he looks at you that you have stolen his heart.  Be patient.  He will open up to you in time.”

Sabine sighed, staring down at the glass in her hand.  She didn’t want to wait; she wanted to know now – wanted to know everything there was to know about this man who, too, had captured her heart before she’d even had a chance to willingly give it away.

“Can you tell me anything about him?”

“Oh, no, it would not be right,” Marta insisted quickly.  “You must ask him yourself.  But enough of these men,” she said after a pause, laughing as she waved her hand in dismissal.  “I want to know more about you, about your thoughts on this land of ours.  H
ave you come to love, yet, to love it as Michael has?”

“It’s so beautiful here.  All the wide open spaces and sky.  And I feel like I really belong here.  It’s not at all like- “

New Orleans.

She caught herself before she said the words aloud.  No. she wasn’t going to discuss it, wasn’t about to even let the thought pass through her mind.  It was all past now – set so far behind her
that that life only was a mere shadow of a memory.

“Have you contacted your family?  Michael has told me what little he could piece together.”

“No, I….”  Her voice raised an octave as she tripped over her words.  “I really don’t wish to discuss my life,
Señora
Roderigues,” she said flatly, regaining her composure.  “I hardly know you, and – “

“Please forgive me for intruding where I do not belong.  I hope this will not affect our friendship,” Marta apologized as she reached for Sabine’s hand.
  “And, please, do call me Marta. 
Señora
Roderigues sounds much too pretentious.  Don’t you think so?”

Sabine smiled.  “Thank you, Marta, for being so understanding.  Not many people would be so willing.”

“It is nothing.”

Marta shifted her gaze, and Sabine felt the familiar, comforting weight of Michael’s hands as they rested on the bare curve of her shoulders.  Instinctively she moved closer to him, her heart thrilling to the warmth of his touch.

“We had begun to wonder to you two had gone,” Marta commented, pursing her lip in disapproval as her brows arched inquiringly.

“Business,”
Luís replied without elaboration.

“I should think you could forget about business,” she said.  “It could not be so important as enjoying yourself for one evening.  And you, Michael,
had better keep an eye on this young woman.  António Melendez has been paying much attention to her this evening.  Not to mention Ricardo Zaragosa and Júlio de Carrera.”

Sabine smiled up at Michael  tentatively as she felt the tips of his fingers brush against the nape of her neck, entwining with the soft curls that lay against her skin.

“The belle of the ball,” he laughed quietly, his eyes soft as he looked down on her.  “I suppose it’s a good thing that I came along before António’s older brother wept you off her feet.”

“You are too late for that,” Marta replied with a knowing smirk.  “But luckily for you, Sabine is no fool.”

“I never thought she would be,” Michael said, offering Sabine his hand.  She rose, her pulse quickening as the palm of his hand rested on the small of her back. “We had better be going, though,” he said, flipping open his pocket watch.  “It’s well after two o’clock.”

Sabine sighed inwardly and stifled a yawn as she straightened her shoulders against the sleepiness that crept unexpectedly upon her.

“I am so pleased we had the opportunity to speak, Sabine, and, Michael,” Marta said, “I do expect you to bring her back often.”

“I’d love to,” Sabine replied, grasping her hand tightly.  “”And I had such a wonderful time.  Thank you for inviting us.”

“Ah,” Luís scoffed, his round features scowling.  “Michael is like family to us, and – “

“And we hope, you, too, will consider us the same,” Marta cut in, grinning.

“You cannot be leaving so soon.”  Enrique approached purposefully from behind, clapping a hand on Michael’s shoulder companionably.  “I have not even had the opportunity to dance with this lovely lady who has graced your side this evening.”

Taking Sabine’s hand, he brushed his lips against her fingertips lightly, and she pulled away uncomfortably as Michael’s arm slipped
around her waist, stepping close behind her until she felt the firm musculature of his thighs press against the soft curve of her hip.

“I am warning you, Michael, if I hear she is not being treated well, I may steal her away,” Enrique commented, his dark eyes glittering slyly as a smirk crossed his features.  “But for now,” he added, catching Michael’s arched eyebrows, then turning to depart, “I shall have them bring your rig around front.”

Bidding farewell once again to Luís and Marta, Michael led her through the rich extravagance of the house Sabine had admired upon their arrival.  So rich.  So beautiful.  And Michael was right.  The Roderigueses were wonderful people…and they made her feel welcome and at home at this grand party – her first party – with all the fancy trimmings and romance and everything she had ever dreamed of.

“Are you cold?” he inquired as he felt her shiver beneath his touch.

“No, I’m fine,” and she straightened her skirts as Michael settled her comfortably in her seat.

But Michael had already draped his jacket around her shoulders, adding extra warmth to the frail lace mantle with which she had already covered herself.  She held it close to her, caressing her fingers against the rough wool of the collar
as she rhythmically breathed in the enticing male scent of him that clung to the material.

Unsuccessfully she stifled a yawn as Michael swung up next to her, and she rested sleepily against his shoulder.  The soothing beat of
trotting hooves left her entranced, mesmerized as she slowly drifted off into a satisfied slumber.  He felt so good against her, and she moved closer to him, her hand brushing accidentally against his ribs, feeling him shudder involuntarily beneath her slight touch.

That tiny part of her heart – the part which had felt so empty, so alone – seemed oddly whole now.  Complete.  And she knew she could never look at him the same way again without remembering the way he had held her, touched her, and made her feel as though she truly mattered, truly belonged…and no longer was she on the outside looking in.

Chapter Eighteen

Michael found her lying in the straw bedding with the red and white calf, her laughter chiming in his ears as the heifer tickled her ear with its wet nose.  He had to chuckle to himself as he quietly leaned over the wooden slats of the stall, silently watching as she closed her eyes and stretched her hands above her head.

What kind of woman was Sabine DuBois?  Just yesterday he had walked past the window to see her waltzing across the sitting room, dust rag in hand as she as she coyly batted her lashes at an imaginary dance partner.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting to move that calf into your bedroom before long.”

Gasping, she bolted to an upright position, stray bits of straw clinging to her dark curls, and as her gaze settled on him, her emerald eyes sparkling and she clambered to her feet.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked, approaching him as she smoothed her skirts.

“Long enough,” he replied, returning her grin, and he pushed his hat farther back on his head.

Michael leaned over and casually plucked the straw from her hair.  Immediately she looked away, the soft pink of embarrassment coloring her cheeks

“You’re home awfully early,” she muttered awkwardly, quickly brushing aside the remaining whisps from her tendrils.  “I didn’t hear you ride up.”

“We’re just about ready to plant the south fields, so I thought I’d stop.  Marta wanted me to extend an invitation to lunch the day after tomorrow.  Would you be interested?  She was quite taken with you the other night.”

“I’d like that,” Sabine said, her features breaking into a wide grin as she met her gaze again.  “She really is wonderful, Michael, don’t you think?”

His hand reached out to pick at an imaginary piece of straw, his fingers gently caressing the tousled mass of her curls.  Suddenly he wanted to pull her close, taste the sweetness he had sampled only two nights ago in Marta’s gardens, feel
her soft body yield against the hardness of his.

“She is, and I’m glad you’ll go.  I can’t stand the idea of you being cooped up here all the time, Sabine,” Michael said, clearing his throat as he trailed the outline of her jaw before reluctantly withdrawing.  “It isn’t right.”

Smiling, she looked to him as a shiver ran the length of her spine, and instinctively she reached up to capture his hand in hers.  How could he feel she was trapped, cooped up?  How could he say that when she faithfully stood on the porch each night, anticipation racing through her a she awaited eagerly for him to ride into the yard?  How could he even think that when, every time, it seemed, she felt an ever-growing peace – a completeness – within her heart whenever she thought of being here, with him, in this house?  When he treated her with respect and kindness and tenderness and everything else that had been absent from her life for so long?

How could she think of being anywhere else when her heart was here?

“But I don’t feel that way, really,” she answered quickly, and she quickly stooped to pick up her milk bucket, hoping he would see her blush with embarrassment.  “I like it here.  I feel so…free.”

Releasing a sigh, she leaned against one of the barn supports, and Michael nearly cringed at the manner in which she had said that single, simple word. 
Free.
  How, in God’s name, could she feel that way when he had done nothing but give the impression that she was his property?

“Sabine, I…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it; couldn’t tell her that she had always been free to go if she wished.

And what if she decided to up and leave?  What if, in reality, she wanted to fervently to escape him that she ducked out right now before he had the opportunity to tell her the things he wanted, the things he felt?

“Isn’t she beautiful,” Sabine asked as the spotted calf rubbed its tiny head against her skirts.  “Are you going to keep her?”

“Depends.  Are you willing to help care for her?”