The Tiger Lily (11 page)

"I
see," said Alejandro slowly. He sensed that there was more to the tale,
but not one to force confidences, he turned away, and clapping his hands, he
called loudly, "Bonita! Josefa! Clemente! Elias! Come quickly! We have
visitors!"

The
next moment the courtyard was swarming with servants and filled with the
murmuring of voices as Brett was welcomed and his wound exclaimed over. With
much clucking he was led away by Bonita and Josefa, Ollie following jealously
behind. Clemente and Elias swiftly and competently saw that the baggage was
unloaded and taken to the rooms that would be Senor Dangermond's during his
stay. Another call from Alejandro brought more men running from the stables to
take charge of the horses.

The
courtyard deserted now except for Sabrina and her father, Alejandro sent her a
thoughtful look as she stood there, her hair tumbling down to her waist, the
boyish garb somehow intensifying her femininity. Just the faintest note of
censure in his voice, Alejandro said slowly, "I think the time has come
for you to put aside this unsuitable apparel. You are a young woman now, not a
wild savage." A slight smile softening his words, he continued lightly,
"Your
madre
would not be happy if she could see you now,
chica
.
She would think I had done badly in raising you." He quirked an eyebrow at
her, as if encouraging an answer, but there was a stubborn tilt to her chin
that he knew too well, and a second later he turned away and entered the house
in search of his guest.

Feeling
strangely bereft and oddly resentful at the same time, Sabrina glared at the
empty courtyard. Inside she was a mixture of emotions: ashamed and angry at her
father's words, not precisely happy with Brett Dangermond's arrival, and yet
not unhappy, more confused and a little insulted at the way he had treated her.
One thing was certain though—Brett Dangermond had come back into her life with
the suddenness and violence of a lightning bolt, and she was very much afraid
that her world was never going to be the same again.

CHAPTER
SIX

 It
was several hours later before Brett and Sabrina saw one another again, and the
intervening time had been used to good effect by both of them. Brett's wound
had been tended to by Bonita, and while she muttered that it would have to be
sewn and that it was going to leave a scar, there was no real worry about it.

Bathed,
shaved, and clothed in a white cotton shirt and black breeches and boots, his
wounded arm resting in a sling of scarlet silk, Brett bore little resemblance
to the brigand Sabrina had first thought him. Only those deep-set, cynical
jade-green eyes betrayed that while he wore the trappings of a gentleman,
underneath his aristocratic bearing might very well lurk a brigand.

It
was true that the sudden meeting with Sabrina had thrown him momentarily off
guard and that for one dangerous moment, as he had tasted the sweetness of her
lips, his defenses had suffered a serious breach. But that insanity had lasted
only for as long as it had taken him to realize the folly of what he was
feeling, and he had cursed himself roundly for being such a fool. By the time
they had arrived at the hacienda, he had convinced himself that the incident
meant nothing.

Sabrina's
emotions were harder to define and were certainly far more confusing. She had
never known desire until he had kissed her, never before been overly curious
about what went on between a man and a woman. But Brett's warm lips on hers had
awakened a host of sensations that she wasn't positive she wanted to feel,
suspecting that they could plunge her into treacherous waters.

After
her father had left her in the front courtyard, she had wandered upstairs to
her room. As she had walked past the open doorway of Brett's room she had had
no inclination to linger in that vicinity. Sabrina knew she should have
inquired after his wound, but she was too angry and distressed by the entire
series of events to do so. She was also vaguely conscious of an uneasiness at
knowing he would be situated just down the hall from her own room.

Not
that she expected Brett to creep down the hall and ravish her, she thought with
a contemptuous snort as she pushed aside the voluminous yards of filmy mosquito
netting that ringed her bed. Flopping down on the bright yellow and green silk
quilt that lay atop the mattress, she propped her chin up on her hands and
stared blankly into space. Unable to help herself, once again she relived the
moment she had recognized the dark-faced devil who had held her captive. She
should, she realized bleakly, have been relieved. But she hadn't been then and
she wasn't now. Instead she was filled with an odd mixture of resentment,
bewilderment, excitement, and anger.

I
don't want him here!
she finally decided. He was too disturbing, too disruptive, and she just knew
he was going to interfere with the even tenor of her days—completely ignoring
the fact that only hours before she had been bewailing those same even-tenored
days. Already his presence was making itself uncomfortably felt, she mused
rebelliously—never before had her father offered the slightest objection to her
usual riding attire ... or her boyish activities. Yet today, within moments of
Brett Dangermond's arrival, he had done both, criticizing her clothes and
reminding her to act like a young lady. He also, she thought moodily, had
neglected to mention anything about a possible visit from Brett Dangermond.

Frowning,
she considered that thought and its implications. There had never been any
secrets between her and her father. While he didn't tell her everything that he
did, it seemed odd that he would withhold information about a simple invitation
issued to, if not a blood relative, at least a close connection to the family.
Unless there was more behind Brett's visit than just a family visit? But what?
And why had Brett Dangermond decided to accept that invitation?

Her
brow puckered in concentration. Throughout the years that had passed since
Sofia's wedding to Hugh Dangermond, quite a lot of information had come
Sabrina's way about Brett, and now, as much because of her father's
inexplicable, almost secret invitation as a need to understand why Brett
himself should suddenly appear in the wilds of Spanish Texas, she dredged it up
from memory. Brett had left home at an early age, that she knew. She also knew
from Sofia's frequent letters that Hugh worried about his eldest son a great
deal and even upon occasion threatened to disown him. There had been a few
scattered references to gambling and duels and the wish on Hugh's part that
Brett would settle down and take an interest in Riverview, but there was
nothing that Sabrina could recall that would explain why he was now at the
Rancho del Torres. It made no sense, she decided heavily—from Sofia's letters
it was obvious he was far more at home in the sophisticated, vice-ridden
capitals of Europe than in Nacogdoches. Small Nacogdoches was scarcely more
than a wilderness outpost and had little to offer a man of Brett's background.
So why was he here? she wondered uneasily. Had Hugh finally disowned him and
thrown him penniless upon the world? Did he think to recoup his fallen fortunes
from her father? Or had he been forced to flee the civilized world because of
some heinous crime?

With
a chill she remembered her first impression of him, of the leashed, dangerous
power, of the hard face and harder, cold eyes. He had looked a renegade, a
brigand on the run . . . was he? Or was she simply letting her imagination run
full rein? A small, rueful smile curved her mouth. She rather suspected it was
the latter, but still the unpleasant thoughts lingered in her mind for some
time.

As
for Brett's kiss, that she resolutely refused to think about. Not wanting to
remember the sweet ache that had coiled in her stomach or the wild urge she'd
had to cling helplessly to his solid, warm body, she blotted the incident from
her mind. Besides, she vowed tightly to herself, it would never happen again!

Sabrina
would have liked to have stayed where she was, locked away from the rest of the
household and its activities, protected from Brett Dangermond's unsettling
presence, but she knew it would appear childish to remain sequestered in her
room. And, for some reason not wanting Brett Dangermond to think of her as a
child, and aware that her father would be rightfully displeased if she were
blatantly rude to their guest, she eventually set about changing her clothes
and mentally preparing herself to face her disturbing cousin-in-law once again.

By
taking her time, by deliberately loitering over her usually brief toilet, she
managed to postpone the meeting until twilight, near the time for the light
evening meal she and her father preferred. She also, for motives not entirely
clear to herself, took special care with her appearance.

Lingering
over a bath and luxuriating in the silky foam from a bar of violet-scented
Pear's soap, she found herself falling into a ridiculous daydream in which, by
methods unknown, Brett Dangermond ended up her adoring slave and she of course
coolly spurned his advances. It was a very satisfying daydream, and for several
moments she sat staring absently off into space, until with an angry jerk she
realized what she was doing. Heavens! She certainly didn't want him to look at
her as Carlos did . . . did she? Confused and a little annoyed with herself,
she hurriedly finished her bath.

Wrapped
in a huge white towel, for the first time in her life she took an inordinate
amount of interest in the contents of her wardrobe. She had always loved
beautiful clothes, despite her preference for calzoneras when riding, and being
the only child of a wealthy, indulgent father, she had all the gowns and
fripperies a girl could wish for. But somehow, as she stared with displeasure
at the rainbow array of exquisite clothes that met her eye, nothing quite
appealed to her this evening. Then, suddenly angry with herself, gallingly
aware of why she was being so selective, she thinned her lips and reached in
and yanked out the first garment that came to hand.

It
was a lucky yank. The gown of soft apricot silk was one of her newest and
prettiest. Expertly made, the bodice fitted snugly along Sabrina's rib cage to
her slender waist, and the yards and yards of silk that comprised the skirt
fell in graceful folds to just below her ankles. Bell-shaped sleeves ended a
few inches above her elbows and were lavishly trimmed with blond lace, as was
the low, square-cut neckline. Observing herself in the long cheval glass, she
wondered if perhaps the gown wasn't just a little too low-cut—it seemed to her
that an unseemly amount of her bosom was exposed. But then, remembering that
she had worn the gown previously and hadn't been self-conscious about the
amount of smooth golden flesh it revealed, she tossed her curly head and
defiantly sat down at her dressing table.

With
nimble fingers she began to arrange the tangled flame-colored hair. Several
minutes later, she stared back at her handiwork with a certain amount of
gratification. Unlike so many of her contemporaries, Sabrina seldom needed or
wanted the services of a maid, although upon special occasions Bonita would
insist upon being allowed to dress her hair. As Bonita had taught her, she had
piled the unruly locks high on her head and had secured the fiery mass with a
gold and pearl comb; a few tendrils had been coaxed to curl enchantingly near
her ears and temples. Fastening the huge gold hoop earrings that Bonita had
given her, Sabrina decided with grim satisfaction that Senor Brett would not
mistake her for a boy when next they met.

Feeling
as if she were going into battle, Sabrina draped a black lace mantilla about
her shoulders and her chin held high, sailed out of the safety of her bedroom.
Walking down the broad curving staircase that led to the ground floor, she told
herself that she had taken such care with her appearance to please her father,
and yet, as she approached the small salon where she assumed she would find her
father and probably Brett, it was Brett's reaction that she wondered most
about. A polite smile on her mouth, she took a deep, fortifying breath and
marched into the room.

It
was anticlimactic to find the salon empty, and for a moment she glanced about
her in puzzlement. But then, noting the double doors that were flung wide and
hearing her father's voice coming from that direction, she realized that he
must have decided to sit outside on the rear patio.

This
proved to be the case, and as the evening was a fine one with a slight breeze
blowing to discourage the mosquitoes and other insects, it wasn't surprising
that Alejandro had chosen to enjoy the cool tranquility of the open air. The
patio was a favorite place of Sabrina's, she and her father often partaking of
their breakfast here, and, on pleasant evenings such as this one, their last
meal of the day.

The
hacienda itself was L-shaped, and consequently the patio was sheltered on two
sides, several sets of double doors opening onto it from the house. To create a
greater degree of seclusion, a reverse L-shaped wooden lattice had been
constructed to completely enclose the patio. Virginia creeper, honeysuckle, and
bougainvillea had long ago entirely covered the lattices, and now they were two
tall, green, fragrant walls broken only by the delicate iron-worked gates. A
large stone fountain graced one corner of the patio, water spouting from the
mouth of a statue of a rearing stallion that rose up from its center. Near the
center of the patio a majestic pine tree gave welcome shade during the heat of
the day; gaily painted pottery urns containing hibiscus and jasmine were placed
on either side of the archways created by the wide, extended eaves of the
house. Next to the pine tree was a filigreed iron table, with several chairs
scattered nearby.

Alejandro
was seated in one of the chairs, a crystal glass near his elbow. As she walked
out from the concealing shadows of the eaves, Sabrina caught the faint scent of
tobacco that drifted on the night air. Seeing Alejandro seated there alone, she
decided she must have been mistaken about hearing his voice a moment ago.
Pleased and yet oddly disappointed at Brett's absence, she approached him.

The
patio was in a pleasant gloom, and if it hadn't been for the few lanterns that
had been lit in two of the archways, there wouldn't have been light enough to
see anything beyond dark shapes. But in that faint light, Sabrina's gown glowed
like soft gold and her hair shone like fire as she reached her father's side.

Stepping
in front of Alejandro, she threw him a saucy look, and then pirouetting
provocatively, she said teasingly, "Is this ladylike enough for you.
Padre? Or shall I find a gown that is even more daring?"

Alejandro
laughed easily, relieved that Sabrina had taken his words to heart. His eyes
warm with pride and love, he replied,
''Bella
,
bella
, my little
pigeon! You are indeed the picture of a lovely young lady. But perhaps I am a
bit prejudiced in your favor,
si?
We need, I think, another
opinion." And looking beyond her, over her shoulder, he asked, "Tell
me the truth, amigo, is she not a daughter to be proud of?"