The Tiger Lily (48 page)

Dear
Brett,

When
I returned home, coincidentally there was a letter from Jason waiting for me.
He and his family are planning to come to New Orleans in late July, early
August, and so, instead of writing to him, if it meets with your approval, I
suggest we simply wait until he arrives and then I shall arrange a meeting for
the three of us, perhaps here at the Chateau—that way, Sabrina and Catherine
can visit with Leonie while we gentlemen discuss matters to our satisfaction. Agreed?

Morgan.

Glancing
at Ollie, Brett said, "Write a reply for me, telling him that I am
agreeable to whatever he arranges, and have one of the servants deliver it to
the Chateau Saint-Andre, please. Oh, and while I think of it—before I
leave,<, I'll write a letter to my father, and I'd like you to have a
servant carry it to him personally." He smiled. "Otherwise, Hugh
might not get it for weeks."

Ollie
nodded and started to turn away, but Brett's voice halted him. "I'm
leaving you in charge of everything while I'm at Fox's Lair—I've already told
Andrew and the other servants that they are to look to you for their
orders," Brett said slowly. "I should be gone about a week to ten
days this time. I'll write you, giving you a more definite return date later,
but when I get back, I'd like the household ready for removal to Fox's
Lair."

Sabrina
took the news of Brett's absence rather well, almost with relief. There was
time yet before she had to make her fateful decision, and she could only hope
that in the pitifully short time allotted to her, some other resolution to her
dilemma would present itself.

But
even with the uncertainty of the future hanging over her head, despite her
anger and resentment at the path he was forcing her to follow, she found that
she missed Brett's vital presence dreadfully. The atmosphere within the house
seemed so dull, so boring, so listless, without him, and to her horror she
found herself counting the days until he would return.

Much
to Francisca's delight, Carlos arrived one sunny afternoon after Brett had been
gone for about five days. Sabrina, however, viewed his arrival with decidedly
mixed emotions, and she discovered that she wasn't as elated to see him as she
could have been. His presence was only going to complicate matters further. Her
uneasiness grew when Francisca insisted that he stay the night with them and
arrogantly ordered that a suite of rooms be prepared for him. The initial
greetings and current news had already been exchanged, and the three of them
were seated in the tree-shaded courtyard, seeking relief from the humid warmth
of the day, when Francisca made her wishes known. At her aunt's brazen
disregard of Brett's views on the subject, Sabrina stiffened and somewhat
stiltedly said, "Tia, I don't think that would be such a good idea. Senor
Dangermond— "

Haughtily
Francisca interrupted. "What do I care what he thinks! He is not here; we
are! Besides," she added smugly, "now that Carlos is here, things
will be changed."

Her
expression suspiciously meek, Sabrina asked, "Oh? How is that?" And
she glanced questioningly at Carlos, who was sprawled comfortably in a
cane-backed chair.

Carlos
regarded her thoughtfully, aware that her greeting had not been as welcoming as
it could have been. And he was very much aware that while she was willing to
visit politely with him and offer refreshments, she definitely didn't want him
staying here. Slyly he drawled, "Is there some reason why I shouldn't
abide in the same house as my mother and dear cousin? Especially since your
money probably bought it!"

"We
don't know that!" Sabrina flashed back angrily. Her color heightened, she
said more calmly, "And until we do, this is his home." Looking Carlos
squarely in the eye, she finished with, "Senor Dangermond has expressed
the wish that you not stay here with us. It is unfortunate that he feels that way,
but I think it is best if you find another place to stay during your visit here
in the city."

Francisca
was outraged. Sending her niece a glance of scathing dislike, she spat,
"And just who do you think you are to make such a decision? I am your aunt,
and you will obey me! I say that my son stays here with us where he belongs! How
dare you side with that gringo!"

Carlos
watched Sabrina's set face carefully, wondering what she was thinking. It was
obvious that these few months apart, while he had been gone to Mexico City, had
badly damaged his relationship with her. She was friendly, but he sensed a
barrier between them. The gringo? A jealous glitter in his black eyes, he
searched her features for a clue.

Despite
everything, Carlos had never given up hope that one day he would marry Sabrina
and at last gain the two things that had always eluded him—the woman and the
del Torres fortune. Doggedly he had pursued both, confident that one day he
would win Sabrina. Alejandro's will had nearly been the death of his dreams,
but during the long ride back from Mexico City, he had decided that he would
make one last effort—it was foolhardy to hold his hand much longer. Bitterly he
had acknowledged that after this length of time, Sabrina wasn't ever going to
love him as a husband, and so he had cold-bloodedly begun to plan a way in
which to force her hand in marriage. There was only one way, he had finally
conceded to himself—to make her pregnant.

A
slightly cruel smile had crossed his dark face. It would give him great
pleasure to get her with child. It wouldn't matter that she would hate him;
shame alone would force her to marry him. And once married, from the security
of Mexico City, he was certain he could break Alejandro's will. After all,
their common relatives in Mexico were rich and powerful, and Carlos never
doubted that they would join in the battle to wrest control of Alejandro's
fortune from an outsider.

He'd
had it all plotted out—even the place where he would keep Sabrina prisoner
until she was pregnant and had learned who was her master. He hadn't been best
pleased when he had arrived at Nacogdoches and had discovered that he had left
things almost until too late. But then, Constanza had warned him that might
happen. . . .

For
a second his eyes narrowed. Who would have thought that Constanza Morales would
be in Mexico City? Or that they would meet? His mouth thinned. Or that she
would be contentedly married to a wealthy Spanish grandee? A tall, handsome man
who reminded him infuriatingly of Brett Dangermond. Even now he couldn't
believe it. Couldn't believe that the glowing, comfortably plump woman at the
side of the visiting aristocrat at his Tia Ysabel's grand house in Mexico City
was indeed Constanza Morales. Only she was now Constanza Ferrera, happily
married and the doting mother of two young children—two fine sons, ages three
and four. He had been thunderstruck. Not only to meet her there in Mexico, but
to find her so changed, so greatly changed. Gone was the scheming, unhappy
woman who would have done anything to gain her way. Marriage and security had
softened her, molded her into a creature he hardly recognized.

When,
at last, he had contrived a moment alone with her, when he would have
re-established their intimacy, she had gently but firmly rebuffed him. Her
liquid dark eyes full of pity, she had said, "You haven't changed at all,
Carlos, mi amigo. " Her voice husky, she had added, "But I have—and
those days of careless, selfish passion are behind me. I am shamed when I
remember them." Love evident with every word she spoke, she had continued,
"I am married to a good man, the kind of man I dreamed of but never
expected to find! God has blessed me abundantly these past years since we
parted—with my husband and my sweet babies. There isn't an hour that goes by
when I don't send up a silent prayer of thankfulness for all the wonderful
things that have happened to me since I met Jorge." Her eyes shadowed, she
had finished with, "I don't deserve any of it . . . especially since I
gained all I have at the expense of innocent people—a pair of young lovers who
were separated because of me."

To
Carlos's utter amazement, she had been sincere. It had been patently obvious,
from the expression in her eyes when she spoke of her husband and children to
the way she very honestly pitied him! Angrily he had snarled, "It is all
good and well when one has everything one ever desired to sit in judgment on
others. There was a time when you didn't feel this way—when you used every
means at your disposal to get what you wanted!"

Constanza
had looked away. Her voice thick with remorse she had whispered, "All of
what you say is true, and if I could undo it, I would." Tears swimming in
the large dark eyes, she had said painfully, "I have often thought of
writing to Sabrina and explaining my part in what we did-"

''No!"
Carlos had shouted, fear shooting through his body. It was imperative that
Sabrina continue to trust him. Whatever plans he made for the future were
pivotal upon that one fact.

Constanza
had stared at him, and hastily he had improvised, "It doesn't matter
anymore what we did—she never really loved the gringo. She told me so." He
had forced a pleased smile on his mouth. "When I return, I have hopes of
marrying her. Of late she has given me certain indications ..."

Thoughtfully
Constanza had regarded him, and he had been aware that she was trying to decide
if he was telling the truth. She must have decided that he was telling the
truth, because a tense second later, she had murmured lightly, "Then you
should not tarry here too long—your Sabrina might escape you."

How
prophetic Constanza's words had been! He shot Sabrina a calculating look. His
task was going to be much harder now—it was glaringly apparent that her opinion
of the guardianship had altered drastically since she had arrived in the city.
He noticed that there had been no outward signs of resentment against the
gringo, and it was also obvious that she was a little aloof from his mother and
even himself. Then there was the problem of finding a place to keep her, once
he had kidnapped her. . , . Mentally Carlos shrugged. He would think of
something. He always did.

PART
FOUR

THE
PROMISE OF LOVE

Alas!
how light a cause may move

Dissension
between hearts that love!

Thomas
Moore

Lalla
Rookh
,
Part VIII, The Light of the Haram

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

Having
decided that it would gain him little to insist on staying in Dangermond's
house, Carlos had immediately set about soothing his mother and at the same
time teasing Sabrina into relaxing. He had convinced both women, and it was
true, that he had no intention of staying there. He would be nearby if they
needed him, but for the time being he thought it best to find his own lodgings.

Sabrina
had thrown him a grateful smile, and her parting with him was much warmer than
her greeting had been. It wouldn't have been, however, if she'd had any inkling
of what was going on in Carlos's mind. Upon leaving the Dangermond house, he
had instantly repaired to the room he had hired at an inn near the center of
the city. Dangermond's being gone was a stroke of luck, he decided thoughtfully
that evening as he sat alone in his room. But he would have to work quickly if
he meant to take advantage of it.

By
the next afternoon, his plans were in place. He had secured a small, isolated
cottage, five miles from the city. It was a dilapidated but sturdy little
building that would suit his purposes. There were no neighbors nearby, and it
was well concealed by the rampant undergrowth that characterized the
uncultivated portions of the country. A swamp nearly surrounded the abandoned
building, and Carlos had no doubt that it would be difficult to find. But even
if Dangermond were eventually to track Sabrina to this place, it would be too
late. Carlos smiled—it took such a little time to rape a woman. That she would
be pregnant within days, if not hours, of his forced possession was a foregone
conclusion in his mind.

Having
found the place of captivity so quickly, Carlos was dismayed when his plans
suffered a setback, in that Sabrina proved to be damnably elusive. He had come
to call on Wednesday suggesting that they take a ride along the river, but
Sabrina had demurred politely. She had excuses for declining every outing he
proposed, almost as if she realized that her safety lay in the confines of the
Dangermond house.

Sabrina
didn't suspect Carlos of anything; she was just conscious of a growing feeling
of unease whenever she was in his company. She knew that Brett was going to be
furious when he returned and discovered that Carlos was running tame throughout
his home, but that wasn't what kept her from accepting any of Carlos's
invitations. It was something about the way Carlos looked at her. Something
that gleamed in the back of those watchful black eyes that made her unwilling
to be alone with him for longer than a few minutes. Something that made her
remember his attack on her in the gazebo . . .

That
and the dreams that had begin to haunt her at night. The dream of Brett at the
lake came back often, but now it took an even more sinister turn, Constanza
would fade away, and she was left alone with Carlos, but a Carlos she didn't
recognize. Instead of the handsome, smiling visage of her childhood companion,
his face changed into a malicious mask of evil. It frightened her, and while
she was not superstitious, she couldn't shake the instinctive feeling that
perhaps she shouldn't disregard her dreams. The memory of the gazebo, coupled
with the nightmares, made her particularly skittish in his company. And then
there was the fact that Brett had said that Carlos had lied. About what? she
wondered frequently, but the moment to ask her cousin hadn't presented itself,
and she resolved to ask him the next time Francisca left them alone for a
moment.

Carlos's
arrival had momentarily pushed the indecision about Brett's disgraceful
proposal to the back of her mind, but by the time Carlos had been in New
Orleans a few days, Sabrina knew that she could hide from it no more. She was
going to accept Brett's ultimatum. Accept it and hope and pray that sometime
within her six-month period of grace a miracle would occur . . . that Brett
would fall in love with her.

It
was a bitter decision. Made all the more so by the knowledge that she was
actually aching to be in his arms, yearning to have him kiss and caress her as
he had that moonlit night. She hungered for him, not just for his body, but for
everything he was—arrogant, kind, cruel, generous, sardonic, fascinating,
infuriating, hated, and dearly beloved, all at the same time.

Yet
once the decision was made, once she had admitted that she loved him, that
anything was preferable to not having him, she discovered a queer sense of
confidence. That someway, somehow, she was going to make him love her—that the
six months would stretch into a lifetime and that one day she would be his
wife.

Perhaps
it was the relief from the uncertainty that made her careless, that made her
not think twice about attending the small soiree that was being held some
distance from the city at the plantation of the Robleses, friends of
Francisca's. Francisca was also going, so Sabrina felt no qualms that night
when she stepped into the carriage with Carlos and his mother. The coach was
Brett's, as were the servants who drove it, Ollie being one of them, and that,
too, may have added to her feeling of security.

She
enjoyed the soiree, and gowned in a sumptuous creation of icy green satin with
a gauzy overslip of wispy white chiffon, her hair pulled back in an elegant
chignon decorated with a fine silver net, she attracted all eyes. Her height as
well as her graceful carriage made her instantly recognizable, and given those
qualities and her warm smile and laughing amber-gold eyes, it wasn't surprising
that there was usually a crowd of eager, flamboyant young Creole and Spanish gentlemen
surrounding her.

Carlos
was not one of them. Determined to take advantage of both the distance from the
city and his mother's doting devotion to him, he had laid his plans
accordingly. An important part of those plans was not to frighten off his quarry.

About
halfway through the evening, when one of the older couples was preparing to
leave, Carlos said casually to his mother, "Why don't you ride back to
town with the Correias?" A coaxing note in his voice, he added, "It
would give me an opportunity to be alone with Sabrina."

Francisca
had looked at him and smiled fondly. "But of course, my son." She had
shot him an arch glance. "You will use the time to woo that silly girl,
si?
"

Carlos
smiled. "Yes, you could say that." He dropped a light kiss on his
mother's forehead. "And
mama
—don't worry if Sabrina doesn't come
home for a few days."

Francisca
was shocked at first, her eyes troubled. But then slowly she nodded her head.
"I do not approve of this, but it may be the only way to force the gringo to
release control of her," she said heavily.

Carlos
nodded. "Exactly."

Making
certain that Sabrina was occupied with her group of gallants, Carlos escorted
his mother to the Correias' carriage, and once the carriage had pulled away, he
walked over to the Dangermond coach. Idly he glanced around. Most of the
servants were at the rear of the plantation house enjoying a little festivity
of their own, and seeing that he was unobserved, he quickly wrenched loose the
axle nut that held one of the rear wheels in place.

Throwing
the nut over his shoulder, he smiled. There was a sharp curve in the road,
about three miles away . . .and two tethered horses were waiting a short
distance off the road in the underbrush. The wheel should stay in place until
then, and once it came off and he had sent the servants after help . . . His
smile widened as he re-entered the house.

Francisca,
too, was smiling as she entered the Dangermond house a short while later. At
last, she thought exultantly, her dream of seeing Carlos and Sabrina wed was
going to happen. True, she wasn't pleased that it had taken this long or that
it would be a runaway match, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that
it didn't matter how it came about. All the insults she had put up with from the
gringo would have been worth it—especially when, as she was certain would
happen, the codicil to Alejandro's will was declared invalid.

She
smiled happily, envisioning the things she would say to the gringo, and there
was a proprietary gleam in her eyes as she glanced around the handsome foyer.
Soon, all of this would be hers.

Her
smile faded, though, when she suddenly spied Brett's tall form lounging in the
doorway of the library. "What are you doing here?" she demanded
angrily. "You were not expected until Tuesday!"

Displaying
far more calmness than he felt, Brett moved away from the library door and said
coolly, "I didn't realize that I had to give notice before returning to my
own home."

A
mottled flush stained Francisca's cheeks. Her black eyes not meeting his, she
muttered, "I was surprised to see you. When did you arrive?"

"About
an hour after your little party left for the Robles plantation," he
drawled lightly. "It was the Robles soiree that you attended, was it
not?"

"Si!"
Francisca
replied, thinking furiously of some way to conceal the current state of
affairs. It would never do for the gringo to decide to ride out to the Robles
plantation and escort Sabrina home. And certainly she must delay him until
Carlos and Sabrina had made their escape. Hastily she said, "You must
wonder why Sabrina is not with me?"

His
eyes narrowed and watchful, Brett answered, "I think you could safely say
that was the case. Where is she?"

The
dark face gave nothing away, but something about the set of his jaw made Francisca
decidedly uneasy. Did he know that Carlos was here in the city? That Carlos had
escorted them to the soiree? And how was he going to take the news that Carlos
was apparently escorting Sabrina home alone?

It
was rather an awkward moment for Francisca. She would have preferred to dismiss
the gringo, to refuse to answer his questions, yet on the other hand, she was
aware of the need to be conciliatory—it would never do for him to go tearing
out of the house in pursuit of Sabrina. She was also conscious that after the
many ugly skirmishes between them, he wasn't about to be disarmed by a sudden
charming manner. Quite the contrary, she thought sourly. It would far more
likely alert him that something was afoot.

Brett
watched her carefully, then, weary of the game, he demanded flatly, "Where
is she? With that son of yours? Is he escorting her home?"

There
was nothing to be gained by not admitting that much, so Francisca shrugged.
"Yes. I was tired, and they were having such an amusing time, I left them
and came home with the Correias."

He
had expected something like that since the moment he had arrived home and had
been informed that Carlos had accompanied the ladies to the soiree. And only
the knowledge that Ollie was one of the servants with the coach had kept him
from saddling his horse and riding to the plantation. But even suspecting that
Carlos and Sabrina would take advantage of his absence for a tete-a-tete didn't
lessen either the bitter disappointment that she still seemed to be dallying
with her cousin or the unexpected jolt of fierce jealousy that ripped through
his body. His voice clipped, he said, "You don't seem to take your duties
as duenna very seriously. I would have thought it highly improper to desert
your charge so far from home and this late at night."

Francisca
drew herself up scornfully. "You dare to chastise me?" she asked
incredulously. She flicked a disdainful glance up and down Brett's still form.
"You forget yourself, gringo! Sabrina is my niece, Carlos, my son and her
cousin; there is nothing the least improper in my actions!"

She
had a valid point, but it did little to ease the anger and blind jealousy that
was clouding his judgment. Dimly he realized that lashing out at Francisca
would accomplish nothing. He gave her a mocking bow and murmured sardonically, "How
kind of you to instruct me in etiquette."

Francisca
glared at him, but although her hand clenched whitely over the handle of her
black lutestring reticule, she said nothing. She would not let him goad her
into foolish action. Stiffly she nodded her head and muttered, "If you
will excuse me, I wish to seek out my bed."

"By
all means," Brett returned with suspect affability. "I shall wait up
for my ward alone." His eyes narrowed. "And Senor a, if she is not
home here within a reasonable time . . . you and I shall have another little
talk."

With
an insouciance she was far from feeling, Francisca nodded her head and almost
scurried up the stairs. That swine! she thought viciously as she reached the
safety of her rooms. Who did he think he was? And how dare he threaten her! But
she was a trifle apprehensive, especially when she remembered the look in his
eye. And what, she wondered uneasily, was she going to tell him when Sabrina
did not appear?