Chapter 6

 

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 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 cynical jade-green eyes betrayed that while he wore the trappings of a gentleman, underneath his aristocratic bearing might lurk a brigand.

It was true that the sudden meeting with Sabrina had thrown him off guard and that for one dangerous moment, as he had tasted the sweetness of her lips, his defenses had suffered a 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 for being 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 far more confusing. She had never known desire until he had kissed her, never before been 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 conscious of an uneasiness, 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. 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—ignoring that only hours before she had been bewailing those same even-tenored days. Already his presence was making itself felt, she mused rebelliously—never before had her father offered any objection to her 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 an 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 accepted that invitation?

Her brow puckered in concentration. Throughout the years that had passed since Sofia's wedding to Hugh Dangermond, a lot of information had come Sabrina's way about Brett, and now, as much because of her father's, almost secret invitation, as a need to understand why Brett should suddenly appear in the wilds of Spanish Texas, she dredged it up from memory. She knew Brett had left home at an early age. 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,—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. 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 rueful smile curved her mouth. She 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, 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. Not wanting Brett Dangermond to think of her as a child, and aware that her father would be rightfully displeased if she were rude to their guest, she set about changing her clothes and mentally preparing herself to face her disturbing cousin-in-law once again.

By taking her time, by 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 fell into a ridiculous daydream in which, by methods unknown, Brett Dangermond ended up her adoring slave while she 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 annoyed with herself, she 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 at the rainbow array of exquisite clothes that met her eye, nothing appealed to her this evening. Angry with herself, gallingly aware of why she was being so selective, she 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 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 sat down at her dressing table.

With nimble fingers she arranged 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 near her ears and temples. Fastening the huge gold hoop earrings that Bonita had given her, Sabrina decided with grim satisfaction that Señor 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 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 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 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, 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?"

The smile dying on her lips, Sabrina turned slowly around, furious for having made the mistake of not scanning the patio area before showing herself. She had been so certain that Alejandro was alone that she had looked no farther than his chair, and it came as an unpleasant surprise to find that Brett Dangermond was lounging indolently against one of the adobe columns that supported the extended eaves, watching her.

She might not have been as furious and disconcerted if she could have known that the sight of her as she twirled in front of Alejandro had left Brett feeling as if he had just received a fist in the solar plexus. There was a crazy leap in his pulse, and his heart contracted painfully as he stared intently at the lovely vision.

The infant was definitely an infant no longer—she was a beautiful, desirable woman, he admitted. Too desirable, his brain warned; she is a woman, a silken, corrupt trap. A sardonic expression on his face, Brett conceded the wisdom of the warning, grimly ordering himself to treat her as the child, the "infant" he had once had a fondness for. He didn't dare view her as a woman. She was a child, and children could be teased, indulged, and petted. Women could not. Women were dangerous.

His gaze ran over her slender body again, and despite his vows, despite his determination not to be moved by her, he could feel the heat of desire coiling up through his loins. He cursed under his breath, enraged at his body's betrayal. He was going to have a damned dangerous time of it, what with one part of him insisting that she was a child while another part responded violently to the young, vibrant woman that she was.

Uncomfortably conscious of his prolonged stare, Sabrina lifted her chin. She was clearly seen in the light of the lanterns, but Brett had chosen a shadowy archway in which to lounge, and she could see only the gleam of his white shirt, the scarlet sling appearing almost black in the gloom. His features were hidden in the darkness, only the red tip of his cigarillo revealing the location of his head.

A tight smile on her soft mouth, with far more forwardness than normal, she walked up to him and then swept him a deep curtsy. A challenging glitter in her eyes, she asked, "Well, señor? What is your verdict?"

This close, his features were plainly discernible, although the expression in his eyes was hidden from her. As she stared at him, seeing for the first time the lean, hard face without its disguising beard, she was aware of a curious flutter in the region of her stomach. He was undeniably handsome, but not in the most accepted sense—Carlos, she admitted reluctantly, was actually the more handsome of the two, but there was something about Brett's face....

His mouth was beautiful, full and perfectly chiseled, the lower lip possessing a frankly sensuous curve; his nose was an arrogant blade in the dark face, the nostrils too wide and flaring for classical beauty. The heavy black brows had a naturally insolent slant; the jade-green eyes were deep-set and shadowed by ridiculously feminine lashes. His jaw was too square and determined for perfection, and yet taken all together, his features comprised an intensely masculine face, such an arresting, powerful face that its imperfections were instantly forgotten.

As Sabrina stared, that beautiful mouth curved into a mocking smile, and taking the cigarillo from between his teeth, he murmured, "Perhaps we should have your verdict of me first.... You've certainly studied me long enough."

Sabrina flushed. "I apologize," she said stiffly. Then she added tartly, "You seemed to be hiding here in the shadows, and I couldn't help wondering if your features were so frightful that you dared not reveal them."

"Sabrina!" Alejandro expostulated, but Brett only smiled, not a very nice smile.

Lazily pushing himself away from the adobe column, he stood in the pool of light that shone on Sabrina, and, the green eyes hooded, he demanded, "Well? Now that you can see me clearly—are my features so very frightful?"

He made a romantic figure as he stood there in the flickering lantern light, the scarlet sling vivid against his white shirt, the black breeches hugging his long, muscular legs, the black boots gleaming. A lock of thick blue-black hair had fallen across his forehead, increasing his rakish air, and as the dancing light played across his hard face, Sabrina muttered, "No, as I'm certain you know very well!"

It was as if the two of them were alone on the patio, Alejandro's presence forgotten. Intently Alejandro watched them, not displeased by the tangible tension between them, or the sarcastic exchange of words. They strike fire from each other, he thought with pleasure. A fire that could consume them both and burn forever.

Brett grinned at Sabrina's reply, his strong white teeth a brief flash in the darkness of his face. "Such graciousness, infant! You'll unman me!"

Unsettled, confused by the emotions he aroused within her, she abandoned any attempt at politeness. He was laughing at her, teasing her, mocking her, and Sabrina's volatile temper rose. Under her breath, she hissed, "I'd like to unman you—with a razor-sharp blade!"

Brett's infuriating laughter rang out across the patio, and an imp of mischief dancing in the depths of his eyes, he murmured silkily, "It's been tried, infant, believe me." The mischief vanished from his eyes, and he added, "It's been tried by women far more proficient than you at castrating a man!"

Staring at that unexpectedly dangerous face, Sabrina shivered, angry and wary at the same time. We're like two mortal enemies, she thought wildly, compelled to fight the moment we see each other, for reasons neither of us even knows. Why? Why do I feel the need to quarrel with him, she wondered painfully, and at the same time long for...? Even she wasn't certain what she longed for, and bewildered, she searched his face, seeking an answer.

His eyes were on hers, his gaze as intent as hers, and catching a glimpse of the expression buried in those jade-green eyes, she was very glad that she was a woman—and that her father was seated nearby.

Alejandro had not heard their last exchange, but he was aware that something had passed between them, something that wasn't making either of them happy, and knowing how quick-tempered his daughter could be, he called out hastily, "Come now, you two, you must share this conversation with me."

Brett tore his eyes away from Sabrina's, and shrugging his broad shoulders, he said easily, "I was merely agreeing with your earlier statement—Sabrina is indeed lovely. You have good reason to be proud of your daughter... even if she has a tongue that can wound fatally."

Alejandro smiled wryly and nodded his head. "Si, this is true. Often I have wished that she had been born dumb."

The tense moment disappeared and with an unladylike snort, Sabrina started to turn away, but Brett reached out and captured her arm. Adding to her confusion and conflicting emotions, he took her hand, and bending low over it, he pressed his warm mouth into the palm. His lips seemed to sear where they touched, and her heart began to behave most erratically.

An unbelievably attractive smile on his mouth, he said huskily, "Shall we cry peace, infant? I promise to behave myself—as best I am able—if you will promise to curb that wicked little tongue of yours."

Suffused with an inexplicable, intoxicating burst of happiness, all her earlier reservations gone, she gave him a radiant smile. An enchanting dimple appeared in one cheek, and she agreed almost shyly, "Si, Señor Brett, I would like it above all things."

Brett blinked at the blinding smile, feeling as if he had drunk too much wine. Reluctantly releasing her hand, he placed it on his forearm, and with teasing gallantry, he escorted her the short distance to where Alejandro sat. His eyes brimming with laughter, Brett tweaked one of the fiery tendrils that curled near her ear and murmured, "Now that your daughter and I have made our peace, I have a feeling that I shall indeed enjoy my stay with you."

The harmony between them was fragile, but it was harmony, and as she prepared for bed that night, Sabrina was aware of a tingle of anticipation for the morrow. Dinner had been delightful, Brett amusing them with some of his less outrageous escapades in Europe. They had exchanged family gossip, of which, Brett had little to contribute, but he was able to answer their questions about Sofia, Hugh, and the children easily enough.

But while Sabrina had enjoyed dinner and the cessation of the unexpected and confusing hostility between her and Brett, she hadn't been able to help feeling disappointed and perhaps just the tiniest bit of resentful after dinner, when Alejandro had banished her as if she were still a child. He and Brett had retired to the small salon to enjoy a glass of fine Madeira that Brett had brought as a gift and to smoke their cigarillos. As Sabrina usually joined her father in this ritual, partaking of a glass of sherry or something else equally innocuous, her reaction wasn't surprising. The after-dinner relaxation, the mulling over the events of the day, the planning of what would be done the next, was one of Sabrina's favorite times with her father, and she was dismayed at being denied it. When Tia Francisca came to dinner or they were entertaining other guests, she understood the reasons why she couldn't join the gentlemen, but Brett? When Carlos came to dinner, she wasn't excluded, she thought mutinously. What made Brett so different? She wondered if, for the duration of his stay, she was to be banished each night, to spend the hours before retiring in solitude while Brett usurped her place in the salon with Alejandro. She didn't think she was going to like that—or put up with it for very long.

Conscious that she was whipping herself into a rage against Brett, and for a petty reason at that, Sabrina focused her thoughts on more agreeable things. Like how Brett's presence had pleased her father, and how he had made her laugh at dinner. And then there was tomorrow, too, when they would show their visitor the ranch.

Feeling more charitable toward the situation, Sabrina snuggled down into her featherbed mattress. It was pleasant, she decided sleepily as she lay there, to see Señor Brett again, and unwilling to delve any deeper into her emotions, she left it at that. She would not think of his kiss, or the way her heart jumped when he smiled at her, or the way her blood skipped when he looked at her a certain way.... No. She would keep the peace between them.