Royall dressed hurriedly and fidgeted while Moriah brushed her hair. She wanted to speak to the Baron before dinner, before her determination flagged. She wanted the matter of the girls settled and to arrange for an accounting of her holdings. Feeling nervous and a bit light-headed, she knew the meeting would not go well, as Carl, in his own way, had tried to warn her. Still, she had to try. Her father would have expected it of her. She demanded it of herself.
She waved the little girls away and lightly dusted her cheeks with rice powder. Playfully, she put a dab on each of the little girls’ faces. They giggled as they looked at each other.
Quickly, Royall left the room. The sooner she faced the Baron, the sooner it would be over.
She entered the library just as Carl was announcing they had had a pleasant outing.
Royall tightened the muscles in her body. She walked over to the Baron and said, “May I speak to you, sir? I feel it is a matter of some importance.” The Baron looked at the beautiful, golden girl in front of him and smiled.
“My dear, you sound so serious. What could make you this serious on such a beautiful evening?”
She felt her determination weaken before the hard, glittering gray eyes. His presence commanded her full attention. She lowered her attention from his compelling gaze and focused on his square, clean jaw and neatly trimmed moustache. She could feel him tensing, waiting. At her hesitation he studied her, admiring the stylish green watered silk gown that displayed her femininely sloping shoulders.
She was about to speak when he licked his lower lip, his eyes straying to her bosom. He reminded Royall of the old tomcat the cook had kept in her spotless kitchen. The old tom would lick his lips just that way when the cook was about to pour him a saucer of cream. Only the tom’s glittering green eyes would betray his excitement as he slowly and deliberately licked his whiskered chin.
Royall plunged ahead. “I’ve heard rumors today about the sick Indians. Is this true? Are we threatened with yellow jack?”
“My dear,” the Baron said, concern on his face, “Rosalie must have been inventing tales. There are several Indians who ‘say’ they’re ill,” he said, wagging a finger in the air. “I’m sure they’re contemplating a rebellion of some sort. There have been vague threats that have reached my ears the past several days.”
“But what of the living conditions? I’ve heard they’re deplorable.”
The Baron puffed out his cheeks in outrage. “Who tells you these lies? Answer me,” he demanded.
Royall stood her ground firmly. “I heard it at Mrs. Quince’s plantation. The lady herself spoke of it.”
“I’ll wager she got her information from her neighbor to the north,” the Baron replied, his mouth tight.
So, he already knew of meeting Sebastian at Mrs. Quince’s. Evidently Carl had reported the details of their visit.
“Sebastian Rivera was there, yes. He no more than said hello and then good-bye. Mrs. Quince told me that once before yellow jack broke out on Reino and it spread to the other plantations and many lives were lost.”
The Baron snapped his fingers; the sound hung heavy in the still air. “One cannot concern oneself with the insignificance of slaves.”
Royall felt a rage rise in her chest, but she fought to control it. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper now. “Are you telling me, sir, that there is no fever here at Reino Brazilia?”
“But of course, my dear. That is exactly what I’m telling you. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with the management of the plantation. You and your father have for many years lived luxuriously and comfortably from the Reino Brazilia, and your father never once questioned my methods. The details are much too complex for you to even begin to understand.”
“Sir, are you insinuating that I’m not capable of handling my own affairs, and that I wouldn’t understand them if I tried?”
The Baron smiled coolly. “No, my dear. However, I feel that it’s not something for you to concern yourself with. I’ll run the Reino the same as I always have. Let this be the end of the discussion,” he said abruptly.
Royall was still her father’s daughter. “One moment, sir. There are several other things I wish to discuss.” She trembled at the audacity she had shown. Squaring her shoulders, she faced him head on. “There is the matter of the children. I want to know why they aren’t with their parents on Regalo Verdad.”
“The children remain here. They’re part of a debt owed to me by their parents.” His speech was smooth, but a muscle in his cheek had begun to jump. Royall knew he was angry. So be it; so was she!
“It’s my understanding that Sebastian Rivera has offered to buy the girls for any price you named.”
“There’s no need to discuss the matter, and, my dear, I want you never to mention the name of Sebastian Rivera in Casa Grande again.”
Royall felt herself flush. She looked at Jamie, who was watching her. He appeared upset. He was rubbing his thumb and fingers together nervously and was trying to catch his father’s eye. The Baron ignored him and continued to stare at Royall.
“I repeat. The children are not for sale and never will be. Is that clear?” he asked in a dangerous voice.
Chagrin, humiliation, and defeat ran up Royall’s spine. Again, she looked at Jamie. He was now relaxed, his fingers still. Surely he didn’t enjoy her humiliation, or was he suddenly relieved that the little girls would remain at the Reino?
Refusing to give up, Royall ignored the flush that traversed her body and said brazenly, “I trust, sir, that I can depend on an accounting of my share of the plantation before the opera opens”
There was a determined edge in her quiet voice. She gathered up the bottom of the gown and advanced to the dining room at Elena’s entrance to announce dinner. She didn’t wait for one of the men to escort her. She was mistress of this plantation and she would do as she pleased. She looked into the dark eyes of the housekeeper and could not fathom the expression—admiration or hate? She carried herself regally and stood by the chair, waiting for Jamie to seat her.
Dinner was a dismal affair. The Baron had struck a note of fear within her, and the ominous phrases in her father’s ledger swam before her eyes. Carl tried his best to make lively table conversation, but his heart obviously was not in it. Jamie told them about a new order he had placed for five soldiers from England. They were to be made expressly for him and would arrive with the next sailing.
Royall picked at the food and answered when spoken to. She felt like a schoolgirl who had been reprimanded.
The Baron chewed his food slowly and methodically and concentrated on the slim girl opposite him. What did this chit of a girl know? How dare she order him about! Actually, order was too strong a word. It was all Sebastian Rivera’s doing. He knew the man was behind all the questions and the innuendos.
The girl was probably smitten with Rivera, just as many women appeared to be. Royall Banner was going to be trouble; he could feel it in his bones. If Carl didn’t take interest, soon the plantation would suffer. As he chewed, he contemplated the accounting Royall had requested. There was no way he could refuse. To do so would be illegal and make him look less a man. He looked at the girl coldly and was revolted by all she stood for. He hated her in that. moment as much as he hated Sebastian Rivera; both were a threat to Reino Brazilia, his kingdom in Brazil. And that was exactly what he had made it: his kingdom, where he was king and ruled supreme. Royall looked up into the Baron’s cold, hate-filled expression. She felt her innards tremble and didn’t hear the question Jamie asked her.
The Baron repeated the question for her benefit. For the life of her, she didn’t know what he said. She nodded and asked to be excused, pleading a headache. The three men watched her exit, concern on their faces, concern for three different reasons.
As Royall passed the Baron’s chair she suppressed an urge to scream like Bartholomo had, “The Baron is a nitwit; the Baron is a nitwit!” Once she reached the hall, she raced on light feet to her room. Passing Elena in the hall, she didn’t stop to give her a second look. Once in her room Royall flung herself on the chaise and let the humiliation wash over her. Just because she was a woman, the Baron considered her incompetent. More than that, she was sick with herself. She should have stood her ground, forced the issue, badgered the imperious Baron and the devil take the hindmost.
A knock sounded on the door, and Royall bade the caller to enter. It was Jamie, a frown on his face. “Does this mean you won’t play the spinet this evening?” he asked wistfully.
“Not tonight, Jamie. My head aches too much.” In truth, her head had begun to throb like a drum.
“Couldn’t you take something? I’ve waited all day for this evening, just waited for you to play,” he almost shouted, then immediately gained control of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that was foolish of me. I love music.”
At the moment Royall couldn’t have cared less. She waited for him to leave. Evidently he had something else to say. She waited.
“Aren’t you happy that the girls are to remain here to take care of you?” He looked so concerned that she nodded. Anything so that he would leave. Royall closed her eyes in pain as he quietly left the room.
When the headache disappeared she would again get out the packet of her father’s papers and read, and she would understand them if it took her till morning. Once the decision was made, she dropped into an uneasy sleep. The girls awoke her later in the evening and helped her dress for bed. She climbed between the crisp, cool sheets, her resolution postponed till the morrow.
Downstairs the Baron was having a heated discussion with Carl. “I want no more foolishness with the girl Alicia. Didn’t I tell you to put her out of your mind? She’s penniless. We don’t need a pauper added to this family.”
“But, father, how do you cut love out of your heart?” Carl pleaded. The Baron looked at his son and his lip curled in distaste. He knew the boy would botch the job.
“You must do it. I am your father and I command you to obey me.” Carl nodded, his eyes wretched with the task before him. “The chit wants an accounting. Did you hear her? And what am I to do? I warn you, Carl. If you haven’t succeeded, I’ll take other measures. Which brings me to another matter. You won’t be going to Manaus for the opening of the opera. There are affairs that need attention in Belém. I’m making the arrangements in the morning. So, you’d better get busy and convince that little interloper she wants to marry you. Going to Belém can be your wedding trip.” The Baron threw back his head and laughed, a dry, nasty sound. How easy it was to arrange other’s lives. With Carl in Belém the poor fool would never know that his precious Alicia was ensconced in the Newsome townhouse, bed partner to his own father. And once he did discover who had become Alicia Stanhope’s protector, it would be too late; he’d already be married to Royall Banner.
Carl’s shoulders slumped. He wouldn’t be going to Manaus to see Alicia after all. He wanted to rebel, hit someone or something! Marry Alicia and go off somewhere with her and the Baron be damned. But tradition was too strong and his upbringing too rigid.
Carl cringed before the verbal attack as though it had been physical. He knew what his father meant by “other measures.”
Jamie sat on the sofa listening to his father’s sharp words. He wondered what had made the Baron so angry; hadn’t Royall agreed to everything he had said? He let his mind wander to the new order of the additional soldiers. It would bring his total to eighty. He didn’t hear Carl’s weak reply promising to do his best.
Royall spent her days with Jamie and her evenings with Carl. At first she had spent many hours inspecting the Casa Grande. She picked the colorful tropical flowers and arranged them artfully in every room of the Casa. When she tired of the flowers, she would make her way to the kitchen regions and hesitantly make suggestions to the cook. Surprisingly, Elena made no attempt to interfere. When boredom set in, as Royall knew it would, she decided to teach Jamie the piano. He wasn’t an apt pupil and would have been content to have her play for him by the hour while he sat and dreamily listened. It puzzled Royall that his help wasn’t needed on the plantation. The Baron actually seemed glad that he spent whole days in her company.
It had become increasingly clear to her that Jamie was irresponsible and childish, incapable of decision. Elena actually mothered the tall, husky, young man and controlled him with an iron hand, tempered with tenderness. Lately Elena seemed to be losing that control as Jamie became increasingly rebellious. Often he would do something or say something that would anger Royall, but all it took was one of his bright, sincere smiles and she found herself forgiving him. Jamie was an incredibly handsome young man, beautiful, actually, and when he apologized, his manner was especially engaging.
Carl was an attentive suitor. And he had fast become a suitor. On long, quiet evenings under the alluring tropical moon, Carl and Royall sat in the small pergola in the back gardens. He was pleasant company after the long day with Jamie and, unlike his brother, was extremely well read and quite knowledgeable about the functions of rubber. He even described some ideas of his own for the practical use of the gooey substance drawn from trees.
Royall enjoyed her evenings with Carl because his excitement was contagious, and she found herself a sounding board for his more innovative ideas. She became quite fond of him; he was dear to her if only for the fact that he respected her intellect, acknowledged that she even possessed an intellect! A rare thing in an age where a woman was thought blessed if she possessed tiny feet, slim ankles, a narrow waist, and a pretty face. Having these, a woman had no need for a brain. Indeed, society decried a woman who professed to have one.
Royall knew that several times Carl had been on the verge of asking for her hand. Skillfully, she had so far avoided a direct confrontation. She was fond of Carl, but she didn’t love him and his attentions were fast becoming worrisome.
She paid rapt attention to the lessons that Jamie and Carl taught her regarding the jungle, and the Baron finally decreed she could ride alone.
Royall arose early with the knowledge that this was her first day of freedom. For it was freedom! She could go and do as she pleased. In truth, all she planned to do was go for a ride alone, without Jamie or Carl. She was so excited she could barely close the hooks on her riding habit. Quietly, she slipped from the room, her carryall in hand. She was going to the Regalo Verdad, Sebastian Rivera’s plantation. A note had been delivered from Mrs. Quince telling her of the expert needlewoman that Sebastian employed as his housekeeper. It appeared from the letter that Anna, for that was her name, had agreed not only to make Royall’s costume, but also Mrs. Quince’s, who was to be at the plantation awaiting Royall’s arrival. She had journeyed there the day before and had spent the night, the note ended.
Royall slipped from the house quietly and ran on light feet to the stable. Dawn was just breaking. She looked at the gray pink light and shivered. By the time she had her horse saddled it would be completely light. Saddling the dappled gray with clumsy fingers, she fought the urge to look over her shoulder to see if anyone was going to stop her. Her preparations completed, she mounted the gray and led him in a slow trot through the courtyard. Once on the jungle trail, she spurred the horse gently, and it responded to her hold on the reins. She felt as free as the colorful birds with their shrill, raucous cries. Picking her way carefully over the vine-strewn ground, she felt her seat was firm, and she felt quite comfortable on her high perch. She nibbled on a ripe papaya, tossing the pit away. She rode at a fast canter and within the hour was on property that belonged to Sebastian Rivera.
Royall stopped her horse at the end of the long drive leading to the Casa Grande of Regalo Verdad —in Spanish it meant the True Gift. Taking her mount for a slow canter up the drive, she stopped once again as she came within sight of the house. Like the Reino’s Casa, it was low and white with Spanish arches creating the veranda. Its roof was red tiled, and there was a luxurious growth of greenery surrounding it. Unlike Reino Brazilia, everything seemed lovingly cared for, tended with the gentlest of hands. The drive that approached the house was carefully laid brick, and at the far side Royall could see several old Indian men patiently laying the dusty pink oblongs into the striking herringbone pattern. A black woman wearing a colorful tignon wrapped around her head stepped out into the drive to shake an Indian-made rug. She sang in full-throated glory, her voice carrying across the distance in lyrical melody. When the woman lifted her eyes and saw Royall, she waved a happy greeting.
Compared to Regalo Verdad, the Reino was a dismal, lonely place. Here, children played on the back lawns and fresh laundry flapped in the breeze. Women and children seemed to all be happily engaged in their work, and although they moved slowly, as the Indians had learned through the ages to survive the climate, they were all clean and smiling.
Small children gathered around her as she slipped from her horse onto the mounting block and handed a tall, age-bent black the reins. He offered a wide, toothy grin. “Welcome, Senora, welcome to Regalo Verdad.”
The atmosphere here was an uplifting one, and Royall hadn’t realized how much she missed seeing a friendly smile on someone’s face. A little girl came running up to her, “Hola, Senorita,” she said with a giggle. “Como se llama usted?”
Royall laughed at the small child who expected her to speak more Spanish than she could. “Hola, nina. Me llamo Royall Banner.”
“My name is Mary,” the child answered in clear, precise English. “Have you come to see Senora Quince?” Leading Royall up to the house and waiting by the heavy, carved door, “You are very pretty. Someday may I touch your hair?” Her dark eyes lit with eagerness that made Royall laugh.
“You may touch it now, if you like.” She bent her head and felt the child’s little fingers touch her curls. “I love your pigtails,” Royall told her, twitching one of her fat braids.
“Pigtail?”
Royall laughed with delight. She held the heavy braid and explained that it was called a pigtail in the United States. The child giggled over the new word. Royall watched as she rolled the word over and over on her tongue. The door was opened by the housekeeper, who ushered Royall into a wide, cool-looking room. Immediately Royall spied Mrs. Quince drinking a cup of coffee, her host beside her.
Once again Royall was struck by Sebastian’s resemblance to the Baron. The same square jaw, the set of the eyes. Consciously, she drew her eyes away from his face. Her breathing quickened as her legs turned to jelly.
As she entered, he arose and extended a welcome to his Casa Grande, but his eyes remained cold and aloof. Immediately he excused himself and left the ladies to their dressmaking. He informed his housekeeper that he would be back in time for lunch and, if she had time, to prepare it. The dark-skinned housekeeper smiled and said, “Be gone with you, Sebastian. When you return, it will be ready. As you well know, I am quite capable of doing two things at one time.” Sebastian smiled, and his handsome face transformed completely. Royall envied the easy camaraderie he had with his housekeeper. Why couldn’t he smile at her like that? He had once—so long ago she could barely remember.
The ladies then entered into an animated discussion about the ball and the costumes they would wear.
“What will you be wearing, Mrs. Quince? Or are you keeping it a secret?”
“No secret, Royall. I don’t wear a costume. I’m far too old for that. I’ll just go as plain old me.”
“Don’t consider yourself old, Mrs. Quince,” Royall pretended to scold. “And as for being plain, nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Our new neighbor is right, Mrs. Quince,” Anna, the housekeeper, broke in. “You have character and respect. Aren’t you the most respected lady in Manaus?” Then, turning to Royall, “Mrs. Quince does not want a costume, but you, Senora, are young and should dance all the night. Have you thought of what you would like to wear? You are so light, so fair, you remind me of ... of what I have seen in Senor Rivera’s books. The goddess Diana. The huntress.”
Royall was speechless.
“It is settled then,” Mrs. Quince burst out. “Diana you will be.”
Anna watched the golden woman and said, “I will outdo myself in making your costume. It will be small payment for the kindness you have shown my daughter.”
When Royall looked puzzled, Mrs. Quince explained. “One of your little handmaidens, Nessie, is Anna’s daughter.”
The rest of the morning was spent searching through Sebastian’s books for a picture of Diana wearing something that was proper to wear in public. Then they discussed material and fittings, and it was noontime before Anna departed for the kitchen to prepare lunch.
When they were alone, Mrs. Quince turned to Royall and asked, “Tell me what you think of Regalo Verdad. No small difference from the Reino, eh, Royall?”
“It’s magnificent. And happy, such a happy place.”
“Sebastian’s heart and soul are in this plantation. I think he’s worked harder than any man in Brazil to make it what it is, including my own Alonzo.”
Anna announced lunch, and the two women followed her to the dining room, where they were immediately joined by Sebastian. He seated the two women and then took his place at the head of the table. He bowed his head and said grace. The light luncheon of fresh fish was a tasty delight. For dessert there was a fresh fruit sponge cake. The inevitable strong Brazilian coffee followed.
Mrs. Quince, always a matchmaker at heart, suddenly spoke. “Sebastian, my dear, why don’t you take Royall for a ride around the plantation? Anna has finished with her for the moment.”
Royall flushed a rosy crimson at the blatant approach of her matchmaking. Sebastian Rivera frowned, but being the gentleman he was, could do nothing but agree. He told Royall to wait on the veranda, and he would have her mount saddled. He returned within minutes.
Royall looked up at the tall man. “I apologize for Mrs. Quince. She means well but I’m sure you must have other things to occupy your time than taking me riding. I can sit on the veranda if Mrs. Quince feels that I am in the way.”
Sebastian looked at the golden girl and felt some of his hatred fade. She looked so lost, so alone. “It’s my pleasure, Senora Banner,” he said coolly. He helped Royall mount, and her dappled gray followed the black horse.
“It’s a magnificent animal you ride,” she said in a friendly tone, hoping to draw him into conversation. Sebastian merely nodded.
They rode in silence and soon came upon what looked like a village. The stone huts were whitewashed and clean. Small children scampered around happy and healthy. The women wore bright clothing; they too looked happy and healthy. The jungle had been cleared from the center of the little village. Everything seemed to have its place. The people greeted Sebastian, smiles stretched from ear to ear. It seemed that Sebastian had a personal word for each. And he appeared to know everyone’s name. He reached a long arm down and scooped up a small Indian boy and swung him onto the horse. He spurred the great black beast around the small clearing, and the child giggled and laughed with glee. His mother smiled at this display of affection from the owner of the plantation, and Royall felt in awe of this great man at her side; yet, he mystified her. He set the child down and called out in the Indian tongue. Three women came to stand by his mount and looked at him expectantly. Sebastian introduced Royall and told them she lived on Reino Brazilia and that she knew the children.
Hope, despair, and love were mirrored in the women’s faces, but they said nothing. They stood still and waited for her to speak. She tried, but the words were thick in her throat. She tried again. “Dear God in heaven, what do I say?” She looked at Sebastian. He returned her look mockingly. She would receive no help from him. She looked into the expectant faces of the women in front of her and suddenly the little village was quiet. They all waited for her answer. “The ninas are happy. Father Juan is teaching them their letters and numbers. Moriah is happy and laughs a lot.” One of the women, evidently Moriah’s mother, beamed a smile, tears in her eyes. The others asked of Rosy and Bridget. Royall tried to speak quickly, but her choking emotions caused her to stutter. Sebastian did not fail to notice, but he said nothing. If Royall was part owner in Reino, then she was just as responsible as the Baron himself.
Royall stared at the three mothers and cleared her throat.
Finally, she managed, “They will be returned to you. I give you my word.” Suddenly, the women were grasping at her legs and crying happily. Royall looked at Sebastian but could not read anything in his expression. “I will see to it that the children are returned,” she said coldly to the tall man. “I don’t give my word lightly.”
“It’s not your word that I doubt, Senora Banner. It’s that of Carlyle Newsome. And,” he said darkly, “he has given his word that the children will not be returned ... ever!”
“Well, Senor Rivera,” Royall said hotly, “I have given you my word. And,” she said imperiously, “that is the end of that.” She reined in the gray and started off at a brisk canter.
Sebastian caught up to her effortlessly. There was a new expression on his face as he studied the proud head and the stately carriage of the golden girl. She had spirit and determination, he’d give her that.
“Tell me, Senora Banner, when do you plan to marry Carl Newsome?” It was a question he casually tossed out, but he’d been thinking about it. Knowing the Baron, it wasn’t unlikely that the man would want to incorporate Royall’s share into his own. And what of Royall? Was she contemplating marriage into the Newsome family, wanting the whole pie instead of half?
“I’m afraid you have been misinformed. I am not now, or in the future, contemplating marriage with Carl. Somehow I would have thought you weren’t the kind of man to listen to gossip,” she said, her voice frigid, her eyes level.
Sebastian looked at the girl and didn’t doubt her for one moment.
“And to clarify one more matter, Senor Rivera—” She made his name sound like a disease. “—when I marry it will be because I am in love. I’ll have no marriage arranged for convenience’s sake. Is that understood? The man I marry must be a man, and above all else, he must love me as I love him, a man to father my children. Not a man who lies and takes advantage of a woman’s most tender emotions. In short, Senor Rivera, the man I marry will be the direct opposite of you! You used me! I was nothing more to you than a convenient whore. It was a mistake I’ll never make again.”
Royall flushed from head to toe. Dear God! Had she said those things aloud? So be it. She was her father’s daughter; she would speak her mind. She had certainly done that!
Royall spurred her horse forward, leaving a stunned Sebastian staring after her.
He watched her ride ahead, a grin on his face. She was a spitfire! A survivor.
Suddenly, Sebastian saw a long vine hanging in the path of her cantering horse. She was heading for it at a fast pace, unaware of the danger. He dug his heels into his stallion’s flanks, spurring the beast forward. Lunging to Royall’s side, he reached for her and grabbed her from the saddle just as her mount cleared the vine.
Royall found herself in a most unladylike position. In order to extricate herself, she would either have to wiggle out of his grasp and fall to the ground, placing her in an embarrassing position, or she would have to let Sebastian pull her up next to him, placing her face inches from his own.
Sebastian looked at her curiously, watching her indecision, then decided for her, pulling her up, hard against him.
Sebastian’s eyes laughed into Royall’s. The jet circles glinted in amusement at her obvious predicament. She faced him boldly, brazenly.
Amusement died in him as he became aware of her nearness, of her womanly scent mingling with the perfume of her hair. The sun made a nimbus of gold around her head, and he held her more tightly, finding himself marveling at the lightness of her, the slimness of her waist. The contact of her body against his thigh was warm, a tingle of slow-burning fire. Golden flecks were dancing in her eyes, heightening the pink flush of her smooth cheek. Bending his head lower, lower, until he could see the slight pulse at the base of her throat, he kissed her, this golden goddess, and she was responding in the way he remembered, had dreamed: deeply, searchingly, passionately.
His lips were soft and warm, hard and demanding. Royall responded to him and felt herself lifted in a surge of emotion. It was as before, his kiss; nothing had changed except that it left her hungrier than before for his arms, his touch. She wanted to forget everything, everyone. She wanted to return to that night of discovery in Rio when he had been her teacher and she had been his most ardent student.
Sebastian broke away first, looking down into her face, seeming to want to memorize her features, his own eyes unreadable. Long, thick lashes threw smudgy shadows on his high, tanned cheekbones and his mouth, that mouth that could caress so softly, so tenderly, was drawn into a hard, thin line. For an instant, Royall thought he might apologize, and when he didn’t, it further added to her confusion. She couldn’t understand the man who obviously wanted her, reaching out for her time and again, only to put her aside, seeming to hate himself for the hungers she stirred in him. He must enjoy what they shared between them, the kiss, the nearness, the same searing of the flesh and the senses; and yet, he always put her away, withdrawing from her, leaving her confused and feeling abandoned, always giving himself the upper hand.
Royall flushed with shame. Why did she always reveal so much to him? Why did she always give him the satisfaction of knowing how his touch, his nearness, affected her? He was used to having his own way with women; it meant nothing to him. If he did keep a woman in residence in Manaus as Jamie had told her, he certainly had no use for her! Rejection made her tongue sharp.
“Put me down,” she told him, her voice a raspy whisper. “Don’t put your hands on me again! I don’t need you, Sebastian Rivera, and I don’t need your approval either. Not about my being part owner in Reino or my personal life. I’m used to taking care of myself. You’ve used me, and I’ll even admit that I fell eagerly into bed with you, but that was another time and another place. I thought I’d never see you again. And when I did, I was fool enough to think we had something between us that was right and good. I was wrong. You only care about your so-called principles and your goddamned plantation. I’m learning to hate you, you ... bastard!” Hot tears scalded her cheeks.
“That’s true, at least. I am a bastard,” Sebastian said coolly, apparently unruffled by her attack.
“At least we agree on something,” Royall shot back, hating him for his composure, hating herself for her outburst. “And for your information, I’ve known all about you from the moment I saw you on the paddlewheeler, and it never made that much difference,” she snapped her fingers in his face, enjoying the glowering menace she saw in his black eyes. “You made it a difference. Let me make myself clear. I called you a bastard for the way you’ve treated me, not because you were born on the wrong side of the covers. Now that I’ve had my say, leave me alone. I’ll find my own way back to the house. I don’t need you. I never needed you!”
Royall mounted her gray, feeling his eyes on her as she headed back to the Casa. Coming into the courtyard, she slid from her mount and raced into the house, needing to be with someone, anyone, who could protect her from Sebastian Rivera.
Mrs. Quince and Anna looked up, startled at her entrance, concern in their motherly cluckings and demands, “What’s happened?”
Royall had plopped herself down into a sea-green armchair and stared straight ahead, her face a mask of stony indignation. Sebastian strode into the room, his steps long and determined. “Where the hell are you, Royall?” he demanded at the top of his voice. When he found himself under the attacking glares of Mrs. Quince and his housekeeper, Royall swore she saw a crimson stain creep up his face.
“What did you do, Sebastian Rivera? What did you do to our Royall? Can’t you see she’s a lady? What gives you the right to speak to her that way?” Mrs. Quince voiced her objections. “What have you done to upset her? Tell me, you big oaf!”
Sebastian suffered the verbal abuse of his neighbor much as though she were his own mother. Even his housekeeper took up the cry.
Sebastian stood first on one foot and then the other, damning himself for following Royall into the house and walking right into the spiders’ parlor. He twirled his flat-crowned hat with his hands, eyes riveted on the floor.
“Sebastian, I demand an answer! Look at her! She says nothing; she just stares!”
“I kissed her,” he said defensively.
“Ahh!” the housekeeper breathed with satisfaction.
“Lord a mercy!” exclaimed Mrs. Quince.
Royall bolted out of the chair, facing him, hands on hips, face flaming. He was grinning. Grinning! He could smile now that her two companions seemed to be on his side.
She was the picture of defiance. Golden hair wind-torn and disheveled framing her face, eyes flaring, mouth set. “If you ever lay a hand on me like that again, Senor Rivera, I promise you you’ll pull back a bloody stump!” A tear, crystal and pure, coursed down from the corner of her eye and glistened on her cheek.
Daring a glance at the housekeeper and Mrs. Quince, he saw them staring at him with cold, hostile expressions. He had made the golden girl cry!
He stomped from the room muttering something about vaporous women. He decided then and there he would go to Manaus and Aloni. She, at least, wouldn’t behave as though she hated him just because he kissed her!