Flame of Diablo (16 page)

you doing here? You cannot have wished

to come.'

'Why ever not?' she questioned coolly.

'Perhaps it hasn't worked out as I hoped,

but neither Grandfather nor I can be

blamed for that. And I did want to come

—because he asked me to. I don't know

if you have a family, Senor de Mendoza,

but if you do, it can't have escaped your

notice that you owe that family certain

obligations—and they can't be evaded

by running away. Besides ...' she

hesitated.

'Please continue.' His voice was icy.

Perhaps her remark about the evasion of

family obligations had struck home.

'Besides, it was the first favour

Grandfather had ever asked of me,' she

said in a low voice. 'The first time he'd

really acknowledged that I was a human

being, instead of a prettily dressed doll.'

'And that really mattered to you?' He

turned and stared at her, his mouth set

grimly. 'For that you were prepared to

set all other considerations aside? Didn't

it occur to you that you could be running

yourself into danger?'

'I don't think it did,' Rachel said in some

surprise. 'My main consideration, apart

from pleasing Grandfather, was the

effect it might have on my career.'

'Ah, yes.' He inclined his head slightly.

'Your career means a great deal to you.'

'It means everything,' she said shortly.

'Everything?'

His

voice

sounded

derisive. 'You are admirably single-

minded,
querida.
Tell me, has there

never been a man who has made you feel

there might be more to life than acting

the lives of others?'

Leigh's face came and went briefly in

her mind. Strange how little a wound she

had once thought incurable hurt now.

Perhaps the damage had been done to

her pride rather than her heart.

'No,' she said shortly, 'there's no one.'

Now why had she admitted that? she

wondered in dismay. It might have been

better to admit airily to a string of

lovers, some intuition told her.

'But that's enough about me,' she went on

hastily. 'What about you,
senor
? Have

you a quiet, crushed little wife hidden

away somewhere?'

'Why do you ask,
querida
?' he came

back smoothly. 'Are you afraid she might

find out about you and make a jealous

scene?'

'Not at all.' Rachel felt her heart was

beating uncomfortably fast. 'Although I

should imagine any woman foolish

enough to share your life on a permanent

basis would have a preponderance of

such scenes.'

'In that case,' he said drily, 'it is fortunate

that the unlucky Senora de Mendoza is

still a figment of your imagination,

chica.
You look almost relieved,' he

went on. 'Does the thought of my being

married disturb you?'

'Not in the slightest,' Rachel assured him

coldly. 'Why should it?'

'Why indeed?' he agreed silkily. His

hand came up and took her chin, turning

her face towards his, Flushing, she

jerked her head away.

'Please don't touch me!'

'That disturbs you also?'

'No, it doesn't,' Rachel snapped. 'I just

have—an aversion to being pawed

about.'

'Such a fuss about a casual contact.' His

lips twisted. 'Would you prefer me to

take you from your horse and make love

to you completely here at the side of the

trail?'

'No!' To her everlasting shame the word

was uttered as a kind of strangled yelp.

'Then don't provoke me by pretending

you find my caresses repulsive,' he said

coldly. 'We both know it is a he, and you

merely make things harder for yourself

by repeating it.'

Her cheeks burned, and her eyes filled

with angry tears. This was what it had

led to, that brief and fatal loss of self-

control back in that hotel bedroom in

Asuncion. If she had just kept her head—

slapped his face even—then she would

not be in this sordid impasse. But some

dark angel passing over in that moment

had made her want him, and made him

know it, and it would take every scrap of

ingenuity of which she was capable to

extricate herself from his clutches. It

was almost unbelievable, she thought,

that one moment of weakness should

have brought her almost to the brink of

disaster. .

And perhaps the most sobering thought

was that she couldn't think of one of her

friends who would understand her

resistance. Most of them, she knew,

would be only too happy after maybe a

token protest to submit to his dark

attraction, living only for the pleasure of

the moment, uncaring what heartache the

future might bring. She pulled, herself up

mentally. Why waste even a moment on

such thoughts? Vitas de Mendoza was

not interested in her feelings. All he

required was her willing co-operation in

bed, and that only for a short time, until

his fancy for her waned.

She felt the colour draining out of her

face as she realised for the first time the

way her thoughts were leading her. To a

realisation that if Vitas took her, she

would be taken for ever. That for her

there could be no transitory affair,

followed by a lighthearted parting. That

when her brief reign as his mistress

ended, as inevitably it would, her heart

might not only ache but bleed. That the

response she had been trying so hard to

deny would not be merely making love,

but loving. And that in that there would

be no future at all.

Imperceptibly her grip on the reins had

slackened, and when her horse stumbled,

she was nearly flung out of the saddle. It

was Vitas who saved her, his arm like a

bar of steel steadying her until she had

recovered her equilibrium.

'Dreaming in the saddle,
chica?'
he

asked jeeringly. 'That can be a quick

road to a broken neck—or perhaps that

is what you hoped.'

She was still half stunned by the

realisation which had come to her, but

he would attribute her wide, startled

eyes and parted lips to her near-

accident, she supposed. She rallied

herself swiftly.

'Hardly that,
senor.
I'm afraid I can't

honestly regard you or any man as a fate

worse than death.'

'Muy bien
,' he approved with a tinge of

mockery. 'But even a broken collar bone

could be an obstacle to my plans for you,

querida,
so take care.'

A warning, she thought drearily as she

gathered up her reins once more and

urged her horse forward up the slope,

that seemed to have come much too late.

They stopped for their midday rest on a

stretch of level ground, shaded by some

huge mossy boulders. Vitas had taken

one disgusted look in the saddle packs,

then produced some dried soup powder

from his own pack. The mixture that he

concocted

smelled

incredibly

appetising, but Rachel could not bring

herself to accept the mug that he brought

her.

'I'm not hungry,' she said half-

apologetically, shading her eyes against

the glare of the sun as she looked up at

him. 'I—I think my near-fall must have

shaken me more than I realised.'

It was a poor excuse, but any story

would do to camouflage the truth.

'You are ill?' He was frowning. He

looked incredibly tall against the sun.

'Oh, no,' she said hastily. 'At least,

perhaps just a little. It's the altitude.'

His frown deepened. 'I would not have

thought it would have affected you at this

level. But don't worry,
chica.
We have

no more climbing to do today.'

'I can't say I'm sorry to hear that,' she

said wryly. 'Yesterday, it was downhill

all the way, today, just the opposite.'

'Our mountain tracks are like that.' He

gave a .slight shrug. 'That is why it can

sometimes take days to journey between

places which on a map seem only a little

way apart.'

'And will it take us several days to reach

Diablo?' This time she did not meet his

eyes, and she heard him laugh softly.

'Didn't one of your countrymen once say

that it was better to travel hopefully than

to arrive,
querida
?' he mocked her. 'I

won't spoil the suspense by answering

your question. Now drink your soup. We

have a long ride before supper.' He set

tie mug down beside her and walked

away.

She stifled a little sigh as she watched

him go. She had never felt so confused in

her mind as she did at that moment, nor

so near to panic. She made herself pick

up the mug of soup and sip from it. The

warm, savoury flavour seemed to put

fresh heart into her, and heaven only

knew, she thought unhappily, she had

never needed it more.

There was a kind of terrible irony in

what had befallen her. She, Rachel

Crichton, the cool, the level-headed. The

girl who knew what she wanted from her

life, from her career, and how to get it.

Or thought she knew.

The girl too who knew what she wanted

from a man— knew that the only

tolerable relationship for her would be

based on respect and liking, physical

ardour commingled with companionship.

In her ideal relationship there would

have to be equality, she had always told

herself, and a recognition of herself as a

person in her own right, instead of

simply a decorative appendage to a

successful man.

That was what she wanted for herself,

she thought fiercely. Self-respect was

what mattered. That was why she had

never indulged in cheap, transitory

affairs.

Or at least that was what she had always

believed. Now, she had to ask herself

whether it was not because real

temptation had not crossed her path

before. Not even Leigh, who had wanted

to be her lover, had ever managed to

elicit from her the sort of response

which Vitas—a stranger—had achieved

almost at their first encounter.

The admission might shame her, but it

was the truth. From the moment she had

set eyes on him, she had been

bewildered and a little frightened by her

awareness of him as a man—she, whose

life was spent in a glamorous world

peopled by attractive men. If she'd ever

given the slightest impression that she

was in the market for some casual

lovemaking, there would have been no

shortage of eager applicants, she knew.

And perhaps one of those casual affairs

might have blossomed into something

more permanent and lasting. She knew of

a number of successful marriages which

had been created from such tenuous

beginnings.

'But not this,' she whispered under her

breath. 'Never this.'

She finished the soup and set down the

mug, before rising to her feet and

stretching wearily. The long hours in the

saddle were tiring, and perhaps her

fabrication about the altitude had not

been so far from the truth after all. It was

good to feel the ground solid between

her feet and take a look at her

surroundings from her own level.

Glancing back the way they had come,

she was amazed to see how the high tops

of

the

trees

formed

an

almost

impenetrable mass. It was as if they

were the first people ever to take this

mountain trail. During the entire morning

they had not set eyes on any sign of

human life other than their own, and the

realisation of how completely alone they

were gave her an eerie feeling.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if

they'd been able to share the normal

camaraderie of two travellers, but that

was impossible. There were too many

tensions between them for that.