Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) (7 page)

Valentina stirred and her eyes fluttered open. For a moment she was dazed, wondering where she was. As her eyes moved across the sun-drenched room, she blinked in astonishment. The walls were white and the floor was dark, shiny wood covered with a mint green rug. She lay in a huge bed amid soft pillows. The covers were snow white and a lace canopy hung overhead. The room was large and airy with high, beamed ceilings.

Slowly Valentina began to remember the accident. She sat up slowly, experiencing vague memories of a man cleaning and dressing her leg wounds and applying ointment to her sunburned face. She had tried to protest when the man had given her bitter-tasting medicine, which she now assumed had made her sleep. She must have slept the night through because the bright sunlight pouring into the room proclaimed it to be early morning.

Valentina threw the covers aside and gingerly placed her feet on the floor. She was surprised to find someone had dressed her in a soft cotton nightgown. Her clothes were nowhere to be seen. When she tried to put her weight on her leg, pain shot through her foot and she gasped.

There was a soft tap at the door, and Valentina swung her feet back onto the bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. The door was opened by a smiling, dark-skinned woman carrying a breakfast tray. Even though Valentina had never seen one, she assumed this woman was an Indian. She had high cheekbones with eyes and hair as black as a midnight sky.

"Where are my clothes?" Valentina asked as the woman placed the tray on her lap. "I want to get dressed."

"Perdone, senorita, no hablo ingles."

Valentina knew she must switch to Spanish. She was silently thanking her father, who had insisted she learn other languages. "I would like to have my clothing please," she explained, the Spanish flowing easily from her tongue.

The woman beamed happily at Valentina. "Your gown was badly torn and is being mended. I have been instructed to say the doctor wants you to stay in bed, off your foot, for a few days."

Valentina shook her head. "I thank you for your

hospitality, but I cannot remain here. I have important

business to attend to. My mother will be worried about

»» me.

"I do not know about such things. I am only the maid. My mistress will be in to see you soon."

"Can you tell me about my guide, Santiago? Is he all right?"

"I know nothing of such things."

Valentina realized she might as well save her breath. This woman would tell her nothing. She would just have to wait until the mistress of the house arrived. Picking up an orange slice, she took a bite and found it delicious. She was hungry and in no time at all had eaten the whole orange. She then started on the spicy omelette that melted in her mouth. As the maid busied herself straightening up the already immaculate room, Valentina bit into the fluffy biscuit that was dripping with butter. Already she was beginning to feel much stronger and wondered about her host and hostess.

Suddenly Valentina had a vague memory of dark eyes that had enveloped her with their warmth, hands that had gently soothed her, a voice that had assured her that everything would be all right. Who was the man who had rescued her? she wondered. Was this the man's home? If so, was he married? He must be. The maid had spoken of a mistress.

Valentina did not have long to reflect on her dilemma. There was a tap on the door and two women entered. There could be no mistaking the noble blood that flowed in the veins of the white-haired woman. She was dressed all in black from the top of her
mantilla
to the toes of her soft leather shoes. The woman's smile was friendly but guarded, somehow suspicious.

Valentina glanced at the younger girl and saw a soft twinkle in her dark eyes. Her lovely face was enhanced by the white gown she wore. Valentina judged her to be no more than fifteen or sixteen years of age. Neither woman seemed to be the right age to be the wife of the man who had rescued her.

When the maid picked up the tray and moved out of the room, the young girl approached Valentina almost timidly. "I am to extend a greeting to you and say that you are welcome in the home of my grandfather, Don Alonso Vincente. My brother, Don Marquis Domingo Vincente, also extends his welcome as do I and my mother." The girl spoke in halting English, as if she were weighing every word before speaking.

"I am in your debt," Valentina answered, smiling at the young woman and then extending the warmth to the older woman as well.

"I am Rosalia Vincente and this is my mother, Dona Anna Vincente."

"I am pleased to meet you both," she said, inclining her head. "My name is Valentina Barrett. I apologize for taking advantage of your hospitality. It seems I had little choice in the matter."

Rosalia smiled and her whole face lit up. "I am so glad you have come to our home. Please know you are a most welcome guest."

Valentina smiled at Rosalia and then turned to her mother, speaking to her in Spanish. "You are most gracious, Senora Vincente." The older woman seemed taken aback for a moment when she heard Valentina speak in Spanish. "Can you tell me about my guide, Santiago?" Valentina pressed. "I am very concerned about him."

Dona Anna moved closer to Valentina's bed. "Santiago is well. He had a cut on his leg, but it was not deep. He said to tell you he was going back to town and would inform your family that you will be staying with us until you are strong enough to return home."

"Can you tell me the extent of my injuries, Senora Vincente? I only feel pain in my ankle."

'The doctor says that you have a strained ankle, minor cuts and bruises, and sunburn on your face and neck. My son says it is most fortunate it was not much worse."

"Was it your son who rescued me?"

"Yes, it was Marquis."

"I don't know how I shall ever repay your family for their kindness. It was most generous of you to take a stranger into your home, Senora Vincente."

"Are you an American?" Dona Anna asked, brushing aside Valentina's thanks.

"No, I am English."

Suddenly the coldness left Dona Anna's eyes and she smiled for the first time. "Ah, I have a fondness for the English. When I was a young girl, I spent one summer in your country. I have an aunt who married an Englishman."

"I admire your country," Valentina said. "I have only been here a short time, but already I have fallen under California's spell."

Dona Anna stared at Valentina for a moment. "I am not sure this is our country any longer. My son seems to think it belongs to the Americans."

"Do you not like the Americans, senora?" Valentina realized too late that she was asking a personal question, but it had just slipped out.

"I am holding off judgment, until I know more about them. My father-in-law believes the time will come when the Spanish and American races will blend into one. He thinks they will raise fine sons and this land will flourish as when the white grape grows beside the red grape. Each in its own way will make fine wine." Dona Anna frowned. "I do not believe this. He even insists that we all speak English, but I will not. I think the Americans will spoil this land."

"Let us hope not, senora. It would be a tragedy to spoil this wonderful land."

The Spanish lady looked at Valentina suspiciously. She did not trust any of the
gringo
race. To Valentina, it seemed as if a coldness passed through Dona Anna's eyes. "I have many duties to attend to. If you need anything you have only to ask the maid."

"May I inquire as to when I will be able to continue my journey?" Valentina asked. "It is most important that I leave as soon as possible."

"It is best to wait until your ankle is completely healed," Dona Anna stated authoritatively. "You would not want to be sorry years from now that you did not take proper care of your injury."

Valentina would have thanked Dona Anna again, but the woman moved quickly across the room and out the door.

Rosalia had been watching Valentina closely. When her mother left, she pulled up a chair beside her bed and sat down. "I have never seen anyone with silver eyes and golden hair before. I believe if-your face were not so burned you would be very lovely."

Valentina smiled at the young girl. "My grandmother always told me that 'pretty is as pretty does.'"

Rosalia giggled. "My grandmother was said to be very kindly, but she thought a woman was frivolous if she ever glanced into a mirror. In her time, there were no mirrors in this house. I never could understand that because she was very lovely."

"How very odd," Valentina observed. "Perhaps only the very beautiful do not need to look in mirrors."

"Will you tell me something about your life in England?" Rosalia asked. "I would love to see the world, but I have never traveled out of California."

Valentina was charmed by the lovely young Spanish girl. She not only told her about England but described many of the places she had traveled. Rosalia told Valentina what California had been like before the Americans had arrived and gold had been discovered. Valentina learned that the Vincente family had come to California over a hundred years ago. They had helped build the missions and had stayed to cultivate the land and raise blooded horses and cattle.

"My grandfather is very ill. My brother has taken on the running of Paraiso del Norte," Rosalia said sadly. "Marquis will one day be the grandee. He has been pledged to marry Isabel Estrada since childhood. They will marry in the late summer."

After Rosalia left, Valentina tried to remember the face of the man who had rescued her, but all she could remember was dark, flashing eyes and the tinkling sound of silver spurs. She hoped the time would come when she could thank Marquis Vincente for saving her life and bringing her to his house.

Staring at her foot that was bound with bandages, she felt impatient to mend. She had to renew the search for her father. It was her last thought before once more falling asleep.

The rain pelted the red tile roof and ran down the thick windowpanes. Valentina tossed and turned on the bed, moaning in her sleep. She dreamed she was falling over a cliff and a hand reached out to her from the darkness. She took the hand, feeling safe and secure. Dark eyes looked deeply into hers and she heard a deep, clipped voice with a heavy Spanish accent murmur in her ear, "You are safe, Silver Eyes. You no longer have anything to fear."

6

Valentina would have been bored to tears if it had not been for Rosalia. She found herself looking forward each day to the young girl's visits. Doctor Agustin Anza had seemed a kindly man. He had examined Valentina twice and so far had refused to allow her to get out of bed until he was satisfied she was sufficiently healed. It was not until the fifth day after her accident that the doctor gave permission for Valentina to venture out of the bedroom.

Today Rosalia had brought one of her gowns for Valentina to wear. While Valentina sat before the mirror winding up her hair in a coil and fastening it at the back of her neck, she noted that Rosalia looked troubled about something. Her eyes kept seeking Valentina's in the mirror.

"Is something wrong?" Valentina asked, turning to face Rosalia.

"It is just that I am worried because one of our vaqueros was mauled by a bear yesterday. My grandfather says the bear is a rogue and is wandering too close to our ranch. My brother and some of the vaqueros will have to hunt the animal down and slay it."

"Was the man seriously hurt?"

"Marquis hopes the man will not lose his arm. He does not believe that he will lose his life unless an infection develops." Suddenly Rosalia smiled. "It's much too nice a day to speculate on such gloomy subjects, Valentina. I wish you could stay with us forever. I have become so fond of you while you have been with us. I have never had a friend I loved better than you."

Valentina was moved by Rosalia's words. The Spanish had such a passion for life, and Rosalia had infected Valentina with some of her enthusiasm. "I have become very fond of you also, Rosalia. I will miss you when I go away."

Rosalia shook her head. "I cannot think about your going away." Standing up, she moved over to Valentina and picked up a mother-of-pearl comb, which she arranged at the crown of Valentina's head. "My brother inquires about your health each morning. Since it is not proper for him to come to your bedroom, he has asked to talk to you as soon as you are able. He is expecting to see you today. Doctor Anza told him you could get up."

Every night Valentina had dreamed of velvet-soft brown eyes and a deep voice that caused her heart to beat rapidly. What was it about Marquis Vincente that aroused her womanly interest? She had been fascinated as Rosalia had talked about her brother. Perhaps she had been affected by the young Spanish girl's hero worship of her brother. Perhaps when she saw him again, she would find he was nothing like the man she had dreamed of so often. She was almost shy about meeting Marquis Vincente. What if he could read her mind and discovered her infatuation with him?

Glancing in the mirror, Valentina studied her image critically, turning from side to side. Other than its being too short, she thought, running her fingers over the light blue gown with its dropped waist and ruffled skirt, it fit very well. She was thankful that the redness of the sunburn had disappeared, but she did not like the soft golden tone it had left on her face. Sighing heavily, she hoped Salamar would know how to bring the whiteness back to her skin. She prayed she would look presentable when she met Marquis Domingo Vincente.

"Come," said Rosalia, taking Valentina's hand. "I will now take you to my brother."

As she walked through the house and descended the wide stairs, Valentina was awed by the beauty of the Vincente home. She saw that most of the ground flooring was polished brick. At one time it must have been red brick, but over the years it had mellowed to a soft pink. The walls were of thick white adobe. Heavy Spanish furniture completed the picture of cool openness and grace. The house was like nothing she had ever seen before. Not even when her parents had taken her to Spain had she seen a house to rival this one. The rooms they moved through were filled with vases of fresh flowers that saturated the air with a sweet, lingering fragrance.

Rosalia led Valentina through a wide, arched doorway and, to her surprise, into a huge inside garden courtyard. The golden sun danced on the water of a huge fountain from which a fine mist filtered through the air. Valentina caught her breath at the beauty of the tropical flowers and trees that grew in the garden.

Glancing about with awe and delight, Valentina saw that the house had been built in a square and each room on the inside had a door leading to a courtyard. Her room had been on the outside of the house so she had not known about this marvelous indoor garden. Drawing in the sweet aroma that reached her nostrils, she allowed her eyes to drink in the beauty. There were strange and brightly colored tropical plants, fruit trees, and climbing vines.

Valentina heard a loud chattering and squawking sound, and her eyes moved to the huge cage in the middle of the courtyard. It reached some seven feet in the air and was at least fifteen feet wide. Made of iron, the cage contained a number of colorful exotic birds.

Her heart was filled with the loveliness that surrounded her and she was assailed by the strangest sense of déjà vu. It was as if she belonged here and had come home after a long absence. Before she had time to shake her strange feeling Rosalia led her to her brother.

Marquis was sitting at a table with a glass of wine in his hand, staring up at the blue sky that was like a bright canopy overhead. When he heard approaching footsteps, he glanced up, his dark eyes resting on the golden-haired English woman. He had almost forgotten about her. Seeing her in the flesh was like a physical shock. He had pictured a homely girl with beautiful hair and incredible silver-blue eyes. The woman who stood before him now, nervously waiting for him to acknowledge her presence, was the most stunning creature he had ever seen!

Speechlessly he rose to his feet, staring all the while into those strange eyes. He had the feeling that they were bottomless pits of splendor and, if he weren't careful, he would be forever lost in their depths.

Valentina could now put a face to the melting dark eyes that had haunted her dreams. His hair was the color of a raven's wing. His face was strong and finely chiseled, and his deep olive complexion made his handsome features even more prominent. He was somehow foreign looking—different from the men of her own race. He stared at her with the boldness of an unsheathed blade. Dressed all in black from his jacket to the heels of his shiny boots, he was a commanding figure. Tall and lean, he moved forward with a casual grace.

"Senorita Barrett, I am happy that you have recovered from your accident." He spoke English with a clipped accent; the sound of it vibrated through her body, and Valentina knew she would hear his voice in her dreams forever.

How should she react when she had just met a man who filled her heart with new, frightening, unexplored feelings? she wondered frantically. Lowering her eyes to avoid his probing brown eyes, Valentina hoped she was behaving normally and not like the fool she felt.

Struggling to regain her composure, she spoke carefully, weighing each word. "As I have already told your mother and sister, I owe you a debt that can never be paid, Senor Vincente. You saved my life."

Marquis took her delicate hand in his, feeling a warmth surround his heart. When she raised her eyes to him, a series of shocks raced through his veins that fired his Latin blood. No, he thought, he wasn't an icicle. He most definitely could react to a woman—this woman anyway. She was every man's dream of the perfect woman. Delicately small boned, hauntingly beautiful, it was almost as if she were not of this earth. She was an angel, pure and sweet.

"You owe me nothing, senorita." Marquis had always been so sure of himself where women were concerned. Now he was hesitant, as if groping for the right words and trying not to express his bewilderment. How could he stand here making polite conversation when his heart had just taken wing. Pulling his thoughts together, he spoke gruffly to cover up his feelings. "It is you who have graced my humble home, Senorita Barrett."

Valentina could not seem to tear her eyes from Marquis's. He applied no pressure to her hand, and yet she felt as if he were drawing her to him. "I have always heard that the Spanish of California are famous for their hospitality. I now know that to be true," she said, wondering if she were babbling like an idiot.

He inclined his dark head, releasing her hand. "Will you sit with me for a moment? I would like to ask you some questions. Santiago told me you search for your father. I would like to know more about it."

Valentina dropped down in a chair while her mind whirled with confusion at what she saw in his dark eyes. Marquis suddenly looked away from her. Snapping his fingers, he summoned the servant who stood in attendance and ordered her to bring Valentina a cup of hot chocolate.

Saying that her mother needed her, Rosalia politely excused herself, leaving her brother and Valentina alone.

Valentina nervously watched her go, wishing she did not have to be alone with this disturbing man. Licking her lips, she spoke. "I suppose Santiago told you the details about my father's disappearance, senor."

"Yes, he did. I confess I pressed him for information about you. I know the precise location of your father's claim. It is not far from here." Marquis's dark eyes moved over the face that he knew would be imprinted in his mind forever. "Why do you have the feeling your father is not dead, as his partner informed your mother?"

Valentina was very aware that something was happening between her and this man, but she did not understand what it was. "I . . . my mother and father were very close. She feels she would know if he were . . . dead. Does that sound like a flimsy reason to you?”

His dark eyes flashed. "Oh, no, senorita. I did not always believe in the power of love, but I do now." At her sharp intake of breath, his eyes flickered. "I will help you find out about your father."

"I have imposed on your kindness long enough. I . . . this isn't your affair. Why should you want to help?"

He crossed his legs and toyed absentmindedly with his spurs, spinning the cylinder so it made a soft, jingling sound—that familiar sound Valentina was beginning to associate with Marquis Vincente. "You have become my business, Senorita Barrett. Anyone who is in trouble and seeks the protection of the Vincente roof will find a friend at Paraiso del Norte. It has always been so, since the first Vincente came to this land."

"Paraiso del Norte. That means Paradise of the North, does it not?"

"Your understanding of Spanish is very good, senorita. I am told, by my mother and sister, that you speak my language well."

"I understand it better than I speak it." Glancing at the fountain rather than into his disturbing eyes, she took a steadying breath. "I thank you for your offer of help, but I will find my father by myself. This is something I have to do for my mother."

"You haven't succeeded thus far," he reminded her. "It is dangerous for a woman to go about this country without proper protection."

"The accident was most unfortunate, but it could have happened to anyone. I will not let a minor accident stop me from searching for my father."

Marquis's eyes rested on the slim curve of her neck and moved up to her rose-petal lips. "You have a strong mind, but you are only a woman."

Valentina's eyes turned to shimmering ice as she swung her face up to him. "You say that I am a woman as if it were some dreaded disease for which I should apologize. The fact that I am a woman is an accident of birth. Because I was born a mere daughter instead of a son, should I care less about my father?"

Marquis's lips parted in an amused smile. "I feel it would have been an unforgivable waste had you been born your father's son. I hope your pride will not stop you from accepting my offered help. I may be able to open certain doors that would be closed to you."

Suddenly she felt deflated. Why was she fighting him? "I am not too proud to take your help, Senor Vincente. I just feel that you and your family have already gone out of your way to help me. After all, I am but a stranger to you.

His eyes caught and held hers for the briefest moment. Lowering her lashes, she stared at his hand that ran caressingly over the wine glass. "Are we strangers, Senorita Valentina Barrett? Do you not feel we have known each other all our lives?"

Was he admitting to the same feelings she was experiencing? she wondered frantically, glancing at him. Hoping her voice would sound natural, she answered cautiously, "I don't know what you mean." She shifted her gaze from his and turned to the fountain. She was sure Marquis had not missed the blush that had rushed to her cheeks.

He was quiet for so long that she turned back to find him studying her closely. "No," he said at last, "perhaps you do not know what I mean."

Valentina was relieved when the Indian maid approached and placed hot chocolate on the table in front of her. Lifting the cup so she would have something to do with her hands, she took a sip and her eyes lit up. "What is the flavor in this chocolate that makes it taste so different?" she asked, glad for any excuse to speak of other things.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, very much."

An amused smile touched his lips, as if he knew she was purposefully turning the conversation. "You are referring to the
canela
, or cinnamon, as I believe it would be called in your country."

"I never would have thought to put cinnamon in chocolate. I can't wait to fix this for my mother. She has always been fond of spices."