Hannah Howell (32 page)

"Sí,
a little,” she said weakly, wishing he would move his hand from her waist. “Being your mistress..."

“No. Don't call yourself that."

Slowly, she released the breath she had not even realized she had been holding. He had not felt the baby move. Now her comment had diverted him from the somewhat dangerous topic of how her waist was thickening. She had her reprieve, but she knew it was a short one. He could not continue to be unaware of such things, especially not when her baby was changing her body with increasing rapidity. If he had noticed the thickening of her waist, she was surprised that he had not noticed that her belly was no longer concave, was in fact rounding out.

“What am I then,
querido?"

“My lover."

“Lover, mistress, there is a difference?"

“Maybe only in my head but, yes, there is a difference. A mistress is just a fancy name for a whore. She just gets paid better than a saloon girl. She's just something on the side for a married man who's made a bad marriage, or one that he just can't be bothered working at. A mistress is a rich man's toy, something to be used and discarded when he tires of her or finds something he thinks is better. That's not how it is with us, Antonie.

“You're not just here to assuage my lust, although,” he smiled against her hair and that smile was reflected in his voice, “you do give me a pretty powerful case of lust. There's more than that with us,” he continued seriously. “I don't just hop into bed with you, ease a need, and scurry off to my own bed. I don't even know why we keep separate rooms. It certainly isn't because we're trying to hide our relationship. I haven't tried to from the start."

“I thought you wanted to keep separate rooms."

“Me? What gave you that idea? I don't ever sleep there, and I don't use it to slip into in the wee hours of the night in some hypocritical attempt to pretend we aren't lovers. I thought you wanted separate rooms so you could have someplace to go and sulk like you did before the drive."

She lifted her head and saw the teasing look on his face but still said sternly, “I did not sulk. You were being an idiot."

“An idiot, is it?” he demanded, but the kiss he gave her was far from punitive. “Enough impudence from you, woman. Tomorrow we'll pick one of these two rooms. Yours or mine."

Settling herself comfortably against his chest again, she said, “Yours. The bed is bigger."

“You want a bigger bed?"

"Sí.
When you go to sleep, you start to spread out. Soon I have little room."

“Why don't you just nudge me out of the way?"

“You do not nudge good. Just grunt."

“Grunt?"

"Sí.
Grunt. Sometimes curse."

“I don't think I want to hear any more of this. We'll move to the bigger bed."

“If you are sure. Maybe it is not worth the trouble, eh? Soon I think this fight is ended.” She felt his arms tighten around her.

“You said you'd stay."

"Sí,
if you want me to."

“I do. You're staying."

"Sí, patrón,"
she drawled, then ruined the effect of her dry sarcasm by yawning.

“Go to sleep, you impudent brat."

“Brat, eh?"

“Brat, but that's all right. I'm finding that I have a real fondness for brats."

“A fondness?"

“A fondness. Get some sleep, Antonie."

She did not want to go to sleep. She wanted to find out a little more about what he meant by a fondness. Unfortunately, she discovered that her body was not interested in anything but rest. Even as she felt Royal press a kiss to the top of her head, she reluctantly gave in to sleep.

Royal closed his eyes. He was aware of a need to clarify his relationship with Antonie, but he was not sure of how or in what manner. There was not enough time at the moment to give the situation the careful consideration it deserved. With so much else to be thought about, he had to just let things continue as they had. He knew that was not good enough any longer, but he was not certain of the next step to take or in which direction to go.

Antonie had been a virgin. In the normal course of things, he ought to consider marrying her, but things were not normal. She was not just any young woman, but the foster-daughter of Juan Ramirez, a
bandido,
a man who had lived and died by the gun. Eleven years of her life had been spent riding with the man, her mind formed by him. It was true that the man had succeeded in keeping her from following in his footsteps, but she could still fight as well as any man and better than many and she often revealed that she thought like Juan. She was certainly not the sort of woman he had ever contemplated as his wife.

He grimaced when he recalled the woman he had thought of in that role. The one he had thought a finely bred lady, a woman who would grace his home, was the one who was trying to kill him and his family. Marilyn was coolly using him to enrich herself and her father. She did not care who died in the building of her empire. Even Juan Ramirez would not have stooped to the treachery and callous murder that Marilyn employed.

Shaking his head and feeling sleepy, he decided he had to finish the fight, clear away these weighty problems, before he could think about Antonie and himself. Marilyn was coming by in the morning and then he would put his suspicions to the test. Within a week he could well have the whole messy business cleared up and brought firmly to an end.

Waking slowly, Antonie realized it was morning and she was alone. She stared groggily at the clock and was surprised at how late it was. Royal had evidently slipped away quietly and let her sleep. Not liking to waste a day in bed, she quickly got out of bed, noting idly that the dizziness and queasiness she had suffered had apparently left her.

As she went through her morning ablutions, she found that she had come to a decision. She would no longer play the game of wait and see, risking an ill-timed exposure such as she had briefly faced last night. Neither could she wait for the fight for the ranch to be resolved. She simply did not have the time any longer. Today she would tell Royal about the child.

She felt nervous and a little afraid, but not as much as she had expected to. The past few weeks had strengthened her confidence. All her concerns were still intact, but she was no longer so overwhelmed by them. They no longer had the power to hold her back.

Royal had been more open with her lately. He wanted her to stay even when the fight was over. He wanted them to move into one room, erasing the separateness they had kept by having two rooms. It was no declaration of love but Antonie was sure that she meant more to him than a fever in the blood, that his feelings ran deeper than lust. He had said as much last night.

Love was what she wanted from him, but she was willing to settle for less, at least for now. Her love for him was so strong it almost frightened her. It also made her willing to compromise. If he offered marriage, she would accept. She would have his name, his passion, and his child. If luck was with her, she could make that more, much more. He was a man who believed in the sanctity of marriage and that would be to her advantage.

Squaring her shoulders, she started down the stairs. She wanted the confrontation over now that she had made a decision. However, she was also ravenously hungry. As she tried to decide whether she should have something to eat before she confronted Royal, she became aware of the fact that the downstairs hall was not empty.

Marilyn had arrived. That was not only inconvenient, it was annoying. She greeted Royal with a kiss as always, which extremely irritated Antonie. What held her rooted to the spot and made her ready to gasp aloud from the sharp pain that struck her was that this time Royal did not coolly accept the greeting and quickly step away. He kissed Marilyn back with evident hunger and enjoyment.

“Royal?” Marilyn gasped in confusion when he finally released her.

Hoping that he looked appropriately besotted and not as completely unmoved by the embrace as he was, Royal said, “I have been such a fool, Marilyn.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. We'll go in my study and talk. We can have some privacy there. There's so much I have to say to you."

A little voice told Antonie not to follow them, but she ignored it. Today was the day of decision, and the brief scene she had just witnessed seemed to tell her that she had made the wrong decision. It was tempting to simply close her eyes to what she had seen, to go to the kitchen and have breakfast as if Marilyn's arrival was only a slight intrusion. Antonie knew that would be the coward's way out. She had to find out just what was going on, even if it meant that she would be hurt.

With a stealth learned at Juan's knee, she moved past the study and slipped into the small library. There was a slim connecting door between the two rooms and Antonie moved toward it. Silently she eased it open a crack. She had meant to simply listen, but to her dismay, she could see the couple clearly. Royal sat on the edge of his desk and pulled Marilyn into a light embrace.

“I don't understand, Royal,” Marilyn said. “At the wedding..."

“I acted like an idiot. I reckon I was shocked. A lady doesn't express ardor in such a way, doesn't suggest what you did, and you
are
a lady, Marilyn.” He caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “That was foolish of me. I suddenly saw how badly I had mistreated you. I'd driven you to act so rashly by carrying on with that girl without a thought for your feelings."

“Oh, Royal, I can forgive you. The little slut bewitched you."

Royal had to fight to keep up his pose of a repentant beau, to suppress the fury that flashed through him when she referred to Antonie so insultingly. “I can't believe I was so stupid as to risk losing the woman I want to spend my life with for the sake of, well I really don't know what."

“Spend your life with? Are you asking me to marry you, Royal?"

“If you'll have me after I've treated you so abysmally."

“Of course I will. I mean, if it is really over between you and that whore?"

“She'll be leaving, Marilyn."

“Yes, yes, I'll marry you. As soon as possible. I've waited for so long."

“I know, darling.” He kissed her, struggling to produce some semblance of desire required of a man who had just proposed and been accepted.

Shutting the door and moving away, Antonie felt icy cold, torn between pain and fury. There was no time to give in to either emotion, however. The decision she had made this morning had been that of a fool beguiled by sweet words and passion. She now made one that she believed was valid, was in fact the only one she could make.

Still employing her skillful stealth, she started back up the stairs. She had very little time. Just as with the now discarded decision she had made earlier, this new plan had to be put into action immediately. It was simply good luck that this decision required far less preparation than the other.

Slowly breaking off the kiss, Royal studied Marilyn. There was a coolness in her eyes that told him she was as unmoved as he was. She was putting on a good act of a woman enflamed by love. If his performance was lacking in any way, he doubted she had noticed. She was too involved in her own role.

“This Saturday,” Marilyn said. “We can be married this Saturday."

“Ah, Marilyn, how I want to, but it's impossible."

“Why?"

“Sunday I ride to San Antonio. I'll have to leave fairly early in the morning.” He moved his hands over her hips with skillful seductiveness. “I don't want to cut short our wedding night."

“I could go with you."

He shook his head. “It's business, darling. On Monday I meet with a Pinkerton man."

“What for?"

Taking note of the sudden sharpness in her eyes, he continued blithely, “Well, guns haven't stopped this trouble I've been having so I've decided to try brains. This man is said to be the best at what he does. He'd better be. He's costing enough. He's already written me that his preliminary investigation has proven promising."

“You leave Sunday morning, meet him on Monday, and then what?"

“If all goes well, I'll return on Tuesday, probably bringing him with me."

“Well, just be sure you aren't tied up with business too long. Let's make the wedding for the following Saturday."

“All right. You can start making the arrangements."

For as long as he could bear it, he kissed her and caressed her. It was hard to suppress the urge to rage at her, push her away in disgust, for her duplicity and cold-bloodedness.

Pushing her away with a great show of reluctance and, anger giving his voice the appropriate huskiness, he said, “That's enough of that. We're going to follow the rules in this, love. Come on, time for you to go home.” Taking her by the hand he led her outside to the veranda.

“I'll come around tomorrow, darling, with the first draft of the guest list."

He murmured all the appropriate responses to her suggestions and farewells, but inwardly cursed. If Marilyn was going to play the game to the hilt, it would be hard to keep it a secret. As he went back to his study, he realized that he would have to tell Antonie what was going on. He would rather face a possible argument now than the sort of misunderstandings that could arise later. He would go talk to her in a while, but first he wanted a drink to wash the bad taste of Marilyn from his mouth.

Twenty-one

“Leaving?” Patricia gasped, stopping short in her stroll around the room with Oro.

"Sí.
Now. Immediately."

“What about your promise to Juan?” Tomás asked as he got up off the bed.

“I think Juan will understand,” Antonie said with conviction.

“What about Royal?” Patricia asked.

“Royal does not matter."

“Doesn't matter? Antonie, how can you say that?"

“Easily. He has just proposed to Marilyn. I must go."

Antonie hastily left Oro's room and went to her own. It did not surprise her when, as she tossed her bags on the bed and started to pack, Patricia and Oro arrived. They would not change her mind, but she supposed she ought to give them more information and, perhaps, a clearer explanation. She would be leaving abruptly enough.