Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 (35 page)

Mary laughed, remembering the young man she had met in London. The young man who had broken her heart. ‘And how is your reform working, Lord Sebastian?'

He suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned to face her, his hands on her shoulders, a frown on his lips. ‘Mary. There is something I have wanted to say to you for a long time, but I fear I still do not have the words.'

Mary shivered. ‘Surely there can be nothing so very dire between us, Lord Sebastian?'

‘Perhaps not for you, Mary. Perhaps you do not recall it at all. But at our first meeting, I behaved like an intolerable lout and I have not been able to forgive myself.'

Mary tried to pull away from him, shaking her head. Of course she remembered; but she did not want to. Not now. Now seemed like a whole different life from then. ‘Please, Sebastian. That was so long ago and I was just a foolish girl. I hope I have learned more of the game of flirtation now.'

He wouldn't let her go, his hands holding her with him. Making her face the past, as well as the present. ‘No, you were not foolish at all. You were sweet and kind, and I was in a horrible sort of daze after losing my friends. I listened to the wrong people; I sought to forget my pain in the worst sort of way and I am sorry for it. Heartily sorry.'

Mary stared up at him, her head whirling. She had imagined just such a scene when she was younger, Sebastian apologising to her. She had imagined herself gracious and majestic, forgiving him. And she did forgive him, but she did not feel at all majestic. Indeed, she wanted to cry.

She didn't know what to say, what to feel. She wanted so much to believe his solemn words, believe he had changed, as she had, but she was also afraid.

‘I know you cannot truly forgive me,' he said. ‘But I wanted you to know. I needed you to know. And also to know that I will always stand as your friend.'

Her friend.
Of course. Despite the wonder of their kisses, that was all they could be. She might have started to think more of him, want more, since they first met in London, but what if she was wrong? She slowly nodded and tried to smile at him.

There was a burst of trumpets sounding from the terrace behind them. She turned towards the sound, glad of the distraction, of the moment when she did not yet have to examine her feelings.

The royal family had emerged from the ballroom, apparently intending to process on the beach. Their satins and brocades sparkled in the night. Mary caught a glimpse of Teresa, carrying the edge of Doña Carlota's train. She remembered her friend's flash of fear on their carriage ride, the secrets that had seemed to flicker in Teresa's eyes before she laughed.

So many secrets here. She did not know where to turn.

She looked back to Sebastian and found he did not watch the royal party, but still studied her.

She hoped desperately that she
could
trust him now, because she didn't know who else to turn to and she feared for her father. ‘You asked what else we ladies talk about on our long, dull days.'

He blinked, as if surprised. But he quickly recovered, giving her a puzzled half-smile. ‘And what is that?'

‘Families, of course.' She gestured to the glittering group making its stately way along the terrace. Dom Joao and his wife did not touch, did not even look at each other. ‘None are surely quite as convoluted as the Braganzas, I am sure.'

‘What do you mean?'

Mary hesitated. ‘I am friends with a lady-in-waiting to the Princess and she fears Doña Carlota is not at all happy about her new life in Brazil. That perhaps she hopes to recreate some of the coterie she enjoyed in Lisbon. That she perhaps will make some trouble if she does not get her way.'

Sebastian went tense at her side. ‘Did your friend say what manner of trouble that might be?'

Mary shook her head. ‘It was only hints. But surely it is no secret Doña Carlota does not care for her husband? That she, and many of her friends, would do much to return to Europe? If there is trouble—I do fear for my father's safety. He has risked so much to bring about this relocation.'

‘What can I do to help you, Mary? I do not know of any plots and if I did...'

‘You could not tell me. I know that. I just—will you help keep my father safe? If you truly wish to make amends to me. I do worry about him.'

‘Of course I will. I admire your father a great deal and we all must keep each other safe here.'

‘Thank you,' Mary said, reassured by his quiet, solemn words.

‘Mary!' Teresa called from the edge of the terrace.

Mary glanced back to see her friend waving. Teresa smiled, but Mary could see the tension on her face. ‘I must go now,' she said quickly. ‘But I do thank you, Sebastian, truly. You will not be sorry for helping me and my father.'

‘Mary,' he called as she turned away. ‘If your friend is Teresa Fernandes...'

‘I have many friends,' she said carelessly.

‘Of course. But her brother...'

‘Luis?'

‘Yes. You should be rather careful of him, you know. He has long been associated with many of Doña Carlota's old friends.'

Mary swallowed hard. She remembered Luis's flirtations, his laughter—but also the dark looks she could not quite explain, the flicker on Teresa's face when she said her brother's name. ‘He and his sister have been most welcoming to me since I came to Portugal.'

‘And there is no need for you to shun them; quite the contrary. But you yourself said there was much danger everywhere here. Everyone has their own plans, their own desires.'

‘Mary!' Teresa called again. ‘Have you heard? The countess is giving another party tomorrow, a picnic. Doesn't that sound lovely?'

‘Lovely indeed, Teresa!' Mary gave Sebastian a quick nod. ‘I will be careful, of course.'

She hurried away, dashing up the steps of the terrace just in time to see the royal party turn the corner amid their trumpets and satins. She looked back, but Sebastian had vanished into the night. Leaving only darkness.

* * *

You will not be sorry...

Sebastian hurried to the other end of the terrace, where he could watch the royal couple as they processed with their courtiers, where he could see Mary return to her friends. That was certainly where she was quite wrong, for he was already sorry. If he was to help her now, help keep her safe from what was happening around them, then he would have to spend more time with her. Time watching her, hearing her laughter, seeing her sweet smile. And then how would he stop himself from kissing her again?

Right when he had promised himself he would never hurt her like that again.

When he'd looked at her tonight, the moonlight silvery on her delicate face, the compassion in her eyes as he told her the pitiful truth of what had happened in London, it took everything in his power, every ounce of all the self-control he had learned in the last few years, not to grab her in his arms. Not to pull her close and kiss her lovely pink lips, feel her warmth yielding against him.

He was so desperate to kiss her again—Mary Manning, of all women! Mary, who always watched him with such well-earned suspicion.

But he wanted to be a better man now, better for her, because of her. To do that he had to do his job there in Brazil, had to keep her from being hurt by matters she had no part in making.

He saw her meet her friend Teresa Fernandes on the terrace, saw them whisper in each other's ears. Mary laughed, her cheeks flushed pink in the torchlight. She glanced around them, but he knew she could not see him there in the shadows.

He glimpsed Nicholas Warren at the edges of the crowd and noticed his friend also watched the two women, his eyes wide with admiration for Senhorita Fernandes. Sebastian couldn't help fearing for their mission if everyone involved was lovesick!

He had to be on his guard, now more than ever.

As if to prove he was right in thinking that, there was a sudden popping sound from the trees at the edge of the terrace. At first, it seemed like nothing, like the merest ruffling in the breeze, but then it rang out again, louder, and he realised it was a gun firing. He spun around to make sure Mary was in the villa and saw the Princess's ladies dashing into the house, shrieking. Princess Carlota stood still, her head held defiantly high, even as her own ladies fled. Mary was nowhere to be seen.

Sebastian ran into the garden, along with some of the royal guards, their own firearms held high. Yet there was nothing there at all—just a lingering sense that even the paradise of a Brazilian jungle couldn't hold the world at bay.

* * *

Mary took her father's hand and let him help her up into their carriage. She had tried to stop Teresa from finding her father and telling him Mary was feeling unwell, and had tried to stop her father from leaving the party, but now she had to admit she was glad of his silent, comfortable presence at her side, of the darkness and warmth of their carriage. After the noise of the party, the whirl of her own thoughts with Sebastian, it helped to be able to take a deep breath.

She peeked out the window as her father turned back to say something to one of his secretaries. The house was still lit up like a torch in the dusty dark blue of the tropical night and she could hear the faint strains of music as the party went on. Surely Sebastian was still in there as well. Was he dancing with someone else?

She turned away sharply from the sight of the house and smoothed her glove over her wrist. Suddenly she glimpsed something in the shadows, a flash of something white on the seat across from her. She knew it had not been there before and her heart pounded as she reached for it.

It was a small, folded scrap of cheap paper. Scrawled across it in pencil were a few words addressed to ‘Senhor Manning'.

Your interference in the affairs of Portugal is not welcome. You have been warned before. Now you must leave the governance of the royal crown to those who claim it as their right. This is your final warning.

Shocked, Mary read over the note again. Surely she must be dreaming those words! Her father was devoted to his duty. What could such a thing mean?

She suddenly remembered all Sebastian's warnings, which had made her feel so frustrated with him, and with herself that she could not decode them. Was this what he meant?

The door to the carriage opened again and her father sat down beside her. She quickly tried to slip the note into her reticule, but he saw her do that and laughed. ‘Is it a love letter, my dear?'

‘I—no. Of course not,' Mary answered, wishing her voice did not shake so much.

William frowned. ‘What is it, then? Something unpleasant?'

He took it from her and quickly scanned the note. She watched his face carefully, but his expression did not change. He merely shrugged and crumpled the paper in his gloved hand.

‘Do not let such things worry you, Mary,' he said.

‘How can I not let such things worry me?' she cried. ‘It says you have received such warnings before.'

‘Everyone in diplomatic service gets such messages from time to time,' he said. He tapped on the door, and the carriage lurched into motion, leaving the party behind.

Mary had been eager to escape, but now she wasn't so sure. The thick trees of the jungle road looked too dark and empty now. ‘Should we not have brought servants with us, then?'

‘I certainly would, if I feared for
your
safety, my dear,' he said. He patted her hand and smiled. ‘But we have known all along that not everyone in the royal court favoured coming to Brazil. They can do nothing to us now that we are here, not really, and they know it. These are cheap theatrics and I want you to think no more of them.'

Mary studied his face carefully, trying to see beyond the reassuring smile he always gave her. She didn't want him to worry about her, so she smiled in return. But she vowed to herself to be more vigilant in the future—and to brave a conversation with Sebastian again, to find out exactly what he had meant by his warnings.

Chapter Eighteen

T
he next day was the countess's promised picnic and Mary's father had insisted she attend, even as she would rather stay with him and keep watch over him. It was a beautiful, sun-filled day, but she couldn't quite be rid of the cold, disquieting feeling that had kept her awake last night. She had wandered away from the crowd for a moment, hoping for a quiet space to think.

Mary turned to look over her shoulder at the Countess de Graumont's villa, cradled in the small valley below the hillside where the guests had wandered to gather tropical berries. It was not large, but lovely, like a fairy-tale house with its white walls and blue-tiled roof, the figures of the picnic guests dotted through the dark green of the trees like pale ghosts. Laughter and chatter floated to her on the breeze, as if the brief drama of the mysterious gunshots had never happened at all.

She knew she should be down there with them, but she loved the quiet moment, floating above everything. The moment to think. Ever since she had arrived on Brazil's sandy shore, it had felt like a new world, a place where she didn't quite understand everything that happened around her. It was like no place else she had ever known;
she
was unlike she had ever been. She suddenly wanted to run and laugh, to inhale every sweet, flowery, sea salt scent on every breeze.

Was it Brazil's fault? Or was it Sebastian?

Mary frowned. She thought of him far too much, this man she had once tried so hard to forget. Yet he seemed so tied up in this place, so tied up in the Mary she was only just discovering.

She found a tiny, silver-satin ribbon of a stream, running between the towering stands of coconut trees, and followed its meandering twists and turns up hills and around boulders until it grew wider, running faster, darker. Soon she couldn't see the picnic-goers any longer; the dark greenery, the thick, humid air, the rolling grey clouds overhead had closed in around her and she felt a cold touch of surprise at being so very alone.

Or not so very alone after all. She heard the echo of a voice, loud but faraway, and an answer, a shout. She crept to the top of one of the boulders and peeked over.

On the opposite bank of the stream, she could see a small group of about four men. Two of them were obviously confronting each other about something, one of them shouting, the other holding up his hands. The shouting man pushed the other and his hat fell off so that Mary could see with a start that it was Luis Fernandes. Who were the other men and what could Teresa's brother be quarrelling with them about?

A loud crash of thunder overhead jerked her back to the present moment. She spun around, her heart pounding, and saw nothing behind her at all but the trees. She had surely gone much further than she intended, much further than she should have. When she turned back, Luis and the others had vanished and she wondered if she had imagined them.

She clambered down the slope to the banks of the stream, hoping it would lead her back to the villa. But as she reached the edge of the water, a sudden, sharp fork of lightning split the grey sky above her head, making her jump. The blue-silver sizzle lit the swaying tops of the palm trees above her and brought a chilly wind sweeping down from the dark hills. The sharp, sulphurous smoke bit at her throat, and she was suddenly deeply aware of how alone she was in a strange place.

Then the clouds split and the heavy rain dashed down to the earth.

It was surprisingly cold and needle-like, pelting against her skin through her thin spencer jacket, and she gasped. She spun around, trying to find her way, and nearly slipped on the mud beneath her. For a second, she feared she would fall into the stream.

‘Mary! What are you doing out here?' she heard someone shout over the roar of the rain.

Warm, hard hands caught at her shoulders, swinging her around. It was Sebastian, solid and strong, anchoring her in the storm.

Mary stared up at him. The thick, bright waves of his hair were darkened by the rain, slicked back to give his chiselled face an austere beauty. The raindrops landed on the tips of his eyelashes, sparkling like tiny diamonds.

She curled her chilled hands into the front of his coat. ‘Did you see them over there?' she gasped.

His glance darted swiftly over her head. ‘Did you come out here following someone? Your friend Senhorita Fernandes said she lost sight of you at the picnic, she was worried you had been gone for some time.'

‘I—no,' she answered doubtfully. She couldn't see anyone on the opposite bank now at all. It seemed she and Sebastian were alone in the grey mist of the world. ‘I just wandered too far, I think. It's so beautiful out here, or was before the rain. Were you just here looking for me?'

He gave a wry laugh and didn't quite answer her. ‘We must get you out of the rain, before you catch the ague.'

He bent down and caught her under her knees, swinging her up into his arms. Mary was so surprised by his sudden movement, overcome by the dizzying moment, the rain, the smell of the greenery and the distant sea, that she could make no protest. His body was so warm and strong, so alive. She wished that moment could just go on and on, could be frozen for an instant.

But she feared
she
would be the one to freeze first. The rain made her shiver and she held on tightly to Sebastian as he carried her up the slope of a hill, into the shelter of a shallow cave.

The rage of the storm was suddenly silent, muffled by the damp stone walls, the pebbled, sandy floor.

‘It's not much,' Sebastian said as he lowered her to her feet. ‘But it's home. For now, anyway.' He held on to her arm until she was steady again and then he would have stepped back, but Mary caught his arm.

‘They
were
there, weren't they?' she said. ‘Those men. I know I did not imagine them.'

Sebastian seemed to hesitate and Mary's hand tightened on his arm. His eyes were so dark as he looked down at her, his body so tense. ‘Please,' she said. ‘Please, trust me. I fear I cannot quite trust myself. I want to know...'

But her words ended as his lips swooped down on hers, catching her breath, her senses, everything but the thought of
him
.

With a low moan, she wound her arms around his neck and held him close to her. She had tried to force away her feelings for him, yet they would not be banished. Those feelings burst free now, leaping free under his kiss.

‘Oh, no, Mary,' he whispered. ‘It's I who cannot trust myself. Not when I'm with you.'