Love Captive (21 page)

The elderly duke stood by a huge, open-hearth fireplace, his gray-streaked, immaculately trimmed Vandyke beard giving his stern face an even sterner look. He stood magnificently erect, as always, gazing across at them with arrogant impassivity. His tall white-haired sister sat at one end of a brocaded sofa, her dark eyes gazing regally right through them. Dorrie stood within a few feet of her father, her carriage as erect as his, her head thrown back, firm chin thrust defiantly into the air. With a quick, unexpected spurt of amusement it occurred to Anne that Dolores, for all her youth, would possibly prove to be a match for both her father and brother, even with her aunt thrown in. There was something so stubbornly self-assured, so stubbornly willful, about her slim young body, her lovely young face, it was hard to believe that she couldn't wrestle from life absolutely anything she wanted. But apparently, Anne thought with a sigh, she no longer wanted Michael. Or—did she?

Carlos walked over to stand near his father and quietly took charge.

"Anne, Michael, we've asked you to join us here as father wishes to discuss what actions we ought to take against Michael for my sister's lengthy absence." Dorrie here interrupted with a loud, contemptuous snort, which Carlos ignored. His voice stayed even, calm, and cool. "My own feelings are we should simply forget this unfortunate affair ever took place. My father, however—"

"—stupidly insists that Michael should be arrested and thrown into jail," Dorrie threw in.

Carlos's head whipped around as he glared at his sister. "Dolores, watch your tongue," he commanded. "It is insufferable that you should speak to or about your father in such a way."

Dorrie's eyes glared back at her brother with equal anger. Instead of flinching, she thrust her chin even higher into the air. "Well, when he insists upon something so stupid, so utterly stupid—"

"Dolores, I'm warning you—"

"One more word out of you, young lady, and I'll have you sent to your room and locked up again," the elderly duke announced, gleaming dark eyes fastening coldly on his daughter.

"For how long?" Dorrie cried, challenging her father.

"For as long as it takes to teach you proper respect!" her father snapped.

"The rest of my life, you mean? Well, just remember what happened the last time you tried that—I managed to get away, didn't I? And I will again. This isn't the Middle Ages, you know. You can't just put people under lock and key and keep them prisoners forever. I'll find some way to get word out to Michael, as I did last time, and off we'll go again, only next time we'll get married at once and then you'll never be able to drag me back.
Never
!" Dorrie glared triumphantly at her father.

Her aunt broke in, pouring out a torrent of words in Spanish that Anne, of course, couldn't understand. To her surprise Michael responded to Aunt Isabel, also speaking in Spanish—apparently Dorrie had taught him more than how to get involved in a miserably mixed-up love affair. Carlos spoke angrily to Michael, the elderly duke had his say, Aunt Isabel spoke again, Dorrie argued wildly, angrily, gesticulating—all of them speaking in Spanish. The angry confrontation grew even louder, with shrill voices breaking in, interrupting, overriding, trying to silence the opposition. As the noise swirled around her, streams of angry argument that she could not begin to follow, Anne realized suddenly that she had a terrible headache. Everyone was ignoring her and she could not possibly contribute anything to the discussion as she hadn't the least idea who was arguing what. Abruptly she felt too frustrated, too incensed, to be a mute witness any longer. Let them rant and rave all they liked, but without her. She swung around and walked hurriedly out of the room, instinctively holding her breath until she reached the hall and could relax and breathe again. She'd go outside, into the lovely quiet garden, and wait out the storm.

She had just stepped onto the graveled path of the front rose garden when she heard a rapid stride following her. She glanced around and saw in surprise that it was Carlos, his handsome face shadowed. He approached to within a few feet of her, then stopped and stared insistently at her, his black eyes grave.

"Why did you run out just now? Have you no interest in your brother's fate?" As Anne started to protest that of course she did, she saw the incipient twinkle in Carlos's dark eyes. "Or were you perfectly sure that this was another argument full of sound and fury, signifying nothing?"

Anne felt her lips twitch into an amused little smile. "Well, yes, I suppose I felt reasonably certain that now that you have both your sister and the jewelry back, there'd be no particular purpose in charging my brother with a crime you've already agreed he didn't commit. In that sense, Dorrie was surely right that any other course was rather, if you'll excuse the word, stupid." Anne paused momentarily, her smile dying away. "How soon do you suppose the confrontation will end and we can be on our way?"

The suggestion of an amused smile on Carlos's lips instantly died away. An oddly intense look came over his face, a look that frightened her a little. As warm as it was in the late-morning sun, she felt herself shiver slightly. Instead of answering her question, Carlos stepped toward her.

"Despite her youth and willfulness, Dolores was right about other things too." Carlos spoke in an oddly tense voice. "I've only just realized this. When she found a man she loved, a man who gave great joy and meaning to her life, she didn't try to fight it, to reason it away. From the very night we met I knew how I felt about you, that I enjoyed looking at you, being with you, as I've never enjoyed being with any woman before. I couldn't bear the thought of having you leave, yet still I was going to let you go, even help you to go, without telling you how I felt, without admitting how much I love you and asking whether you would possibly do me the honor of being my wife. Will you, Anne?"

Momentarily Anne felt too stunned to answer, then with an irrepressible smile she moved forward and the next moment she was joyfully in Carlos's arms. "Oh, Carlos, yes. I love you too."

"As my sister loves your brother, that is how I love you," Carlos murmured, then pressed his soft, full mouth tenderly down on hers.

After the kiss ended, Anne inquired curiously, "Then you think Dorrie still loves my brother, in spite of what she has said?"

Carlos, drawing Anne even closer, burst out with a brief, happy laugh. "But of course. Can feeling a little anger at someone, even a great deal of anger, kill off love? You saw how she was, ready to battle our father, our aunt, me, battle the world to save Michael trouble. Isn't that proof of love?"

"Well, I suppose," Anne murmured, laughing too.

A minute later she and Carlos started back toward the castle, his arm around her, while Anne gazed with utter contentment into the wonderfully handsome face she so loved. "Do you think there's any chance that your father will withdraw his objections and allow them to marry? And, oh dear, what about us?" Anne stopped walking. "Won't he object strongly to me? And—what about Maria? Oh, Carlos, are you sure you meant what you just said?"

Carlos stopped walking, swung to face Anne, and gently pushed a lock of golden brown hair away from her brow. "With my entire heart and soul I meant it," he said softly. "About Maria, I told you before we were never formally engaged, it was just an understanding. She'll have no choice but to adjust, to realize that I've reached a new understanding—of myself, of my heart—with someone else. As for my father"—Carlos shrugged lightly, smiling—"well, I'd be lying if I told you he will be pleased. He won't be. Neither will my aunt. They are old, as you've seen, and set in their ways. But while I owe them both respect and love, I don't owe them my life. I'm free to marry whomever I please. And with your permission, I am most wonderfully pleased to marry you."

Carlos kissed her with greater tenderness, with greater love, than ever before.

"And—Michael and your sister?" Anne asked a moment later as they walked on again.

Carlos grinned. "Oh, Dorrie will get her Michael, don't worry about that. When I take my sister's side and urge father to consent, he won't be happy about it but he'll be forced to give in. What else can he do? As Dolores reminded him so rudely just now, we no longer live in the Middle Ages. This is twentieth-century Spain, and we shall all marry our heart's desire and live happily ever after." Carlos stopped walking, caught hold of Anne by the shoulders, and his black eyes gazed intently down into hers. "Won't we, my love?"

He did not wait for her answer, but leaned quickly, urgently down to kiss her, while Anne's heart raced and she told herself that surely, surely, it was so—they
would
live happily ever after. With a soft, happy little sigh she slipped her arms around Carlos's neck as he held her close against him for a solemn betrothal kiss.