The Tiger Lily (17 page)

It
had been near the end of Brett's sojourn as a smuggler that Carlos had appeared
on the scene, and he had been there in the back room playing his role as Frenchie's
newest right-hand bully when Carlos had come to bargain for the latest cargo of
smuggled goods. Brett couldn't remember what it was that Carlos had purchased,
but he did remember clearly being the one to escort the swaggering Spaniard
upstairs to where the girls were kept. And it had been the shriek of fear and
pain coming from the room where Carlos had been shown that had caused Brett to
burst through the door to discover the naked and bleeding body of the young
Greek girl who'd been Carlos's choice. Fortunately she wasn't dead, only badly
frightened and horribly slashed by the thin-bladed stiletto Carlos still held
ready in his hand. Carlos had been fully dressed, and his narrow lips had drawn
back in a sneer as he had said coolly, "She tried to steal my money. I am
disappointed in Frenchie. He should have known better than to try that trick
with
me
!"

It
was possible Carlos had been telling the truth, but it didn't excuse what he
had done to the Greek girl. Controlling his blazing temper with an effort,
Brett had urgently hustled the affronted Carlos out of the room and out of the
saloon. It was only when they stood outside the low-gabled cypress building
that Brett had threatened him. Carlos had looked him up and down and then
shrugged his shoulders and drawled, "I don't fight with ruffians, nor do I
brawl over common whores."

The
dark green eyes glittering with suppressed violence, conscious of the dangerous
role he played, Brett had dared not reply in kind. Instead he had taken a deep
breath and promised, "Perhaps someday I'll make you change your mind about
that. You might just find a brawl with a ruffian better sport than knifing an
unarmed girl."

Carlos's
face had whitened, but he had not pushed his luck. He'd spun on his heel and
disappeared quickly, leaving Brett wishing he could forget his masquerade for
about five minutes. He had figured that was about all it would take him to
teach that arrogant Spaniard a lesson. And now, he thought with a grim smile, I
might just get to teach Carlos that lesson after all.

Looking
across at Ollie, he said, "You're right. That was the fellow. And he's
Alejandro's nephew."

Ollie
whistled with dismay. "That could be right bad for us, guvnor. This de la
Vega saw you when you were acting the part of a smuggler. It'll be a bit
difficult to explain what you were doing there."

Brett
made a face. "It won't be that bad. Remember, Alejandro already knows what
I was doing there. He was in New Orleans when Frenchie and the rest were
brought to trial, and I explained to him my part in their arrest. The problem
will be Carlos. I got the distinct impression tonight that nothing would give
Carlos greater pleasure than to see me discredited. Even if I were to explain
myself to him, he wouldn't believe it, wouldn't want to believe it. He'll
definitely try to cause trouble if he can, but I think I can probably stand the
nonsense. The most that will arise out of it should be nothing more than a few
raised eyebrows and whispers. As long as Alejandro isn't affected by it, and I
don't believe he will be, I really don't give a damn what Carlos says or
does!"

Ollie
looked skeptical. "You going to mention this to Senor Alejandro?"

Frowning,
Brett regarded his manservant. "It's a bit delicate, my little friend.
Carlos is his nephew, and I don't like tale bearers. I can't very well march
into Alejandro's room and say, 'Oh, by the way, I had a bit of trouble with a
nasty customer when I was posing as a smuggler, and imagine my surprise when it
turns out that my nasty customer is
your
nephew!' A little difficult,
wouldn't you say?"

"I
see your point," Ollie replied glumly. "What are you going to
do?"

"Nothing.
Carlos may not even remember the incident. And if you'll recall, I looked the
part I was playing. Hopefully there is a great deal of difference between Brett
the smuggler and Brett the nephew of Alejandro del Torres." A glimmer of
laughter deep in his eyes, he murmured, "And if there isn't, it must be
the fault of my rascally valet! Hmmm?"

Missing
the lurking laughter, Ollie bristled. "Well, if that don't beat the Dutch!
I work my fingers to the bone turning you out proper, and you doubt my
craft!"

Smiling,
Brett dismissed him. "Go to bed, Ollie, and don't worry your head over
tonight. We'll come about, you'll see."

Once
he was alone in his rooms, Brett wished he were as confident as he sounded.
This evening's interlude with Sabrina had left him badly rattled. And the ugly
suspicion that he might have been the one seduced couldn't be dismissed. In the
black, suspicious mood he was in at the moment, he wouldn't have been at all
startled to have Alejandro suddenly come barging through his door, demanding
that he do the honorable thing by his daughter. But he found it almost
impossible to believe such a thing of Alejandro, and as the time passed and the
house remained silent, he dismissed that notion. That Sabrina had planned
tonight's confrontation all by herself wasn't quite as easy to dismiss. Even
her youth did not stand in her defense—women were trouble right from the cradle
as far as Brett was concerned.

Of
course there was Carlos. . . . But he shrugged. Sabrina could simply have
decided that Brett was a better catch—even Carlos had admitted that the
engagement had not been formally announced. So had she planned what had nearly
happened tonight? Or had it been as innocent as it appeared on the surface?

Unable
to resolve that problem, he deliberately turned his mind away from it. But if
he could push aside the question of Sabrina's innocence or guilt with
reasonable ease, he could not ignore his own part in tonight's near disaster.

How
could I have lost control of myself like that? he wondered bitterly. Not only
had he transgressed his own code, he had nearly dishonored and abused the trust
of a man he held in high regard. Disgust and fury at himself rising up in his
throat, he got up and poured another glass of brandy. If she hadn't called a
halt when she did . . . He closed his eyes in pain. God! He had wanted her! And
he was bleakly aware that in another moment or two he wouldn't have been able
to stop—no matter what she'd said or done. Just thinking of her warm body, of
that soft mouth beneath his, made his body harden and burn with desire.
Outraged that even now she could arouse him so powerfully, he cursed helplessly
under his breath. Unwilling to admit to any reason other than simple lust and
propinquity for his body's betrayal, he was eventually able to convince himself
that all he really needed was a woman—any woman! Once he'd broken his celibate
state, this ridiculous obsession with Sabrina would disappear completely.

Assured
that he had discovered the reason for having nearly broken the rules of a
lifetime, he relaxed slightly. He had nothing more to worry about, he told
himself repeatedly. Sabrina's attraction had been merely that she was a
desirable young woman and she had been close at hand. Too close at hand, he
reminded himself tightly.

Those
conclusions should have allowed him to seek his bed and sleep soundly, but such
was not the case. He found himself instead increasingly restless, and like
Sabrina he finally left his room and wandered downstairs.

Idly
he walked through the darkened hacienda. Eventually he ended up in the library,
and lighting the candelabrum at the end of the couch, his gaze went reluctantly
to the floor where he and Sabrina had lain together. The image of her lying
there came back to him, the flame-colored hair spread out like a cloak of fiery
gold around her, the amber-gold eyes drowsy with desire, the lush ripeness of
her mouth begging for his kiss. He swallowed dryly. He had to stop thinking
about her!

Like
a man chased by demons, he left the library instantly, fleeing unwanted
memories. Reaching the stables just as the faintest glimmer of light broke on
the eastern horizon, he declined the services of a sleepy stablehand and
quickly saddled Firestorm himself.

How
long he rode, or even where, he never remembered, but the movement of the horse
beneath him seemed to soothe the devils that ate at him, and the instinctive
need to pay attention to Firestorm's spirited attempts to increase their pace
kept him from thinking too deeply.

When
he finally did return to the hacienda, the sun was high in the sky and the
place was bustling with the usual daily activity. Dismounting, he tossed the
reins to the waiting stablehand and began to walk toward the house. Passing one
of the paddocks, he absently noticed Sabrina's mare, Sirocco, joyfully
frolicking with two other handsome horses. He stopped for a moment to watch the
fluid, graceful movements of the sleek palomino, the sunlight turning Sirocco's
gleaming hide to pure spun gold. A beautiful animal worthy of her owner, he
decided.

Pleasantly
exhausted now, he wanted nothing more than his bed, but crossing the front
courtyard, he was stopped by Bonita, a faintly worried expression on her plump
features.

''Buenos
dias
,
Senor Brett," she began politely. "Don Alejandro apologizes for
having to leave this morning before seeing you, but a puma killed a calf last
night, and he didn't want to delay the hunt for it until you could be
found." A slightly scolding note in her voice, she said, "We were
concerned that you were not in your room when word of the kill came, but once
it was discovered that your horse was gone, your servant explained that you
often go for an early morning ride." Her lips pursing sternly, she
admonished, "You are as bad as Senorita Sabrina—both of you seem to forget
that there are bandits in the area and it is foolish for you to disappear
without letting someone know your whereabouts."

His
suspiciously meek demeanor at odds with the twinkle of amusement deep in the
dark green eyes, Brett murmured, "I am sorry, Bonita, if you were worried
about me—I will try to be more considerate of your fears for my safety in the
future."

Bonita
sniffed, not at all placated by his words. But letting the subject drop, she
went on, "Don Alejandro does not think that the puma hunt will take too
many hours, and he suggested that you might care to accompany him this
afternoon, after siesta, when he plans to ride into Nacogdoches."

Brett
nodded his dark head in agreement and would have gone on his way, but Bonita
seemed to hesitate, and then she asked anxiously, "Senor , did you see
Senorita Sabrina this morning? Or notice if her horse was in the stables when you
were there?"

Brett
stiffened, wondering immediately if this was another calculated move in
whatever game Sabrina might be playing. "I haven't seen her since last
night," he answered warily. "I did see Sirocco just a few minutes
ago, though, in one of the paddocks. Why do you ask?"

Bonita
wrung her hands, the expression of worry deepening. "She is not in her
rooms! I was not alarmed at first, because, like you, Senor , she comes and
goes as she pleases, but it is almost mid-morning and still there is no sign of
her. Never has she been gone this long without telling me! I had hoped that she
had gone riding with you—but now you tell me that this is not so and that her
horse is here." Her big round brown eyes frightened, Bonita wailed, "Where
can she be, Senor ? With the bandits around . . ."

Something
decidedly unpleasant slithered down his spine, and because he had never
experienced the feeling before, it took Brett a second to realize what it
was—fear. Bonita's unspoken words raised horrifying specters in his
mind—Sabrina helpless and at the mercy of the cruel, unscrupulous bandits;
Sabrina suffering rape and worse at the hands of those same brutal murderers
who had attacked and razed the Rios ranch . . . Savagely he reined in his
racing imagination.

Concealing
his own niggling fear, Brett said soothingly, "Now, Bonita, don't work
yourself up into a frenzy. She's probably just gone for a walk and taken longer
than she expected. Have you had any of the servants look for her?"

''Si
, Senor !"
Bonita answered quickly. "I had them search the grounds thoroughly when I
could not find her. I myself was on my way to the stables when I met you."

"Well,
dammit, she must be someplace!" Brett bit out, torn between worry and
irritation. "She can't just have disappeared on foot. Isn't there
someplace you haven't looked, someplace she might have gone?"