The Tiger Lily (49 page)

Deciding
that retreat was the better part of valor, she cautiously opened her door and
peered down the deserted hallway. Just as cautiously she slipped down the
hallway to the staircase that led to the courtyard. She was not remaining here
to be bullied and insulted by the gringo! She would take refuge with the
Correias for the night. A more confident smile on her thin mouth, she hurried
across the darkened courtyard toward the carriageway entrance. Ha! Let the
gringo wonder where they had all disappeared to! And for a second she allowed
herself the pleasure of picturing his expression when Carlos and Sabrina
returned a few days from now as man and wife.

Unaware
that Francisca had left the house, Brett wandered back to the library, his
thoughts not pleasant ones. The situation was rather ironic, he mused a few
minutes later. Like a romantic fool, he had spent the past ten days acting
almost like a bridegroom preparing a bower for his bride. For a second he
looked down at his calloused hands, a cynical smile curving his mouth. Even to
the point of building a latticed gazebo near a secluded corner of the estate
with his bare hands, so that his sweet ward would have something that reminded
her of home.

A
bitter growl of laughter escaped him. What folly! Extensive and expensive
alterations had been made at Fox's Lair—bare walls were now silk-hung, fine
carpets covered the planked floors, elegant furniture from New Orleans had been
arriving by the wagonload, and he had even harried his workmen to create a
small courtyard that was reminiscent of the one at Nacogdoches. The gazebo had
been his own personal, private contribution, and he had taken pride and
pleasure in the hard work of constructing it, trying to visualize Sabrina's
reaction to it, boyishly hoping it would please her and make her more resigned
to staying here in Louisiana. He could not create a lake, but he had situated
the gazebo in a spot that overlooked a tranquil stretch of the Mississippi
River, and he hoped that she would find it an acceptable substitution.

During
the days he had been gone, Brett had done a lot of thinking, a lot of looking
at his own emotions, and he didn't like what he saw. It was the idea of
Sabrina's forced surrender that gave him the most displeasure, that caused him
to turn restlessly night after night. He wanted her, but he wanted her to come
to him of her own free will—for it to be like it had been the first and only
time they had made love. And the thought of releasing her at the end of six
months was intolerable. Just thinking about a life without her created an
aching emptiness deep within him, for which he knew there was no solace. . . .

His
mouth twisted. What a damning admission for a cynic like him to make! He, who
prided himself on being above the emotional entanglements that made such fools
of the sanest men. Slowly he poured himself another glass of brandy. Well,
Sabrina would just have to be his concession to the follies that men commit
over women, he thought sardonically as he drank his brandy.

He
was deliberately avoiding thinking about Carlos alone with Sabrina on the long
ride back to New Orleans in a closed, private coach. ... It was a futile
battle, mental images of Sabrina in Carlos's arms, her mouth pressed sweetly
against the Spaniard's, driving him half-mad with jealousy. With grim resolve
he tried not to let that fierce jealousy burst out of control, tried with a
cool desperation not to dwell on what might be happening. But as the time
passed, as the decanter of brandy grew lower and lower, the tight check he kept
on his emotions began to slip. . . .

Sabrina
wasn't alarmed when Carlos informed her that his mother had left early, but she
was dismayed. She didn't relish the seven-mile journey back to New Orleans in
Carlos's company. Not when they would be cloistered in the closed coach. But
there was nothing she could do about it, so resignedly she allowed him to help
her into the carriage, hoping that he would continue to be charming and polite.

As
the coach slowly pulled away, there was silence between them. Determined to
take advantage of the forced tete-a-tete, Sabrina blurted out the question that
had been on the tip of her tongue for days. "What did you lie to Brett
about?"

Carlos
was caught by surprise only for a moment, and when the implications of what she
was asking sank in, he was conscious of a terrible burst of fury. In the
darkness his fist clenched, and it was all he could do not to reach across the
short distance that separated them and strike her and call her the slut she
was. There was only one lie that he had ever told the gringo—that he and
Sabrina were lovers—and there was only one way the gringo could have known that
he had lied. . . .

It
was as well that Sabrina couldn't see his face. If she had, all the nebulous
fears and doubts that had plagued her would have crystalized into certain
knowledge of his nefarious actions. As it was, though, Carlos's manner put her
on guard, and for the first time in a long time, she wished that she still wore
the blade of fine Spanish steel that her father had given her.

A
sneer very evident in his voice, Carlos replied, "Why don't you ask the
gringo? I'm certain he would be eager to vilify my character to you."

Sabrina
bit her lip. Wishing there was light to see his expression, but not liking his
tone of voice, she confessed, "I did, but he wouldn't tell me."

"Then
you'll just have to wonder about it, won't you?"

Doggedly
she persisted. "He said you told him unforgivable lies when he was staying
at our home. Did you?"

Maniacal
fury erupting up through him—that and the knowledge that soon it wouldn't
matter whether she knew the truth or not making him careless—he leaned over and
grabbed one of her wrists in a cruel hold. His face only inches from hers, his
teeth a gleam of white in the darkness, he snarled, ''Si! I lied to the gringo!
I told him that we were lovers. That I had long been your lover." His
fingers crushed her wrist more brutally, and he gave her a rough jerk, nearly
spilling her off the seat onto the floor of the coach. "And just think, my
sweet whoring cousin, there is only one way he can have known that I lied. Only
one way—
puta!
"

Blazingly
angry, so angry she couldn't think straight, not even feeling the pain from his
vicious hold on her wrist, she struck him with the open palm of her free hand. He
had lied, poisoned Brett against her, and now he had the audacity to condemn
her!

The
slap stung for Sabrina was no simpering miss, and for one second Carlos almost
lost sight of his objective, almost gave in to the impulse to put his hands
about her slender throat and strangle her. Instead he drew in a ragged breath
and laughed harshly. "And to think that all this time I thought you were
an innocent virgin! To think of how I have controlled myself! Tried to woo you
gently! Tried to win your trust again—and all the while you were nothing more
than the soiled leavings of a damned gringo!"

Aware
of the dangers of this situation, but too angry to care, Sabrina demanded
icily, "Let go of me, Carlos! Let me go before I scratch out your eyes and
tear out your wicked, lying tongue!"

Carlos
laughed again, an ugly sound that sent a shiver coursing down Sabrina's spine.
Thickly he muttered, "You won't be doing anything to me; it is
I
who will be doing to you!"

Unerringly
his cruel mouth found hers, and he kissed her brutally. Furiously Sabrina
struggled to escape from his touch, but it was useless. She was pressed back
against the seat of the coach, and the hold on her wrist was merciless. Too
angry and revolted to be frightened, she closed the fingers of her free hand
over several strands of his hair, and savagely she yanked his head back, away
from her mouth.

Carlos
let out a growl of pain, his other hand reaching up to capture hers, but
Sabrina was ready for him, and moving like a striking snake, she hit him with
the heel of her hand under the chin. His head snapped back, and her wrist was
free. Breathing heavily, they regarded each other in the darkness, and in that
instant the coach went around the corner and the wheel came off.

There
was a mad lurch, a bone-jarring thud, and the coach stopped. A babble of voices
was heard from the coachmen, and a second later, the door to the coach was
wrenched open.

With
heartfelt relief, Sabrina met Ollie's worried eyes. "Miss!" he
exclaimed. "Are you all right? Damn my eyes! I near swallowed the spider
when that wheel came off!"

Shaken
more by what had happened with Carlos, Sabrina gratefully took Ollie's hand as
he helped her down from the disabled vehicle. From the light of the coach
lantern on the side, Ollie could see that she was white, and softly he
whispered, "You all right? You look pasty."

"She's
perfectly fine!" Carlos said sharply, following immediately behind
Sabrina. Sourly he surveyed the damage and then ordered arrogantly, "You
two men walk back to the Robles plantation and have someone bring up some sort
of transportation."

Ollie
looked at Carlos with dislike. "I ain't leaving Miss Sabrina," he
said flatly. Then, glancing across at the driver, who had come to stand beside
them, Ollie muttered, "Well, Joel, do you think we can fix it?"

This
wasn't how Carlos had planned things, and impatiently he snapped, "I gave
you an order! Now go back to the plantation and see about transportation."

The
sound of approaching hoof-beats suddenly broke the silence, and ignoring the seething
Spaniard, Ollie walked to the center of the dirt road and began to slowly wave
one of the lanterns from the coach. A moment later, a second vehicle came into
view, a stylish coach carrying its occupants from the very soiree that Sabrina
had attended earlier. In no time, the situation was explained, and much to
Carlos's helpless fury, a ride back to the city was warmly offered.

Sabrina
was fervent in her thanks when at last she was deposited in front of Brett's
house. She hadn't exchanged a word with Carlos during their ride home, but now,
conscious of Ollie standing a short, watchful distance away, she said frostily,
"It was an enlightening evening, cousin. I'll not thank you for it, and I
would appreciate it if you don't ever—"

She
got no further, for the front doors suddenly flew open, slamming loudly back
against the walls of the house. Brett stood there in the doorway, such an air
of menace radiating from him that Carlos took a nervous step backward.

The
candlelight from the foyer streamed out into the dark street from behind Brett.
To Sabrina he looked very large and forceful, and her heart gave an unexpected
leap at the sight of him. His features were in shadow, the white shirt he was
wearing undone nearly to the waist, exposing glimpses of the hard, sleek
muscles of his chest. Black breeches were molded to his long, elegantly
muscular thighs, and his thumbs were loosely hooked into the wide black belt
around his lean waist as he stood there blocking the entrance to the house.

Silence
fell, and Sabrina was very aware of the sudden frantic pounding of her pulse.
She had done nothing to be ashamed of, but she had the lowering feeling that
Brett was in no mood to be reasonable.

She
was right, he wasn't. A dangerous glitter in the jade-green eyes, he drawled,
"Well, well. If it isn't my little ward and her escort, finally come
home."

Ollie
looked at him sharply and then whistled silently under his breath. The guvnor
was fair-foxed, and that made him all the more unpredictable and lethal. Only
to someone like Ollie who knew him well were the signs obvious that Brett had
been drinking heavily—the very careful way that he held himself, like a tiger
on eggs, and the faintest slur to his speech, almost undetectable unless one
was listening for it.

Certainly
neither Sabrina nor Carlos was aware of it, although both were uneasily
conscious of the spine-prickling feeling that they were faced with a
potentially explosive situation. For Carlos, the wisest course was to retreat.
His plans had gone dreadfully awry, and nothing could be salvaged at that
moment. He needed to rethink his strategy, and he knew that after tonight's
debacle, Sabrina would be even harder to capture. Under his breath, he cursed
for the hundredth time the inopportune arrival of the other coach, but most of
all, he cursed the fury that had allowed his tongue to wag so foolishly—at
least, he thought savagely, he hadn't exposed his ultimate plan, and there was
a chance that he could explain his actions away. Jealousy? Could he convince
Sabrina that he had been so consumed with jealousy that the reason he had lied
to the gringo six years ago had been to protect her? Maybe. But for now, the
most important thing was to escape from this unfortunate circumstance as
unscathed as possible.