Witch's Harvest (15 page)

'Witch's broom.' Abby frowned. She remembered Vasco talking about that—the catastrophic effect it had had on his cousin's

life. She asked, 'Why is it called that?'

Link shrugged. 'I guess because the diseased shoots are long and distorted, like a witch's talons.' He gave her a wry look. 'It's a
romantic notion, I grant you, but there's nothing fairytale about the real thing. Once it gets a hold, it can cost a fortune and some
heartbreak to get rid of. Boy, can it spread!' He shook his head. 'I've been telling Gerulito, we should go through that whole area
with a fine-tooth comb, but he doesn't want to know.'

In her secret heart Abby felt a little sorry for Gerulito, who was so clearly unfitted to cope with his new role.

'Perhaps Vasco could talk to him,' she suggested.

'Hell, no!' Link said explosively. 'As our closest neighbour, he's the last guy I want to be involved. He's put a lot of investment
into Riocho Negro lately, and he won't want to hear about witch's broom so near his territory. Hopefully, I can deal with it, and it
won't cost him even a night's sleep.'

Abby craned her neck to look at the posters. 'Which one is it?'

'It's here,' Link took her hand and guided it to the appropriate illustration.

Abby stared at the picture. It looked quite innocuous, she thought, like the kind of misshapen twig or shoot any shrub might

bear, yet it was a wrecker—a destroyer of lives, even. And she shivered.

From the doorway, Vasco said glacially, '
Desculpe
. I hope I am not intruding, but I came to tell Abigail it is time we were leaving.'

'Sure,' Link didn't seem discomposed. 'I was just filling her in on some of the finer points of the cacao industry. She's a quick

learner.'

'I am sure she found it fascinating.' Vasco's smile did not reach his eyes. He produced Abby's cape. 'Are you ready,
querida
?

Luisa is waiting to take leave of you.'

All during Luisa's fulsome and prolonged farewells, Abby was aware of Vasco's eyes on her, the cold, angry set of his mouth.

He did not speak as they got into the car and he started the engine. They had travelled a fair distance before he said, 'I have

spoken to you before about seeking Link Dalton's company, Abigail. May I know why you are so determined to defy me?'

'I haven't defied you,' she protested.

'Then why do I find you alone with him in the estate office, having deliberately left the party?'

'I'd been to the bathroom. I just—ran into him in the passage,' she said, despising herself for the defensiveness in her tone.

'And went with him to the office.'

'Yes, I did.' She sent him a muted glare. 'It's hardly a—a boudoir, after all. And—and at least he talks to me—explains things.

We're both outsiders here, and he—understands that.'

'You feel so isolated?' There was surprise in his voice. 'I did not realise…'

'Why should you?' she said fiercely. 'After all, you have your full and busy life, just as you had before I came here. You don't

spend all day and every day with nothing to do, except wonder what the servants are gossiping about next.'

'And what is that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing.' Her cheeks warmed slightly.

'I see.' There was a silence. 'And what aspect of cacao cultivation was Dalton discussing with you?'

Her lips parted to tell him, and closed again, as she remembered Link's warning.

'I don't remember,' she said stiltedly, and he laughed harshly.

'So, if it was not the conversation you found so enthralling, it must have been your companion.'

'Oh, don't be so ridiculous—and such a dog in the manger!' Abby flung at him. 'At least Link treats me as if I was a human being.'

. 'Which I clearly do not,' he said too politely. '
Muito obrigado, senhora
.'

There was no way she could explain to him, Abby thought achingly, as the curt silence descended between them again. There

were so many things between Vasco and herself that could not be discussed, that had to remain unsaid, because of the pitfalls

which existed in even the most ordinary avenues of conversation.

And, she had to admit, he had offered to teach her about the plantation. It was her own fault she hadn't accepted that particular

overture.

But no one could possibly take exception to the kind of innocuous exchange she had enjoyed with Link tonight. Unless

Brazilian men were pathologically possessive about their womenfolk, she thought with a smothered sigh.

When they arrived back at the
fazenda
, Abby went straight to her room. She sat down at the dressing table and began to remove
her make-up with fastidious care. Without it, she looked far more her ordinary self, she decided, studying the results judiciously.

More like a sparrow than tonight's bird of paradise, and no cause for any husband's concern.

She picked up her brush and began to smooth it rhythmically over her hair, but the movement failed in its usual calming effect.

The evening had left her on edge, and more than a little forlorn. Vasco was surprised that she felt an outsider, she thought

angrily, when he couldn't even be bothered to tell her it was his birthday!

When the door opened suddenly, and he walked into the room and came up behind her, she forgot to be surprised, and glared

at him in the mirror.

The arrogant brows rose. 'So now it is your turn to be cross with me,' he observed. 'May I know why?'

'Need you ask?' she demanded stormily. 'How old were you today, Vasco? Or is that a closely kept secret too?'

'I am thirty-three.' He studied her quizzically. 'Is that why you're upset—because I didn't mention that it was my birthday?'

'Is it so surprising?' Abby shook her head. 'It must have been apparent to everyone at that damned party tonight that I was the

only one without a clue about what was happening. You should have warned me.'

He shrugged. 'I didn't want to impose the obligation of a celebration on you,
querida
. And the fact that Luisa had chosen this
particular date for her party might have been a coincidence.'

'But it wasn't.'

'No,' he admitted. 'It was not.'

'And the servants are upset,' she went on, brushing her hair so fiercely that her head began to ache. 'That never occurred to

you, I suppose— or that I might have wanted to give you a present.'

'What did you have in mind?' In the mirror his eyes, dark and curiously intent, met hers, and Abby tore her gaze away.

'I don't know,' she said hurriedly. 'I'd have thought of something—if I'd been given the chance.'

'Allow me to help.' Vasco leaned forward and took the ill-used hairbrush from her hand, placing it gently on the dressing-table.

He said gently, 'Shall I tell you what gift I want from you,
carinha
?' The dark head bent, and he brushed his lips softly along the
curve of her bared shoulder. 'I want you, Abigail. Let me stay with you tonight.'

Her heart began to thud, painfully and unevenly. She said, past some constriction in her throat. 'You—you let everyone tonight

think that you did so already. Isn't that enough for your pride?'

'Who speaks of pride?' he asked softly.

'I think you do.' Abigail bit her lip hard as Vasco's fingers began to stroke the nape of her neck, slowly and sensuously. 'It—

needles you that I seem to prefer another man's company to yours, so you're asserting yourself, proving a point.'

There was a silence, and the caressing fingers stilled momentarily. 'And if that is true?' he said at last. 'Do you think I have no
reason? Look at yourself,
senhora
.' His hand cupped her chin, making her meet his gaze fully once again. 'The night we spent
together has left no mark on you. You look—untouched,
querida
, a quality that would intrigue any man, and your admirer is very
ready to be intrigued, I think. So—I shall remove temptation from his way. From now on there will be no doubt in anyone's mind

whether you belong to me or not.'

'There's no need for this.' Her voice sounded strained, desperate.

'And what,
minha esposa
do you know of need?' Vasco mocked. His hands moved, covering her small breasts, and a pang of
wild, shameful excitement pierced her body. 'You are my wife, Abigail, but for tonight—be my woman. Forget all this nonsense

about love, and remember only that you wanted me once.' His mouth caressed the side of her throat—teased her earlobe. He

whispered, 'I hurt you that night,
querida
, and I have never forgiven myself for that. This time there will be no pain, I swear to
you.'

No pain, Abby thought with a stunned incredulity. How could he say there would be no pain when he had just dismissed her

love for him—the only gift she could give—so negligently? Did he really think he could—use her as a convenient sexual release

without making her suffer until the end of her days?

Already, the touch of his mouth on her skin was tearing her apart with longing. Her breasts were swelling under his questing

fingers, the nipples already sensitised and erect. A warm trembling had begun to pulsate deep inside her.

It would be so easy to turn to him, she thought dazedly, to offer her mouth, and by implication, her body too. So easy and yet so

utterly impossible.

'Relax,
carinha
? There was cynicism in his smile as if he'd gauged her inner struggle and was weighing it against her
involuntary physical reaction to his mouth and hands. 'Don't ask for the moon. When second-best is all there is, why not settle

for that?'

Second-best
. The words seemed to sear into her mind. All she would ever—could ever-be to him— a shadowy substitute for
Della's provocative, glowing beauty.

She thought, I can't…

She tore herself free. 'Let go of me, Vasco! I'm not—some parcel that you can unwrap when it suits you!'

Vasco's head lifted sharply, and he stared at her, very pale suddenly under his tan.

He said harshly, 'You don't think so?'

His hands clamped under her armpits, pulling her with bewildering swiftness to her feet. He reached for the zip at the back of

her dress, dragging at it so violently that she felt the surrounding threads rip and give way.

She said imploringly, 'No…' but it was already too late. The lovely dress lay ruined in a misty green pool at her feet.

He lifted her from it and carried her to the bed, pulling back the covers and depositing her, not altogether gently, against the

pillows. Then he bent over her, the powerful hands ridding her almost negligently of her last remaining covering.

Abby cried out and tried to snatch the sheet across her body, but he forestalled her, capturing both her slender wrists in one

hand and holding them above her head while he looked at her, the dark eyes ruthlessly assessing every inch of her trembling

body.

He said, half to himself, 'I had almost forgotten…'

Sick with humiliation, she closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to read in his expression the comparisons he was bound to be

making.

When he released her wrists she hoped for a moment, absurdly, that he had changed his mind. But a swift glance under her

lashes revealed that her respite was only temporary. Dry-mouthed, she realised he was taking off his clothes.

She felt the mattress dip under the weight of his body as he came to lie beside her. His fingers lightly stroked the curve of her

face, then cupped her chin, making her face him.

He said quietly, 'You're so fragile,
carinha
, like some small, wild bird. It makes me almost afraid…' A faint smile twisted his mouth
as he looked into her eyes. 'Almost,' he murmured. 'Yet—not quite.'

His head came down, and his mouth covered hers. Abby felt her body clench in yearning as Vasco's warm lips persuaded,

gently pressured hers apart.

His hand slid the length of her body, slowly and possessively rediscovering her, and every nerve-ending throbbed tremulously

in response to the contact. Her mind, every emotion, seemed to be shivering in anticipation as he caressed her.

Oh, God, she thought, it's been such a long time. It's been for ever…

Every lonely, restless night she'd endured since she had arrived at Riocho Negro seemed to be urging her on, to take the

pleasure he was offering. That sudden dark flare of anger in him had subsided. He was back in control again, his hands

exploring her in undisguised appreciation, his mouth kissing her throat, her shoulders, and the slender length of her arms to her

wrist, travelling unhurriedly from one quivering pulse to another.

When his tongue found the slight valley between her breasts, the sensation tore a little moan of need from her throat. His fingers
shaped each soft mound in turn, moulding them for his kisses, his lips tugging softly and erotically at each rosy, throbbing

peak.

He whispered against her flesh. 'Now tell me you do not want me.'