Authors: Shirl Henke
Nicholas had to have her now or he would spill his seed uselessly, so desperate was he to feel that final caress of her soft, beautiful little body. When she cried out, he lost the last vestige of his control. He had not had a woman in the past several months. Perhaps it had been a mistake to pass up the invitation of the camp followers, but none of them had appealed to him any more than Innocencia did. What man would want a coarse slovenly slut when he could have a beautiful woman like Mercedes? His brother was a fool, but Nicholas was grateful as he moved over Mercedes and parted her thighs.
She felt the hard tip of his phallus probe at the opening and braced herself for the hurt, but it did not come. Always in the past she had been dry and sore, but in the past he had never done such things to her as he did tonight. Was this how a man cavorted with harlots like Innocencia? The chilling thought served to erase the slick gliding pleasure as his staff plunged deep.
Nicholas felt her stiffen and panic when he started to enter her but there was no way he could stop now. He knew she was ready, her petals wet and creamy. His throbbing shaft slid all the way to the hilt and he froze, afraid to move lest it all be over far too quickly. She was so tight and hot all he could think of was to pump away to glorious oblivion. That was what his brother would have done—had always done before. He was sure of it. But he would not. He could feel her tense, lying perfectly still except for the pounding of her heart next to his. Making low crooning sounds, he tilted her face up to his and kissed her again. Then slowly, an inch at a time he raised his hips, fighting for control, until he could set a careful, even rhythm.
He longed to have her wrap her arms around his shoulders and arch up to meet his thrusts, but this was all too new to her, she who had never been loved before, only hurt and humiliated. “I'll make this as good for you as I can...for as long as I can last, love,” he murmured against her mouth.
The words alarmed her. Her fingers dug into the mattress as he moved over her, sliding in and out, relentlessly, for what seemed an incredibly long time in spite of the fact that it was infinitely less uncomfortable than it had ever been before. In fact, the slick hot friction was beginning to feel altogether too pleasant. She could not succumb to his wiles. He had returned home to play a new sort of game for God only knew what reasons. The only thing she knew for certain was that Innocencia would be waiting when Lucero finished with her.
That thought was enough to keep her rigidly immobile as he labored above her. She could feel droplets of his perspiration fall onto her face and shoulders as his sweat-slicked body pressed into hers. Then he gave a strangled cry, an oath that sounded almost like an endearment. His whole body stiffened and shuddered. This was familiar to her. Soon it would all be over. His shaft swelled and throbbed deep inside her and he collapsed on top of her, panting for breath.
Mercedes expected him to roll quickly away and leave the bed. He always had in the past, but that was in her bed. Would he expect her to get up and crawl away naked to her room? She waited. He did not move, only supported his weight on his forearms and cradled her.
Finally he pulled out of her, but instead of releasing his hold on her he further surprised her by holding her close to his side with one arm while he reached down for the sheet at the foot of the rumpled bed. The soft linen settled over their bodies as he lay back down, fitting her against him. Obviously he did not intend for her to leave just yet.
Nicholas could not remember when he had ever felt so sated. She was restless and unsatisfied as yet, he knew, but there was no remedy for that tonight. Her body would be tender now and it would take time to teach it to accept the pleasure, to give in to her own release. With that pleasant thought tantalizing him, he drifted off to sleep.
Mercedes felt his even breathing and knew he slept. She wanted desperately to leave his bed, to be alone, to think and assimilate all that had happened between them in the brief time since he returned home. The candles had burned very low and one by one now they sputtered out, leaving the room in the silvery darkness of a moonlit Sonoran night. His arm still held her fast. Dare she remove it and slip from the bed?
Cautiously she raised up and folded back the sheet. He stirred in his sleep. She froze. Then he relaxed again and murmured something in what sounded like English. But of course that could not be, for Lucero despised the language and understood very little of it. He had been forced to learn a smattering of French but spoke it haltingly and only when social occasions had made it imperative.
Perhaps during his years in the war he had learned English, too. His experience had certainly changed him dramatically. She could not resist studying him as he slept. With those hypnotic fathomless eyes closed, she could drink her fill of his male beauty with no fear of taunting reprisal. And she realized suddenly that she wanted to look upon him, even touch him, but touching might awaken him and that would be humiliating.
She would be content just to study him with her eyes. His face was younger-looking in repose, the hard, dangerous aura gone. There was something subtly different about his features. Maybe the scar? But surely it could not change much. She inventoried his high sculpted brow with those dramatic eyebrows and thick black eyelashes, that perfect long blade of a nose, the high cheekbones and the mouth. Just thinking of what he had done to her with that mouth made her whole body burn.
She had to get away. Some intuition made her realize that if she did not and he awakened to take her again, she might do something very foolish. Very foolish indeed.
Chapter Six
Nicholas awakened to the sounds of a cock crowing and blinked his eyes, then rolled over in the wide bed and sat up. The delicate essence of lavender still clung to the rumpled sheets, mixed with the scent of sex. But Mercedes was gone. He felt a stab of loss which took him by surprise. Sleeping through the night with a woman after making love was not something he customarily did. In fact, he had never done it. Yet he had wanted to sleep with the woman everyone called his wife.
“She is my wife,” he said, then realized how that sounded. Was he trying to convince himself that she belonged to him? She belonged to his brother, who had bequeathed her to him with no more thought than he had given when handing over Peltre. Lucero had not valued Mercedes, but Nicholas did, most probably too much for his own good.
Fortune had agreed to the charade to gain Gran Sangre and respectability. He had wanted the land, and if he were honest, he wanted the recognition that he belonged to it, that he could be the
patrón
. Mercedes had only been incidental to his plans when he had set out to assume Luce's identity. The “pallid plain little virgin” his brother described had not interested him any more than did the coarse and lusty Innocencia.
But that was before he saw the
patrona
of Gran Sangre and realized just how wrong his brother had been. No surprise there, he thought ruefully, knowing Luce's taste in women. That Mercedes was a beauty with wit and spirit was a surprise, but his attraction to her was a double-edged sword. He could make himself vulnerable to a woman who had good reason to hate the man she believed him to be.
“Tread cautiously, old son,” he admonished himself grimly as he threw off the sheet and stood up. The worst mistake he could make was to let her see how much power she had over him. Luce would not have cared enough about her to want her in his bed for more than perfunctory breeding. It would be extremely out of character if he stormed into her room and berated her for slipping away in the night. He had taken enough of a chance by seducing her so patiently last night. Of course, bringing a bastard daughter home to Gran Sangre was taking an even greater chance. Nicholas knew he was a fool to do either one. And he knew he could do nothing else.
He rang for Baltazar and prepared to face the morning. As he bathed and shaved, he mulled over whether he should tell Mercedes about Rosario now or simply bring the child back from Hermosillo with a governess as a fait accompli. The arrogance and lack of consideration for his wife's feelings in the latter course was more in keeping with Luce's character. As he dressed, he still could not decide on a course of action.
A soft knock on his bedroom door interrupted his ruminations. He bid the caller enter, assuming it was Baltazar.
Father Salvador glided into the room. His pale blue eyes glittered as he stared at Nicholas. “Your mother requests you attend her at once.”
Nicholas arched one brow. “Before mass? The matter must be of great moment,” he replied sardonically.
Although she was too ill to take her meals with the family, Doña Sofia faithfully attended mass every morning in her quarters.
“I assure you that it is most urgent.” There was a warning note in the old man's voice, but he said no more, only turned and left the room.
When Nicholas knocked on her door, a maid opened it at once. Doña Sofia sat up in bed, fully dressed, her hair done up with tortoiseshell combs. She looked pale as death but her expression was set in a grimace of determination as she dismissed Lupe, then waited until the two of them were alone. He said nothing, waiting for her to make the first move.
“It has come to my attention that you have a responsibility to attend in Hermosillo. I admonish you to do your duty at once.” Her voice cracked like brittle paper rustling in the wind.
“I should’ve known Father Salvador's meddling would go beyond merely reading a letter that was not addressed to him.”
“He did not make the decision to burden me with the matter lightly, but he knows how little you care for your moral responsibilities. The child requires a dowry for the convent in Durango. Do you have the money to pay it?” In spite of her labored breathing, there was surprising forcefulness in her voice.
“I don't intend to pay it,” he said curtly.
“I thought as much.” She smirked disdainfully. “I will direct Father Salvador to send an offering in your stead.”
“No. You will not.” His eyes glittered in challenge. “I don't intend to send anything because I don't intend to have my daughter growing up in an orphanage and being forced to take the veil.”
“You should have thought of that before you took her mother to your bed!”
“I am thinking of it now. Rosario is mine and I'm bringing her home to Gran Sangre to raise.”
Doña Sofia's eyes nearly popped from their sunken sockets as she recoiled against the pillows. She struggled with her breath, then hissed, “You cannot be serious!”
“Ah, but I am.”
“You were willing enough to allow your father to make sensible arrangements when your whore was with child.”
Her mother was alive then. Now she has no one.”
She is no one, the bastard of a peon serving wench.”
Her blood is half Alvarado.”
She did not sense the hard edge in his voice, nor take note of his rigidly controlled stance as she berated him. “You're doing this deliberately, ignoring your duty to breed a legitimate heir—further alienating your wife by shaming her in this manner.”
“Your concern for my wife's sensibilities touches me deeply,” he said with a sarcastic sneer. “I'll deal with Mercedes.”
“The same way you've dealt with the rest of your responsibilities on Gran Sangre? The same way your father did before you?” Her mouth was thin and pursed with loathing for the both of them. She had never been able to look upon the son without seeing his sire...and hating them both for it.
“I've returned precisely to assume my responsibilities to Gran Sangre and to my wife. It would be best for you and your meddling priest to stay out of our affairs.” He turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
The decision whether or not to tell Mercedes about the child had been taken from him. Perhaps it was better to prepare her for the shock. Bringing Luce's child here would be a blow to her pride just as it was to his mother's. The sensible thing would be to send Rosario to Durango, but dammit, he could not do it. She was Alvarado and had just as much claim to Gran Sangre as he did, which he realized bitterly was nothing in the eyes of the law.
Bastard
. God how he hated the word he had been branded with all of his life. Lottie Fortune's bastard. As long as he was
patrón
of Gran Sangre, he would see that Rosario did not grow up scorned, impoverished or alone. He had never been any good at family. Hell, he had never had the chance, until now. If only taking this chance with the child did not destroy his chance with the woman.