Passionate Pursuit (2 page)

He wanted to see her. No. He needed to. A compulsion he couldn’t seem to resist despite her being a servant. A matter important to Nuncio, Enrique, and Sancha, with them advising Tomás not to take advantage of his position and Beatriz, since a dalliance between them could lead nowhere.

He was well aware of the perils and hadn’t done anything except watch her whenever he could.

She was remarkably different from his other servants, her air, manner, and speech refined. Intelligence shone in her eyes. She even seemed able to read. Weeks ago, he’d come upon her tidying his study. She’d regarded the book spines at length, the way one would when considering titles. Surprising and odd. If she were educated, he couldn’t imagine why she’d willingly spend her days here in endless drudgery.

When he’d asked his housekeeper about her, Señora Cisneros said Beatriz came from one of the many villages Tomás owned and that she needed work to support her ailing mother. He hadn’t bothered to check out the story, sensing Beatriz might have an ill parent, which drove her to seek work here. As to the other part of her background… Deep inside, he sensed she hadn’t come from any village.

Not that he cared whether he was right or not.

Seeing her again, settling his overwhelming desire was his only goal. Today, he could compare Beatriz to the other women and determine if his desire for her was only a passing whim. Once he’d had another look at her, he might be able to dismiss his feelings as mere fantasy and have peace at last.

Where had she gone?

He strode toward the first hall and the bedchambers, this area open and airy, his face warmed by sun spilling through arched windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Rays glinted off intricate Moorish mosaics, flashing blue, yellow, green, and red, turning the stone columns and floors milky and bright. He squinted.

Upon reaching the chambers, he checked room after room, each filled with rich wall hangings and Spanish furniture, the dark wood and leather carved with ornate designs. Every chamber was spotless and duly aired to smell quite fresh. Also empty. With only two more rooms to go, he sensed Beatriz might be elsewhere in the castle, tending to those rooms.

No matter. He’d run her down in time.

After a quick check of the remaining chambers, he turned.

Beatriz stood across the hall, holding linens heaped in a basket.

His mouth went dry.

Despite her red gown, white tunic, and linen cap, the same livery his other female servants wore, she might as well have been a queen.

She was certainly beautiful enough. Her skin was paler than most, the color of a fine pearl, features delicate, light brown eyes lushly lashed and softened with what appeared to be need.

His chest tightened, breathing became difficult, the air too thick suddenly.

Her plush lips, pink as an Andalucían dawn, parted in what seemed to be an invitation.

Everything grew quiet. Colors and the surrounding area faded into the background, leaving nothing except her to feast on. Dewy skin, sensuous mouth, full breasts, lush hips.

His shaft thickened and grew hard, craving her heated sheath damp with her excitement.

His for the taking. He merely had to cross the small space separating them.

The distance seemed wider than the ocean with too many warnings bombarding him. Sancha’s advice that he not ruin Beatriz, leaving her few options for marriage to a respectable man. Enrique warning about the child Tomás would eventually sire with her. Nuncio’s repeated admonitions about her peasant background that wouldn’t allow them a future together no matter how much Tomás may have wanted one.

He shouldn’t have sought her out. His plan to dismiss any feelings he’d had failed miserably. He wanted her far more than earlier.

He tipped his head. “
Buenas tardes.
”

Pink bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes cleared, no longer dreamy or aroused. She stepped back.

The distance between them was already too great. She didn’t need to add to it. Although he understood her prudence, he hated that they had to resist their desire.

“Buenas tardes,
Patrón
.” She propped the basket on her hip and retreated two steps.

In another moment, she might bolt.

He prayed not yet. “Are the linens too heavy?” He wanted to help, needed to be near. “Do you want me to carry them?”

She shook her head, dark, silky tendrils dancing near to her cheeks.

He ached to wind the strands around his fingers and ease her closer. “Are you quite certain?”

She gripped the basket hard enough to make her knuckles white. “I can see to my duties. I can work all day and night if necessary.”

“Have you ever needed to do so in order to finish?”

“No.” Beatriz frowned, then made her face a mask, the kind servants show a master, leaving the poor fool no way to know what they thought. “I finish my tasks quickly. Without problems.”

“How wonderful.” He stepped in her way before she could get around him. “How is your mother doing? Does she need a potion or poultice?”

She stared, color draining.

Why? He only wanted to help. “Señora Cisneros mentioned your mamá’s troubles in passing. How sad I am for you and her. However, I know a physician who may be able to make things better. Tell me the symptoms and I can bring you what she needs.”

No matter what ailed the woman, Sancha could prepare a remedy. She was a healer. When Tomás had fallen ill at the
fortaleza
, she’d saved his life. A dangerous matter for her because of the Inquisition, which led to accusations claiming she was a witch. Thankfully, he, Enrique, and their brothers had handled the matter, leaving her free to practice healing in secret.

Beatriz hefted the basket and settled the thing more firmly on her hip.

“Those linens are too heavy for you.” He grabbed them.

She held on.

Surely, she didn’t think she’d win against him. He was a head taller, nearly twice her weight, and far stronger.

He tugged.

She let go.

He locked his knees to keep from staggering back at the weight. Far too cumbersome for such a delicate flower as her. He’d have to talk with Señora Cisneros about Beatriz’s future duties.

Rather than offering a sweet smile for his help, she bit her lip.

Tenderness welled within him, along with unruly desire. “No reason to be afraid. Your position is safe. I merely want to help. Tell me what ails your mamá.”

“Nothing at the moment. She recovered fully from her latest illness. I must get back to work.” She reached for the linens.

He kept them away. “Is my housekeeper demanding too much even with you willing to work day and night?”

“Señora Cisneros is a lovely woman.”

She had a mustache, hairs on her chin, weighed more than two women combined, and owned a high-pitched voice that set his teeth on edge. However, she did keep the castle running smoothly without being too overbearing. “I find her efficient in a slightly masculine way. Is that what you meant?”

Beatriz’s mouth curled up, though she didn’t allow herself to smile.

Making her laugh meant everything to Tomás without him understanding why. “Do you promise not to tell her I said such a thing?”

She gripped her skirt. “We rarely speak. Work keeps us busy.”

“So you do promise. Wonderful.” He grinned and lifted the basket to his shoulder, showing off his strength. “Where did you plan to take this? I can bring the linens to whatever room you—”

Loud throat clearing flowed down the hall.

Either Señora Cisneros or Nuncio had just entered from behind. Hard to tell which, since they both made the same noises when displeased with the help. He looked over.

Nuncio.

Beatriz pulled the basket from Tomás with surprising strength, though she did totter.

“Careful.” He reached for her.

She twisted away.

Nuncio cleared his throat once more.

Tomás frowned at him. “Did you inform the guests of my delay?”

“Several times. They still await your presence. Every one of them in the same room.”

Surely without knives if Nuncio had anything to say. Tomás gentled his mood for Beatriz. “If your mamá should fall ill again, please tell me. I can help.”

Her attention remained on Nuncio.

Wanting to speak softly to her, Tomás leaned closer, catching her seductive fragrance, freshly washed clothes and clean skin. He reeled, finding speech difficult. “If Nuncio rails at you for keeping me here, let me know. I shall thrash him soundly.”

Laughter bubbled from her, which she quelled without pause.

Her joy, no matter how brief, was a balm for everything wrong with today. How marvelous if they, at least, became friends, speaking freely, laughing, enjoying themselves. An odd notion for any man when faced with such a delectable woman. However, he didn’t see many other options at this point.

He strode to Nuncio. “Shall we go?” Halfway down the hall, Tomás spoke. “Make certain the ladies’ carriages, drivers, and footmen are ready to depart. I trust no one will be staying long once I give my speech.”

“As you wish. Whatever you wish. Whenever you wish.”

Tomás rolled his eyes. If wishes were his for the asking, he’d still be speaking to Beatriz, inviting her to ride the grounds with him, having a late supper with her on the hillside overlooking his estate, finally carrying her into his chamber for some much-needed passion with them discovering wondrous things about each other.

He surely wouldn’t be facing women who might want to harm him once they understood he had no intention of wedding anyone.

* * * *

Beatriz González y Serrano sat on a guest bed when she shouldn’t have. She should bolt from the estate and Tomás.

Her legs wouldn’t support her. If she left, she might not be able to secure work at another estate. No one in the villages would hire a house servant to toil in the fields. Even the children would fare better than she at the backbreaking labor. The few merchants in town would do the work themselves or have family to help. Returning to the city was far too dangerous unless she wanted to live out her life imprisoned by a man she loathed who’d use her in the vilest ways possible.

Hopeless, she did the only thing she could, savoring the few moments she’d spent with Tomás. Magical and enticing snatches of time that shouldn’t have happened.

She hadn’t meant for him to see her, prepared to duck into a room so he’d never know she’d spied on him. His purpose in searching bedchambers hadn’t occurred to her. She’d been too taken with his size and promise of the warrior he was, all lean muscle and man. Too many nights she’d dreamed of her lips pressed to his rich mouth, fingers buried in his thick, blond hair, drowning in his heat and strength.

Her nipples tightened, the tips hard enough to sting. The soft folds between her legs were damp and ready for him. A nobleman with countless women who wanted to share his life and bed, each desiring his looks, wealth, and position.

She adored his gentle teasing. How easily he’d made her smile and laugh, despite her caution and lies.

She buried her face in her hands, ashamed at what she’d said about her mamá. When he’d brought up her supposed illness, Beatriz hadn’t recalled telling Señora Cisneros about an ailing mother in order to secure a position here.

Tomás seemed to believe her falsehood. Unless he’d pretended with her as she had with him.

Shoes slapped against stone. She pushed to her feet and froze.

Nuncio stood in the doorway, taking in the scene.

Quickly, she smoothed the bright red counterpane where she’d sat. “I was just finishing here.”

“You were sitting. I saw you.” He closed the door and approached.

Fearing the worst, she backed away. “I can work an extra hour or two to make up for the few seconds I sat on the bed. I can go without food for the rest of the day. I can—”

“Your silence is all I ask. And for you to listen to me. Do you think you can do such a thing?”

She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say but nodded readily.

Nuncio folded his hands behind his back and paced, his tapping shoes sounding horribly loud.

“Don Tomás is our master.” He stopped and glared. “He never carries linens.”

“No. I mean, I agree.”

“Then why was he holding your basket?”

“He wanted to help.”

“Were you bent over from the weight of the linens? Had you fallen because the basket was too heavy? Could you not breathe? Were you in danger of swooning or dying?”

“No. Of course not.” Forgetting herself, she frowned.

Nuncio narrowed his eyes.

She hid her feelings as any intimidated servant would. “I had no trouble with the work. I was merely standing in the hall when he came upon me and offered to assist.”

Nuncio inhaled deeply but didn’t argue the point as she’d expected. Surely that couldn’t mean Tomás was wont to help all servants when seeing them in hallways.

“You should have told him you were busy.” He straightened even more. “Then went on your way.”

“I tried. He blocked me.”

Nuncio frowned hard, making terrible dents in his face.

She wanted them gone. Him too. “Don Tomás merely asked about my mother’s health. I told him she recovered. Everything is fine.” She grabbed her basket. “I should go back to work.”

He approached more quickly than his age should have allowed and stood between her and the door. “You must stay away from our master. If you see him, go in the other direction. If he comes upon you, do not smile sweetly. I know you can as I saw the one you gave him. Forget that. Move to another area in the castle even if you have to leave your work. Never fear, I will have a word with Señora Cisneros, letting her know if you fail to finish your duties, the fault is not yours. Do you understand me?”

All too well. If she’d been in another position than the one she was currently in, she would have laughed in his face and gone after Tomás on her own. Given her precarious situation, she could only agree. “
Sí.
”

“About Rufio.”

He was also a house servant, close to her age. His duties took place in the kitchen or dining hall, not the chambers as hers did. “What about him?”