Secrets (8 page)

Her heart beat wildly now. Running away made her feel like she was committing a criminal act. She peered through the iron gates. Perhaps because of the weather, or perhaps because of the time of day—it was mid-afternoon, siesta time—there was no one about. When
they had arrived at the house several hours ago there had been a great deal of activity around the stables and corrals. The timing could not have been better. Regina darted out of the courtyard.

She hadn't planned on taking a horse, but now she knew she would have to do so if she wanted to reach Templeton by nightfall. Traveling on foot was out of the question. There had been no traffic on the road when she had traveled it with Slade, but even if there had been, she would not even consider trying to get a ride to town with a stranger. The very idea was unacceptable.

She wasn't thrilled with the idea of taking a horse out by herself, either. That afternoon she had learned that she was a poor horsewoman. But she would manage; she had no choice.

She saw no one as she crossed the grounds and approached the stables. Amazingly, a glance into the barn showed Regina that not even a groom was within. It could not be any better. She ran inside. It was dark within but she didn't dare turn any lights on. She found the tack room and dragged a saddle and bridle from it. She was quite certain that she had never saddled a mount before.

Regina chose the most placid-looking animal in the stable. Although the horse seemed oblivious of her, it took Regina a very long time to manage to lift the saddle and secure it into place, and even longer to bridle him. By now the bay gelding was looking at her, although he stood motionless. Regina praised him in high, nervous tones. Moments later she led the docile animal from the stall.

The worst was over. Relief filled her. She dragged open the barn door and assured herself that no one was about. On the slope slightly above her, the sprawling adobe house appeared deserted and lifeless.

Trying to remain calm, Regina led her mount to a bale of hay, stepped up on it by sweeping her skirts up and out of the way, and, ignoring the awkwardness and utter lack of decorum of riding astride, she slid onto the saddle. She grabbed the pommel as the bay jiggled.
Ordering herself not to lose her head, she found the reins, shortening them to an appropriate length. Even though she was no expert horsewoman, it was obvious that she had received some training.

They walked out of the barn. The wind blasted them. The horse leaped abruptly, almost throwing her. Regina clung to the reins and his neck at the same time. The horse danced a little. “Not now, please, boy,” she cried, glancing around desperately. No one was in sight. She nudged the bay with her heels, determined to get down the road and away from the house as quickly as possible.

The bay responded instantly, breaking into a bone-jarring trot. Regina hung on for her life, her body bouncing uncontrollably.

The wind wrenched her straw bonnet from her head. Regina, gripping the pommel and the reins, looked up, watching it fly away. Her skirts flew up about her thighs. Just her luck. A storm was coming.

It occurred to her to turn back.

She saw Slade's dark face again. His intense midnight-blue eyes. Her resolve faltered. And then she did not have to worry about changing her mind. Her skirts frothed up again even more wildly than before. Her mount snorted and, as a gust of wind lifted his tail, he broke into a canter.

Regina's scream died in her throat. All she could concentrate upon was not falling off. The bay was galloping now, the bit between his teeth. She felt herself beginning to slide off the saddle. He ran faster. She tried to hang on, but it was hopeless. The scream she had wanted to emit burst forth as she lost her grip and tumbled to the dirt.

She landed on her shoulder and her back with a force that left her breathless. When she could breathe, she took great reassuring gulps of air. She was regarding the low, oppressive sky. Very cautiously, she sat up, expecting her body not to work. But it did, albeit with some amount of internal protestation. She sighed in relief.

The horse was gone.

She glanced around, but there was no sight of him—or of the house. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or dismayed. Trembling, she got to her feet. She looked at the sky. In the distance, over what must be the ocean, it was black. But she did not turn back. She had come this far; she would continue on. As she half-ran and half-walked, the wind worked with her now, pushing her from behind. She cast many glances over her shoulder, but there was no one in pursuit. Slade was not in pursuit.

 

Regina felt as if she had been walking forever. Her feet hurt so badly that she limped, and she was exhausted. The wind had changed direction with a vengeance and now it blasted her in the face, making her fight for every step she took away from Miramar. Even the tall, solid pine trees shuddered under the wind's violent assault. The pines were becoming scarcer, giving way to more and more oak, but their very existence told her that she had not traveled more than a few miles from the house.

The sky was darkening quickly. She had run away in the late afternoon, but soon it would be early evening. Soon the Delanzas would be sitting down for supper—soon her disappearance would be noticed.

She choked on a long-repressed sob.

She was not going to make it. She had come a few miles, but she guessed it had taken her two hours to travel that small distance. If she remembered at all correctly, the crossroads, which were so close to town, were a good dozen miles from where she was. Was she going to have to spend the night alone in the middle of the mountains? The prospect was frightening. Slade had talked about the wildlife so abundant at Miramar when he had brought her there earlier. She could only imagine that there were many hungry wolves roaming about looking for deer. She shuddered at the thought of being discovered by a wolf pack. And then, to make matters worse, the first few drops of rain began to fall.

She stopped in her tracks, looking up at the threatening sky. “Oh, no,” she moaned. As if on cue, the heavens opened and released a deluge.

In an instant Regina was drenched. She had been cold before; now she was freezing. The wind roared. The rain pelted her face and body fiercely. She could not continue to stand in the open; she ran beneath a thick, stooped oak tree.

She collapsed at the bottom of the tree, regretting what she had done. The leafy canopy above her filtered some of the falling rain, but she was already soaked to the bone. Even had she wanted to turn around and go back, she did not have the strength, and the rain was an added deterrent.

She was exhausted and frozen, regretting her foolish, childish escapade. But crying would resolve nothing. She swallowed her tears. If she were very lucky, her disappearance had been noticed and she would be rescued. Again.

And then she heard her name.

She tensed. Surely she had been imagining it. She listened acutely, but heard only the howling wind—or was it a wolf? The rain beat the ground loudly, adding to the din. She strained to look back up the road, but already it was too dark to see. She hugged herself, shivering.

“Elizabeth!”

Someone was calling her, and if her ears had heard correctly, it was Slade. She wanted to run. Not away from him, but into his arms.

She was such a fool.

“Elizabeth!”

His voice was growing stronger. She crouched, remembering his betrayal. It did not seem to matter. “Slade! Slade, I'm here!”

A light flared, wobbling toward her. She heard his horse snorting.

She stood. “Slade!”

He emerged from the dark like a phantom emerging from the mist. His shadowy outline grew stronger and
briefly he appeared to be one with his horse, like a mythical centaur. Then he leaped to the ground, striding forward, leaving the horse behind. His poncho swirled about him. The lantern he held up shone in her eyes, momentarily blinding her. When he saw her, he broke into a run.

Regina didn't move. She sagged against the tree, sobbing in relief, waiting for him to rescue her.

S
lade grabbed her. It was not an embrace. He was angry. Regina brushed away the hot tears that were suddenly spilling forth. Once again, he was rescuing her, and once again, she was utterly relieved.

He gripped her. “You know there are wolves and mountain lions in these parts?”

“Wolves and lions?”

“Yes!” He shook her once for emphasis. Regina bobbed in his hands like a cork on water. “Jesus! You're soaking wet!”

Regina hugged herself as a few drops of rain found their way through the foliage overhead and continued to sprinkle down on her. He backed away from her, staring. “I don't want to hear a word of protest out of you,” he said grimly.

No longer thinking of flight, Regina could freely succumb to exhaustion, and to his will. She was so tired that she wanted him to take charge of her. “All right.” She began to shiver uncontrollably. The cold was creeping across every inch of her flesh.

Abruptly, he removed his poncho, his thick leather vest, and his soft cotton shirt. Regina started, forgetting all about being cold. His upper body was beautiful. He was beautiful. He was not really a big man, but every
inch of him was sculpted muscle, every inch of him was exquisitely defined. He was the essence of power and masculinity.

He stared back at her gravely, swiftly slipping his vest back on over his bare torso. “Take off your clothes.”

She could not have heard correctly. “What?”

“Take off your clothes before you catch your death and put on my shirt.”

She was incredulous, disbelieving. It was a moment before she could speak. “You are joking.”

“No, I'm not.” He reached for the shiny brass closures of her jacket. Before she could react, he undid them with swift fingers and pulled the jacket off.

“What are you doing?” she cried, trying to push his hands away as they performed the exact same procedure on her ruffled blouse.

“You're getting into dry clothes,” he said, yanking off her shirt. “And we're not going to waste time arguing about it.”

“Your intentions may be legitimate, but this is unacceptable!” she cried, shielding her chest with her arms, and backing away until her head hit a low branch of the tree.

He reached for her corset.

She gripped his wrist with surprising strength. “Don't you dare.” She meant it. She was shivering, but was oblivious to her discomfort in the face of what he was intending. It didn't matter that he obviously feared for her health; his intentions were beyond the pale. If he tried to remove her chemise and corset she would scratch his eyes out.

A long moment passed. “You are not the first woman I've seen naked,” he finally said.

She blanched. That was not reassuring, nor was it comforting. To the contrary. She bristled, even more resolved to remain fully clothed.

He did not attempt to persuade her again. He whirled her around before she could even comprehend what he was doing. As he yanked on the ties she shouted at him. He was just as adept at removing a lady's
corset as he was at removing her jacket and blouse, and Regina found this revelation as unpleasant as the first. Upset with his proficiency as well as his actions, she squirmed like an eel, forcing him again and again to cease his efforts to divest her of her corset and jerk her back to him. By the time he triumphed, they were both panting and flushed with exertion.

“Stop!” Regina cried. She was acutely aware of wearing nothing on her breasts but a sheer silk chemise, and she was equally aware of his gaze, which slid to inspect its contents. “Enough! I am not disrobing! Give me back my clothing!” As an afterthought, she added, “Please.”

“You're getting out of your clothes before you catch pneumonia. I won't look.”

She was furious. “Why should you? When you've already had your fill?”

“If you think I've had my fill, you are sorely mistaken.”

Regina hugged herself harder, as if that might erase the glimpses of her person that he'd had; her flush deepened. She dared not analyze his statement. “I am not disrobing,” she repeated firmly. “May I please have my clothing back?”

He shoved his balled-up shirt at her. “Take off your clothes and put this on.”

Regina eyed him defiantly, refusing to take it. It was out of the realm of possibility. She was not going to give another inch. Distress made it difficult to breathe normally. “No.”

“I don't want to do this any more than you want me to do this,” he muttered.

Regina was relieved. Her relief lasted all of two seconds.

Determined, Slade gripped the chemise. Regina protested immediately, incoherently, trying to pull the fabric out of his hand. The thin delicate material ripped completely in two.

For one instant she was the object of his undivided attention. She quickly covered herself with her hands.
She was aghast, too shocked for words. She could not believe what he had done.

He had the grace to redden as well. “I didn't mean to tear the damn thing off of you. If I was trying to tear your clothes off, you'd sure as hell know it.”

She was motionless, clutching her arms to her bare bosom, shielding herself. His words drummed up an image she shouldn't entertain, one of him ripping her clothing from her in a hasty prelude to his lovemaking. She shook. She was shocked that she would think such a thing. How could she think such a thing?

“Elizabeth, I just want—”

“No!” she cried, hysteria pitching her voice upward. “I don't care what you think you were trying to do! Look at what you've done! How could you? How could you treat me this way?”

His color deepened to a shade of beet-red.

Their gazes connected sharply, then they bounced off of one another. “I'm sorry. You're right.” He shoved the shirt at her; she took it without removing her arms from her chest. “Put my damn shirt on. I'm going to get my bedroll.”

Regina was still shaking, but not entirely from the cold. She was terribly aware of being half-naked. She was terribly aware of him. She was aware that he had seen her breasts. Thank God he stepped out of the glow of the lantern's light, disappearing into the darkness.

She blinked at the shirt,
his
shirt. Her color heightened again. How could she put on his shirt? The shirt was snowy-white and cotton. It was soft from too many washes and too many wearings. It was warm from his body. She swallowed. How could she put it on when it had covered his body a moment ago? How could she put it over her own naked breasts? If she put it on, it would be the most intimate act she had ever shared with a man, she was quite certain of that. Yet the idea,
the very idea
, made her light-headed and breathless.

How could she not? Slade would return at any moment.

“You are not a real gentleman,” she whispered to the night. “If you were a real gentleman, you would not force me to do this.”

“I am not a gentleman, and more importantly, I never said I was,” Slade said tightly, stepping back into the circle of light beneath the oak tree.

He was carrying a blanket. His eyes automatically went to the shirt she clutched to her bosom. Regina did not have to be a wizard to know that he was thinking along the same lines as she—or worse. She surrendered. “Turn around,” she whispered.

Slade's gaze met hers. The moment seemed agonizingly intimate. He turned his back to her.

Quickly she slipped his shirt on, fumbling with the buttons. As the soft cotton teased her bare breasts, she felt dizzy and dazed. Her skin tingled with illicit pleasure and hungry expectation.

He turned, but his glance slid past her, as if he were determined not to look at her. “Just get rid of those soaking skirts and forget the rest.”

Her skirts
were
soaked, heavy and impossible to move in, but she had gone far enough. She would not strip down to her petticoat and drawers. When she did not answer and she did not move, he looked at her grimly. She choked when she realized that he was implacable.

Regina's fingers dug into her palms. The shocking fantasy she'd entertained so briefly in response to his words, of him ripping off her clothes and embracing her, swelled in her mind. She could not look away from him. And she knew, she absolutely knew, that in not moving and not turning away, she was issuing another invitation, one that was infinitely dangerous.

Slade moved. Lithe and graceful, he came toward her. His hands reached for her. Her body shook in response, her heart missed a beat. Anticipation almost wrung a cry from her mouth. For one second she was frozen, gripping his bare arms, her breasts straining against his shirt. In that second he froze too. Beneath her soft palms she felt the strength of his arms and the power of his body and the tension that ran like a hot live
wire through him. The atmosphere around them was charged with possibility. If he had dared to strike a match, Regina thought that most likely the air itself would have blazed into a fire.

“Elizabeth.” His tone was unbearably intimate. His rough hands settled on her back and slid up to her shoulders. A wave of sensation, the likes of which Regina had never before experienced, washed over her. Their glances came together.

It was there, the dark hunger she had seen before. Its power and starkness both frightened and compelled her. With a soft moan she gripped him more tightly, knowing she should not, but ready to surrender completely and knowing that too.

And he knew it as well; she saw that in the blaze of his eyes. Regina clung, waiting for him to take her. Instead, he reached under her shirt, and a moment later her heavy skirts fell down around her ankles. Instantly he released her, moving away from her. She buried her face in her hands with a small sob. His scent, male and sexy, filled her nostrils, wafting from his shirt, the final crushing blow.

He tossed his poncho and bedroll at her. She caught them reflexively. He would not look at her. His expression was strained. “Let's get out of here before you do get pneumonia.”

Regina did not have the strength or the will to argue. Trembling, she wrapped the blanket around her and awkwardly slipped on his poncho. The slicker was lined and toasty-warm. It smelled strongly of him. She hugged it and the blanket to her body.

When Regina stepped forward, her knees gave way and she fell against Slade with a whimper. Her feet were raw from the endless walking she had endured. Instantly Slade was kneeling before her and yanking off her shoes. Regina cried out.

“Jesus,” he said tightly. “You must hate me a hell of a lot to keep on going with blisters like these.”

“No,” she whispered, very close to tears. She spoke to the top of his head. “I don't hate you.”

If he heard her he gave no sign. He hoisted her into his arms and strode into the night. The rain whipped them fiercely, the wind howled, and the trees danced in a helpless frenzy around them. Slade deposited her on his mount and jumped up into the saddle behind her.

Abruptly he lifted her crossways onto his lap and pushed her face into his shoulder. “Hold on,” he said, shouting to make himself heard over the wind, one arm firmly around her waist.

He didn't have to repeat himself. She buried her cheek against his bare chest, wrapping her arms around him, wondering if the night would ever end. She tried not to think about what had happened—and what had not happened. She tried not to be aware of the warm, strong man gripping her as tightly as she gripped him. It was impossible. He spurred his horse into a canter and then they galloped into the storm, back to Miramar.

 

Slade carried Regina through the courtyard in the pouring rain. She was protected by his slicker, he was not. Now he was drenched, his hair sticking to his head, water running in rivulets down his arms and chest, his vest heavy and sodden, his pants plastered to his legs.

Rick appeared at the door that led from the dining room. “You found her!” he cried in relief.

Slade didn't stop. “I found her,” he said. He moved with aggressive strides toward her room, mindless of the rain, which was coming down now harder than before.

Victoria came to stand by her husband. “Is she all right?”

“Soaked. Have Lucinda draw a bath and bring her some hot food.”

“Slade!” Victoria called. “You can't go into her room with her!”

Slade didn't acknowledge her comment. He disappeared into Regina's bedroom carrying her in his arms.

Victoria started to go after them.

“Don't you dare,” Rick said, gripping her arm.

“Ow! You're hurting me!”

Rick did not release her. “Why did you do it? Why did you interfere?”

Her eyes widened innocently. “Do what?”

“Cut it out!” He shook her. “Slade told me it was you. You told Elizabeth of my plans.”

“You're hurting me,” Victoria said calmly.

“Let her go, Father,” Edward said. He moved out of the shadows of the hallway.

Rick released his wife. “Your mother's meddling in my affairs again.”

“So I gather,” Edward said, unsmiling. His glance was on Victoria. “Why, Mother? Why are you trying to obstruct Father?”

“I'm not trying to sabotage your father!” Victoria cried. “I'm only trying to look out for all of our best interests!”

Rick laughed.

Edward grimaced. “Mother, I know you are doing what you think is best, but it's time we spoke freely.
I am not going to take Miramar away from Slade. I don't even want it
. Slade is now Father's heir. Slade is going to marry Elizabeth and inherit the rancho. Not me.”

“Why not?” Victoria cried furiously. “Why the hell not? You're here. You've been here your entire life, working alongside Rick and James. Why should Slade be the chosen one! Why him? He left his home ten years ago, turned his back on all of us. He hasn't even bothered to come home more than three or four times in all those years. Do you know it's been two years since he was last home? And if James hadn't died, God knows, maybe he would have never come home again!”