Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (12 page)

He smiled, lowering his voice so the servants
wouldn't overhear. "We use each other, don't we,
my dear?"

Delia lowered her gaze, no longer wanting to
look at him. "I'll be leaving today for the Broken
Spur."

He appeared beside her, taking her chin and
holding it in a viselike grip. "Don't linger too long
or I might be forced to come after you." He shoved
her away. "In any case, I'm sending Daniels with
you to keep an eye on you."

"Another of your spies?"

"Yes, he spies for me, among others."

"Who are the others?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? Just remember
that you'll be watched. And stay away from Noble."

"You don't scare me, Whit. And you can't order
me about. I'm not one of your sycophants."

Whit's next words were spoken crisply, with just
the hint of a threat. "Just remember that those
who work for me are loyal to me. My enemies are
their enemies."

With her husband's threat ringing in her ears,
Delia turned away and hurried toward the stairs,
shaken. She had just seen that other side of her
husband the side she'd rarely witnessed, and it
always frightened her. His voice echoed in her
head. My enemies are their enemies. Noble was his
enemy.

Whit must suspect that part of her would always be in love with Noble-the part that had not
been corrupted by ambition, the part that was still
young and innocent.

When Delia reached her bedroom, she went to
the liquor tray, poured herself a snifter of brandy
and downed it in one swallow. Then she felt bet ter. The warmth was spreading throughout her
body. Now she could cope with Whit.

Then she thought of Noble and fought back bitter tears. She hadn't cried in a very long time. But
she cried now. She took another drink, dried her
eyes and yanked on the bellpull, summoning a servant. She had to get to Rachel as quickly as possible.

Whit entered the room, shut and locked the
door, then dropped the key in his vest pocket. He
went to the liquor tray, poured a liberal amount
for Delia and less for himself. "I will miss you
while you're gone. I thought we might have a
drink together, and then make love."

She opened the wardrobe and removed several
pairs of stockings and tossed them on the bed.
"Not now. I have to pack."

He handed her the glass. "Surely you won't deny
me this time together."

She gulped down the drink and he took the glass
from her. She watched as he removed his tie, his
shirt, and then his trousers. "I don't want to do it
now, Whit." It was a weak protest; already she had
untied the ribbon of her dressing gown.

He lowered his head, kissed her breasts, then
pressed her down onto the floor, lowering himself
on top of her. His hands were everywhere, caressing, stroking, firing her passion.

"I just want to show you what you'll be missing,"
he said thickly, spreading her legs and thrusting
into her.

Delia threw back her head, gasping from his
powerful thrusts. Somehow, in her brandydrugged, passion-laced state, she felt used and
soiled. Something wasn't right but she didn't
know what it was. Her nails clawed at his back as
he made love to her not just once, but twice.

Afterward she expected him to leave, but he
gave her another drink. She tried to refuse, but he
insisted. She was unaware that he carried her to
bed, where she curled up to sleep.

When she awoke the next morning, Whit was
beside her. He was charming and attentive. He'd
brought her a tray of food, and fed her every bite.
Afterward he gave her another drink and they
made love again.

Somewhere in the back of Delia's mind, there
was something nagging at her something she
needed to do, but she couldn't remember what it
was.

Rachel awoke and lay still for a long moment,
afraid to move because of the pain. Slowly the
fragments of her memory fell into place. She was
still at Casa del Sol. She tried to sit up, but weakness kept her pinned to the bed as if she'd been
tied there. After struggling with the weakness, she
finally gave in to it.

Jumbled thoughts swirled through her mind,
climbing over each other, and she had to sort
them out one by one. Every thought eventually led
her back to the scene at the river with Noble, and she was overcome with shame. Noble wouldn't
know that such brazen actions were not in her
nature, or that she had never behaved that way
with another man. At the time it had seemed the
right thing to do, but now she saw it as pure folly.

Her eyes moved around the room. It was
sparsely furnished, the furniture old and very valuable. She looked at the massive wardrobe, where
the door was slightly open to reveal several pairs
of black leather boots. Warmth flowed through
her. This was Noble's room. She swallowed hard
and closed her eyes. She was lying in his bed, her
head resting on his pillow, her body where his
body rested. She could almost feel him beside her.
She turned her face and buried it in the pillow,
beginning to tremble. Her body was weak, but her
thoughts were strong. She remembered the feel of
his hard male body against hers. His hands touching, stroking her. His lips plundering hers.

She made a fist, and her nails dug painfully into
her palm. "I won't think about him like that," she
told herself firmly. "I won't!"

Moments later the door swung open and Margretta entered. When she saw that Rachel was,
awake, she smiled cheerfully and her dark eyes
brightened.

"What time is it, Margretta?"

The woman spoke rapidly in Spanish, while Rachel fumbled with the few Spanish words she
knew.

"No...hablo espanol I do not speak Spanish
very well, senora."

Margretta smiled and nodded, rubbing her
stomach and pointing at Rachel.

"Yes. I am hungry," Rachel said, feeling frustrated because she couldn't communicate with
Margretta. She wanted to ask her for her clothing.
She wanted someone from the Broken Spur to
come for her, but how could she make Margretta
understand? With resigned helplessness she said,
"Si, I am very er...hambriento." She pointed at
her mouth. "Hungry I am hungry."

Margretta nodded brightly. "Si, Si, senorita."
She hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

Rachel sank into Noble's bed, feeling his strong
presence beside her once more. If he had wanted
her dead, he'd certainly had ample opportunity to
get rid of her. Instead he'd saved her life. It did
not sit well with her that she owed him her life.

A light knock fell on the door and Rachel turned
in that direction. "Come in," she said, thinking
Margretta had returned with her breakfast.

Noble entered the room, his eyes on her face.
"Do you feel up to talking? I promise I will only
stay a moment."

She had dreaded the moment she would have
to face him after her performance at the river. She
was acutely aware of him as a man since she'd felt
his naked body against hers. A blush tinted her
cheeks and her gaze wavered. She couldn't meet his brilliant brown eyes, fearing he would read her
thoughts.

"I don't feel well," she said, wishing he'd just go
away.

He ventured farther into the room and she
looked up at him as he stood there, so handsome
with the light from the window creating a halo
around him. He wore tight-fitting black leather
chaps and a stark white shirt. His ebony hair was
slightly windblown, as if he'd been riding. She had
the strongest urge to run her fingers through his
hair and

Dear God, what was she thinking?

Rachel closed her eyes because he seemed
taller, more intimidating with her lying down and
him standing over her.

"Are you in pain?" he asked with concern.

"Only when I breathe," she answered, trying to
sound humorous while still avoiding his eyes.

Drawing the wooden chair close to her, he sat
down. "Dr. Stanhope said you will be fine. There's
no infection." His gaze dropped to the bandage
wrapped across her shoulder. "You were fortunate
the bullet wasn't lower."

Her intake of breath was painful, and she swallowed past her parched throat. "You saved my
life." Now she did meet his eyes. "I feel obligated
to thank you for that, and for your hospitality,
which I'm forced to accept."

"Don't speak of it." He looked as if he hadn't
slept, and there was stubble on his face he hadn't shaved. "We both know whoever shot you
was really aiming at me, Rachel. We must also
consider that he saw us together in the river."

She lowered her gaze, feeling her shame like a
knife in her heart. "Yes, I've thought about that."

"I'll find out who did it." He'd spoken softly, but
there was tempered steel in his tone. "You can depend on that."

"If he doesn't find you first. As you said, whoever
shot me was probably aiming at you. Since he
missed his original target, he will probably try
again."

Noble was silent for so long she glanced up to
see him staring at her. He dropped his eyes.

"I wanted you to know you may remain here as
long as necessary. I have sent word to your housekeeper and she will be here shortly. Perhaps you'd
like her to remain with you until you are well
enough to go home."

Rachel considered how comforting it would be
to have the formidable Winna Mae with her.
"Thank you. I would like Winna Mae here with
me."

He crossed his long legs and laid a hand on his
boot. Still feeling shy in his company, she concentrated on his hands. There was strength in those
hands, but she had felt the gentleness in them as
well. She blushed when she thought about him
touching her in the most intimate way.

"Don't think about it, Rachel," he said, reading
her thoughts. "It will never happen again."

She plucked at the sheet. "You must think that
I'm"

"I think you were an innocent, playing with fire.
Thank God you didn't get burned."

"Only shot," she said with irony.

"I must not tire you. I just wanted you to know
that I intend to do everything in my power to find
out who shot you."

She watched the pulse beating at his throat. He
was such an intense man and she had felt the passion that burned within him. She must not forget
that he was her enemy. "This is your bedroom?"
she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes." He smiled slightly. "It's the only room
with a bed."

"Where do you sleep?"

"The room across the hall."

"I'll try not to put you out of your bed longer
than necessary."

He stood, the smile still playing on his sensuous
lips. "I like you in my bed."

Against her will, pleasure pulsed through her,
and she could almost feel the touch of his hands
on her body.

Without another word, he moved to the door
and was gone, leaving her pondering his words.

Rachel realized that her life and Noble's seemed
unendingly linked together. No matter how hard
she tried, she would never forget that for a short
time, their bodies had touched. And she had a feeling that Noble would never forget either.

She felt suddenly cold, and a shudder raced
down her spine. Someone had seen her and Noble
in the river. Who was it?

She closed her eyes. Whoever had shot her
would still be gunning for Noble.

Winna Mae had been residing at Casa del Sol for
a week. On arriving, she had made her presence
felt right away. She had immediately taken over,
issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed.
Fortunately, she spoke enough Spanish to convey
those wishes to Margretta, who gladly relinquished Rachel's care to her and eagerly did
Winna Mae's bidding.

Winna Mae had just finished braiding Rachel's
hair, and now fanned her with a brightly colored
folding fan. "You will be well enough to go home
next week," she announced in her usual abrupt
way.

"I've been here for twelve days," Rachel said ruefully. "I can't get back to the Broken Spur fast enough to suit me." She could have added that
during the time she'd been there, Noble had visited her only twice. She didn't know why that
should matter to her, but it did. She could imagine
all sorts of reasons that kept him away, but only
one seemed likely. He didn't trust her not to repeat
her little performance at the river.

Would she ever be able to live down the humiliation?

Winna Mae was smoothing out the covers and
she glanced up at Rachel, speaking with her usual
directness. "You have been shown every kindness." There was reproach in her voice. "You are
alive because of Noble Vincente's quick action.
You should remember that."

"Yes, I know," Rachel concurred. "I have so
much to think about. I have never been so confused."

"If you are worried about your health, the doctor said there would be no lasting effects and only
a small scar. He praised Noble's steady hand as
the reason the scar was not larger."

"It doesn't sit well with me that I must accept
the hospitality of the man who murdered my father."