Counterfeit Bride(17)

Nicola lifted her eyebrows. 'That's not the word I would have chosen.'

'Señorita Tarrant!' He looked more flustered than ever. 'He is only a man after all, not a saint. And besides

'Besides, I shouldn't know such things,' she finished for him, making herself smile. 'And please call me Nicola.'

He smiled too, delighted and plainly relieved at the shift in the  conversation. 'I shall be pleased to do so. I hope we can be friends.'                       
       
           



       

'I hope so too.' She looked around. 'This courtyard is charming.'

There was a well in the centre, with a stone seat around it, and above  it a parched-looking tree providing shade. Nicola wondered whether the  well held water, but looking at the brazen sky she was inclined to think  it was purely decorative.

'I am glad you like it,' said Ramon. 'It is cool here in the evenings,  which makes it a pleasant place to sit. And when there are parties, the  servants hang lanterns in the tree, and around the gallery.'

'Are there many such parties?'

'Not for some time, but all that will change now.'

He meant there would be celebrations in honour of Don Luis' marriage,  she thought. Well, as far as she was concerned, the lanterns would  remain in storage for the foreseeable future. Yet, she could imagine how  the courtyard would look when it was lit by the lights from the house,  and the tree, instead of the glare of the sun, and when perhaps a golden  moon swung above it in the night sky. There would be exotic foods laid  out on white-clothed tables, and the enticing smell of meat grilling  over charcoal. And above the murmur of voices and laughter, the swish of  silks and the flutter of fans, would rise the sound of a mariachi band.

It was all so real that for a moment Nicola felt dazed, as if she had  suffered a time-slip-as if the hacienda was speaking to her in some  strange way.

What nonsense, she told herself forcibly. She was merely suffering from  the combined effects of emotional stress, a bad night, and an empty  stomach.

She watched Ramon cross the courtyard and disappear under the arch, then  turned back into her room, running her fingers through her hair to test  its dampness as she did so.

She came face to face with Luis who was standing, hands on hips, waiting for her, his face set in grim lines.

He said coldly, 'My aunt is waiting to order breakfast to be served. I came to see what had detained you.'

She said, 'I'm sorry, I washed my hair. I went outside to dry it.'

'And to talk to my cousin Ramon.' He paused. 'Perhaps in future you  would wait to converse with him until you are fully dressed.'

Nicola glanced down at herself, then looked at him incredulously. She  was fully covered from the top of her breasts down to her feet.

She said heatedly, 'I'm perfectly decent. I'm wearing a damned sight more now than I was last night!'

His voice became icier than ever. 'What you wear, or do not wear, for my  eyes only is a different matter. You will please remember that. Now Tia  Isabella is waiting.' He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving  Nicola staring after him, torn between anger and amusement.

Anger won. 'Who the hell does he think he is?' she raged inwardly,  snatching a handful of filmy underwear from a drawer and dragging a  dress from a hanger.

But the answer was already formulating in her mind. He was her captor,  her jailer, the man with the key to her prison, the man who made his  wishes known and was quite capable of enforcing them.

She swallowed, and her hands clenched, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.

She thought, 'Dear God, I've got to escape from here before it's too late.'





CHAPTER FIVE


Nicola's face was set and mutinous as she sat in the shade of the  gallery. A chair and a footstool had been set for her there by Carlos,  the grizzled-haired martinet who appeared to be the household's  major-domo, and a table bearing a tray with a jug of iced fresh fruit  juice and a glass was to hand, but she ignored it.

Breakfast had been a horrendous meal from beginning to end. Entering the  comedor in Carlos' wake had been like walking headlong into a brick  wall of hostility.

Luis' eyes had looked her over coolly and swiftly, assimilating the  ill-fitting bodice and loose skirt of the dress she was wearing, and she  saw his mouth tighten in exasperation.

He said, Tia Isabella, Nicola needs a new wardrobe. Perhaps you would arrange for your dressmaker to be sent for.'

'I have plenty of clothes of my own,' Nicola protested. 'They're just-elsewhere.'

He shrugged. 'And there they can remain. In any event they would hardly make a suitable trousseau.'

Nicola sank down into the chair he was holding for her, hearing Dona Isabella draw in a swift breath like the hiss of a snake.

She said, 'Luis, you cannot expect . . .'

'But I do expect,' he said softly. 'I thought I had made that clear.'

There was a silence like knives, and Nicola stared down at the polished  surface of the table. She glanced up and encountered an inimical glance  from Pilar which brought the colour into her cheeks. She was a pretty  girl, but the sullen expression, which seemed habitual, spoiled her  looks.

'My nephew informs me that his marriage to you will take place as soon  as the arrangements can be made,' Dona Isabella broke the silence at  last, her gaze resting pointedly on Nicola's waistline. 'It will  naturally be a very quiet wedding.'                       
       
           



       

'On the contrary,' Luis said coolly. 'Invitations will be sent to the entire family, and to our friends.'

Dona Isabella gasped, her back becoming, if possible, more rigid than  ever. 'But under the circumstances -the very doubtful circumstances . .  .' She floundered to a halt with a suddenly martyred air. 'As you wish,  Luis, of course.'

'Thank you, Tia Isabella,' he bowed. He glanced at Nicola. 'Your own  family, querida. Can they be persuaded to make the journey, do you  think?'

She moved her shoulders helplessly. 'My father is a fanner. This is a  busy time for him-and my mother certainly wouldn't come without him. I  just don't know.'

'But when you write to them, you will offer the invitation.' It wasn't a  question, it was a command, she knew. Her mind closed completely when  she tried to imagine how she was going to break the news to her family-  what she could say.

'So you are a farmer's daughter?' Pilar spoke for the first time, her  tone openly insolent. 'How sad that Luis spends so little time at the  hacienda. You would feel quite at home among the cattle and horses.'

Nicola smiled lightly. 'And pigs,' she said. 'I feel quite at home with them too.'

There was a startled hush as Pilar digested this, then an angry flush  mounted in her face and she gave Nicola a venomous look. Another sharp  silence descended, and a look stolen under her lashes told Nicola that  Luis' face was icy with displeasure at the interchange.

Carlos came into the room followed by a uniformed maid. Coffee was  placed on the table, and warm rolls, and then an enormous dish of  scrambled eggs mixed with finely minced onion, tomato and chili  appeared. Nicola was hungry, but she had to force each forkful down her  throat. As she ate, she allowed herself gradually to look round the  room, and take in her surroundings, it had a somewhat repressive  atmosphere, the dark heavy furniture giving a feeling of solidity and  stability, as if reminding the onlooker that this house, this land had  been wrested from the wilderness centuries before, and that the  Montalbas had set their hand and seal over it. This impression was  deepened by the family portraits which hung in gloomy splendour round  the wails.

It was inbred in them all, and had been from the beginning, she thought,  that look of cool arrogance. Dark patrician faces looked down in  command from every canvas, proclaiming their lordship of this New World  they had made their own. And the women were cast in the same mould, she  thought ruefully. They sat staring rigidly into space, their hands  disposed to show their beautiful rings, their rich lace mantillas  decorously draped over high combs, expressionless, guarded and without  visible emotion.

All except one, and Nicola found her gaze returning to this particular  portrait over and over again, fascinated by the wilful expression in the  dark eyes, and the faint smile playing about the full lips which seemed  to deny the studied decorum of the pose. She was obviously much younger  than most of the other women depicted, and while none of them looked as  if they had ever given their respective husbands even a moment's  anxiety, this girl seemed as if she might have been quite a handful for  any strait-laced grandee.

Instead of the conventional head-covering, she wore a silver butterfly  gleaming against her dark tresses, and in one hand she held a dark red  rose which provided a dramatic contrast against the silvery brocade of  her gown.

Nicola would have liked to have asked about her, but it was unlikely  that Dona Isabella or Pilar would wish to enlighten her, and Luis was  frowningly examining a pile of mail which Carlos had just presented to  him and clearly preoccupied.