Her appalling behaviour downstairs, turning her back on him to dance with his cousin, hadn't been because she fancied Ramon even for a moment, or because she wanted to establish herself as an independent spirit, untrammelled by outworn conventions, but because she had been so blazingly jealous of Carlota Garcia.
All the time she had been dancing with Ramon, driving him near to a nervous breakdown with her come-hither looks, she had been seeing Luis with Carlota, imagining them making love, and the pain had been almost more than she could bear.
She had wanted to hurt Luis, and she had only succeeded in hurting herself, because he didn't care. He wanted her-he had never made any secret of it. He wanted her to give him children, and he would expect conduct from her befitting his wife, but nothing else.
And tonight when he touched her at last, and she turned to starlight and flame in his arms, he would know beyond doubt what she herself had only just come to realise-that she loved him.
She shivered, wrapping her arms round her body. It had been there in her mind for so long, unacknowledged, that it was almost a relief to admit it at last. She had fought it from the beginning, labelling it as a sheer physical attraction, but she had lost.
Now she could confess to herself how empty her life had seemed every time Luis had gone away, and how eagerly she had waited for his return. She had never shown it, of course, and she still could not, because nothing had changed.
He was marrying because he desired her, and that was all. If she hadn't appealed to him sexually, then she would probably be in jail at this moment. As it was, he had decided on some whim to create his own intimate prison for her.
And this room was to be her cell. She lifted her head and stared round her. It was quiet now, the sounds of revelry fading from the courtyard beneath. She would not be alone for very much longer. Did she have the strength to pretend the indifference she had threatened? Could she endure to have Luis only as her lover when the truth was that she wanted him as her love?
She stood, pressing one fist against her lips like a bewildered child, wondering what to do. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, not even from herself.
But in spite of her inner agony, she was becoming slowly aware of something else. Not far away, there was music, softly played on guitars, and someone singing in a warm baritone. She went over to the window and peeped round the shutter. They stood in a semi-circle in the courtyard below, looking up towards the window, a group of mariachi serenaders, probably from Santo Tomas. Hidden by the shutter, she stood and listened, a wistful smile touching the corner of her mouth. Once he had sent them away, but they were here tonight probably because it was yet another custom.
Nicola wasn't sure when she first realised that she was no longer alone in the bedroom, but she didn't turn immediately because she could use the song as an excuse.
. Finally it ended, and the guitars took up another melody, sweet and sensuous, and slowly she turned and looked at him. He was standing only a few feet away from her, wearing a dressing gown in some, dark silk, and nothing else, she was certain, because the robe was open to the waist and his legs were bare.
He was looking at her as if the sight of her had turned him to stone, and with a sudden surge of shyness she realised what he was seeing-the gleam of her body through the film of chiffon, her small high breasts cupped but not concealed by the tiny lace bodice. She wanted to speak, but no words would come.
He said huskily, 'Skin like ivory, and hair like gold. Alma de mi vida, do you know how beautiful you are?'
The sensual hunger in his eyes was a devastation, and every fibre in her responded to it in a great blaze of yearning. More than life itself she wanted to take the few steps into his arms. But if she did, she would be betrayed utterly, and she panicked, stepping backwards, lifting her hands as if to ward him off.
Yet he had not moved-and nor did he, for one long moment. She saw that fierce desire fading from his face, to be replaced fleetingly by incredulity, and then an immense weariness as lie turned away and walked towards the bed, untying the belt of his robe as he went.
Realising that she was right about his nakedness, Nicola averted her gaze hastily. When she did venture to look towards the bed, Luis was in it, safely covered by the sheet, staring up at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head.
He said at last on a note of polite interest, 'Do you intend to stand there all night?'
'Yes-no-I don't know,' she stammered feeling more of a fool and worse than a fool with every second that passed.
'Then I advise you to make up your mind,' he said. There was a pause, then he added expressionlessly, 'Unless you wish me to make the decision for you by raping you?'
Appalled, she gasped, 'No!'
He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her coolly. 'It is what you seem to expect. A moment ago you looked at me with terror in your eyes. I did not enjoy the experience, which is a new one to me, I confess.'
'I'm-sorry,' she said inadequately. 'But-but you're not making this very easy for me.'
'Perhaps because I do not fully understand the difficulty. You have shared a bed with me before, or had you forgotten?'
'No.' She shook her head. 'But that was different.'
'How so?' He sounded faintly bored.
Nicola hesitated. To say 'Well, for one thing you had your clothes on,' was going to sound ludicrously prim and schoolgirlish, and besides that, hadn't she secretly speculated a dozen times or more on what he would look like without them?
Instead she said, 'I-I wasn't your wife then,' which was hardly any better.
His voice was cold. 'Nor are you now, either in body, or in your stubborn little mind, amiga. A few words said over us does not make a marriage. Or did you think that after all I would be content to admire you at a distance?'
'No,' she shook her head again, feeling totally ridiculous. 'You made it clear you wanted-children.'
He turned on to his side, supporting himself on an elbow, a brief crooked smile touching his mouth. 'Eventually, yes. But you are deluding yourself if you think I want you here in my arms simply to make you
pregnant. You do not really believe that?'
Huskily, she said, 'No.'
'Muy bien.' He reached over and threw back the sheet on the other side of the bed. 'Then join me, querida, por favor,' he added mockingly.
Nicola walked across the room as slowly as she dared, and slid under the turned-back sheet, lying rigidly on the very edge of the bed. There was a click and the big lamp beside the bed was extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.
Nicola scarcely breathed, waiting tensely for- what? A kiss, a touch, the removal of her nightgown, all or any of them.
'You see?' Luis said silkily. 'It was not as impossible as you thought. Sleep well, querida. I am glad for your sake that the bed is so wide. A metre or so less and there might have been a chance of my brushing against you accidentally in the night. As it is, you can cower there with your virginal fears in perfect safety. Buenas noches.'
Endless seconds spun themselves into an eternity of minutes as Nicola lay, staring into the darkness. Her heart thudding she said at last, 'Luis . . .' her voice low and tentative.
'Si?' His tone was not encouraging, and he actually sounded drowsy, she thought incredulously.
Taking her courage by the scruff of the neck, she ventured, 'If you want me . . .'
'You do me too much honour, amiga, but no. I have as little taste for rape as yourself. And don't forget you made me very angry earlier. Be grateful for your reprieve, and go to sleep.'
The humiliation of it made her shrink, while the space between them yawned as wide and unfathomable as an ocean.
But how could she explain to him ever that it was not the act of love she feared, but the unwanted emotions she might betray while she was in his arms?
Meanwhile her body ached for fulfilment, and she turned her head miserably, seeking a cool place on the pillow. Luis wanted her: she knew it. Perhaps he was waiting for her to make the next move. What if she turned towards him, touched him, let her hand slide from his shoulder down his arm to his hip ...
And what if he told her to go to sleep again? she asked herself bitterly. Could she face another bleak rejection?
She was still debating the point when exhaustion finally dragged her into a fitful and troubled sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was late when she awoke. Maria was standing beside the bed, holding a breakfast tray, and smiling self-consciously.
'Buenos dias, señora.' As Nicola sat up dazedly, she seized her pillows and plumped them up for her to lean against before placing the tray across her lap. 'It is a beautiful morning, señora.'
Nicola gave a wry glance at the bright sunlight spilling across the floor. 'I think it's more like afternoon, Maria.'
'Perhaps,' Maria shrugged. 'What does it matter? The Señor Don Luis gave orders that we were not to disturb you earlier.' She giggled. 'Also he sends you this,' she added triumphantly, pointing to a single red rose in a small crystal vase in the centre of the tray.