From This Day Forward (3 page)

Stopping before the first door at the top of the stairs, he pushed it open and stepped across the threshold onto a pale rose-colored stone floor scattered with small rugs of muted pastels. The white- walled room contained a variety of small, inlaid tables, two divans of white silk, and a richly carved brass-bound chest. On one of the tables stood a vase of fresh orchids. Their scent filled the small parlor, and Caroline breathed deeply of the sweet aroma, heartened at the care and attention to detail apparent in every feature of the room.

Jason crossed to the wide, arch-encased windows on the opposite wall and opened the shutters. Brilliant sunlight flooded the room. The interior was as bright as the outdoors, thanks to a gilt-framed mirror that almost completely covered the wall to her right and reflected the light, despite the damage wrought on it by the harsh elements.

Placing the medical bag on the table that held the orchids, Caroline lifted a bloom to her nose, closing her eyes as she savored the aroma. When she looked again, her new husband's impatience showed plainly in his blue eyes. He gazed at the medical bag as if seeing it for the first time.

"It belonged to my father," she said defensively.

He made no reply, just nodded toward a door to her left. "Your bedroom is through that door."

Caroline glanced away quickly, feeling the heat of embarrassment suffuse her face, trying not to think of the intimate nature of their relationship.

"Thank you," she murmured. She was virtually alone here with him. Of course, there was nothing improper about that; he was her husband, after all. But propriety had nothing to do with the elemental fear in her heart.

Glancing at her new husband surreptitiously, she found him studying her with a frown creasing his brow, whether from impatience or concentration, she couldn't say.

"I trust you will be comfortable here," he said indifferently.

"It's lovely," Caroline managed to reply.

With a nod, Jason Sinclair turned and was gone, leaving a puzzled Caroline to stand in the middle of the room and stare in mute astonishment at the doorway through which he'd disappeared.

She released her breath, unaware until then that she'd been holding it. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the words of the letters that had prompted her to make this journey. At the moment, nothing came to mind, but as soon as the servants brought her baggage, she would dig them out and read them again for reassurance. Could she really have been so wrong about him? Had she read things into his letters that hadn't been there? Was she so desperate for marriage that she'd given Jason Sinclair attributes he didn't possess?

Where was the gentle dreamer she'd glimpsed in his words? Where was the scholar who ordered crate after crate of hand-picked books?

A light smattering of huge rain drops began to fall quietly beyond the open window. The scent of damp earth and leaves filled the room and stirred her senses. Her house in New Orleans had always made her feel a bit claustrophobic. Cramped and cluttered with her possessions, the small structure, though meticulously clean, had possessed little charm. It had been too close to the fish market to open the windows throughout most of the year because of the stench and the insects. But here above the trees, not even the gnats would bother her.

At least Brazil had lived up to Jason's description in every way—beautiful, wild, savage. She would never feel cramped or claustrophobic here.

She moved to the windows that lined the far wall of the small salon. Would she be able to see the coffee orchards Jason had described so poetically in his letters from here? The house was built on a hill, so she was able to see over the tops of the giant trees that had spread their canopy of leaves so far overhead on her long journey through the jungle. Between them, the Rio Branco snaked its way through the valley toward the setting sun. She could even see the dock on which she'd met her new husband, but no orchards.

No mail boat either, she thought, realizing that she had half expected to see it in the distance, hoping against hope that it would turn around and come back. She was stranded here, alone with the man of her dreams, dreams that were fast turning into nightmares.

She'd have to make the best of it and try to find in this dark, brooding ogre something of the sensitive, vulnerable man she'd fallen in love with. First impressions could be misleading.

She would rest for a few minutes until the men brought her baggage up, and later she would go down and have a civilized meal with her husband. He would learn soon enough that he couldn't treat her so offhandedly.

Caroline sat at the huge oak dining room table, the only sound in the room the tapping of her fork against her water glass. She glanced at the empty chair across from her with an angry scowl. Today marked the third morning she had awakened in her new home and the third morning she had eaten breakfast alone. This morning she'd risen early in order to catch her elusive husband, but even that had failed. What time must he get up?

She was beginning to wonder why he'd wanted a wife in the first place. It certainly wasn't for companionship, and if he truly wanted an heir as he'd indicated in his letter, he was going to have to get a lot closer to her than he had so far! Just how long did he plan to ignore her?

Heat rushed to Caroline's face at her own thoughts. Naturally, she was relieved that he'd given her time before claiming his marital rights, but she'd hoped to use the time to get to know him, to dig until she found the man who had written those lovely letters.

Oh, the letters, those damned letters! If not for those letters, she wouldn't be here at all. She'd reread them all, every one of them, and their impact was no less powerful now than it had been the first time she read them. It just didn't make sense.

The
natural rhythm of life here comforts and invigorates me,
he'd written.
I look out over
the
orchards full of trees my men and I planted as saplings only a few years ago. Now those same trees are heavy with coffee berries. Watching
the
m grow to maturity and yield fruit year after year gives me a feeling of connectedness with
the
earth, something I never would have experienced had I not left
the
city.

"You are not eating,
Senhora
."

Caroline glanced up to see the cook, Ines, standing over her, her hands on her hips, her expression reproving.

"I'm not hungry." Caroline pushed her plate away for emphasis.

"It is not good. You must eat to be strong."

Smiling ironically, Caroline studied the small woman who spoke to her like a mother would a child, despite the fact that she was two years Caroline's junior. Ines had provided Caroline's only human contact since that first day. Their growing friendship had kept her from losing her sanity.

"When did my husband leave the house this morning?" she asked.

"Oh." Ines stopped in the motion of clearing the table to give the matter her undivided attention. "Oh, before daylight."

"Do you know where he might be?"

"Sim,
Senhora
.
He will be at the
beneficio."

"What is that?"

"Coffee house, where the beans are dried and processed."

Caroline rose. "And how would I get there?"

"Oh,
Senhora
,
you cannot go there alone," Ines cried. "The
patrao—"

"Then one of the servants will have to escort me." Caroline's unwavering gaze locked with Ines's. She was struck anew by the woman's eyes. They were old eyes, old and hard.

"But the
patrao,
he will be unpleased for you—"

"I am going, Ines," Caroline said emphatically, coming to her feet.

"Sim,
Senhora
,"
Ines acquiesced. Her expression clearly conveyed her displeasure and her belief that Jason would be equally unhappy with her actions. "Vincente will take you where you want to go. He will meet you in the courtyard."

"Thank you." Caroline sighed with relief that Ines had given in so easily. She didn't care if Ines disapproved. She didn't care if Jason would be "unpleased." At least displeasure was an emotion. It would be the first she'd seen him express since the surprise he'd evinced on the dock that first day. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."

Ten minutes later, Caroline stood on the patio in her brown riding habit, waiting for Vincente. She didn't have to wait long before she was joined by a tall, wiry Portuguese youth who, to her chagrin, spoke very little English.

At least he seemed to know where she wanted to go. They rode slowly along the narrow path that led into the heart of the jungle. Caroline swatted at swarming insects as her horse followed the path with no prodding from her. It had obviously traveled this way frequently.

The sound of voices and rushing water reached her as the
beneficio,
a low, wide stone building covered by a flat, red-tiled roof, came into view. All around the central structure, workers in straw hats used hoes to spread the golden coffee beans over broad patios that extended in every direction.

The aroma of coffee permeated the thick, sultry air as they approached. Caroline studied the orchards that surrounded the building. Other workers wound their way between the rows of trees, picking the ripe coffee berries and filling baskets slung over their shoulders.

She watched the narrow trail ahead as they turned a corner, and she pulled her mount to an abrupt stop. Her eyes fastened on the man who stood on one of the unused patios.

Jason Sinclair. He was completely naked.

Chapter Two

She couldn't move, couldn't
tear her eyes away from his powerful, superb body. Her heart lurched, pounding forcefully against the wall of her chest as her mouth went dry and her face grew hot.

Water gushed from an overhead spigot in a steady stream that pummeled his body with bruising force. His every movement spoke of symmetry and strength. How could she have imagined he was less elegant than his cousin? Despite his larger frame and dwarfing height, he possessed all the predatory grace of a jaguar. His shoulders and arms were powerful enough to challenge an ox, and his broad, muscled back, made darker than his legs by constant exposure to the tropical sun, tapered into a narrow waist and sleek, narrower hips and buttocks.

She made no sound, but he seemed to sense her presence and turned to face her. A light feathering of golden hair covered his chest, growing darker and thicker as it plunged down his flat belly to cradle his sex.

Even after two years of marriage she had never seen a man naked, not completely naked, not like this, never like this. As a medical student, she'd learned the rudiments of the male anatomy; it had always seemed a shameful, embarrassing thing. But here was masculinity in its purest form, stripped of the restraints of civilization.

Her gaze returned to his face and locked with his rigid, unreadable expression before he cursed under his breath and reached for a towel. His movement broke the spell that had possessed her, leaving her dazed and mortified. With a violent jerk on the reins, she turned and plunged into the jungle, not knowing where she was going but trusting the horse to find its way back to the stable.

The horse had barely come to a stop when she leaped from the saddle and ran through the archway onto the patio. There she stopped, gazing around at the deserted courtyard, wondering where to go, what to do, to erase the images from her mind.

Her heart pounded erratically in her breast, not from running, but from some unnamable sensation. Leaning against the stone table before her, she took several deep, calming breaths.

She wouldn't think of it, she would not!

It took her all morning to regain some measure of composure. As long as she stayed busy, she could keep her thoughts from wandering back to the
bene
ficio
and Jason Sinclair's nakedness.