Surrender to Love (22 page)

“I’ll get the rest of these.  Go in the house, Sabine, and finish up.  You’ll find the pantry stocked with everything you need.  Go ahead and arrange it the way you want.  I hope I got everything you need.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pierson,” she replied.  “I’m certain you did.”

“Michael,” he told her quietly as he glanced up.  “My name is Michael.”

Disconcerted by his forwardness, she could only manage to nod stiffly as she stared awkwardly at the ground.  “Yes, sir.”

XXX

Michael sat at the secretary in the sitting room, his head bent intently on the papers before him.  Writing.  Crossing out.  Figuring.  Writing some more.

Damn.  There was no money. Not even a cent to put aside for her.  At the rate he was going, she might be waiting until the turn of the century before he could manage to afford her passage back to America.

Could he honestly keep her captive until he had the cash?  Continue to have her believe that he agreed with this black market trade system that had brought her to him?

She probably didn’t buy it anyway; not after he had ripped into her this morning when she accused him of condoning the ownership of slaves.  Hell, that in itself was a contradiction;
his demanding she never accuse him of that when he was holding her here.

He should just tell her right now that he had no intentions of keeping her.  He should just tell her that any papers Colón had given him were burned to a cinder and it was as though she had never gone through the whole ordeal.

He couldn’t.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had become rather attached to Sabine over the past forty-eight hours or so.  She was sharp-witted or sharp-tongued.  Kept him on his toes.  Kept him in line, too, when he wasn’t scaring the hell out of her, or setting off that temper she never quite managed to keep hidden
.

Unfortunately, that was most of the time, it seemed.

Where would she go, anyway, if he told her to leave?  Havana?  She didn’t speak a word of Spanish.  Chances were she’d end up in a worse situation than she’d ever find here.  Beat up.  Or maybe sold off…again.  Forced by circumstance to work as a whore as a whore in one of those damned seedy brothels by the waterfront.

His jaw tightened at the thought of another man touching her.  He couldn’t handle knowing some filthy sailor or aristocratic scum was pinning her down on a stained mattress in some cramped second-story room for a couple of pesos.  It damn near blew him through the roof when he’d seen what
Colón had done…and he wasn’t even sure if the bastard had gone any further than roughing her up a little.

He’d still love to kill the son of a bitch.

No, Sabine wasn’t going anywhere, he decided.  She was staying right here until he could work something out.  It wouldn’t be long; perhaps he’d even get her back to her family by Christmas.

Damn, wouldn’t that be just the best present anyone ever got?

Well, maybe for them, he admittedly begrudgingly, but not for him.

She really had gotten herself deep under his skin, hadn’t she?  And she had managed it without even trying.

Michael looked up from his papers and glanced into the kitchen.  There she was again, watching him secretly through the thick tendrils of her dark curls.  She thought he didn’t notice.  But he did – he always did.

“Something wrong,” he asked casually.

Sabine turned away quickly and plunged her hands into the dishwater, furiously scrubbing at a plate, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. 

He chuckled softly as he closed a drawer in the secretary.  She certainly was something.  A child.  A woman.  Both mixed together so thoroughly sometimes that he never was quite sure what the heck she was.

And she was beautiful.  Right down to those stunning emerald eyes and those unruly curls.

“Sabine,” Michael announced from the doorway, “it’s late.  I’m going upstairs for the evening.”

“Yes, Mr. Pierson,” she returned meekly, her gaze still fixed on the china plate in her hands.

“And, Sabine…”

“Yes, sir?”

Finally she looked up from her dishpan.

“If you going to remain here, I’d prefer you address me by my given name.  I’ve been trying to get you to do that since I came home.”

“Yes, Mr. Pierson.”

“I don’t think I’d ever get used to all that formality, anyway.”

“Yes, Mr. Pierson – I mean, Michael,” She corrected hastily.

He liked the way his name sounded when she said it – all soft with a whispery touch of the South in her tones.  And she even smiled at him – tentatively – but it was a smile.  A smile that finally reached those sad, serious eyes of her.

Had he actually been able to win one of the battles in this war of trust?

He gave her a wink of encouragement as he left the room.

He certainly
hoped so.

Chapter Fourteen

“I should’ve given you these last night,” Michael said, placing the five paper-wrapped packages on the table as he sat down.  “I don’t know.  They slipped my mind, I guess.”

“What are they?” Sabine asked as she crossed the kitchen and set a cup of coffee before him.

“Well, open them and find out,” he replied, a mischievous grin spreading across his features.

Releasing the string that held them closed, she caught her breath in astonishment as the paper fell away.  Dresses.  Two of them; one a red-sprigged calico, the other blue. 
And stockings.  And shoes.  And a generous length of pale green muslin, complete with enough notions to create a wonderful gown.

“Mr. Pierson, I – “

“Michael,” he reminded her, and took a sip of coffee, watching, with interest, the delight that shone so plainly on her face.

“Michael, I – “ the words stuck in her throat, stammering as she ran her hand over the skirt of the blue-sprigged calico.  “You didn’t have to.  I mean, they’re beautiful, but – “

“The dresses aren’t new,” he apologized, “but they’re all I could afford.  And, besides, I couldn’t last another day with you in that outrageous contraption you’ve got on now.”

“
You’re
the one who gave it to me,” she replied tersely.

“I know,” he said with a sigh.  “My fault.  Now get in there and change out of that thing, and give me the rest of those monstrosities in the wardrobe.”

Delighted, she almost wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.  He had thought of her – really thought of her – and brought these lovely things for her to wear.

With a wide grin, she snatched up her presents and darted into the bedroom.

Michael watched her over the rim of his mug, his eyes shining with satisfaction.  She’d been grateful – honestly and truly grateful; he’d never had that happen before with a woman.  Nothing he had done after their marriage had satisfied Julia, and after a while he gave up bringing home surprises for her.  She wanted roses, jewels, furs.  The prairie flowers he brought home didn’t interest her.  Neither did the beauty of a newborn calf or a sunrise.  Nothing satisfied her unless it smelled of money.

But Sabine was a different matter entirely.  Hadn’t he seen her eyes light up when he had brought those packages in to her?  And she hadn’t asked, not even once, for anything from him…especially when she knew how outlandish she looked in that wretched getup.

He was even willing to bet that she’d be interested in that calf Sukey was about to drop.

Sabine stepped into the doorway, a smile brightening
her countenance as she smoothed a hand across the topskirt of the blue calico.

“How do I look?”

Michael glanced up from his coffee, nearly choking.  She looked…incredible.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile before.  He liked it.  And she had pulled her hair back from her face with a ribbon she had managed to find somewhere.  Now there were those sculpted cheekbones for him to reckon with.  And those eyes again.  Those incredible green eyes that captured his soul every time he looked into them.

She was, in fact, honest-to-God gorgeous.  Never before had he realized how slim her waist was; how her breasts curved just so – how they seemed precisely the right size to fit into his hands.

What in the hell do you think you’re doing?
  His conscience snapped angrily. 
We’re talking about a respectable woman here, not some two-bit whore from Havana.

Sabine smiled at him, her head cocked to the side inquisitively, her smile wavered somewhat under the scrutiny of his gaze.

“Well?  Look,” she commented, grinning again as she lifted her skirts to show of her black boots.  “They even fit.”

“You look beautiful,” he managed as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not looking at her, but, intently into his cup.

Maybe the other dress wasn’t so bad after all, he decided quickly.  Life would be much simpler with all that lace hiding those curves; he wouldn’t feel so…tempted.

“What am I supposed to do with those other gowns?”

“Just put them out on the front porch.  I’ll – I’ll take care of them later.”

He rose, rapidly finishing his coffee before heading to the door.

“You haven’t even eaten yet,” Sabine insisted as she moved to the stove.  “Where are you going?”

“I’m late,” he told her uneasily as his heart jumped wildly in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he opened the door.

Damn, what was it about her that did this to him?  He wanted to get out of here; get as far away from her as he could…before he did something he’d sorely regret later.

“It’s only half past five, Michael.”

“There’s a lot to do today,” he called out as he moved across the yard toward the barn, thankful for escape.

Sabine followed closely on his heels, his hat held firmly in her hands.

“Will you kindly tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

She caught him by the sleeve of his tan work shirt and pulled him around to face her.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted irritably
.  “I just have to go, is all.”

“’Just have to go,’” she echoed.  “Is this going to be a repeat performance every day, Mr. Pierson?  If so, then I see no reason for me to be up at the ungodly hour of four o’clock in the morning to prepare a breakfast you’re not going to eat.
”

Michael ran a hand through his hair impatiently.  She wouldn’t understand, and there was no reason for them to be standing here listening to his lame excuses as to why he wasn’t going to stick around this morning…or maybe every other morning until he got these feelings under control.  He could get sent to Hell for the thoughts he was having!

“I’m sorry,” he said softly and took his hat from her.  “I knew yesterday that I had to be over at Roderigues’s early today.  I forgot.”

The crestfallen look in her eyes
struck him square in the gut.  He hated lying to  her, but what was he going to do?  Tell her the truth?  That would go over real well.  In fact, chances were pretty good she’d dispense with the tongue-lashing altogether and smack him so hard on the side of the head that his ears would ring for a week.

“What time should I expect you home then,” Sabine asked, inspecting the toe of her boot as she idly scuffed it in the dust.

“Half past seven or so,” he replied and turned into the barn.

Damn,
he hated leaving her like this.  And she didn’t even move; she just stood there like she had something more to say, but couldn’t quite find the words.

“Michael.”

Her soft voice hesitantly filled the silence of the barn, and he looked up at her from across his horse’s back.  She stood in the doorway, eyes downcast, her small hands twisting awkwardly in the folds of her skirt.

“I don’t believe I thanked you for the gifts.  They’re beautiful.  Really.”

“It was nothing, Sabine.”

He backed Red out of his stall and led the chestnut gelding outside.

“I’ll make it no later than seven,” Michael amended as he mounted.  “Promise.”

All she did was nod in response.  Damn, she was doing a good job making him feel like dirt, and she didn’t even know she was doing it.

But he couldn’t stand here all day wrestling with feelings he had no right having, and every time he looked at her, it seemed, he wanted to get a lot closer than simply helping her off her backside in his garden.

It wasn’t going to happen – not today, not tomorrow, not even next year.  She was going back to the States.  She would be out of his life.

Frustrated, he jerked Red around more harshly than he had intended, and urged the horse into a canter, heading towards Roderigues’s. The sooner he got out of here, the better.

XXX

Sabine didn’t know which hurt worse – the fact that he had left without saying goodbye, or that he had charged out of the house without so  much as a reasonable excuse.