Surrender to Love (23 page)

And she didn’t buy the flimsy one he had given her for even a second.

So what was wrong with her?  All she wanted was to thank him, and he had bolted like a frightened rabbit.  Had she said something, done something she shouldn’t have?

She’d never be able to figure him out. Not in a million years.

But she wanted to.  She couldn’t bear living every single day with him knowing she had to walk on eggshells whenever he was around.  He wanted her trust.  Now he had it, and it was obvious he didn’t know what to do with it.  What did he expect her to do?  Turn it on and off according to his temperament?

She sat down in the settee in the sitting room, her eyes softening with remembrance as she smoothed her skirts with a loving hand.  Michael wasn’t so awfully bad, she reasoned.  Hadn’t she seen his face this morning when he came in the kitchen?  Of course!  He had been so excited when he gave these presents to her; and he didn’t even ask for a single thing in return.

It was the first time in a long time someone who had ever offered anything without expecting a payment she was unwilling to remit.

All he wanted was for her to believe in him.

She could do that, she supposed, rising to her feet as she picked up her dust rag, if he’d give her a chance.

That was the problem.  Now that
she
was willing…he wasn’t; not in the least.

Chapter Fifteen

“So tell me about this woman.”

Michael turned to Enrique,
Luís Roderigues’s only son, and released an irritated breath.  He’d been harping on him these last two days about Sabine, and frankly, his unceasing questions were starting to wear on his nerves.

“She’s maybe seventeen.  Dark hair.  Green eyes.  Beautiful.”

Michael turned back to the standing sugar cane and hacked at the base of it with his machete before tossing the cut sections to the side.

“Then you are only ten years her senior, perhaps.  This will be a good match for you.  Maybe you will start acting twenty-seven again, instead of sixty-seven
.”

“Don’t start,” Michael warned as he straightened, wiping the perspiration from his brow with his shirt sleeve.

“Is she Cubana?” Enrique asked.

“American,” Michael grunted in reply, and heaved a stack of cane onto a nearby oxcart.

“You really should let the workers do that you know,” Enrique commented offhandedly as he looked down at him from astride his horse.  “That
is
what we pay them for.”

“We’re about a month behind on this field because of the rain earlier in the season, so I thought I’d pitch in.  Besides,” he added in a good-natured jab as he buried a portion of his machete’s blade into the dark soil, “I can’t spend all my time on top of a horse.  I’d get soft.”

Enrique shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and removed his hat, using it to shield his eyes as he surveyed the half-cut field around him.  The sounds of machetes slicing methodically into the vegetation, interspersed with the sporadic folk sounds of the
emancipado
workers, filled the silence between them.

“Will you be bringing her to the
baile
then,” he asked casually, turning his attention back to Michael.

“Hadn’t really thought about,” he replied shortly as he picked up the machete and resumed his task.

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I went over and took a look at her,” Enrique questioned with a laugh.  “Perhaps I will bring her instead of Ysabel.”

“Over my dead body,” Michael snapped more viciously than he’d anticipated, and shot Enrique a murderous look.

Enrique regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

“You have continually denied any feelings for her, but they are plain on your face, my friend, and in your words.  I do not know why you try to hide them.”

“She’s going back to the States as soon as I can get the money together.”

“And if you truly wanted her to leave,
you would have approached my father for a loan.  You know he would gladly offer it.”

Enrique was right, about the money and all.  And Michael couldn’t refute his attraction to Sabine, either; no matter how many times he had tried to run from it, it would always be there;
she
would be there – all fresh and full of life.

He had seen her smile again today, he recollected fondly, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Hey, Enrique,” Michael called out as his friend turned and began to ride back to the main house.  “If I did bring her – and I’m not saying I’m going to – do you think Marta would having some paper patterns lying around?  I picked up some material for her the other day, but – “

“I’ll ask
Mamá.  I’m sure she does.  Come up to the house and get them before you leave.”

Michael waved in compliance as Enrique set his horse into a canter, and he shook his head in disbelief. 
What in the world had he managed to get himself into?  Now Enrique had him going against his better judgment.

Well, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.  Women liked parties.  They laughed and smiled and had a grand time.

But would she?  Would Sabine feel the same way if he brought her to Luís’s annual
fiesta
?  He wanted to see her smile, hear her laughter ringing in her ears.  Perhaps feel her against him when they danced…if she danced.  Ah, hell, what was wrong with him? They all danced, didn’t they?

There was only one way to find out.  And standing around her wondering about it wasn’t going to get him any answers.

XXX

“So, how long do you think it’
ll take you to make a dress out of that muslin?”

Sabine dried her hands on her dishrag and brought the coffee pot to the table, filling Michael’s cup a second time.

“A couple weeks, I suppose, with paper patterns,” she considered thoughtfully as she placed a slice of pie before him.  “You wouldn’t happen to have any lying around, would you,” she said with a smirk.

“Actually, yes,” he said matter-of-factly as he picked up his fork.  “On the table near the door,” he motioned, “compliments of Marta
Roderigues.”

He smiled at her, and Sabine’s heart nearly burst as his blue eyes settled on her comfortably.  So different he was from the other morning when he had run out on her – again.  And he didn’t try to shy away – not even as she now laid a hand on his shoulder in gratitude.

Tentatively she smoothed a wrinkle in the fabric of his shirt before moving away, the muscles of his arm rippling as he moved to capture her hand with his own.

“Sabine, I – “

Sabine jerked away before he touched her, her face flushing hot with disconcertion.  The way he looked at her.  It was as though he – no, it couldn’t be.  It shouldn’t be.

Quickly she crossed the room and resumed washing the dishes.  Oh, God, he looked at her as though he wanted her.  Wanted to touch her and make her feel things she had no right to feel…things she found herself
wanting
to feel.

“Thank you for the patterns,” she said, clearing her throat awkwardly as she plunged her hands into the soapy water.  “And please thank
Señora
Roderigues as well.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him knowing his smoky blue eyes were still fixed on her, and heart pounded out a wild tattoo in her chest as she felt his stare burn into her back.

“Luís is holding his annual
baile
before the fall planting starts.  Two weeks.”

He stood close behind her, and the nearness sent her emotions racing.  Was it fear?  Longing?  Sabine swallowed, not daring to face him as shivery rivulets danced lightly along her spine.

“Will you be attending then?” she asked hoarsely.  ”I’m sure there are a number of ladies who would be honored to be on your arm.”

Sabine cringed inwardly.  Why had those words slipped so unthinkingly from her mouth?  She didn’t mean to say that; her comment sounded catty, or worse yet,
that she expected him to bring her along.

“I’ve considered it.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”

Why did she sound so stiff, formal? 
As though someone else was saying the words while she looked helplessly on?

“Ever dance?” he questioned, his voice husky as he stood behind her, closer now.

His hands rested lightly on her waist, and Sabine started, the china plate she held in her hands shattering, punctuating the tense air as it hit the floor.  She turned to him, her breath arrested within her as she stared at him, wide-eyed, her emotions stirring a whirlwind of fear and yearning inside her.

She wanted to be near him.

‘No, she didn’t.  He would only think she was willing to give in to the desires – the ugly desires – that men insisted on having fulfilled.  And she didn’t want that.  Not to be treated as a whore, a piece of property.  She wanted to be loved, needed by a man who desired her in the same way.

“Do I frighten you?”

Sabine nodded, averting her eyes to the pieces of broken china that lay strewn across the floor.

“All the time?”

Hesitantly she shook her head.

“But I do now?”

Again she nodded, not daring to meet his gaze.  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him; it was just…his nearness.  The potent maleness of him that set her nerves on edge.

“I won’t hurt you,” Michael assured
quietly as he took a step away from her.  “I only asked you a question.  Do you dance?”

“I…”

No, she didn’t dance.  Well, at least not outside of the simple, silly steps Adele had taught her.  There was nowhere for her to do so, unless, of course, she had the  audacity to appear at one of the Quadroon Balls.  But she had no intentions of parading her charms so that men could gawk; therefore, an occasion to dance was most certainly out of the question.

“Would you care to dance?”

“What,” she gasped, taken aback by his incredulous request, and her gaze flew to meet his.  “Here? 
Now?
”

“Well,” Michael considered as he ran a hand against the length of his jaw
line, “I hadn’t really thought of that, but…”

He held a hand out to her, and Sabine hesitated before accepting it uncertainly, dropping an awkward curtsy as
he encircled an arm about her waist and spun her around the kitchen floor, slowly, carefully, following the tune of the waltz that played in his head.  And Sabine closed her eyes, unconsciously stepping closer to him until his muscular thighs brushed against hers, her heart thrilling at the slightest hint of his touch.  He felt good.  So good and safe and strong – as though she belonged there in his arms…forever.

His hand burned through the calico material of her dress, imprinting its brand upon her skin, claiming her as no man ever had, and an unsettling longing embraced her heart.  Even if she wanted him, even if she came to love him with all her heart,
they could never be.  Not the two of them.  Not Michael and Sabine – together.

“Ladies of color will never be accepted into a white society.”

How many times had she heard Adele repeat those words?  They were true.  There was no future for them, even if they both wanted it to be.  And she had better be the one to make the decision, sever the ties before she only found herself hurt again.

Sabine reluctantly broke from him, stepping away as his arms dropped limply to his sides.

“The
fiesta
is in two weeks.”

“I hope you have a wonderful time
,” she said, swallowing the lump of regret in her throat as she straightened her shoulders.

“I want you to go with me.”

The words came out in a rumbling whisper.  Michael reached out and squeezed her slim hands as he took a step closer to her, his hips brushing against hers.

Sabine’s heart raced as a thousand emotions rushed to her center, her desire burning hot inside her.  Why did she want him so?  It wasn’t right that he should cause her to feel this way when there was no hope, no possibility of a future between them.

“I want you to go with me,” he repeated.

“I don’t think it’s wise,” she told him softly, her eyes downcast as she pulled from his grasp.  “You’re…and I’m…”

She couldn’t say it, couldn’t say what should be so plain before him.  And she turned away before he saw the look of pain and disappointment in her eyes.  Why did he make everything so difficult without really meaning to?  She wanted to go – truly she did – but he –

“Who cares,” Michael said, gently turning her to face him, and he lifted a finger to brush aside the stray tear that clung to the edge of her lashes.

“I
do,” she insisted, her eyes pleading with him to see reason.  “People would talk.”