The Wildest Heart (51 page)

The strange thing was that I believed he actually loved me. I had become as much of an obsession with him as his dreams of power. It was not only the money that I had brought him; he really wanted me, and my approval of his plans.

Nevertheless I was careful. There were times when I was almost frightened, although I never let Mark see this. I was his wife, I submitted to his peculiar way of making love, and yet I held myself aloof. As I had warned him, I made no pretended response, but there were times when I wondered if my very coldness did not excite him more, as it had Sir Edgar.

“My lovely statue,” he whispered. “Someday I will bring you to life!” But in the meantime he seemed content with the nightly proof that I was indeed his possession, to be touched and handled as he wished.

I began to feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of a nightmare from which there was no escape. For all the solicitude I was shown I was a prisoner here. I was never alone. If Mark and John Kingman left the ranch house together, as they often did, there was always Monique, the perfect hostess to keep me company. And in spite of all my outward calm and resolution, I had begun to feel that I was living on my nerve ends.

This, then was the state of affairs when, late one afternoon, I heard Monique call out that we had visitors.

I had fallen into the habit of resting each afternoon, just as Monique did. It provided me with an excuse to be alone for a little while, for Mark, if he was not out somewhere, would usually sit out on the trellised back porch with John Kingman, discussing business.

But on this particular afternoon Mark surprised me by coming quietly into the room, waking me out of the light doze I had fallen into. I must have sensed his presence. I opened my eyes to find him staring intently down at me.

“Why do you have to wear anything in bed? Only my eyes will ever see you here. Let me take it off for you, my darling.”

He bent over me, already beginning to slip off the thin chemise I wore. With a sinking heart, I recognized the telltale flush on his face, the ardent note in his voice.

A little later he whispered, “I cannot imagine a pleasanter way to spend a long afternoon than making love to my beautiful wife.”

I closed my eyes and willed the time to pass quickly, wondering how I could stand much more of this. And as if he meant to force me back to awareness, Mark began to kiss me.

It was with a feeling of reprieve that I heard Monique's voice; and then, a few minutes later, her tap at the door.

“Do hurry, you two lovebirds!”

Over my protests, Mark tossed aside my crumpled chemise and began to hook me into the thin cotton gown I had worn that morning.

“Darling, you don't need to feel ashamed of your magnificent body! Why must you be so modest? Look at the way Monique dresses. Besides, these are old friends. There's no need to stand on ceremony.”

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as he hurried me outside. My face unnaturally flushed, my hair tumbled, my lips still bruised and slightly swollen from Mark's passionate kisses.

I told myself bitterly later on that I should have been warned by the strange, barely suppressed note of triumph in Mark's voice when he spoke of “old friends.” For when we went out onto the porch, Mark's arm around my waist, the first person I saw was Lucas—and behind him Jesus Montoya, one eyebrow lifted as he surveyed my disheveled state, his mouth twisting in the same sardonic smile I remembered so well.

I couldn't say a word. And after that first glance I couldn't look in Lucas's direction again—not then. I was only too conscious of how I must look, standing there with Mark's arm holding me so possessively against his side. A pair of lovers, fresh out of bed. I think I might have fallen if Mark hadn't held me so tightly.

“It's a pleasure to see you again, of course,” Montoya was saying in his smooth, silky-soft voice. “My congratulations to you both.”

Lucas said nothing. And I—I wished that the earth would open up and swallow me.

I became aware that Montoya was staring at me curiously through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Thank you, señor. My wife and I are happy to see you,” I heard Mark say, and my own voice, repeating through lips that seemed numb: “Thank you…”

As if we had all been posing stiffly for a photograph before, there was suddenly the bustle of movement all around me. I heard John Kingman's bluff drawl, Monique's prettily accented voice; and Mark was helping me into a chair, his fingers lingering possessively on my shoulders.

I remember thinking: I must be calm, I must be calm! This is some new trick of Mark's to make me give myself away… and I took a deep breath, trying to still the wild beating of my heart. “You see? I came as soon as I received your message. Jesus Montoya does not forget his old friends.”

Did I imagine it, or had Montoya's coal-dark eyes flickered in my direction for just an instant?

“And we're sure glad to see you. I think you'll find your journey worthwhile after we've talked.” John Kingman's voice held a significance I could not miss.

“Ah, that is what I had hoped! And Madame—” Montoya let his eyes linger openly on Monique, his gallantry as exaggerated as usual. “You grow lovelier each time I see you.”

Monique's tinkling laugh had suddenly become jarring to my ears. Recklessly I glanced again at Lucas, and he was looking at her.

“What a flatterer you are, señor!” And then, her voice becoming almost caressing, “Lucas, you've hardly said a word yet. Surely you're not still angry with me?”

I felt as if I were watching a performance staged solely for my benefit, where everyone was aware of the plot except I.

Lucas shrugged, his eyes not leaving her flushed, laughing face. “Hard to stay angry with someone as pretty as you are. But don't pull no more tricks like you did the last time.”

She pouted. “No, no—I promise! But you made such a magnificent gladiator! Such a fight!”

Kingman's laugh was almost complacent. “Monique should have been born in ancient Roman times. As Messalina! But she did promise me that she would try to behave.”

So he knew her—he knew her! And from the looks they exchanged—hers a pouting moue meant to convey apology and his a half-smile that showed he forgave her—it was obvious they had known each other very well. I hated him; I hated her. I hated them all. And most of all, I was angry at myself for having shown all too clearly how shaken I was.

“So—” Montoya said suddenly, his voice almost a purr, “now that we are all here, and we all know each other…”

“Business after supper!” Monique said quickly, and John added: “And drinks before, while we all get reacquainted. What do you say, Mark?”

I could not see Mark's face, for he stood behind me; but I felt his fingers tighten on my shoulders. It was the only sign he gave of whatever emotion was contained within him, for his voice sounded perfectly amiable.

“I think that's an excellent idea, although I seem to be the only person here who is not formally acquainted with—señor Montoya's friend.”

Montoya said smoothly, “But there is no need to be formal among ourselves, is there? Lucas, amigo—you know Mr. Mark Shannon?”

I thought that Lucas took his eyes from Monique with an effort. His voice was curt. “We've seen each other. A long time ago.”

“In Socorro, I believe. But as you say, that was a long time ago.”

I would ask myself the questions afterward. I watched Lucas as if I had been starved for the sight of him and had only just recognized my hunger. He had let his whisker stubble grow out into a beard that somehow made him look older—and harder. But his eyes, and the easy grace with which he moved, were the same. And he had not yet looked at me fully and directly. Was it because he could no longer bear the sight of me?

It seemed as if everyone had started to speak at once. Monique was calling to one of the maids, patting the arm of the chair on which she sat invitingly. Jesus Montoya had already seated himself, and was talking to John Kingman.

Suddenly I rose to my feet. A trifle unsteadily, for Mark's hand caught my arm.

“I think I'll just go back to my room and freshen up before dinner. You'll excuse me?”

Every head was turned in my direction. If I wanted Lucas's attention I had it now. His narrowed eyes touched me for a moment, long enough for me to see the greenness in their depths. And then he had turned back to Monique, who was saying with false concern in her voice: “Rowena hasn't been feeling well since she's been here.
Pauvre petite!
It was all that traveling.”

“I'll come with you, sweetheart,” Mark said, his voice overly solicitous. And I couldn't wait to turn my back on all of them.

“Rowena, until you have faced him, and discovered what he is, he would always remain a question in your mind. A raw spot. Don't you understand why I had to do it? Montoya was one of the men we'd had in mind in any case—I merely asked that he bring Luke Cord with him.”

“And what were you hoping for? That he would refuse? That Montoya would bring him as a prisoner?”

Mark shrugged, but his blue eyes were very bright.

“That might have been a better way. But since he's obviously here of his own accord, it only means one thing. He's interested in the plunder. Or perhaps it's the thought of revenge. Rowena,” his voice sighed, “surely you can see for yourself? Since he learned you are now my wife he's lost interest in you. Monique is more his type. He could hardly take his eyes off her.”

“You said you hated him!” I couldn't leave it alone. My voice accused Mark. “You know what happened. How can you stand to talk business with him? Why him?”

“I'm a civilized man, Rowena, and he's a savage, but perhaps he can be useful to us. And there's another reason I wanted him here. You see, I love you. And I don't want Luke Cord between us. I'm hoping that at last you'll have the opportunity to see him for what he is. A mercenary. An uncivilized killer who would do anything for pay. And if I did not trust in your good judgment in the end,” Mark's voice hardened almost unrecognizably, “I would have had him killed.”

I turned away from him to the mirror, forcing myself to concentrate on pinning my hair up. As if I had been a cornered animal, with no other place to hide, my wits began to come to my rescue at last.

“Well, it's done now.” I lifted one bare shoulder as if I did not particularly care. “It's just that I don't like to feel tricked, Mark. And particularly by my husband.”

I saw his blond head bend in the mirror, and felt the warm pressure of his lips on my neck. “My darling! Don't you understand?”

I pretended to consider this, and shrugged. “I suppose so. You're jealous. But you should have remembered what I told you before. The only reason why Lucas Cord continues to—intrigue me, if you will, is because he seemed to tire of me first. But if it were the other way around…”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

It was my turn to laugh teasingly. The laugh of a woman who is sure of herself and her charms.

“Since you have appointed yourself my lady's maid, Mark, why don't you help me choose one of my prettiest, most seductive gowns? Perhaps Monique will have some competition tonight… if you can be as understanding as John, that is!”

So now I found myself playing a dangerous game of pretense again. Like the spangle-costumed woman in a circus I had once watched, who walked a tightrope. It was almost a relief to find myself seated next to Montoya at supper that night, and listen to his flowery compliments.

There were only five of us, though, who sat down at the flower-decked table. When Montoya, immaculate in his silver-embroidered
charro
suit, had entered to bow gallantly over the ladies' hands he had said apologetically, “Lucas asked to be excused. He met an old friend, in the bunkhouse—one of your guests who is passing through. He said he would join us afterward.”

Mark's quizzical glance met mine, and I could almost read his thoughts. “Obviously he's the kind of man who would be embarrassed at a formal meal such as this.” But I was determined to make up for my earlier breach of the control I normally had over my reactions, and merely observed laughingly that I could not possibly miss anyone else when I had such a gallant cavalier at my side.

“No amount of gallantry could do justice to the beauty of the two ladies present. I find myself overwhelmed.”

Monique and I exchanged glances, both faintly appraising. She had decided to dress for dinner too, in a low-cut green silk gown that showed her figure off and exposed her gleaming, milky-white arms and shoulders. The emerald eardrops she wore flashed each time she turned her head, or laughed, and her auburn hair shone with a rich fire of its own in the candlelight.

I wore the midnight blue velvet I had not worn since the night of Todd Shannon's grand party, and I couldn't help wondering if Mark had chosen that particular gown on purpose, to remind me… of what? How mistaken I had been in my reading of his character that night?

“You are the loveliest creature in the world,” he had whispered as he helped to pin the diamond stars in my hair. But I had wanted Lucas to see me—I had wanted him to realize what he had lost. Never mind, I told myself; he will be here later. And then we'll see. I was in a strange mood, my nerves like fine-strung wires that might snap at any moment. I would not be anybody's “poor Rowena” tonight! Mark could not deal me any worse surprises than he had already, and no—not even the coldness of Lucas's eyes when he looked at me could shake my poise.

I was like a gambler who had nothing left to lose and could afford to laugh recklessly as the wheel spun for the last time. I was the same woman who had been her stepfather's mistress and Todd Shannon's betrothed. The marble goddess with no heart. As cold and as calculating as I had ever been accused of being. For sometime during the past two hours I had made up my mind.

It was strange that I had thought of myself as a gambler. For after the dishes had been cleared away and Lucas had joined us, with a cursory apology for his lateness, that is exactly what we did.

It was Monique's idea. She had sat at the piano for a while, until Lucas made his appearance, and then she got up, clapping her hands together.

“Oh, but we're far too stiff! The night is young, and the brandy, thanks to Mark, is excellent. You men shall not leave us to smoke your cigars outside. We shall play cards. Poker, I think. It's my favorite game, next to roulette. Rowena… do you know it?”

I caught her mood and smiled. Lucas had paid no attention to me, but he would, he would! I would make sure of it.

“It was one of my grandfather's few vices, although he would only indulge in a game with his few close cronies. Even while he taught it to me he didn't fail to remind me of one of our ancestors, a Regency rake, who lost the family fortune on the turn of a card.”

“But how exciting! This ancestor—he sounds like a man after my heart. And you, Rowena, are you fond of gambling too?”

I thought her words had a hidden meaning, which I pretended not to notice for the moment.