Sitting through a formal dinner at the large oak table would only allow her more time to think of what lay ahead and resurrect all sorts of long-buried fears. The way she studied the wine bottle on the sideboard indicated her need for its false courage. Best he strike now. She was showing some promise of giving in to the naturally passionate instincts he sensed.
Suddenly her husband's arm swept around her. He picked her up and pressed her against his chest in one fluid motion that left her so breathless with surprise all she could do was let out a small gasp. “Lucero—”
“To hell with dinner. We'll eat later. I've plans for us that will work up sufficient appetites for Angelina to roast us two fat chickens!”
Just then the old cook stepped through the heavy doorway to the kitchen, carrying a steaming tray which she almost dropped in amazement. Her meaty reddened hands tightened on the handles as she set it on the sideboard, then watched the carry his wife from the room. Her expression was impassive but for the sadness in her dark eyes.
Nicholas half expected Mercedes to struggle or scream out in protest as he carried her across the foyer to the wide curving stairs.
Instead, her voice was low and rigid with controlled fury. She hissed in his ear, “Do your worst. I cannot stop you. Father Salvador would only remind me that it's my duty to submit to my husband.”
The bitterness in her voice almost made him relent. She sounded so desolate. Again he cursed his brother for treating her so shamefully, then vowed to show her how different things could be between a man and his woman.
And she is my woman, my wife. Or, she would be after tonight. When he reached the door to his bedchamber, Baltazar stood inside it, a set of clean towels on his arm. Like Angelina and the rest of the old house servants, he had learned to school his emotions, revealing nothing to his master. Yet there remained a silent reproach in his eyes. He held the door ajar for the , then stepped outside it so Don Lucero could enter with his wife in his arms.
Mercedes could not bear to look at the dignified old servant who had always been so kind to her. She stared over her husband's shoulder as he turned to step through the door with her. That was when she saw Innocencia. The other woman stood at the top of the staircase staring at them. Her whole body was rigid with rage and her face was contorted with hate. The venom in her black eyes was a palpable thing.
Just as quickly as her rival's face flashed before her, it vanished as she was carried into the softly lit bedroom, his room. In her four years on Gran Sangre she had never set foot inside it, although she knew his mistress often had.
It should be Innocencia, not me, in his arms . All too soon it would be again, she was certain.
Unaware of Innocencia's presence outside, Nicholas strode toward the bed as Baltazar quietly closed the door behind them. He could feel a renewed stiffness in her body as he neared the big canopied bed, but he attributed it to the proximity of the bed and all it must symbolize to her. Slowly he set her on her feet beside it, still holding her closely against his body.
“This is your bed,” she said coldly. “You've never brought me here before because you always have other visitors in the night after you've finished with me.”
After you've finished with me. The words spoke volumes to him. “Ah, wife, but I don't plan to finish with you until first cock,” he whispered with a chuckle at the pun. First cock was a Mexican idiom for the rising sun.
Fury sluiced over her in fresh waves. At least before he had strode through his door under the cover of darkness and done the hateful act quickly, then left her alone while he cavorted with his harlot. “What cruel new game do you play,
Suddenly her husband's arm swept around her. He picked her up and pressed her against his chest in one fluid motion that left her so breathless with surprise all she could do was let out a small gasp. “Lucero—”
“To hell with dinner. We'll eat later. I've plans for us that will work up sufficient appetites for Angelina to roast us two fat chickens!”
Just then the old cook stepped through the heavy doorway to the kitchen, carrying a steaming tray which she almost dropped in amazement. Her meaty reddened hands tightened on the handles as she set it on the sideboard, then watched the carry his wife from the room. Her expression was impassive but for the sadness in her dark eyes.
Nicholas half expected Mercedes to struggle or scream out in protest as he carried her across the foyer to the wide curving stairs.
Instead, her voice was low and rigid with controlled fury. She hissed in his ear, “Do your worst. I cannot stop you. Father Salvador would only remind me that it's my duty to submit to my husband.”
The bitterness in her voice almost made him relent. She sounded so desolate. Again he cursed his brother for treating her so shamefully, then vowed to show her how different things could be between a man and his woman.
And she is my woman, my wife. Or, she would be after tonight. When he reached the door to his bedchamber, Baltazar stood inside it, a set of clean towels on his arm. Like Angelina and the rest of the old house servants, he had learned to school his emotions, revealing nothing to his master. Yet there remained a silent reproach in his eyes. He held the door ajar for the , then stepped outside it so Don Lucero could enter with his wife in his arms.
Mercedes could not bear to look at the dignified old servant who had always been so kind to her. She stared over her husband's shoulder as he turned to step through the door with her. That was when she saw Innocencia. The other woman stood at the top of the staircase staring at them. Her whole body was rigid with rage and her face was contorted with hate. The venom in her black eyes was a palpable thing.
Just as quickly as her rival's face flashed before her, it vanished as she was carried into the softly lit bedroom, his room. In her four years on Gran Sangre she had never set foot inside it, although she knew his mistress often had.
It should be Innocencia, not me, in his arms . All too soon it would be again, she was certain.
Unaware of Innocencia's presence outside, Nicholas strode toward the bed as Baltazar quietly closed the door behind them. He could feel a renewed stiffness in her body as he neared the big canopied bed, but he attributed it to the proximity of the bed and all it must symbolize to her. Slowly he set her on her feet beside it, still holding her closely against his body.
“This is your bed,” she said coldly. “You've never brought me here before because you always have other visitors in the night after you've finished with me.”
After you've finished with me. The words spoke volumes to him. “Ah, wife, but I don't plan to finish with you until first cock,” he whispered with a chuckle at the pun. First cock was a Mexican idiom for the rising sun.
Fury sluiced over her in fresh waves. At least before he had strode through his door under the cover of darkness and done the hateful act quickly, then left her alone while he cavorted with his harlot. “What cruel new game do you play,
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