“I already did,” Ramon said with a grin, the first he had allowed himself in over a week.
Pedro just sighed. “I bring news, Ramon.”
“From Alberto?”
“Si.I am afraid you are not going to like it.”
Ramon frowned. “I have not liked much of anything lately. You may as well tell me what it is.”
“The girl… Senorita McConnell, she is not the woman you believed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Alberto’s cousin, Candelaria, she worked as the senorita’s personal maid. She says the girl was warned by her uncle never to speak of her background, but she was so lonely, I suppose she needed a friend. She trusted Candelaria and told her the truth.”
“The truth?” Ramon said.
“Si.”
“And just what is this truth?”
“The girl was not wealthy as we believed. Her father was a poor, ignorant miner. He died of a lung disease when the senorita was only just ten. The girl and her mother took in laundry to earn money for food. Four years ago her mother died of the cholera. Senor Austin is her mother’s brother, her only living relative. He sent her money, then arranged for a boarding school so she could finish her education and learn the proper refinements. Candelaria says the senorita wishes to repay him for all he has done. She obeys him, even when she disagrees. It was he who refused to let her dance with you. He warned her not to encourage you in any way. Candelaria said the girl felt very badly about the way she treated you the day you gave her the rose. Candelaria says it is not in the senorita’s nature to be unkind to others.”
Ramon felt a deep, hollow sinking in the pit of his stomach. He had made mistakes in his life more than once, but none any worse than this.
“I have wronged her badly.”
“Si,that is true, but at least now you know the truth.”
Ramon began to pace at the foot of the bed. “I will make it up to her. I will find a way—I swear it.”
Behind them the woman stirred. Ramon reached her side just as she opened her eyes.
“You!” she shrieked, her drowsiness instantly gone, the color draining from her pretty face. “What—what are you doing in my bedroom?”
Pedro wisely remained silent and backed out the door.
Ramon smiled softly. “I am afraid this is my bedroom,chica,not yours.”
She blanched as the truth came crashing in. A tremor moved over her small frame and her eyes flashed a moment of fear.
Inwardly, Ramon cursed. “Do not be frightened,nina.I will not hurt you. I give you my word.”
“Your word?” She drew herself up against the headboard, the effort making her weak body tremble. “What value is there in the word of a man like you?”
“More than you might think,” he said softly, “but I do not blame you for having your doubts. In the meantime, I do not wish you to tax yourself. Your illness has been long and difficult. You need time to get well and grow strong. Rest easy, little one. I will have Florentia bring you something to eat.”
The Spaniard left the room and Carly stared after him in amazement. Shaking with apprehension and the weakness left by her illness, she tried to recall the scene that had just transpired with the don, but already the images seemed fuzzy and out of focus. His kindness couldn’t have occurred. There was nothing kind about him. Perhaps she had imagined it.
She glanced around the small cozy room, at the bright-colored quilt on the old iron bed, at the hand-sewn carpet on the hard-packed earthen floor. There was a crude oak dresser against one wall, much like the table beside the bed, and a chipped blue porcelain bowl and pitcher sitting atop it.
Carly fought down the uncomfortable thudding of her heart and the knot in her stomach, and tried to piece together what little she knew. She was in the don’s bedchamber in his small adobe house in the mountains. A place called Llano Mirada. She had been abducted from her home by El Dragón, a man who blamed her for his brother’s death. Carly shivered to think of it. Dear God, what would he do?
Her hold grew tighter on the quilt. How many days had she been there? He said her illness had been long. As weak as she felt, she’d been sick for more than a day or two. She glanced at the white cotton nightgown she wore, bigger than her own, spotlessly clean and smelling of strong lye soap. Whose was it? Why had it been given to her? Who had cared for her—and why had the ruthless don bothered with her care at all?
The room felt suddenly cold and Carly pulled the quilt up to her chin. Whatever his reasons, sooner or later, she was certain to find out. Carly closed her eyes, almost wishing she hadn’t awakened.
***
