Dancing in the Shadows Page 16

  ‘Yes.’ The soft puzzlement went from his face and his expression tightened against her.

  ‘What he told you put you in a flaming temper.’

  ‘I’ll concede that, too.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘If that is supposed to be the conclusion of your explanation, I think you are being deliberately provocative.’

  ‘That is the last thing I am being,’ Dorcas said bitterly, untruthfully, because her restrained anger was electric provocation.

  ‘I know what I know and I see what I see. The two are not in accord.’

  His hand left her wrist to grasp the back of her neck. The fingers twisting her neck round so that he could see her face better, sent a sensuous thrill down her spine.

  ‘What do you see, Carlos?’ Her voice stole from her throat as a dry little whisper.

  ‘I see a woman. She is desirable. I want her. She is a temptress and I am only human.’ His voice was harsh with self-contempt.

  He called her a temptress, but she was only human too. She stood rooted to the spot, willing him to kiss her.

  Hooded blue eyes regarded her, their expression flicked her senses raw. A pulse beat angrily above his cheek-bone as the austerely sculpted mouth bent in response.

  No welching—she had invited this. But, dear merciful God—not like this. She didn’t know what had triggered it off—what had she done, said to unleash this beast? His mouth insulted hers. It was hard and demanding and it laughed at her—with her lips pressed up close she could feel it laughing—because she couldn’t deny the explosive feeling ripping her apart.

  He had only ever kissed her once before, the time the Rocas were dining and he’d come to her room to fetch her because their arrival was imminent, and that had been an improper peck. Their first proper kiss should have been a paradisical experience, not this degrading grappling of lips that both sickened and excited. She resisted; he pulled her closer until the unyielding hardness of his body pained her flesh. His hands chafed, and caressed. He kissed her until her mouth hurt with the joy of it, and her knees were water. Never in her life had she been brought to such shame; never before had her dignity been dragged to this low of degradation. He was using her. She was a body and a pair of lips to satisfy his lust. He wasn’t holding her in respect.

  A final wrench and she was free to examine his face. Strangely, she could see no apology in his eyes. It was a two-way scrutiny. After that shameful display which had debased everything good that had gone between them, surely he didn’t expect to see anything to his advantage in her face? Her breath expelled slowly. Yes . . . he did! She got the distinct impression that he expected her to look repentant.

  Her twisting chin was expressive of her bewilderment. He either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see.

  ‘With you or without you, I am going to inform the Rocas that their daughter is here.’

  ‘With me.’ He wasn’t getting away so easily. She had some probing to do.

  ‘You’re not afraid to come with me? After . . . ?’ His eyebrows lifted in mockery; his manner was insulting as to be inflammatory, also slightly surprised.

  Why was she cringing? It should have been him. There was a distinct boot-on-the-other-foot flavour about the situation that disturbed even as it intrigued.

  After all, it would not wait until she’d been upstairs for her clothes and they were on their way to the Rocas’. The question wouldn’t be delayed a moment longer.

  ‘Precisely what did Paco Garcia tell you?’

  An earlier question of Carlos’s that had fallen on stony ground, was just beginning to take root. ‘What has Isabel got to do with this?’ he had asked. ‘Everything,’ Dorcas had replied. What if she was wrong? Something had sent him into a white-hot temper. What could it be, if not Isabel and Paco’s sudden acknowledgement of their love for each other? If it had nothing to do with Isabel, could it . . . perhaps . . . have something to do with her?

  Carlos had behaved very badly just now. He hadn’t kissed her in tenderness, but like a man bitterly wronged, demented by jealousy, seeking lustful revenge. Carlos jealous? Carlos acting like a green boy drooling over his first love? Not jealous of Paco because of Isabel, but jealous of . . .

  Oh dear. If Paco had told Carlos something about her, it could only be one thing. Paco had seen her kissing Tom Bennett. Was this enough to make Carlos jealous? Had that silly, meaningless kiss provoked all this? No. It wasn’t possible.

  ‘Paco told you he’d seen Tom Bennett and me kissing,’ she said, rashly answering her own question.

  Reading his expression, she knew she’d blundered. ‘No,’ he said coldly, ‘he didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘Oh. I can explain,’ she said trying her hopeful best to retrieve the situation. But could she explain? If she remembered rightly, there had been something of an experimental nature about that kiss. She had led Tom on to kiss her in the hope that it would blot out thoughts of Carlos. She coloured. After all, she could not explain that.

  ‘In the circumstances, isn’t an explanation both tedious and unnecessary. After all, you’d have a harder job explaining to Tom about us,’ he said drily.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he is your fiancé, isn’t he?’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Paco did.’

  ‘It’s not true. Do you think he assumed we were engaged because he saw us kissing?’

  ‘Tom Bennett told Paco you were his fiancée.’

  ‘Why would he tell him that?’

  For someone brought up to tell the exact truth, Dorcas wasn’t used to extricating herself from lies. Even Michael’s inventive tongue couldn’t have topped this one.

  ‘Wait a minute, I do believe . . .’ Oh, what a tangled web! ‘I mentioned to Tom that I was worried that Paco might tell that he’d seen us kissing. Tom said he knew just the word to say to Paco to ensure that he didn’t. He must have thought that pretending I was Jane would make things right.’

  ‘Jane?’

  ‘Tom’s fiancée from England. She was due to arrive the next day.’

  ‘Really!’ said Carlos, sceptically.

  ‘Whatever that’s supposed to mean, she does exist. I’ve met her. On our way back from taking your grandmother home, your father and I narrowly missed hitting a small boy. Tom’s fiancée was there. I was afraid of what the shock might do to your father, so I came home with him while Tom’s fiancée stayed with the boy. You can check if you like.’ A fiery tone entered her voice. ‘Shall I tell you something, I don’t care whether you believe me or not!’ She was weary of explanations. Weary and prickly.

  He picked her hand off the newel post where it had been resting. Thoughtfully his thumb stroked over her wrist. ‘We’ll talk later. We are both too emotionally wound up to reason clearly.’

  Dorcas said: ‘Very well,’ without much hope.

  What did Carlos think? That she and Michael and Tom were all in this together? It would be common knowledge that Tom Bennett was making a home for when his fiancée could join him. Her arrival on the scene could fit. Did Carlos think she had discarded Tom because she saw him as a better prospect and that Tom was willing to step down on peaceable terms . . . in the hope that Enrique Ruiz would keep his promise to put some business his way? All the angles fitted too well. Even that joke proposal of Tom’s, which they’d mentioned to Carlos’s father, but which he hadn’t properly understood, could backfire on her.

  Even as Dorcas thought, hopefully there is still Jane as proof positive, a small voice in her head was telling her that love doesn’t have to explain. It believes, no matter how damning the evidence.

  Dorcas heard the ringing of the doorbell, the rat-tat of heels across the hall, muted voices. Automatically, her head turned.

  The Spanish maid was ushering someone in. Unbelievably, it was Jane!

  Only Jane was saying: ‘How is Michael? I couldn’t stay away, not when I heard he was hurt. I had to come.’

  ‘Of course. Please do not upset yourse
lf.’ The comfort Carlos offered wanted no explanation. His voice was warm, yet authoritative, the arrogance subdued to a pleasing acceptance of command. ‘Shall you wait in the sala with my mother.’

  His dictatorial bearing had become solid reassurance that did not come amiss, as verified by the leap of gratitude in the girl’s eyes.

  ‘Thank you, señor. That is very kind of you.’

  Dorcas had jumped to a wrong conclusion.

  The girl who was not Jane said: ‘I’m Samantha Harris.’ Her eyes reached beseechingly round to Dorcas. ‘I know you’re Michael’s sister. Perhaps he’s mentioned me? I’m Michael’s fiancée.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Samantha Harris had glossy, nutbrown hair, a sunburnt nose, and hazel eyes. The latter were directing Dorcas a look that was marginally apologetic, with a definite bias towards hurt.

  ‘Sorry if it came as a shock. I took it you knew. That time in town—you know, when that cute little Spanish boy, Pepe, nearly ran under your car—I thought you seemed to know who I was.’

  ‘I thought I did. The man who owns the English garage was expecting his fiancée from England. I assumed that’s who you were.’

  ‘So Michael never mentioned me?’

  She looked so hurt that Dorcas was pleased to be able to say: ‘Do you know, I believe he did. He told me he’d met someone called Sam while he was in France. I assumed you were a man. I seem to be making a lot of wrong assumptions lately.’

  Her eyes strayed to Carlos who was coming out of a most thoughtful look.

  He said, predictably, ‘That is unimportant. What matters is that Miss Harris is here and that we make her welcome.’

  His smile was doing that quite substantially, the evidence of which showed in the lowering of Samantha’s defensive shield and an infinitesimally slight lessening of her woebegone expression.

  He might not have Michael’s surface charm, but he emanated a protective warmth and strength that was, to Dorcas’s way of thinking, far superior. Michael’s charm was a flashy gold plating; Carlos’s unpretentious twenty-two carat goodness and caring was no illusion. Not that Samantha would be comparing. She saw Carlos merely as a ballast to grasp in her uncertainty and misery.

  Her: ‘Thank you,’ was heartfelt. And then, as though propelled by truth: ‘I might not be very welcome with Michael. As a matter of fact, I’m not even certain we’re still engaged. It was wonderful in France. No doubts. But then he came here and he only sent me two scrappy postcards. All they told me was how much he was taken up by all this. I wasn’t his new plaything any more; this was. I thought if I didn’t follow him, he might forget me. But as it turned out it wasn’t such a good idea. Oh, he pretended to make a fuss of me at first, and he even helped me to find lodgings in town. He explained, very kindly, why he couldn’t make it known I was here. I didn’t properly understand what he was getting at, apart from the fact that I’d upset his plans. I feel a bit let-down that he didn’t tell you about me. But, I suppose that’s just the mystery of Michael.’

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ Dorcas admitted. She thought that no one would ever know exactly what Michael had in mind.

  It seemed obvious that he didn’t want Samantha’s presence known because he was making a play for Isabel. But whether he was doing this because he thought he had a chance with Isabel, or—beautiful and profound thought!—to give her (Dorcas) a chance with Carlos, would never be known to anyone but Michael himself.

  She realized where her thoughts had taken her. For the first time she had credited her brother with a magnanimous gesture.

  ‘I know he loves you,’ she told Samantha.

  Her reward was the look of bliss that came to Samantha’s eye, even though it was quickly lost in disbelief. ‘How can you know that? He’s never told you.’

  ‘Not in so many words. But it’s been apparent in his manner. I don’t think Michael will ever be a completely reformed character—that’s too much to expect—but he’s different. He’s a nicer, more caring, warmer person. I noticed this the moment he came here; I even asked him if he’d met someone while on holiday to account for it. He has changed, Samantha, and it’s entirely due to your influence.’

  ‘Oh, you’re just saying that to be kind.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be kind to give you false hope.’

  ‘It’s not your sincerity I’m doubting. It’s just that I can’t believe it’s true.’

  ‘Don’t take my word for it. Wait. And let Michael tell you himself.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ The colour drained from Samantha’s face as her eyes dredged up the very real fear. She seemed to sway a little. ‘I want to wait and hear what Michael has to say. He can tell me to go away if he wants. The important thing is . . . that . . . he . . . can . . .’ Her teeth caught on her lower lip, her eyes were swimming. ‘What I’m trying to ask is . . . will . . . he . . .’ She couldn’t say it.

  Dorcas put her arms round the girl she hoped one day would be her beloved sister-in-law, and hugged her extravagantly. Samantha had made a big impression on her, and it was this that decided her to chance such a very rash and glowing reply. ‘Michael will get well. I promise that he’ll be up and about in no time. You’ll see. And he’ll endorse every word I’ve said. Just remember to ask me to be bridesmaid.’

  A short while later the doctor delivered his verdict on Michael. It came over sweetly and clearly that the professional opinion coincided with hers.

  A hand touched her arm. Her glance fastened momentarily on the long, capable fingers before she dragged her eyes up to meet his.

  Carlos said: ‘I’m glad it isn’t as serious with Michael as we first thought. About the other . . .’

  Even though that recent, angry, emotional scene was still vividly at the forefront of memory, the embarrassment was not as keen as Dorcas would have expected. She could meet the apology in his eyes. It was the hurt in them she found herself flinching away from. They’d both hurt each other so badly. Dorcas found her breath catching on the hope that the damage done was not irreparable.

  ‘Obviously we can’t talk about it in depth here. And there is so much to talk about.’

  ‘Can’t we just forget it?’ said Dorcas, shrinking from the thought of a heavy discussion. She had no shield to raise against him. She felt vulnerable. Having witnessed its calming effect while everybody was so worried about Michael, she could no longer find it in her to resent his dictatorial manner. And that aura of masculine superiority that she so often chafed against—well—it was indigenous to him. Without it he would have been like a glove without fingers. He wouldn’t have been Carlos.

  And he wouldn’t have been Carlos now without that renegade gleam of humour in his eye. At the same time, not to deflect from the gravity of the situation, his brow was down.

  ‘It can never totally be forgotten, Dorcas.’

  ‘No,’ she admitted dismally.

  ‘I behaved very badly. Nothing I can say will ever fully erase the shame of my actions.’

  ‘I can see your side of it, Carlos. At least I’m trying to. You seemed to be of the impression that the three of us, that is Tom, Michael and myself, had cooked something up against you. We hadn’t, honestly. As for my being Tom’s fiancée, I’d never set eyes on him before that day my hired car broke down and I went to his garage for help. That’s the truth. I wasn’t trying to pass Samantha off as Tom’s fiancée to make my own story credible. I honestly mistook her identity.’

  ‘I know you did. You knew Bennett was expecting his fiancée; you saw Samantha about the town. It was a natural enough mistake. It was a bigger mistake on my part to let myself be driven by blind jealousy. When Paco innocently let slip that he’d seen you before, at Bennett’s garage, and that you were Bennett’s fiancée no less, I saw red. We won’t go into whatever hanky-panky was going on between you and Bennett that led him to claim you as his fiancée. If I’d stopped to think I would have seen how absurd my accusation was. Dearest Dorcas, anyone with an eye less on the main chance I ha
ve yet to meet. That has been a major source of irritation.’ He broke off to warn her, ‘I’m afraid we are about to be interrupted. Here comes Mother.’

  Dorcas turned to see Rose Ruiz bearing down on them. The toil and torment of the night showed in her less than immaculate hair, the lines of strain round her mouth, the tiredness dulling her eyes. Even so she was conscientiously pulling out all the stops to be the perfect hostess.

  ‘Dorcas, I think we should provide a meal for our departing guests to see them on their way. Indeed, I think we could all do to appease the hunger pangs after the anxiety. Do you feel up to giving a hand?’

  ‘Of course, señora.’

  Rose Ruiz smiled before moving away, obviously expecting Dorcas to follow her. Dorcas hesitated. She had little doubt that she looked as raw and puzzled as she felt.

  ‘What did you mean, Carlos? What has been a major source of irritation?’

  ‘The role you have given me. I am not a Lord Bountiful. I have never regarded you as an object of charity. Neither have I wanted to do things for you out of a misguided sense of obligation. This is ridiculous! We can’t talk about it now. It’s too public. We’ll talk later.’

  Rose Ruiz turned round, suddenly aware that Dorcas wasn’t immediately behind her. She saw Dorcas lift herself on tiptoe to kiss Carlos on the cheek. Protectively her eyes searched the room for her husband. Enrique had not missed that revealing, tender moment. He was looking fixedly at Dorcas and Carlos; his expression reflected interest, not displeasure. Rose Ruiz permitted herself a small contented sigh.

  Dorcas walked away, following the course of Rose Ruiz’s steps, feeling curiously lightheaded. Too much anxiety, too little food, might have contributed, but the main cause of her affliction was the look on Carlos’s face as she spontaneously reached up to kiss his cheek. She didn’t know why she’d done it. It had been an impulse. Definitely one of her better ones.

  The impromptu meal went down well. Even those who said they weren’t hungry found lively appetites.

  Paco said he would take Isabel home. They walked out into a new day that was just misting into light, relief that Michael was going to get well nudging back their smiles, fingers tightly linked.