Captive Innocence (22 page)

“Don't talk foolishness, Jamie.”

“Well, it's true, Royall. Moriah and her friends think I'm a sissy, but I'll show them!”

At the mention of the little girls Royall's blood ran cold. The feel of Jamie's fingers on her back chilled her, and she was fearful of the determination in his voice.

Royall was delighted when the music came to an end. She was glad to be with Mrs. Quince, who could always be relied on to say what she meant. There were never any veiled meanings from that candid lady.

Jamie escorted Royall back to Mrs. Quince, and she was pleasantly surprised to find the grand lady in conversation with Mr. Morrison, the attorney. At Royall's approach, Mr. Morrison stood and received her warmly.

“I don't want to interrupt, Mrs. Quince. You and Mr. Morrison seemed very deep in conversation. If you have something you wish to discuss privately, I'll excuse myself.”

“Quite the contrary, dear,” broke in Mr. Morrison. “Mrs. Quince and I were discussing you, as a matter of fact.”

Royall glanced from one face to the other. “If that's the case,” she demurred, “I'm sorry to be the cause of a disagreement.”

“Nonsense, child. It was merely that we don't agree on the time and place to tell you something that we both feel you have a right to know.” The look on Mrs. Quince's face caused Royall some alarm.

“Whatever it is, I can see you consider it serious.” Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the old lawyer. “Is it what we discussed at your home earlier this week?” Surely, it couldn't be about her earlier antics on the dance floor with Sebastian.

“It is,” came the brief reply.

“As it happens, I was just discussing the matter with Jamie. I, too, think it abhorrent that the Baron has never claimed Senor Rivera for his son, but since he has not and Sebastian has inherited Farleigh Mallard's properties these many years now, I feel it's a matter of beating a dead horse.”

Abruptly, she turned on her heel to search for her next dance partner, leaving Mrs. Quince and Mr. Morrison with stunned expressions. As Royall searched the dance floor, she could feel the heat burning her face. “I must look a sight,” she thought. After all, she attempted to excuse herself, it is like beating a dead horse. Why can't they just let it rest? All these reminders about his heritage can't be comforting to Sebastian. Perhaps if the ugly stories had been allowed to die years ago, he wouldn't feel this rage toward the Reino and everyone on it. Including me, she thought sorrowfully. Another glance at the dance card told her that this was the waltz she had saved for Sebastian. Poor Sebastian, it would be a long time before he did any dancing. Fresh anger boiled up within her, and she fled to the nearest balcony to escape the din of people around her.

On the balcony, overlooking the Parradays' extensive rose garden, Royall breathed deeply. The night air was exhilarating, so cool compared to the heat of the day. Almost at once she could feel herself relax, feel the strain of the past few days seep from her body. She leaned over the marble railing to reach out for a rose that had climbed up to the balustrade.

“Careful, better let me get that for you.”

Royall spun around, almost losing her footing, to look into the dark eyes of Sebastian Rivera. Nervously, Royall looked around to see if any of the other guests were in evidence. He would kill her, she could feel it in her bones. By all rights he should be there lying in pain, gasping for breath and hating her for what she did to him.

“I've decided to be magnanimous and allow you to apologize to me for your behavior on the dance floor.”

“Then you'll have a long wait because I never intend to apologize to you. You deserved what you got and more.”

Sebastian ignored her. “I should have dragged you by the hair across the room, taken you outside, and given your bottom a paddling. In fact, I think I'll do it right here and now.
You
deserve it!” he said emphatically.

“You wouldn't dare!” Royall hissed as she imagined the scene with all the men laughing and cheering him on. He wouldn't dare! She knew he would. Her mind raced. She had to flirt with him, make him forget his threat. Plead with him, even resort to going down on her knees. “I must say,” she said coyly, “you look quite elegant in your costume. Anyone dressed as grandly as you shouldn't waste his time on someone like me, whom you consider nothing more than a ... romp. Go inside where the ladies are all waiting for you.” She gulped at the cold look on his face. She had meant to flatter him, cajole him, and here she was, adding fuel to the fire.

“It's true what you say, that I'm in demand,” Sebastian said airily. “However, since I've tasted your delights, the others are less tempting.”

“You're insufferable,” Royall spat. “Why aren't you maimed?” she asked as an afterthought, totally candid.

“I was wondering when you would get around to asking about my well-being.” His raven's wing eyes dipped to the golden bow and arrow she carried. “For Diana the huntress, your aim fell short of the mark.”

He casually reached out and captured the rose, plucked it, and proceeded to break the thorns from the stem. Royall watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was dressed in a black suit with a short, snug-fitting jacket over a snowy white cambric shirt. A bright red satin band encircled his slim waist, topping off narrow trousers. A black sombrero, tilted at a rakish angle on his head, gave his square jaw emphasis.

“Here, I give you beauty without the barb.”

“Is that supposed to mean something, Senor Rivera?”

“Nothing personal, I assure you.” Royall hated his condescending tone.

“Are you prepared for the evening's final entertainment before us, Senora Banner?”

“Us, Senor?”

“Yes, us. I understand you've been judged the most fair and therefore the queen of this ball. It is rather fitting; after all, you are Royall with two L's.”

Royall gasped. “How can that be? How do you know?”

“One has a way of finding out these things. Especially since Mrs. Quince warned me and gave me directives on how I was not to embarrass you with my surliness, even after what you almost did to me. It's amazing how forgiving other people can be about my body. I'm to be a gracious partner and put aside all feelings, save those that are complimentary.”

“You, why you?” Royall couldn't believe that Mrs. Quince had told Sebastian that she, Royall, was voted queen of the ball. On second thought, she could if Sebastian was voted king. Lord a mercy! She hoped not. She couldn't endure his sarcasm for the rest of the evening. “Are you the king?”

“That is correct, Senora. I am to be your king. Just remember to act surprised when the announcement is made. I know I can rely on your abilities as an actress.”

“How dare you!”

“Oh, yes, before I forget, do steer clear of Senora Roswell. It seems as though the dear lady exerted her pressure to have me named king. Dear soul felt assured that her daughter, Nancy, would be named queen. A bit of matchmaking has been going on in the Roswell household, it seems. When she hears you've been named queen, I'm sure the fur will fly. Your fur, and never fear, Senora, I assure you, you'll find me the most attentive of kings.”

“Oh, you ... you ...”

“What? What am I, Senora? I warn you, your opinion of me is becoming tiresome.” He reached for her arm as it rose to strike him.

“Answer me, Royall, what am I? Am I a person to live off the misery of another human being? Am I? A little sarcasm would not be alien to you, I am sure. And as to being an actress, aren't you, and a convincing one? Who would have supposed the day you went riding with me on Regalo Verdad that it was to distract me from the sabotage taking place elsewhere? Yes, that's what I said—sabotage!” She was a better actress than he'd guessed. “Don't you think I can add two and two together?” He jerked her arm viciously. “That nasty little fire was started at the opposite end of the plantation from where we were riding. Luckily I've got good men working for me, and all that was lost was a week's work. It could have been a year's work, and well you know it.”

He held her arm in a fierce grip, squeezing till she cried out in pain. Immediately, he seemed contrite and released her. She stood there, looking at him in disbelief, puzzled over his statement. Actress or no, he felt desire for her well up within him. Before either of them was aware, he had pulled her to him, crushing her lips beneath his in a tempestuous, burning kiss.

She fought him, pushing him away from her, feeling his burning lips above hers, lingering. She felt the brutality ebbing and something else taking its place, something demanding and sweet and yearning. With a will of its own, her body clung to his, her lips answering his demand. Without removing his mouth from hers, he sighed deeply; she could taste the wine punch he had been drinking, heady, tangy. She felt herself spinning as though she were in a whirlpool and Sebastian was her lifeline.

Roughly, he pushed her away, his jet eyes peering deeply into hers. In a half audible groan she heard him murmur, “She-devil,” and he pulled her to him for another kiss, this time more searching. When she felt herself stir in his arms, he put her away from him, almost knocking her off her feet. She saw on his face a white, tight-lipped anger. Angrily, he strode off, leaving her alone on the balcony. Royall stared at the crushed rose at her feet, trampled beneath his foot, just as she was.

Royall didn't know how long she stood alone on the lonely balcony overlooking the rose garden. She was faintly aware that another dance was beginning, and somewhere a young man would be searching for her to dance with him. She couldn't go in there, not the way she was feeling. At a sound behind her she turned to see Victor Morrison.

“Here you are, my dear. I've been looking for you. This may be the last chance we have to talk before you go back to the plantation. There's something I feel I must tell you.”

Royall brought herself to her senses. She could see the old lawyer was struggling with indecision. “It's most unpleasant, but Mrs. Quince assures me you have the mettle to take it.”

“I think I do, Mr. Morrison.”

“I'm sure of it, Royall.” He seemed to stiffen; he came closer to her and put a hand on her arm. “Your father was a friend, both of mine and the old Baron Newsome. Old Farleigh Mallard knew him also, and always had the kindest of words to say about him. I think a daughter of Richard Harding can listen to the truth and bear it.”

He gazed at her with a stern expression on his face. Whatever the subject was the lawyer had to discuss with her, Royall knew it was serious.

“Tell me, Mr. Morrison. I'm not a woman prone to vapors.”

“Ahem. Yes. Remember you came to me and asked that I help you discover your rights to Reino Brazilia? Yes, of course, forgive an old man. However, you also asked me about some cryptic phrases your father wrote in his journal concerning correspondence I had had with him before his death. Now, mind you, child, I have no proof. However, I wrote to your father that I had reason to believe that the Baron, Carlyle Newsome, murdered his father in cold blood and destroyed his will.”

Royall gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“I said I've no proof. However, it's my belief that this is true. I'm only telling you this, Royall, because I fear that if Carlyle would kill his own father to gain Reino Brazilia, what might he do to you if you started to assert your rights as to your inheritance? Think on it, child. It's a matter of record that the Baron has frequently outspent his credit. Yet somehow he always manages to pay off his debts. Never mind the technicalities; it's simply this: I have reason to believe the Baron has been using your share of the estate for personal debts for some years now. Your poor father was given to believe that his share of the money was being vested in the plantation. According to the figures to which I have access at the bank as a trustee, this is untrue.

“I want you to hold off demanding an accounting of your share until you hear from me. The situation, as it stands, could place you in danger.”

Suddenly the music coming from the ballroom sounded discordant to Royall's ears.

Alicia dragged herself around the gilt and baroque sitting room. Absently she picked up one object after another, pretending to look at it. Her hands trembled as she carefully handled the priceless objects. She was pretending again, just like yesterday and the day before that. She had been pretending ever since she had come to live in the Baron's townhouse. She had just replaced a rare porcelain dove back on one of the small tables when the delicate chime of the clock startled her. If she had been holding the dove, it would be in shards now. She swallowed hard, forcing her throat to work against its will. She knew what she needed, and she needed it now. Her eyes scuttled around the room, finally coming to rest on the liquor cabinet at the far end of the room. All she had to do was walk across the room and remove the stopper on the decanter and take a drink. It was wrong. Her mother hadn't had to resort to liquor in her pretend world. All she had done was sit in a chair and close her eyes, and everything and everyone ceased to exist. She had tried that, but it didn't work for her. Carl's face always swam before her weary eyes. Memories haunted her, of how close they had been, and then, as always, the humiliating scenes she had to remember of the hours she spent in the Baron's bed. The liquor was the only thing that could blot the hateful face of the Baron from her mind. If she was lucky, and she knew she wasn't or she wouldn't be in the predicament she was in now, she could drink herself to death and never have to worry again.

Her hands were trembling so badly she had to clasp them together. She glanced down at her clenched hands, seeing the knuckles stark white against the sky blue gown she wore. She wanted a drink. She needed a drink. She was going to take a drink and then another and one after that, until she finished the bottle. To hell with Carl. To hell with the Baron. To hell with everything. What kind of man was Carl to lie to her as he had? He couldn't have truly loved her if he permitted his father to lead him around on a leash. Sebastian, next to her father, was the only man fit to live and breathe. The rest were all vile, perverted bastards. Her teeth clenched together, she crossed the room and reached for the sparkling cut glass decanter. Quickly, she removed the stopper, brought the bottle to her mouth, and drank deeply. She swallowed, waiting for the fiery liquid to hit her stomach. She needed that, she told herself, pouring another jolt into her snifter. Once she finished that off, she would cry a while, curse the Baron and sleep, hoping to see Carl in her dreams. When she woke, she would come downstairs and repeat the process all over again.

Her pansy eyes narrowed to slits. Today was supposed to be different ... or was that yesterday, or tomorrow? Sooner or later she'd remember. That she'd remember anything at all struck her as funny, and she flopped down on the sofa, laughing in hysteria. If the Baron could only see her now. Fresh waves of laughter rolled over her. He'd throw an unholy tantrum because she was unable to perform. He should only know that the only way she could perform for him was to half drown herself in brandy.

Tears slipped from her eyes. Why couldn't she be a little girl again? Have a mother and father to make things all better again? Have friends, friends like Sebastian, whom she had trailed after since she could walk. Beautiful, beautiful Sebastian. If he could see her now, he'd be appalled, but he'd understand. Sebastian always knew what to do when things went wrong; he could fix anything.

That was what she was going to do today. She was supposed to visit Sebastian. Just yesterday she'd been looking out the bedroom window and had seen his carriage drive past the house, so he must be in Manaus.

A fresh roll of laughter erupted. What would Sebastian think if she showed up on his doorstep drunk? Hiccoughs overcame her as she struggled to her feet. No one could ever fool Sebastian. When he got a whiff of her, he'd probably catch fire. The thought delighted her as she tripped around the room, swirling her skirts. “I know—hic—that you must think I'm under the weather—hic—but actually I'm feeling rather well as of late—hic—”

Making her way to the door by willpower alone, she was determined that she'd see Sebastian. Hadn't she always had a talent to rise to any occasion? And this was an occasion—hic!

Holding onto the door for support, Alicia squinted. Damn, when had it begun raining? She'd need her cloak and, of course, her ruffled parasol. Wouldn't Sebastian be surprised to see her.

She carefully placed one foot in front of the other as she made her way to the small utility area outside of the sitting room. She struggled with a lemon yellow cape until she had it wrapped around her. She fished around inside the urn for her parasol, coming up with the one with scarlet bows on the handle. A rich gurgle of laughter made her double over when she caught sight of her reflection in the looking glass. If Rosalie Quince's parrot should light on her shoulder, passersby would be hard pressed to discover where the bird left off and she began.

Alicia blinked. At least the damnable hiccoughs were gone. She repeated her careful progress back into the room. Her bleary gaze fell on the liquor cabinet and the two half-empty bottles. She pondered the problem for a moment. She could pour one into the other, or she could drink it. On the other hand, it was a long walk to Sebastian's house and it was raining. She might want to stop along the way, and if she did stop, she would be thirsty. The problem was, and she admitted to herself that it was a problem, could she carry the parasol, watch out for puddles, read the street signs, and still carry the two bottles? It wasn't an insurmountable problem. She finally solved it to her satisfaction by downing the contents of one of the bottles and carrying the other under her cape.

The minute she stepped outside, the torrential rain sluiced through her flimsy parasol, drenching her to the skin. She tossed the parasol onto the road and started off to the right, hoping she was going in the right direction. Merchants stared at her through their shop windows. They shook their heads and looked at one another. A woman in her cups wasn't something you saw every day of the week or even once a year, for that matter. And a woman in her cups, staggering down the road in a heavy downpour, was even worse.

What seemed like hours later, Alicia climbed the steps to Sebastian's house. “Sebastian Rivera, let me in your house immediately!” she shouted above the whipping rain. Getting no response to her order, she uncorked the decanter and took a healthy swallow. “Open this damn door, Sebastian,” she shouted again. Another swallow from the bottle, and the hiccoughs were back. “Damn you, Sebastian, you see what you've done. You made me get the hiccoughs again. Open this door before someone thinks I'm drunk. Sebastian!”

The door swung open and Sebastian Rivera blinked. “Christ almighty! Alicia? Jesus! Alicia, what the hell has happened?”

“I thought you were never going to open this damn door. Do you have something illicit going on in here? Look, Sebastian, I brought some refreshments with me. It took you long enough to open the door. I thought for sure that some of your neighbors would see me out there and wonder at my—hiccough—my condition. I have ... I have ... these ... hiccoughs ... from walking in the rain, and then—hiccough—you let me stand out there—hiccough—in the rain and now they won't ... won't ... go away. Oh, Sebastian, I had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to—hiccough— I had to come ... come here ... I knew you ... knew you would ... you have to help ... please ... Sebastian ... you have to help me ...”

“Alicia, what happened?” His voice was tender, brotherly, as he bent down on one knee. Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his cheek. “I'll help you, Alicia. Just sit there for a moment and I'll fetch my housekeeper.” When he returned with a rotund, jolly honey-skinned woman, Alicia was fast asleep, her hands folded under her cheek like a small child. Sebastian scooped her up and was startled to find that she weighed less than a child. How much weight she had lost; she felt all bony and thin. Gently, he laid her on the bed and spoke softly to the housekeeper. “Take care of her, and be gentle.”

Sebastian sat in his study, Alicia's bottle of brandy in his hands. What in the name of all that was holy had made Alicia show up at his door drunk! Something told him that this wasn't the first time she'd looked for answers to whatever was bothering her at the bottom of a bottle.

When he'd arrived in Manaus, he'd gone around to her apartment over the apothecary shop and learned that she was gone. Knowing that Carl Newsome was in Belém, Sebastian had thought Alicia was with him.

Hour after hour, Sebastian sat, waiting. He'd determined he wasn't moving until Alicia woke and told him what her problem was. He was beginning to doze off around midnight when his housekeeper tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the upper level. Hurrying out into the hall, he ran into Aloni.

“Sebastian, why do you banish your Aloni to her room? Why is that woman here in this house?”

“Not now, Aloni. I've got too much on my mind. Go to bed. I'll talk to you in the morning.”

As he took the carpeted stairs two at a time, he heard Aloni complaining behind him. “You don't love your Aloni anymore. Why didn't you take Aloni to the masquerade ...”

Ignoring his mistress, he came to a halt outside Alicia's door. Cautiously, he opened it a crack to see Alicia weeping into her pillow. It made him feel inadequate to see a woman cry.

Drawing up a gold brocade chair beside the bed, he gently reached for her hand and covered it with both of his. “Alicia. What happened? What's made you so unhappy? Tell me, let me help you. You're safe here, if that's what you're worried about. No harm will come to you. We've been friends since you were a little girl. Come, wipe your tears and we'll talk.”

What he said was true. That was why she had come to Sebastian. It was no longer important to hide her shame. In the beginning, yes. Now she didn't care anymore. Sebastian would understand. She groped for the snowy square of linen Sebastian handed her. She dabbed at her eyes and then blew her nose lustily. “I suppose I'm pretty much of a mess,” she said swallowing hard. “Do you think I could have a drink, Sebastian? Not water,” she added hastily.

Sebastian frowned. How could he refuse her anything? But he had to. “No, Alicia, spirits aren't what you need right now, and I've a feeling that that's how you've been trying to solve whatever problem it is that's plaguing you. You can't think and act clearly when you're under the influence. Tell me what's troubling you and how I can help. I don't think I need to remind you that any confidence you share with me will stay with me.”

“I know that, Sebastian, and you're right. Spirits aren't what I need right now. Now I need a friend.” Staring him straight in the eye, she recounted what happened to her from the day the Baron first visited her. She left nothing out, spared herself no shame. She neither cried nor excused herself in any way. That was what frightened Sebastian.

A rage as black as hell ripped through Sebastian as he heard her out. When she finished with her tale, her eyes pleaded with him for forgiveness. At first she thought he was angry with her, then he stood and curled his fist into a tight ball. Before she knew what was happening, he lashed out at the armoire, splintering the wood. His face showed no pain, just vile disgust. The emotion, she knew, was directed at the Baron, not herself.

“My God, why didn't you come to me in the beginning? Why did you suffer so? I would have killed the bastard cheerfully and then danced on his grave. Why, Alicia, why did you wait so long?”

“Because I couldn't bear to see the look on your face. I thought you would believe the rumors that have been circulating that I was a prostitute. Sebas-tion, surely you understand. And then I started to drink, just to drive what was happening to me from my mind. Yesterday, I saw your carriage drive by the house. I wanted to run after you right then and there and tell you to take me away, but I was too drunk to make it to the door. In the beginning you were back on the plantation, and there was no way for me to get there, and above all, I was afraid of the Baron. Please, Sebastian, say you understand and forgive me.”

“Of course, I forgive you, and I do understand. My housekeeper is going to bring you some food shortly. I'm going downstairs to think. This can't go on. Something has to be done. We'll talk again in the morning. Good food and sleep are what you need most. In the morning we'll both have clear heads and know how to deal with this matter, and you have my word, Alicia, we will deal with it, head on if we have to.” Gently, he kissed her on the cheek, and then, tenderly, he brushed back a stray tendril of hair from her forehead. “We'll speak later.”

“Sebastian,” she said in a frightened voice. “Have you seen Carl? Is he all right? Please, you must tell me, is he going to marry Royall Banner?”

Sebastian stared at her for a moment. “I don't know, Alicia, but I promise you I'll find out. The last time I saw him, he appeared ... distraught. You know, I have never concerned myself with Newsome affairs unless they affected me in some way. You're not to worry. He isn't married yet. We both know that you're the girl he's always loved. Even when we were children, we all knew.”

“Not any longer, Sebastian,” Alicia whispered. “It's too late now, for everything.” Her voice was flat, dead, sending a shiver of dread through him.

“Don't talk like that, Alicia. It's never too late.”

“Yes, yes, it is! Don't you see! I'm not good enough for Carl if I ever was. Not any longer ... not after what I've done ... no ...” Emotionlessly, seeming to have drained herself of tears, Alicia gave him a level look that cried hopelessness.

“Alicia, you did what you thought you had to do. I'll kill Carlyle for it, I swear.”

“No, don't, Sebastian. Don't ever, promise me! Promise me!” Her fingers clutched him, tearing at cloth and flesh, demanding, needing to hear him promise.