Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 (36 page)

Chapter Nineteen

M
ary had never been in a more magical place.

Even though in reality it was merely a small cave, surrounded by towering palms, in the faint, flickering rainy light it seemed like an enchanted spot, full of ancient spirits.

‘Mary, I...' he began again, his voice hoarse.

Mary shook her head. She didn't want anything to break that wondrous spell that seemed to wrap around them there, holding them safely together against the dangers that lay beyond. She was done with the worry she had been carrying since they last met in London. She was no longer the same person she was back then and neither was he. The bright-green eyes that looked down at her now were no longer clouded by the secrets he had carried back then.

She pressed her finger to his lips to hold his words at bay. He looked back at her, his eyes narrowed with desire.

She stepped back to unfasten her jacket and slipped it from her shoulders. She stared deeply into his eyes, holding that connection between them like a silk scarf, as she drew down the deep, drawstring neckline of her muslin dress. She was most grateful for the simpler, lighter styles of the tropics, which let her do such a thing before she could think about it too much. Before she could let fear stop her from leaping forward again. From truly living.

He watched her, his attention never wavering, his whole body still and tense. She could read nothing in the bright-green glow of his eyes. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look back at him. What if she was going about this all wrong? What if...?

What if he turned away from her and what she offered, as he had in London? A sudden cold fear threatened to sweep away the warmth of the night around them.

No!
She pressed away the fear. This was right now, she could feel it deep down inside. When he had told her about his family on the beach, when he swept her up into his arms just now, fear and protectiveness in his eyes, she had known it was different now.

He reached out and she saw that his hand shook slightly. Somehow that reassured her. His fingers touched her hair, softly, gently.

She leaned her cheek into his palm, revelling in the way it felt.

‘Mary,' he groaned. ‘You are so very beautiful.'

‘I feel beautiful—with you,' she answered. She went up on tiptoe to press her lips to his cheek, his neck. She felt the warmth of his skin, felt the sharp breath he drew in.

‘You keep me safe now, I know it,' she whispered. ‘I want you to kiss me, to touch me. Don't you—don't you want me, too? When you kissed me at the masked ball...'

‘Of course I want you, lovely Mary. I have wanted you for so long, and I—heaven help me, I can't hold it back any longer!' His words vanished as his lips covered hers, hard and hungry, no longer to be denied. His hands slid over her bare shoulders, hard and strong.

Mary wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. It was as if some force, kept imprisoned deep inside for far too long, broke free and swept them both away, like the tides of the ocean far below their hiding place.

That force guided her as she unwrapped his cravat and pushed his soft linen shirt away from his chest. Her fingertips slid over his bare skin and she was fascinated by the new, forbidden sensation of it. The heat of his body seemed to seep into her very soul and in that moment she only knew
him
.

Sebastian moaned deep in his throat and he swept her up into his arms. Twined together, they tumbled down on to the cloak spread on the sandy ground beneath them. The palm trees and the moon in the dusty black sky beyond the opening of their shelter whirled dizzily over her head.

Mary laughed, giddy with the joy of the moment, and landed atop him. She drew back to look down at him, his face gilded in the night light. He was so beautiful, she could scarcely breathe. So wondrously golden and alive.

With one trembling finger, she traced the light, coarse blond hair sprinkled across his lean chest, the thin line that led tantalisingly to the band of his buff breeches. He watched her, not moving, letting her explore as if he sensed that was what she needed to do.

His stomach muscles tightened, his breath catching as her touch brushed over him.

‘Mary—' he gasped again ‘—I have waited so long. But you must be very sure, too.'

‘I am,' was all she could say. She could barely breathe.

Sebastian arched up to catch her in his arms, his mouth claiming hers again. There was nothing careful, nothing held back in that kiss, it was all urgent need bursting into the sky like fireworks.

She felt the rough slide of his hands over her back as he untied the back of her gown. The night sea breeze was warm on her skin, but it was as nothing next to his touch. She shrugged the muslin away, delighting in the sudden feeling of freedom, in the way he looked at her, as if she was something precious.

‘My Mary,' he said. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her beneath him, into the softness of their pile of discarded clothes.

Mary laughed as her hair tumbled around them. She felt so wondrously free in his arms! The past was gone; there was only now. He kissed her and all other thoughts vanished.

She closed her eyes, letting herself fall deeply into his touch, his kiss. As his mouth touched her bare shoulder, the curve of her breast, she slid her palms down the bare length of his back. He moved over her, his body strong against the night.

Her legs parted as his hips leaned into her and she felt the hardness of his manhood behind the thin fabric of his breeches. She knew what that meant, what would happen. She'd heard married ladies whisper about it in drawing rooms across Europe. Her own mother had given her a book about ‘marital relations' years ago. But none of those frantic descriptions hinted at how it all
felt
. Of that dizzy sensation of falling, falling, but in another person.

‘Mary,' he whispered against her shoulder. ‘I need you as I have never needed anything in my life. But I don't want to hurt you. Never again.'

She smiled, feeling how he held himself back. But she didn't want him to do that any more; never again. ‘You can't hurt me, Sebastian, I know it.'

Boldly, she spread her legs a bit wider, invitingly, beneath him. She felt him reach between them to unfasten his breeches and then he was pressed against her.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on the feeling as he carefully eased inside her. There was a small pain, a burning, as she had read there would be, but it was nothing compared to the way it felt to be truly joined with him.

She arched up closer against him, wrapping her arms and legs around him so tightly that the moment could never end.

Slowly, he moved again within her, sliding back inch by enticing inch, then driving forward, a little deeper, a little more intimate every time. To her surprise, a warm, delightful feeling caught at her and spread over her body, like the Brazilian sun.

‘Sebastian...' She gasped. Behind her closed eyes, brilliant lights flashed, that heat grew and grew. How could she bear it, without being consumed in him?

Above her, all around her, she felt Sebastian's body grow tense. His breath was warm against her skin and his head arched back.

‘Mary!' he shouted out and she felt that heat shatter, consuming her. She clung on to him, feeling as if they tumbled down together into the flames.

After long, brittle, still moments that could have been days, or mere seconds, Mary slowly opened her eyes. To her surprise, they were still in the mountain clearing, the palm trees looming beyond, the silvery light of the moon filtering down in flickering shadows.

Yet everything seemed entirely new. Life had a new—sparkle about it. Thanks to Sebastian.

Mary found she felt too heavy, too deliciously exhausted, to move. She turned her head on their makeshift bed to look at Sebastian in the moonlight. His eyes were closed, his limbs sprawled in answering exhaustion, but his face looked peaceful, younger, a small smile on his beautiful lips.

She smiled in answer and closed her eyes to feel his warmth against her, the soft, flower-scented breeze floating over them. His arm came heavy over her waist, drawing her closer into the angles of his body.

‘Mary,' he whispered against her hair. ‘I can't pretend to even begin to understand you, but I find I do know one thing.'

Mary laughed. ‘And what is that?'

‘That you are the sweetest, most forgiving of maddening ladies.'

She rolled over to face him. The sparkling moonlight outlined his handsome, sharply chiselled features, casting shadowy angles over his brow, his tumbled hair. She traced her fingertips over them carefully, as if she could memorise him. As if she could make him, and herself, brand new.

Mary sat up reluctantly and reached for her discarded dress. The light beyond their hiding place was growing paler and she knew soon they would be missed. They had to find out what had happened out there in the real world, beyond their dreams. ‘Is it safe to return now, do you think?'

Sebastian rolled away and plucked up his own clothes. His face, so peaceful only moments before, now looked taut and serious. She could almost see his thoughts shoot beyond her, beyond this moment.

‘We should go back, before we are missed,' he said. ‘I must talk to people, find out what has happened. But I admit—I wish we did not have to leave quite yet. This place seems enchanted.'

Mary smiled, happy beyond reason that he felt something like she did. That they would have this moment to hold on to, no matter what happened. ‘This whole place is enchanted. I vow I feel like a different person here. I have no fear.'

‘Not
too
different, I hope,' he said teasingly. ‘I rather like the old Mary.' His head bent towards hers and his lips touched hers, tender and sweet, a moment she wished could last for ever. He held her close and pressed a kiss to her hair before he let her go.

‘But what is it I must fear?' she asked. He took her hand and led her to the edge of their clearing. He kept her behind him as he looked around cautiously into the seemingly empty night. ‘I have kept watch, as you warned me at the masked ball, but I have heard nothing except gossip. My friend Teresa seems worried, but she will not confide in me. Are she and her brother in some danger? Did they have something to do with what happened tonight?'

‘My dear Mary,' he said urgently. ‘Please believe me—I will keep you safe. I know you have no reason to trust me yet, but I will show you, very soon. Will you wait for me?'

Mary slowly nodded. ‘I will wait—for a time.'

‘Then that is all I can ask for. For now...'

Chapter Twenty

‘P
lease, I must speak to Senhorita Fernandes! It is most urgent,' Mary begged the stone-faced footman who guarded the closed front doors of the royal palace.

‘What does this regard,
senhorita
?' he asked. ‘The ladies are with Her Royal Highness right now and should not be disturbed. It is the siesta hour.'

Mary glanced back over her shoulder at the plaza. It seemed rather early for any kind of ‘siesta'. She had left the house as soon after breakfast as she could, right after her father left for his own work, and the square was crowded with people coming and going from the market. Native Brazilians in their pale cottons and bright jewellery mingled with Portuguese ladies and their maids, coming out of the church with their lace mantillas catching at the cool morning breeze. Soon it would be warm and people would indeed be seeking shelter, but surely not yet?

She hadn't been able to sleep with going over every dramatic moment of the day before. Because she knew she could not yet solve the puzzle of Sebastian, and her feelings for him, she had realised she had to work on what she
could
discover—what sort of treachery was afoot in the royal court and what her friend might have to do with it.

Mary took a deep breath and plunged past the footman, rushing as fast as she could down the corridor. ‘Thank you very much! I will just look for myself, won't take a moment.'

‘
Senhorita
, you cannot do that!' the footman cried. He hurried after her, but Mary was ahead of him.

She remembered that Teresa had mentioned her chamber was towards the back of the palace, small and dark, and she turned in what she hoped was that direction. She ran down narrow, twisting corridors that had obviously been cobbled together when the buildings were hastily connected to make the new palace, past closed doors and small sitting rooms crowded with people lazily fanning themselves and whispering together. They glanced up in faint interest as she ran past, but no one pursued her.

At last, she glimpsed Teresa at the end of one of the dim hallways. Teresa held a scrap of paper in her hand, frowning as she stared down at it, seeming to not notice anything around her.

‘Teresa!' Mary called, hurrying towards her friend.

Teresa spun around, her eyes wide. She thrust the scrap of paper up the cuff of her long, tight sleeve. ‘Mary! What are you doing here?'

‘I told the
senhorita
it was not the time for calls,' the pursuing footman huffed.

‘I must speak to you, Teresa, most urgently,' Mary insisted.

‘It is quite all right,' Teresa told the servant. She smiled, hiding her worry behind the pale mask of her expression, and took Mary's arm. ‘Come, my friend, walk with me. Are you ill? Can I help you?'

‘No, no, I am quite well,' Mary assured her. ‘But I hope that we can help each other.'

‘Oh?' Teresa said. Her voice was quiet, but tense, quite unlike her usual merriness. She led Mary into a window embrasure, a small space shadowed and apart from the rest of the crowded palace. She stared out the window, to the crowd moving below with their market baskets. ‘What is amiss?'

Mary was quite astonished Teresa would try to hide things, even now. ‘What of what happened in the hills, at the countess's villa?'

Teresa bit her lip. ‘When you vanished for a time?'

‘After shots were fired? Surely that is not a usual thing at the Portuguese court?'

Teresa's face crumpled. ‘I did not know such a thing would happen! Not yet, not—'

‘Not yet?' Mary cried. ‘Teresa, is something amiss? Perhaps something with Doña Carlota—or your brother? I can help you, if you will let me. I have been warned to beware, but how can I do that if I don't know what is happening?'

Teresa shook her head. She peeked out beyond their little sanctuary and quickly took Mary's hands in hers. ‘I do not want any harm to come to you! You have been a good friend to me, my only real friend since my parents died, I think.'

‘And you have been my friend, Teresa,' Mary whispered. ‘Please, what is happening? Do you know who fired those shots in the hills?'

‘I do not, I promise that is the truth. But my brother—he will do anything to get back to Europe, as will many others. They did not want to come to Brazil in the first place and thought we would only be here a short time. Now that it looks like it will be indefinite...'

‘They would even talk to the French to get their place back?'

‘I don't know. I know Luis wants to go home, very much. He gets more and more secretive, he asks me to find out things from Doña Carlota, but he will not tell me everything. I have become frightened of him.' There was a sudden burst of laughter from the corridor, and Teresa closed her eyes. Her hands tightened on Mary's. ‘We can't talk here. Find me at the Baroness Huelgos's ball tomorrow, yes? I will find out more before then. But you must be careful.'

Mary quickly nodded. It was clear she would find out no more from Teresa now. ‘And you. Promise me.'

‘Of course. I am always careful.' Teresa gave a strained little laugh, and slipped out of the window embrasure. Mary heard her join the group strolling past and their voices faded as they moved further down the corridor.

Mary peeked out to make sure no one was there before she, too, hurried on her way. But she couldn't leave the palace now that she was in, not quite yet. She hurried up a staircase towards the main drawing rooms.

* * *

It was definitely not one of the grander streets of Rio.

Sebastian nudged aside a pile of rubbish with the toe of his boot. The narrow lane was cobbled, but this area had not been one of the places hastily refurbished for the royal family's arrival. The stones were cracked, mouldy, and the lane was close-packed with buildings whose whitewash was peeling and grey. Lattice-covered balconies loomed overhead, which in daytime would surely cut off any meagre light that tried to slip past.

From behind those flimsy walls he could hear shrieks of laughter, noisy quarrels. The warm air was thick and humid, full of the scents of cooking fires, cheap perfumes and rotting garbage. It was after midnight, the hour of disreputable revels, but surely it would be no different at midday here.

It was far from the main square, from the palace and the cathedral, from the houses commandeered for the court. Was his informant correct in saying their quarry would be found meeting there?

He paused at the end of the lane to study the dwelling opposite. This was the place where his informant, a footman at the palace who was half-English, had said Luis Fernandes and his young, wild cohorts had been meeting. Sebastian settled in to wait in the shadows, his arms crossed over his chest, invisible in the shadows in his black garments. In this work, just as much as in battle, cool patience and forethought was a necessity to win the day, though not terribly glamorous.

He thought about Mary. Part of his task there in Rio was to keep her safe now. He was afraid he wasn't making a very good job of it so far. In fact, his desire for her, his need to have her, had only made matters worse. He had to fix that now.

A tiny, flickering light appeared in one of the cracked upper windows of the house he watched.

Sebastian crept across the lane, drawing a small but lethally sharp dagger from beneath his sleeve. Holding it balanced on his leather-gloved palm, he made his way to the half-concealed back door. It faced on to an alleyway even narrower than the front street, barely wide enough for one man to walk down. The tip of his knife made quick work of the flimsy lock.

The corridor inside was dark and dank, smelling of mould. From the upper floors, he could hear the indistinct, low murmur of voices. Moving quickly, silently, he made his way up a rickety staircase. He went past the half-open door of the room where the light flickered, where voices could be heard, louder for a moment, then muffled by the paint-flaked walls again. The heavy smell of rum combined with the sickly-sweetness of the mould.

He could not stop there. At the top of the narrow house, he found a narrow space under the eaves, just as his informant had said. It smelled dusty, as if nothing had disturbed the space for a long time. There was a small gap in the floorboards there, where he could peer down at a corner of the lighted room.

He glimpsed Luis Fernandes's profile, along with a couple of other young men of the royal court, men who were known to have been reluctant to leave their home—and who had been part of Doña Carlota's circle for a long time. They sat around a table laden with cigars and jugs of cheap local rum, and they were laughing.

‘...won't be long now,' one of them said.

‘But you did not do what you said you would up in the hills,' Luis said.

The man beside him scowled. ‘The Princess said her husband would be there and when he was not...'

‘Yes, yes,' Luis said impatiently. ‘But we cannot stay in this godforsaken place much longer. The French will have overrun everything in Lisbon, taken all the spots of authority and left none for us, if we are not there to claim them. We must move.'

‘But when? Dom Joao is always surrounded by the English now. He will listen to no one else.'

‘You know we cannot count on him at all. The Princess will lead us back to Lisbon, will seek help from her Spanish family, who will make peace with Napoleon,' Luis said. ‘We only need to go where she cannot now, to help her.'

‘And where is that?' one of the other men said, his voice slurred as if they had been drinking the rum for too long.

Luis laughed, an unpleasant, humourless sound. ‘To the centre of the English party, of course...'