Secrets (7 page)

Regina was aware that his flattery was rather smooth, but he was such a handsome man, his charm innate, that she did not mind. Here, surely, was the classic ladies' man. His flirtatiousness did not unnerve her, not at all, and she had the feeling that she was well-versed in this kind of exchange. “That is too kind of you,” she said.

“I guess you must hear flattery all the time. Does it ever get boring being told how beautiful you are?”

From behind them, Slade began heaving her trunks on the ground.

She was not embarrassed and she laughed. “You, I think, are a rogue.”

“A rogue?” His grin was devilish and handsome. “I've never been called a rogue before. I like it.”

Regina laughed again. She had most definitely played this flirtation game many times before; not only was she well-schooled in it, she was comfortable in such an exchange. But then she wondered how it was possible if she had spent the past few years cloistered in a private school for young ladies. In such a setting she would not have had the opportunity to flirt with handsome young men; briefly, she was perplexed.

“Well, you'll certainly hear it from now on,” Edward said, grinning, “until you do get bored.”

Regina flashed another smile, but it was only a facade. “I don't think a young lady ever tires of flattery,” she said automatically. She was uneasy with her last thought. She did not have time to brood upon the contradiction, however, for Slade made a contemptuous noise, gaining both their attention.

“You think women really fall for that?” he said.

Regina regarded Slade in surprise, wondering why he was angry when his brother's words were merely a game.

Edward smiled at her again. “He's jealous. He's jealous because he wouldn't know how to sweet-talk a woman if his life depended on it.”

Slade looked at Regina before answering his brother. “I have no use for ‘sweet-talking.' But you seem more than adept at it.”

“I'm wounded,” Edward said jokingly, but he seemed puzzled by Slade's response.

Slade threw another accusing glance at Regina. “You
both
seem more than adept at it.”

Regina could not believe that he would attack her so. Beside her, Edward looked equally surprised. “Slade,” he protested.

Slade ignored them both. He heaved the last of her trunks on the ground and disappeared into the house.

Regina's feelings were wounded but she was very careful to hide them. She turned toward the house so that Edward would not see her flushed face. “You have a beautiful home,” she said unevenly.

“The house was first built in '38,” Edward said quickly. Then he touched her arm. “He didn't mean it.”

“Yes, he did. And I seem to be very accomplished in the art of flirtation.”

“Sometimes even I can't understand my brother,” Edward said grimly. “Most of the ladies I know flirt.”

His words did not soothe her. In the past few hours she had pushed Slade away, when that had not been her intention at all. She owed him her life, she was sure of it, but all she had done was to anger him.

“Come on, let's go in, it's much cooler inside,” Edward said, taking her arm.

He was hoping to distract her, and Regina wanted to be distracted. She looked at the house and realized that it was indeed beautiful. Huge oleanders, red and pink and white, surged up against the sides of the sprawling, U-shaped adobe house. Through the arched entryway she could see that the house was built around a vast courtyard with apricot-hued stone floors, a limestone fountain, and a profusion of exotic blooming plants. There was an opening at the back of the courtyard, and it looked as if another courtyard was behind the first.

“Of course, it's been added onto quite a bit since '38,” Edward said. “What you see now is actually only a part of the original structure. We are a real Californio family, one of the last ones. Most have sold out.”

“I see,” Regina said, thankful that he was succeeding in his attempt to bring a degree of normalcy back into the moment.

“You'll probably hear this over and over again, but the Mexican governor, Juan Bautista Alvarado, awarded this land to us in '37. All of the Mexican ranchos were originally Spanish missions; when Mexico gained her independence from Spain in '22, she claimed California. Mexican soldiers and settlers, even some foreigners, petitioned and received large grants of land. Our grant was one of the first. My grandfather was a soldier. Of course, when California became a state, we lost most of our land. But we fared better than the rest of the Californios, most of whom lost everything. And those that didn't lose their land soon divided it up. Rick would never do that.”

Despite herself, Regina finally let her thoughts slip free of Slade, and she turned to face Edward. “Why did you lose your land?”

“The Americans wanted it. The Californio claims were old, the original grants often lost or unreadable, boundaries often—and usually—marked by nature: a pair of boulders, for example, or the turnoff of a creek, or a tree that was struck by lightning. As you can imagine, in a half a century creeks change course or dry up completely, boulders are removed, trees are chopped down or uprooted by storms.” Edward shrugged. “Most of the Californio grants were overturned, the land given to the newcomers by the newcomers' courts. We spent a dozen years defending our claim, at a great expense, and fortunately we retained a third of our holdings.” He smiled. “Truth is, the original grant was so large it was not just unmanageable, it was obscene.”

A woman entered the courtyard from the far side of the house and began walking toward them.

Regina watched her, saying, “But that seems so unfair.”

“Is life fair?”

She looked at Slade's brother, who was no longer smiling, who was suddenly serious and intent. She did
not have to know him well to know that he possessed a sunny and pleasing character. Yet in that instant, she saw the shadow in his eyes. A shiver touched her. For he was right. Life was most definitely not fair. She had only to recall the tragedy of James Delanza's death or her own plight in order to agree with his assessment.

“Edward,” the woman called.

Regina turned to her curiously. She was a slender woman with gleaming auburn hair that was pulled back into a fashionable and classic chignon. She moved forward with resolute strides. As she came closer Regina saw that she was an older woman, perhaps forty, but a beautiful one. Regina also noticed that her pastel-green dress had once been designed to accommodate a bustle. It had been altered, but there was no mistaking its original intent. It was more than a few years old and hopelessly out of fashion.

“This is my mother, Victoria,” Edward said.

“And you must be Elizabeth.” The woman smiled, extending her hand. “How very nice to finally meet you after all these years.”

Regina shook her hand. Although the woman's words were warm, they rang false. Her smile seemed as brittle as glass. When Regina looked into her eyes, she saw that they glittered. A chill crept up the back of her neck.

“I hope you are not too upset over the trauma you have suffered,” Victoria said.

“I feel much better today,” Regina said. “Thank you.”

“Come with me. Slade will bring your luggage in. I'm giving you a guest room which also faces the ocean. It's the coolest room in the house. There's almost always a breeze.”

Regina hadn't realized that they were that close to the Pacific Ocean. She was hurried along, leaving Edward leaning against the thick wall in front of the house with a cigarette in one hand, rummaging intently in his pockets with the other, apparently no longer even aware of her.

Regina followed Victoria into the house, and it was like entering another world in another time and place.
The furniture was dark, heavy, and old. The Oriental rugs were exquisite but very faded and so worn that she actually discerned several tears. A Spanish chest in the central salon caught her eye because of its immense proportions—it was at least chest-high—and the chunky engraving upon its sides. As they passed the dining room she glimpsed a large old trestle table and a dozen heavy chairs, upholstered in studded, worn tan leather, with a massive tapestry on one wall, much of it faded and cracked and in great need of repair. Unquestionably, everything was Sephardic and, Regina suspected, dated back to the era of the original land grant or even earlier.

“Did the first Delanzas bring the furnishings with them?” she asked curiously. “It's all so unusual, but so handsome.” She realized she was used to marble floors and gilded moldings, to wrought-iron and stained glass, to electricity and telephones, not stone tiles, whitewashed stucco, gas lighting, and old, dark wood.

“Of course.” Victoria's reply was cool and almost disdainful. They had left the house and entered the interior courtyard, this one smaller than the one in front of the house. Another fountain sprayed cool, inviting water in its center. It, too, was graced with many shade trees and an abundance of blooming shrubbery and flowers. They crossed the courtyard quickly, passing the fountain. The air around it was cool and moist with tiny droplets of water.

“Here we are,” Victoria said, entering a room directly off the courtyard. She swiftly moved across it to open the doors on the opposite wall. Regina was greeted with a breathtaking glimpse of a summer-yellow hill sliding away abruptly to the shimmering gray ocean.

“What a wonderful view!”

Victoria turned, smiling. The smile was cold.

Regina's own smile died. She began removing her gloves, her heart lurching uneasily. She carefully took off her hat. When she looked at the other woman, she saw her staring at her pearls.

“How beautiful,” Victoria said, with no warmth whatsoever.

“Thank you.”

“I will have Lucinda bring you lemonade. This is the guest wing, and as you are the only guest, you have it to yourself.” Somehow, her words were not kind or hospitable, but quite the opposite.

“You will want to freshen up before dinner,” Victoria continued. “I'll have Lucinda run you a bath. We dine at seven.”

“One of the few breaks with tradition Rick has allowed,” Slade said from the doorway, holding two of her bags.

Regina was terribly glad to see him. Edward's mother was not just unpleasant, but disturbing. She was certain the woman despised her. Yet she could not even begin to fathom why.

Slade entered, dumping her bags on the floor. “Rick is up and out at the crack of dawn, so traditional dining at ten or eleven in the evening is out of the question.”

“I see,” Regina said.

Without another word Slade turned and left. Regina gazed after him, wishing he had stayed. She did not relish the idea of being alone with Victoria any more than was necessary.

At that precise moment, Victoria moved quickly across the room, closing the doors that opened onto the courtyard and closeting the two of them together. Regina stared at her.

“So tell me,” Victoria said unpleasantly, “is this a ruse?”

“What?”

“Is this a ruse? A charade? This loss of memory of yours?”

“No! Of course not! How I wish I could remember!”

“I see.” Victoria moved slowly to the bed, fingering the brightly colored cotton coverlet. “Then why did you come here—Elizabeth?”

“I…Rick invited me. He said I was welcome, as if I were actual family.”

Victoria laughed mirthlessly.

Regina realized that she was standing with her back against the hard wooden door. “What is it?”

“Don't you know what he intends for you? Don't you realize why he's invited you here? Can't you figure it out?”

“No.” Regina was dismayed by the woman's innuendos, dismayed to realize that there might be some kind of motivation other than what Rick had professed.

“Hasn't Slade told you? Or hinted?” Victoria asked.

“Hinted at what? Told me what?”

“Rick intends for you to marry Slade.”

“What!” Regina was shocked. “But—I was supposed to marry James!”

“And James is dead. Now Rick plans to see you married to Slade. Come hell or high water.”

“I don't understand. Why?”

“Why?” Victoria laughed. And she looked pointedly at Regina's perfect pearls. “For your money, of course.”

R
egina was incredulous.

Victoria had left in triumph. Regina paced the room, wringing her hands, too shocked to think clearly. Rick had seemed so sincere. But he hadn't been sincere, not at all.

The double doors of her room which opened on the courtyard banged open. Regina halted. Slade stood there with one of her larger, heavier trunks. “Where do you want this?” he asked.

Anger overwhelmed her. She moved toward him before she knew what she was even going to do. He was as much an accomplice to this deception as his father was. For he had known. And she had trusted him. He had said he would protect her. Oh, how she had trusted him! But he wasn't trustworthy at all.
He had lied to her. He hoped to use her
. The betrayal was devastating.

She raised her hand. He immediately understood what she intended and dropped the trunk in order to catch her wrist and restrain her.

“Blast you!” Regina cried furiously. His grip hurt her and brought her to her senses. Ladies, even ones with no money, did not strike gentlemen, no matter what the provocation. But it was too late. For he had caught her other wrist, hustling her up against the wall.
Instantly he pressed to immobilize her. He was successful. She was unable to move her hands or her body and her back seemed to sink into the rough stone wall.

“What is it?” he demanded.

She slumped beneath him, physically drained from their brief yet strenuous tussle. But she had the strength to look into his eyes, and hers were tearful and accusing. “I trusted you!”

“A mistake,” he said grimly. “Are you calm? I didn't realize a lady like you could have such sharp claws, and I don't relish wearing your mark.”

She realized that she couldn't speak further. Her anger and hurt had not dimmed, but awareness of another sort was rapidly dawning on her. She thought that she could feel every interesting male inch of his body. They were closely pressed against each other. Somehow, his knee had slipped between hers, and his thigh had aggressively inserted itself against her loins. It was shocking. Her body's response was even more shocking.

Regina realized that he was staring at her, but not with any interest in what she might have to say. He was studying her mouth, and the line of her neck, then the full curve of the top of her bosom, crushed beneath his chest. His intent perusal quickened her already keen senses. Restraining the anticipation flooding her body was impossible.

Regina found herself looking at him with equal intensity. It had never occurred to her before that the thick fringe of a man's eyelashes could be erotic, or that the slim line of his nose could summon up an urge to feel his face nuzzling hers. His lips were parted. His face was very close to hers. Close enough that she could see how smooth and unblemished his dark skin was, except for the tiny crow's-feet around his eyes that testified to his many years of squinting into the sun. For they most certainly were not laugh lines.

His gaze slowly lifted. His body pulsed against hers. Regina stared.

“Maybe you should stay mad,” he said in a low, rough voice.

He was right. She
was
angry, just as she was hurt, and while his betrayal could be ignored for a moment, it could not be forgotten. “Please remove your person from mine,” she said, trembling.

A smile, ice-cold, mocking the heat of his body, curved his mouth. It was thoroughly unlikable. “Have I finally been demoted?” He stepped away from her with apparent indifference.

She had no idea what he was referring to. “I think you should get out of my room.”

“I thought I was your hero.” He didn't move.

“Heroes don't lie.”

“So I
have
been demoted. What did I lie about?” His voice was flat, as if devoid of even the tiniest spark of interest. “Is that why you're crying?”

“I'm not crying. My eyes are—wet.”

“An allergy.”

“Yes.”

He lifted a brow. “What has brought on this…allergic reaction?”

“Don't you dare mock me.” Her anger blossomed again.

“I wasn't aware that I was mocking you. Maybe you're mocking me.” His glance slid over her, not quite indifferently.

Her eyes widened when she guessed his meaning. “I assure you, I am not leading you on!”

“No? You led Edward on. Maybe you led James on. Did you?”

She stiffened, incredulous. “I was not leading your brother on!”

“You were grinning at him like an idiot. Is that kind of talk what a woman really wants to hear?” He strolled around the periphery of her room, not looking at her.

“It was a game. A game of words. That's all.”

He leaned his back against the opposite wall, his arms crossed. “But you seem to like to play it. Edward definitely likes to play it.”

“It's not a matter of liking it or not.” Somehow, he had maneuvered her into a very defensive position, and her back was against the wall in more ways than one.

“No?”

“No! It's a matter of being polite. Of being a lady. Edward was just being a gentleman.”

“And if I tell you how pretty you are, does that make me a gentleman, too?”

She went still. Her heart was pounding erratically for an unfathomable reason. His gaze held hers. She sensed the serious nature of his question. “No. No, it does not.”

“I didn't think so.”

How could he deflate her anger so easily, and turn the topic onto another course? “You try very hard not to be a gentleman, don't you?”

He grinned, but it was forced. “Do I?”

“I can see through you, Slade.”

His grin died. He pushed himself off the wall. “I don't really care what you think you see. And if you want to flirt with Edward and call it polite, go right ahead, I sure as hell won't stop you. But maybe I should warn you. Edward may be a gentleman in your book, but he's also a man.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he wouldn't mind stealing a kiss or two. In fact, if you encourage him, I'm sure he will.”

Regina drew herself up. “I am not encouraging him.” But her face grew red when she recalled, very clearly, how she had encouraged Slade.

Slade looked at her. “Do what you want.”

She trembled. He thought the worst of her. He thought her immoral. But she was, wasn't she? Not with Edward, who, as handsome as he was, did not elicit the slightest interest from her. But with Slade. She had asked for his kiss in the buggy, and just a moment ago she had wanted another.

They stared at each other. The silence was thick with tension. Regina was quite certain that he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I think I had better return to town,” she said unevenly.

He regarded her before walking past her to the balcony. Heavy clouds had suddenly appeared to cast long, almost purple shadows on the ocean. The breeze was becoming more noticeable, too.

“No,” he said, his back to her. “With your pretty smiles and pretty speech,
as polite as you are
, you'd be prey for every man drifting by. Rick is right. You had better stay here until you regain your memory.”

She was unsure. She had come to Miramar because she had no place to go, and because she had trusted Slade to protect her in these bizarre circumstances. But she no longer trusted him. He had lied to her. Yet she still wanted to trust him, as incredible as that might be. She wanted that very much. But how could she? She could not trust a man who hoped to use her. And it hurt to be Slade's hapless victim.

And now there was the undeniable fact of her interest in him as a man. She did not want to remember the feel of his kiss or his body. She did not want to be aware of how handsome he was, how male and virile he was. She did not want to be interested in him.

In that moment Regina was afraid. Not of her circumstances, of her loss of memory, of the truth of her identity and what had happened, but afraid of the enigmatic man standing on the other side of the room with his back to her. And maybe, just maybe, she was afraid of herself. “Why didn't you tell me?”

He didn't move, watching the clouds sailing toward them. “Tell you what?”

“That Rick intends for us to marry.”

He turned. “Victoria been flapping her gums a bit?”

Regina waited, well aware that her eyes were bright again with unshed tears that signaled a fresh wave of hurt. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I can see you're not too happy about the prospect.”

“I trusted you.”

“I didn't tell you because I haven't made up my mind yet,” Slade said brusquely. “Truth is, I haven't agreed to marry you.”

“What?”

“I told Rick I'd think about it.”

“
You told Rick you would think about it
.”

“That's right.”

She could barely believe her ears. She had assumed that Slade was planning to marry her for her money. But he wasn't. He was considering it. That he hadn't agreed and forced her to make a choice should relieve her, but it did not. The situation was no less conspiratorial just because he had yet to put his final stamp of approval upon it. “I trusted you.”

“That's the second time you've said that.”

She closed her eyes, resolved not to cry, at least not until he had left her room. She inhaled and it gave her strength. “You realize that it would be absurd?”

“How absurd?”

“Completely absurd.”

“How come I get the feeling that your objection has everything to do with me—but not one damn thing to do with James?”

She stepped back reflexively, shocked at his rage. In truth, she had forgotten all about her dead fiancé, and that Slade was his brother.

“I thought so.”

“I can't even remember James,” she protested.

“But I can,” he said.

His pain was as primitive and dark as his other emotions had been earlier in the buggy. She knew she should not be witnessing it, just as she should not have glimpsed even briefly so deeply into his soul. “It's not my fault. James's death is not my fault. That I can't remember him is not my fault. Believe me, I wish I could remember him—and I wish he were not dead.”

He glared at her, inexplicably furious. “You know what, Elizabeth? Damn you.” He wheeled past her and slammed out of the room.

Regina cried out. His curse immobilized her, then she ran to the double doors and caught them before they banged again. She did not pull them shut. She stared after Slade, tears finally slipping free to stain her cheeks, tears very similar to the ones she was sure
she had just glimpsed in his eyes. But they were crying for very different reasons—or were they?

 

Regina had no intention of remaining at Miramar another moment. Coming here had been a mistake. For Miramar was no longer an inviting sanctuary. She could not get past the fact that Slade had betrayed her trust. The wound was unbearable. It shouldn't matter as much as it did; in reality he was only a stranger, but logic did not rule her heart. He most certainly was no longer her savior. And that brought forth a new urge to weep.

She needed him. Didn't he realize that? How could he do this to her when she needed him so!

Yet even as she prepared to leave, she could not shake him from her mind, she could not stop thinking about him. She remembered everything she shouldn't remember, from his concern when he had rescued her, to his conflict with his father, to his kiss. And she found herself thinking “if only.” If only she did not have amnesia, if only she were not James's fiancée. But the reality could not be changed by wishful thinking.

She would leave all of her things. Because it had been so blazingly hot and sunny down-valley she exchanged her perky little hat for a wide-brimmed straw bonnet, even though the sky had become overcast. She also donned low-heeled walking shoes. They looked brand-new, but she was afraid to tarry and search for another, broken-in pair. Because she was in a rush, there was no time to plan. She decided that in Templeton she would wire her stepmother for assistance. Within minutes she was ready to leave. Her instincts urged her to flee before she might change her mind. She knew better than to ask Slade or any member of the household to take her to town. They would refuse, or attempt to talk her out of leaving. Because they wanted her to marry Slade; because they wanted her money.

The house was built on a hill. She went to the terrace overlooking the sloping grounds outside, and beyond that, the frothing ocean. For one second she wondered
if rain was on its way—the sky was becoming positively dreary; and the ocean had become quite rough. She shrugged off the moment of hesitation. She had to protect herself and her own interests, for there was no one else to do it for her. Not anymore.

Regina walked out onto the terrace and debated climbing over the railing and dropping the ten or twenty feet to the ground. As she stood there in indecision, a shadowy image formed in her mind, and, just for an instant, Regina thought she could see someone she knew, someone dear to her, laughing and telling her that she could do it. For one split second it was so real that she could see the person, and then the instant was gone.

Regina froze, gripping the railing. The memory was gone—and it
had
been a memory. She had remembered somebody, someone important to her. She was certain of it. But now, that person was shrouded in the darkness of her amnesia.

Who was it that she knew who could leap off terraces so bravely? She yearned for the answer, and she was terribly disappointed that the identity of the person eluded her when she had grasped it seconds ago. Frustration brought stinging tears to her eyes.

Nevertheless, Regina turned to the task at hand. She did not have to have her memory in order to know that she was not the type to leap off terraces, and she moved away from the railing. Not stopping to think, because it would only make her hesitate, she slipped out into the courtyard. She ran across it and then through the adjacent front courtyard as well. When she reached the front gate she paused against the wall beneath two lemon trees, panting and trying to catch her breath. The wind was picking up. It lifted her skirts and whipped them against her legs. She strained to hear, waiting for shouts of discovery, but there were none.