Witch's Harvest (6 page)

attack the trees constantly. Vigilance is always needed to protect the crop.' He sighed. 'We had just begun clearing the diseased

trees when a message came from the house. Beatriz was in labour, six weeks before her time. A doctor was sent for from the

settlement, but it was too late. There were complications, and within hours both his wife and son were dead.'

He shook his head. 'Afterwards, he was a different man. He seemed to lose all will to live—to fight, and I worried about him,

about what he might do. I should have returned to university to take up my studies, but I knew it was impossible. Afonso needed

me, so I stayed.'

'Wasn't that rather hard on you?' asked Abby. 'You were very young to be faced with such a decision.'

Vasco shrugged. 'Perhaps, but I had grown fond of Afonso, and his Beatriz. I understood his grief, and shared it. As time went

by he came to rely on me more and more. He began to drink, and I found I was running the plantation with the help of his

overseer. At first, I was interested in the cacao crop because I had to be, but eventually I found my interest was genuine. It

presented the kind of challenge I would never have met in the comfortable, cushioned existence planned for me in Rio. When

Afonso died, leaving me the plantation, I was elated. It never crossed my mind that I was free to return to Rio and take up my life
there again. In my heart I had already become part of Riocho Negro. As,' he added drily, 'I tried to tell your cousin.'

'She couldn't have understood,' Abby began, but he interrupted, his dark brows snapping together.

'No, Abigail. It is you who does not understand. My engagement to your cousin is over, and I have asked you to be my wife. I am

still waiting for an answer.'

There was a long silence. Abby's heart was bumping against her ribs. She said, 'It's impossible.'

'Why is that?' His eyes were fixed unnervingly on her face. She shrugged. 'Because—well, we're strangers to each other.'

'But intimate strangers, you must agree.' His grin was slow and amused, and she found her own lips reluctantly curving in

acknowledgement. 'Besides,
querida
, if I'm honest, the possibility of a child is not the only consideration. My neighbours, the
workers on the plantation, are expecting me to return married. To go back to Riocho Negro alone would not be a pleasant

experience. In such a small community, there would be gossip—speculation.'

'And you think they'll say nothing if you turn up with the wrong woman?' Abby asked. 'Or do you expect me to masquerade as

Della?'

'Of course not,' he said impatiently. 'Why do you insist on mentioning her at every opportunity?'

'Because she exists.' Abby waved a hand, rather wildly. 'You can't just—dismiss people from your life like that!'

'The decision was hers alone.' His face and voice were implacable. The only decision that now concerns me is your own.'

'But it seems so cold-blooded,' she protested.

'Is that what you think?' he asked cynically. 'I thought last night would have taught you differently. I am now trying to be

practical, yielding to the pressure of our circumstances.' He was silent for a moment. 'Yes, we are little more than strangers,' he
went on, more gently. 'But in my world, still, that is not so unusual. Besides,' he paused again, 'you cannot deny that in one area
at least, we would be—compatible.'

The note in his voice, the overtly sensual reminiscence in his glance, brought the colour flaring in Abby's face. She said,

stammering a little, 'I don't know how you can say that, after—after…'

'After you allowed your sense of grievance at my brutality to supersede everything else,' he said sardonically. 'But you must

admit that until the moment of truth you had enjoyed being in my arms. You have admitted you wanted it to happen, and I regret

that you found the experience a disappointment. Next time will be very different, I promise,
carinha
?

'You don't have to promise anything,' Abby said shakily. 'I—I never want you to touch me again. I couldn't bear that. That's why I
can't marry you, Vasco. If there's a baby, I'll cope somehow. People do these days. It isn't the stigma it once was, really…'

His hand fastened on her arm, the fingers biting into her flesh. 'And you think I can be content with that?' he demanded harshly.

'Going back to Riocho Negro in ignorance, never to know, or set eyes on my firstborn? You imagine, do you, that I have no

rights in such a matter?' He shook his head. 'You are wrong,
senhorita
. If you carry the heir to Riocho Negro in your body, then I
intend him to be born with my name.' He paused. 'As for your not wishing to be touched,' he smiled derisively, 'I intend to

change your mind on that score.'

He pulled her to him before she could take any form of evasive action, his hand twisting in her soft hair, holding her head still, as
his mouth possessed her startled lips.

She braced her hands against his chest, trying to push him away, and instead reviving the aching memory of what it was like to

feel the warmth of him under her fingers without the barrier of clothing.

Almost instinctively her hands curled like a small cat's claws into his hard body, and as if he sensed her yielding, Vasco

released his punishing grip to allow his own hands to slide the slender, graceful length of her spine, moulding her body against

his as the kiss deepened passionately.

When he lifted his head, Abby was dazed and breathless. He had turned her in his arms so that she was lying across him,

cradled on his powerful thighs. There was a faint flush along his high cheekbones, and the dark eyes glittered as they looked

down at her.

'Well,
carinha
?' There was mockery in his voice, but overlaid with something rather more potent and disturbing. 'Shall I prove to
you exactly how compatible we could be?'

Her eyes dilated as she looked up into his face. She was afraid suddenly of the fierce emotion his caress had engendered. And

coupled with the fear was a knot of almost savage anticipation, as her passion-starved body reminded her of its frustration.

Where would be the harm? the siren's voice whispered beguilingly in her mind. Why shouldn't she give herself once more to the

man she loved, let herself know fulfilment before she sent him away for ever? It might be madness, but wasn't it a greater

insanity to deprive herself of the last opportunity to know the pleasure he had promised her, and which she craved?

She was at the edge of surrender, her hands lifting wordlessly to touch him, when the sound of the doorbell intruded jarringly,

bringing her back to reality with a jolt.

She sat up sharply, pulling away from his gently exploring hands, dragging the loosened folds of her robe more securely round

her.

'There's someone at the door!'

Vasco restrained her, his hand stroking the nape of her neck. 'They will go away,' he whispered.

'You didn't,' she said sharply, as she released herself with renewed determination.

'No, but I had reason.' He lifted one shoulder in a shrug of resignation. 'Get rid of them quickly,
querida
and come back to me.'

That was the last thing she would do, Abby thought as she went to the door, almost tripping on her robe in her haste. The

unknown caller was her salvation, a blunt reminder of the reality which lurked just outside her sensual dream world with Vasco.

Marrying him, living with him on terms of intimacy, was impossible. And letting him make love to her was equally so, if she

wanted to go on keeping the secret of her love for him. When all control was gone, self-betrayal was all too probable.

If it was Keith on the doorstep, she thought as she struggled with the recalcitrant lock—or was it just that her hands were

shaking?—she would have to use him somehow to get Vasco out of the flat, and out of her life.

She was rehearsing a greeting as she opened the door, but it was never to be uttered. Her jaw dropped. 'Della?'

'Yes, Della,' her cousin said impatiently. 'What the hell's the matter with you?'

Abby said numbly, 'But you're in Paris.'

'I was.' Della's lip curled. 'I've come back for an explanation. What did you do with my letter?'

'I delivered it.' Abby hung on to the door handle. 'Dell, I can't discuss it now. I'll come tomorrow and…'

'You'll talk now,' snapped Della, her lovely face mottled by an unbecoming flush. 'And you won't tell me any more lies. You never

delivered that letter. I stayed by that bloody phone until midnight, waiting for him to call, so he can't have received it. So what did
you do with it, you scheming little bitch?'

'Dell, go home, please!' Della was trying to push past her, but Abby blocked her way determinedly. 'Tomorrow everything will be

all right again. I— I'll fix it somehow and…'

'You'll fix it?' echoed Della, rage mingling with astonishment. She took Abby by the shoulders, removing her from her path.

'What the hell makes you think…' Her voice froze into silence as she walked into the flat. When she turned back to look at her

cousin, the expression of her face made Abby recoil.

'You mealy-mouthed cow,' Della said at last, her voice uneven. 'So this is what's been going on. You decided to make a grab for

yourself. No wonder there was no answer when I called his apartment!'

'Della.' Abby's mouth was dry. This isn't as it seems…'

But Vasco's drawl cut across her stumbling. 'Why bother,
carinha
? After all, it is exactly as it seems.' He had discarded his
jacket and tie, she noticed dazedly, and undone the buttons of his shirt. He was on his feet, standing hands on hips, regarding

Della, his expression enigmatic.

'Vasco darling!' Della's voice throbbed dramatically. 'How could you do this to me—to us? You knew I was waiting for you in

Paris…'

He shrugged. 'That is not the impression your letter gave,' he said coldly. 'In any case, I found your terms unacceptable. You

wished to marry a Rio businessman, not an Amazonian cocoa planter. I wish you better fortune in your next foray into

matrimony.'

A little muscle jerked in Della's face. 'But the wedding's in two weeks!'

'It was,' he corrected with a chill that seemed to penetrate Abby's bones. 'I regret the inconvenience the cancellation will cause

—unless Senhor Portman can be prevailed on to take my place.'

'Darling,' pleaded Della with a sob, 'Jeremy means nothing to me. I was just saying that—to make you see how strongly I felt…'

'Then you succeeded admirably,' Vasco said tersely. His face looked as if it had been chiselled from granite. 'You have

convinced me that there are differences between us which could never be reconciled in marriage.'

'But you're being unreasonable,' Della said rapidly. She was off balance now, really frightened, Abby realised with compassion.

'I want you—you know that. Perhaps I went too far, but I'm prepared to forgive your little—romp with Goody-Two-Shoes here.

Surely you can meet me half-way?' She gave Abby a look of molten vindictiveness.

Vasco looked at her too, and his voice gentled. 'Get dressed,
querida
. I've booked a table at a restaurant for our celebration.'

'What celebration?' Della almost spat. 'What the hell's going on here? Darling,' she swung back to Vasco, spreading her hands

appealingly, 'I've told you—I'll overlook this. I've no doubt the little bitch threw herself at you, and…'

'You will not speak of my future wife in those terms.' Vasco's quiet, even words hit the room like a thunderbolt. 'Now, it would be
better if you left.'

'Wife?' Della's voice was so choked with rage, and other emotions, it was hardly recognisable. 'My God, you mean you're

actually going to marry this ugly, flat-chested little tart, this bloody little snake in the grass…'

Vasco walked forward and took her by the arm. 'Allow me to escort you to the street,' he said coldly. 'Where your language

belongs.' He glanced back at Abigail. 'Get dressed,' he told her again. 'There isn't a great deal of time.'

The door closed behind them, but she could hear Della's voice raving on, feel the venom and rage radiating back to her,

although she could not make out the words. She sank down on her bed, putting her hands over her ears. This was something

that would haunt her, she thought, shivering.

It seemed a long time before he returned. She heard the sound of the door with disbelief. Surely he couldn't have been totally

unmoved by Della's suffering, by her open jealousy and misery?

He walked round the partition and stood looking at her, his dark face expressionless.

'Do you intend to have dinner with me in that robe?'

'You mean—the restaurant booking is genuine?' Abby scrambled hurriedly off the bed.

'Of course,' he said with faint hauteur. 'It seemed an appropriate way to mark our engagement.'

'But we're not engaged,' she protested.