Page 45 of Midnight Rider

He took two long, angry strides toward her and caught her roughly by both arms. “You will never speak to me of Consuela!”

“Why, you’re just like my father, aren’t you?” she asked. “I thought class and position meant nothing to you, but they do. You’re the outcast, the black sheep, the son of a Spanish nobleman and an American heiress with no morals. You want them to accept you, to approve of you, and you’re willing to do anything that old woman asks you to do to prove that you’re good enough to be a Ramirez!”

There was just enough truth in the accusation to make him livid. “Be quiet,” he said harshly.

He was near the end of his control and she was pushing him right over it. She knew it and was excited by it.

“Wouldn’t you do anything for your grandmother?” she persisted wildly. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Bernadette...”

“She wants to tell you who to marry, where to live, what to do with your life. Did she tell you when to make love to Consuela, as well?”

“Make love?” he echoed, letting go of Bernadette only long enough to slam the door and lock it.

“You mustn’t,” she said huskily.

“I must. And I will.”

* * *

HOURSLATER, EDUARDOLEFTTHEroom. Bernadette sat up. If only she could have accused him of rape! But it hadn’t been. At first his hands had been rough, but once he bared her breasts and put his mouth on them, she was lost. One hot caress led to another, one kiss to a deeper next one, one intimate touch to an even more intimate touch that made her writhe with unexpected pleasure and plead for more.

She remembered that he’d laughed when she cried out to him in her blind search for fulfillment, that the hard thrust of him had lifted her right to heaven and all but sent her unconscious with the impact of so much sweet sensation. If there had been pain, she hardly recalled it through the hot throb of passion. Even in memory, her body began to swell and ache; how keenly aware she was now of her own capacity for pleasure, as well as Eduardo’s skill at providing it. She hadn’t imagined that she could let a man undress her and enjoy her body with all the lights blazing like this, or that she could be so brazen as to pull him down to her again even as they lay shivering in the aftermath of their first intimacy.

She lay down and stared at the ceiling, wondering at the violently passionate nature she shared with her husband.

CHAPTER TEN

BERNADETTEAWOKEFEELINGvaguely ashamed. For so many years, the specter of intimacy and its natural consequence, pregnancy, had frightened her almost to death. Then, last night, so suddenly, all her fears had vanished in the grip of an insane passion. She hadn’t dreamed that she was capable of the sensations Eduardo’s strong hands and warm mouth had given her. Nothing had penetrated that mist of sensual oblivion, least of all fear.

But now, she was truly a wife and there was every chance that she’d conceived. She touched her belly with curiosity and faint unease. If she was pregnant, would she survive? Was the New York physician correct in his assessment of her condition, that she could bear a child without dying in the process? He’d been right about her asthma. His unorthodox treatment had worked miracles. Exercise and fresh air were making a difference in her strength, and the medication he’d prescribed was helping her through the attacks. She flushed as she remembered the turmoil of the night before. She hadn’t had any problem with her lungs—except for the breathlessness that must surely be a side effect of so much hungry passion in a man’s arms.

She could barely think of it without catching her breath. Had Eduardo felt such pleasure as he’d given her? She had heard his harsh groan just at the last, when she was too exhausted to lift an arm around him. She remembered the convulsive shudder of his powerful body. Surely she, too, had groaned and shuddered when pleasure had consumed her totally. She closed her eyes and could see him above her, see the perfection of his lean body without clothing, see the maleness of him that was both frightening and exciting. She had known nothing of men and women in bed. Now she knew too much. It would have been better never to have experienced such passion, because now she would go hungry for it every night of her life. Eduardo was unlikely to come near her now, because she had made him very angry. But it hadn’t lasted long, that anger. It had been transformed almost at once into an ardent, fiery passion that had exhausted both of them.

She pulled on her clothes and sat down gingerly at her vanity to brush her long, tangled blond hair. She looked different, although she wasn’t sure exactly how. Her eyes held a new worldly wisdom, and her mouth had a softness that hadn’t been there before. She wondered if it would be noticeable to the other occupants of the house—especially to her husband.

Once her hair was in its usual bun and she’d applied a trace of powder to her face, she went reluctantly down to face the rest of the household.

It was an anticlimax to find her husband was already gone. It was later than they usually breakfasted, however, so perhaps it wasn’t unusual not to find him at the table. Thecondessawas there, and so was Lupe. They went right on talking as if she were invisible.

She was incensed at their duplicity. Her eyes narrowed as she poured coffee. “I trust you both slept well?” she asked coolly.

No one answered her.

She helped herself to sausages and eggs that she didn’t really want, just to appear normal. “I slept quite well,” she said. “When I finally slept,” she added with a wicked glance toward them.

Thecondessawas outraged. She put down her utensil with a thud. “Decent women do not speak of such things, especially at the table!”

“But I’m not a decent woman,” Bernadette replied calmly. “At least, that’s what you told my husband. You led him to believe that I started gossip that ensured he would marry me.”

Lupe glared at her with singular fury. “It was he who said it,” she replied.

“You lie,” Bernadette returned shortly. “You said it. And more besides.”

Lupe cast down her napkin and got up to storm from the room.

Thecondessaremained, less hostile than she had been a minute before. She studied Bernadette carefully, her hand resting on the delicate china cup, which contained her sweetened coffee.