Passionate Pursuit Page 3

“Trunks are in the entrance hall. Why?”

  “Many of your guests traveled great distances to be here.”

  They should have stayed away. Now that they’d arrived, they should leave quickly for their own castles or someone else’s before nightfall. “How long will they be here?”

  “As long as they wish. Remember, their families are your allies.”

  Tomás had never experienced such vulnerability or aching loneliness. He sank to his seat and turned at a flash of red.

  Beatriz.

  No. Another servant, whose name he couldn’t recall, her face, form, and manner equally forgettable. He sagged into his chair and gestured for Nuncio to lean down to him.

  Nuncio spoke quietly. “Whatever you want me to say to get rid of them, you should reconsider. I am not a good liar. I advise you to stay and face your guests. If you run, they will follow.”

  He already knew as much. “What servants work in here today?”

  “Why?”

  Tomás clenched his jaw.

  Nuncio sighed. “Those you already see.”

  He waved Nuncio away. If Beatriz worked in the dining hall, she’d be here daily, during meals. Tomás wouldn’t have to hope to run into her while she tended the chambers or wait endlessly until she dusted his study.

  A talk with Señora Cisneros about Beatriz’s duties would easily change matters.

  * * * *

  Beatriz dusted a second floor windowsill overlooking an expansive lawn. Mulberry and cork trees bordered the clearing, along with countless flowers in an array of types and colors. White carnations, bluebells, roses, red-and-white striped lilies. Their exquisite scents perfumed the air.

  At any other time, she might have smiled at the beauty. Not today.

  A gentle breeze carried laughter and converse from the señoritas who surrounded Tomás, each vying for his attention. The one in dark green silk with a matching caul danced around trying to get closer to him. The one in red with a white flower in her hair elbowed past another girl. Those in gold and bright yellow were even less demure, pushing into each other, speaking loudly, far removed from how a lowly servant had to act.

  Especially to please Nuncio.

  How dare he make her solely responsible for a man’s carnal moves? Beatriz had no control over anyone’s passion except her own. Thus far, she’d failed miserably at quelling her desires.

  Despite what Nuncio had said, she still ached to feel Tomás’s heat and strength, to have him imprison and possess her. No threat in the world would change her longing. However, she wasn’t foolish enough to act on her attraction. Poor man already had enough trouble.

  His broad shoulders were slumped, mouth turned down. She wanted to make him smile. To have him stand as the noble lord he was, magnificent in his dark blue robe and doublet, his hose snug to his sinewy thighs and calves.

  Several young women spoke to him at once. A señorita in a bright yellow gown touched his upper arm. The girl next to her, clad in vivid orange silk, touched his jaw.

  Jealousy heated Beatriz’s face and throat.

  Tomás drew back until the young woman groped air, not him. He faced the window, his gaze touching Beatriz, his dark brown eyes flooding with warmth, bronze complexion deepening.

  Weak with desire, she leaned against the sill for support.

  The señoritas gestured to him, talking endlessly, their words too garbled to understand.

  Whatever they said, Tomás ignored them. He studied Beatriz’s eyes, then her lips and lingered there. She was smiling without realizing it. He answered with a broad grin and stepped closer.

  A young woman gripped his sleeve and tugged him away. He gave her a hard frown.

  Beatriz leaned forward to catch what else he’d do, and her hand slid off the polished stone. Startled, she jerked back and dropped her cloth. The linen drifted on the breeze, coming to rest on a fat bush, marring the area’s perfection.

  No, no, no, no. She willed the air to blow the cloth behind the vegetation to hide the stupid thing.

  The linen stuck there, flapping in the breeze for everyone to see. Particularly Nuncio who might guess she’d spied on Tomás.

  The señoritas babbled loudly. Two held his hands, pulling him across the lawn. He looked back at Beatriz several times, his expression yearning.

  She would have leaned out the window to keep him in sight but feared falling to the ground. As it was, she needed to wait until he and the others left before risking a trip to retrieve her cloth.

  When she could neither see nor hear them any longer, she left the window and froze.

  Rufio blocked her. Of average height, he had broad shoulders, powerful arms, and large hands, perfect for hauling heavy trays to the dining hall or meal sacks and animal carcasses to the kitchen. Although he was a handsome young man, she found his attention off-putting. Since she’d arrived at the castle, he’d haunted her every move.

  He smiled slyly. “Better not let old Nuncio catch you spying on our betters.”

  She warned herself not to show any reaction he could use against her. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Talking to you.” He edged closer, danger in his black eyes, hard lust in his expression.

  Her pulse jumped. She couldn’t run with naught but the window behind her even though flight was her duty in order to save men from their vile natures. If she didn’t accomplish such a worthy goal, Nuncio would toss her out in a second, smiling evilly. She lifted her chin and made certain to show no fear. “Step aside.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to get back to work, the same as you.”

  “No one will miss me for some time.” He glanced at the bed.

  Disgusted, she slammed her hands on his chest and pushed.

  He flailed his arms to right himself. Once he had, he was still in her way, not giving an inch.

  “Stop following me.” She spoke quietly to avoid anyone overhearing. “Nuncio is on to you.”

  “What if he is? Means nothing except we have to be more careful. We can do all sorts of things without him ever knowing. Same as the other servants.”

  Not her. Never with him. He was too careless with his passion, too crude. He’d made it quite clear she meant nothing to him except as a warm body to ease his lust. The same as the man she’d escaped from. “That will never happen between us.”

  He glared and crowded her. “You too high and mighty for such things or too good for me?”

  His anger alarmed Beatriz more than his base desire. He seemed the sort who’d exact revenge if anyone dared mock him, whether the insult was genuine or only in his mind.

  “You misunderstand. I need this work to support my mother. Nuncio has his eye on me already. I have to take care.”

  “Why would he worry about you? He attends to Don Tomás’s affairs, not…” Sudden understanding registered in Rufio’s eyes. “He caught you trying to seduce our master.”

  She forced herself not to react. “Why would Don Tomás ever notice a mere servant? Nuncio caught me sitting in a chamber. I was resting when I had no right. Since then, he hounds me, showing up without warning. I need to watch my step.”

  Rufio’s grin returned. “Not with me.”

  She wanted to scream. “If anyone finds the cloth I dropped outside, I could be dismissed.”

  “Let me fetch the thing for you. Once I do—”

  “No.” She inched past him, praying he wouldn’t touch her. “I have no intention of putting you at risk. Please, return to your duties before Señora Cisneros or Nuncio asks where you are.”

  Beatriz bolted from the room and down the hall.

  * * * *

  Tomás slumped in his chair. A lone candle barely illuminated his desk, leaving his study in shadows. The hour was late, moon high, silvery rays bleeding around the window screen. His guests were finally in their bedchambers, asleep or devising plans to trap him.

  He hardly cared anymore. To have these few secon
ds without them was a relief, though he didn’t want to be alone, and wouldn’t be for long if history proved him correct.

  He relaxed as much as he could, waiting, wanting.

  Light tapping sounded in the hall. Beatriz’s footfalls, as he’d expected.

  Each workday before retiring, she came to his study to dust and straighten up. At least he supposed that’s what she did in here. He’d always waited in another chamber to hear her leave. Once she had, he’d return, hoping to catch her clean scent.

  Sometimes he did. Most often, he did not.

  Knowing her schedule, he took to straightening up before she arrived, hoping to ease her burden so she could go to bed sooner. Even with his efforts, she often spent close to an hour in here. Perhaps curled up in his chair, napping, because she preferred his study to the servant quarters or she might have simply roamed the room, touching the fine leather, books, and other items she’d never have.

  The silver door handle lowered. Tomás sat up. She slipped inside and closed them in, secluded from everyone else on earth.

  He held his breath.

  Candle and dust cloth in hand, she crossed the space, glanced his way, and stopped abruptly.

  He smiled, aching to see her return his greeting the same as she had earlier at the window. What a moment. No riches or position could replace the desire, acceptance, and pure joy he’d seen on her lovely face then.

  Gone now. She was back to being a servant, curious or cautious as to why he was in his own study at such an odd hour.

  “Forgive me for startling you. I had things to do in here.” He wasn’t about to explain what they might be.

  For him to admit he wanted to be her friend, as he’d considered earlier, would be reckless. She might laugh or think him mad. Best he approached the subject carefully. “Go on, tend to your duties.” He lit five more candles so she could see easily. “If you need me to move from my desk, say the word. I shall obey your command immediately.”

  She lowered her face, though not before he caught her smile. His mood soared.

  “I can return later.” She pivoted.

  He stood. “If you leave, so will I. Do you want to drive me from my work?”

  She stopped, but didn’t face him. “Never.” After putting down her candle, she hurried to the bookcase and swiped at the shelves. “If you want me to stay, I will. Whatever you wish.”

  Ah, more wishes. Tomás sank back to his chair. If only she knew what he had in mind for them, past friendship, of course. Evenings, afternoons, and every morning filled with the most wanton delights, them naked, laughing, loving.

  She looked over.

  He grabbed a book from his desk and flipped a page. The moment she resumed her work, he turned the book right side up. He read the first line several times, not understanding a word, and gave up.

  She dusted the bookshelf, removed a volume, scanned the other spines, then inserted the book she held in another location.

  Where the text should have been from the start.

  She’d done so effortlessly, without pause or forethought. The same as him, not an illiterate servant.

  He considered the titles he had on the shelves. “You come in here every night you work, no?”

  She nodded, her back still to him.

  “I seem to have lost one of my volumes.” He stated the title. “Have you seen the book in here? I looked earlier, but have yet to find the thing anywhere.”

  “Here it is.” She pulled the edition off the shelf and had nearly reached him when she stopped, her face horrified at what she’d revealed.

  Tomás wagged a finger playfully. “You can read. I thought so.”

  She put the book on his desk and backed away. “Only a few words. Titles mainly.”

  “Of Spanish history?” He gestured to the volume she’d brought to him. “And agriculture?” He pointed to the book she’d relocated on the shelf. “How odd you learned those things, not merely a few passages from the Bible as most would.”

  “I must return to my work.”

  “Wait. I insist.”

  She faced him but squared her shoulders, her stance surprisingly defiant.

  He had no idea why. He wanted to talk to her, hopefully kiss her, not fight. “Who taught you to read? Your secret is safe. I promise never to tell anyone.”

  She certainly hadn’t. At least not in this castle, since he would have heard about her skill from Nuncio in the most negative way possible. Odd that she’d keep such an ability hidden. Not that Tomás intended to question her. With her previous fight gone, she reminded him of a frightened doe, ready to dart away.

  “Come.” He pulled a box chair over and patted the leather seat. “Sit. Tell me about your teacher.”

  “I have nothing to tell. My father taught me before he passed.”

  “Your father from the same village where your mother resides?” All of them supposedly peasants, yet they knew how to read.

  She twisted her cloth. “He was a baker with a small amount of money to his name. He loved to read and taught me the skill, even though I have no use for such things.”

  “Do you read in here after you dust?” Surely, books were what had kept her inside the room so long. “Tell me which volume you like best.”

  She made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

  “I promise never to tell anyone. Come, sit. Talk to me.”

  “Will I still have my position here if I do?”

  “Of course. Dust never goes away for long as you well know.”

  She laughed softly and sank into the chair, but remained perched on the edge.

  “Go on and lean back.” He gestured encouragement.

  She remained where she was. “Señor Nuncio would rail at me if he saw this.”

  “Saw what?”

  “Me sitting in one of your chairs.”

  “Better than the floor, no?”

  She worked her mouth trying hard not to smile.

  He wished she would. “I have no plans to tell Nuncio anything that might give him another gray hair, wrinkle, or push him closer to the grave. Do you?”

  She laughed. “I think not. The volume I enjoy most is Cantar del Mio Cid.”

  Tomás couldn’t have been more delighted. The epic poem detailed Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar’s exploits during the early days of Spain’s Reconquista. “The book is my favorite too. We can share his adventures together. Where did you stop in his tale? Wait. Have you finished the story?”

  “Not at all. I was about to begin the part where El Cid plans to conquer Valencia.”

  “We shall do so together.” He fetched the poem and offered the volume to her. “Read to me, please.”

  She took the book reluctantly. “I can only manage titles.”

  He laughed at her teasing, liking her ready wit, the way she already treated him as a friend. He brought over two candles to give her enough light. “Pretend every line is a title. Your duty now is to read to me.”

  “For how long? I still have to dust.”

  “After we finish with El Cid, I can help.”

  She laughed throatily.

  “You doubt my ability?” He feigned insult. “How can you? I have the combined skill of three dozen servants, the stamina of twenty men, and the dedication of every zealot on earth.”

  “Someone should write an epic poem about you.”

  He laughed so hard his belly hurt, tears stinging his eyes. “Go on.” He gestured. “Read.”

  She did, flawlessly, her skill as great as his, a nobleman. Or her father’s, the baker.

  Tomás had never met one educated in anything other than making bread, cakes, and such, along with having the most elementary knowledge of reading and mathematics to operate a business.

  However, since he’d spent most of his days battling Moors, his understanding of those who lived in the villages was limited, even the ones he now owned. In years past, the only time he’d stepped foot in those
places was after the Moors had raided them. With the destruction he and his soldiers had faced, there hadn’t been time to get to know the people.

  He wouldn’t make the same mistake with Beatriz.

  Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks from the candlelight, the glow adding a touch of gold to her complexion. Her lips caressed the words she read, the movement bewitching, beckoning him to taste her mouth.

  He resisted.

  She turned the page. Her hands were lovely and quite pale, despite the work she did here. She bore no healed burns from hot pans in her father’s bakeshop, nor had washing pots there left her skin red and raw. Tending a feeble mother hadn’t harmed her beauty, either.

  With Beatriz here, her mamá had no one to care for her, unless another relative handled the task or Beatriz paid someone. Given her reading skills, she should have gone to one of the large cities, rather than staying in the countryside. In a more populated area, she might have found work as a tutor for a prosperous family, earning far more.

  He might never have met her.

  She was here now, tending to him, reading a story they both loved, sitting close. He touched her arm.

  She stopped reading.

  He smiled softly, unable to help himself, his soul and heart bared to her. Although she was one of the loveliest women he’d ever known, he liked her as a person, enjoying her voice and laugh, how she looked at him with wonder and desire, no different than his passion for her.

  He cupped her face. The book slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. He brushed his mouth over hers. She inhaled sharply, her hand on his chest.

  He slanted his mouth over hers and parted her lips with his tongue, entering her, tasting sweet moisture, reveling in the clean, fresh flavor. The finest food had never been better. He had to have more and angled his mouth for greater penetration, his tongue probing deeper.

  Beatriz suckled him.

  They tried to get closer to each other, their chair legs scraping the floor. Tomás cupped her breast. She moaned around his tongue and wreathed her arm over his shoulder. Her tunic and gown were frustrating barriers, her erect nipple covered by too much cloth. He ran his thumb over the tightened tip, wanting the garments off, her bared to him.

  His kiss grew heated and uncontrolled. He pulled off her cap to little avail. She’d coiled her hair in a braid, the style difficult for him to take down.