Deran’s heart ceased its movement at the sight of a face, white as fresh
parchment, smudged with mire, and cords of thick hair clinging to wide
cheekbones. Pleading eyes as green as spring grass gazed at him. He swallowed
slowly, suddenly desperate to hear the words that would leave her lips, lips that,
although a shocking blue-gray, were a lovely shape.
His eyes, focused on her mouth as she opened it, suddenly flared in anger.
Closing the distance between then, she jolted back, causing her captors to grasp
her more firmly.
“What is this?” Deran asked, bending down to peer at her throat, very nearly
reeling from the odor now that he was closer to her. A distinct swath of raw skin
ringed the slender column. “You restrained her with a rope around her neck?
How was that necessary? She’s a mere wisp of a girl, and could not have put up
much of a fight in her present state.”
Frantic looks were exchanged. The men all spoke at once, denying such action.
“The wench is meaner what you can tells by lookin’ at ’er, guv’nah. Put up a
fight, she did. We tied ’er ’ands is all. Din’t wan’er takin’ off ’for we could get ’er ’
ere, sir.”
The decision Deran was contemplating had his heart beating erratically. It
would dramatically adjust his meticulous life. But the rearrangement would be
temporary. Temporary loss of reason as well as a temporary situation.
“Leave her. I will see to the consequences of her offense.”
parchment, smudged with mire, and cords of thick hair clinging to wide
cheekbones. Pleading eyes as green as spring grass gazed at him. He swallowed
slowly, suddenly desperate to hear the words that would leave her lips, lips that,
although a shocking blue-gray, were a lovely shape.
His eyes, focused on her mouth as she opened it, suddenly flared in anger.
Closing the distance between then, she jolted back, causing her captors to grasp
her more firmly.
“What is this?” Deran asked, bending down to peer at her throat, very nearly
reeling from the odor now that he was closer to her. A distinct swath of raw skin
ringed the slender column. “You restrained her with a rope around her neck?
How was that necessary? She’s a mere wisp of a girl, and could not have put up
much of a fight in her present state.”
Frantic looks were exchanged. The men all spoke at once, denying such action.
“The wench is meaner what you can tells by lookin’ at ’er, guv’nah. Put up a
fight, she did. We tied ’er ’ands is all. Din’t wan’er takin’ off ’for we could get ’er ’
ere, sir.”
The decision Deran was contemplating had his heart beating erratically. It
would dramatically adjust his meticulous life. But the rearrangement would be
temporary. Temporary loss of reason as well as a temporary situation.
“Leave her. I will see to the consequences of her offense.”
She'd taken his remark as a flirtation, unhappily so, but it had been an honest
observation. The brilliant hair, brutally parted and bundled into a thick knot at her
nape, unfashionably bronzed skin, and the tilt of those brandy-colored eyes were
very distinctive. As distinctive as her apparel, the shapeless dress, surpassing
ugly, its shade of brown as dull as dried leaves. Its high neckline must hinder
swallowing and the loose-fitting bodice and skirt gave no hints to her figure. If the
style meant to serve as camouflage, it succeeded. It had boosted his interest,
teased his imagination.
A forbidden distraction. She associated with smugglers. And murderers.
Turning from the window as Miss Kingfield disappeared around the corner,
Gabriel began plotting how to meet her again.
observation. The brilliant hair, brutally parted and bundled into a thick knot at her
nape, unfashionably bronzed skin, and the tilt of those brandy-colored eyes were
very distinctive. As distinctive as her apparel, the shapeless dress, surpassing
ugly, its shade of brown as dull as dried leaves. Its high neckline must hinder
swallowing and the loose-fitting bodice and skirt gave no hints to her figure. If the
style meant to serve as camouflage, it succeeded. It had boosted his interest,
teased his imagination.
A forbidden distraction. She associated with smugglers. And murderers.
Turning from the window as Miss Kingfield disappeared around the corner,
Gabriel began plotting how to meet her again.
“I feel guilty. And ashamed.”
“Of what?”
“I am safe and dry and not hungry. I’m enjoying a free morning in a park before I leave for someone’s home
where I am to be a guest. I am very fortunate and I feel guilty that...that I’m alive and…” She shook her head
violently and clasped her arms around her as a fresh font of tears spilled over. She stomped a foot and spat out
words foreign to Deran’s ears.
Unsure whether her distress was from anger or sorrow, he meant to console her. Standing behind her, he set his
hands on her shoulders, lightly at first. The top of her head came to his chin allowing the faint rose scent of her
hair to fill his nose. His thumbs rested on the nape of her neck and his groin tightened in reaction to the warmth of
that small patch of skin. He eased his hands from her shoulders and covered her arms with his, encasing her in an
embrace meant to comfort, to let her know that all would be well. We will find them, he whispered. I will help you.
Do not worry so.
His heart thrummed against her back and he felt her wrist pulse, its tapping, fast and insistent. Step back. But
before he could talk himself into it, she rested her hands on top of his arms and squeezed. He slowly slid his arms
fully around her waist and pulled her back against him.
This was not wise. Not wise on many levels. They were in a public park, somewhat secluded behind a tree but
especially not wise because he had situated her round buttocks against his lower body which had already been
strongly influenced by a simple touch.
No, not wise at all. But, oh so heady.
“Of what?”
“I am safe and dry and not hungry. I’m enjoying a free morning in a park before I leave for someone’s home
where I am to be a guest. I am very fortunate and I feel guilty that...that I’m alive and…” She shook her head
violently and clasped her arms around her as a fresh font of tears spilled over. She stomped a foot and spat out
words foreign to Deran’s ears.
Unsure whether her distress was from anger or sorrow, he meant to console her. Standing behind her, he set his
hands on her shoulders, lightly at first. The top of her head came to his chin allowing the faint rose scent of her
hair to fill his nose. His thumbs rested on the nape of her neck and his groin tightened in reaction to the warmth of
that small patch of skin. He eased his hands from her shoulders and covered her arms with his, encasing her in an
embrace meant to comfort, to let her know that all would be well. We will find them, he whispered. I will help you.
Do not worry so.
His heart thrummed against her back and he felt her wrist pulse, its tapping, fast and insistent. Step back. But
before he could talk himself into it, she rested her hands on top of his arms and squeezed. He slowly slid his arms
fully around her waist and pulled her back against him.
This was not wise. Not wise on many levels. They were in a public park, somewhat secluded behind a tree but
especially not wise because he had situated her round buttocks against his lower body which had already been
strongly influenced by a simple touch.
No, not wise at all. But, oh so heady.
"You are the mistaken one, Miss Kingfield," he said with dangerous calm. "Consider yourself abducted, for
the purpose of hearing this tale of yours that you have determined I had a hand in. Stop flailing about and
explain yourself."
A flash of panic intruded into her anger. Jacie dipped her left hand into her skirt pocket. The pistol's
comforting form fit neatly in her palm. Suddenly she felt considerably pacified.
"A warning, Mr. Rayne," she said coolly, “I have a weapon.”
An eyebrow rose. "A threat. My first served up by a woman. How enchanting."
He sounded neither enchanted nor concerned. His grip about her waist didn’t relax. Evidently he thought
her threat an idle one. She positioned the pistol more advantageously, raising her hand so he could discern
the shape of the weapon in her pocket.
"It will be the last you are ever served by either man or woman if you do not release me immediately."
"Very well." He dropped his hands from her waist and in the same instant raised them to her face. "Don't
shoot," he murmured against her mouth.
the purpose of hearing this tale of yours that you have determined I had a hand in. Stop flailing about and
explain yourself."
A flash of panic intruded into her anger. Jacie dipped her left hand into her skirt pocket. The pistol's
comforting form fit neatly in her palm. Suddenly she felt considerably pacified.
"A warning, Mr. Rayne," she said coolly, “I have a weapon.”
An eyebrow rose. "A threat. My first served up by a woman. How enchanting."
He sounded neither enchanted nor concerned. His grip about her waist didn’t relax. Evidently he thought
her threat an idle one. She positioned the pistol more advantageously, raising her hand so he could discern
the shape of the weapon in her pocket.
"It will be the last you are ever served by either man or woman if you do not release me immediately."
"Very well." He dropped his hands from her waist and in the same instant raised them to her face. "Don't
shoot," he murmured against her mouth.
Almost Silenced...
As abruptly as it had appeared, the light drifted to the center of the postcard picture and
blinked out.
Ben gripped the card tighter and scanned every inch of it, even flipped it over. No light.
No shadow. The windows were once again dark and one-dimensional.
"Where’d you go?" He felt slightly foolish talking to a picture.
As if the ethereal light had heard, a yellow flickering appeared through the transom
window above the front door.
The door that was slowly opening.
Music, a female singing voice trickled out. And a violin with…a harp? Whispers and
giggles interrupted the music, followed by quick footsteps. Ben held his breath, utterly
consumed by the miniature scene unfolding before him. The door opened further and the
shadow that had cast gray upon the light bloomed into a shape. A defined shape. The
light, which he could now make out as a lantern, rose, illuminating a face, its details
blurred into a misty foreground.
He swiveled so the floor lamp shone directly onto the card. His jaw dropped when the
figure drew back, as though trying to hide from his light. The door began to close.
"No, wait!" he called. "Who…what are you?"
Movement halted. The face rematerialized. Liquid blue eyes peered around the edge of
the door.
"Shh," a tiny voice responded. "They will hear you, sir. Please, do not give us away."
'They'? 'We'? Who was this…this voice talking about? A distinctly female voice. One
laced with fear. His rescue instinct barreled through him.
"Give you away? Where…?"
Christ, he was conversing with a postcard.
He jumped to his feet, strode to the CD player and punched the Off button–harder this
time–as he passed into the kitchen and turned on the overhead light. Aztec raised his
head and gave him a Now What Are You Doing? look before burrowing back into sleep
mode.
The neon light washed over the card and the figure at the door again shrunk back.
"Miss!" Ben touched a finger to the rough-planked front door image, as though by
doing so he could keep her from closing it. "Hold on. What were you saying…"
The question and this absurd conversation clipped off as Ben's fingers passed through
the doorway.
"Hush!" the voice demanded. Before he had time to form the thought that such a thing
was impossible, his body seemed to fold in on itself, like a shirt sleeve being pulled inside
out, and a sharp tug on his fingers pulled him through the door.
blinked out.
Ben gripped the card tighter and scanned every inch of it, even flipped it over. No light.
No shadow. The windows were once again dark and one-dimensional.
"Where’d you go?" He felt slightly foolish talking to a picture.
As if the ethereal light had heard, a yellow flickering appeared through the transom
window above the front door.
The door that was slowly opening.
Music, a female singing voice trickled out. And a violin with…a harp? Whispers and
giggles interrupted the music, followed by quick footsteps. Ben held his breath, utterly
consumed by the miniature scene unfolding before him. The door opened further and the
shadow that had cast gray upon the light bloomed into a shape. A defined shape. The
light, which he could now make out as a lantern, rose, illuminating a face, its details
blurred into a misty foreground.
He swiveled so the floor lamp shone directly onto the card. His jaw dropped when the
figure drew back, as though trying to hide from his light. The door began to close.
"No, wait!" he called. "Who…what are you?"
Movement halted. The face rematerialized. Liquid blue eyes peered around the edge of
the door.
"Shh," a tiny voice responded. "They will hear you, sir. Please, do not give us away."
'They'? 'We'? Who was this…this voice talking about? A distinctly female voice. One
laced with fear. His rescue instinct barreled through him.
"Give you away? Where…?"
Christ, he was conversing with a postcard.
He jumped to his feet, strode to the CD player and punched the Off button–harder this
time–as he passed into the kitchen and turned on the overhead light. Aztec raised his
head and gave him a Now What Are You Doing? look before burrowing back into sleep
mode.
The neon light washed over the card and the figure at the door again shrunk back.
"Miss!" Ben touched a finger to the rough-planked front door image, as though by
doing so he could keep her from closing it. "Hold on. What were you saying…"
The question and this absurd conversation clipped off as Ben's fingers passed through
the doorway.
"Hush!" the voice demanded. Before he had time to form the thought that such a thing
was impossible, his body seemed to fold in on itself, like a shirt sleeve being pulled inside
out, and a sharp tug on his fingers pulled him through the door.
Typically when a husband died, the widow continued rearing their children
without interference. What chance could a widow have, a Spanish woman,
with wealthy, influential, English in-laws desiring custody of their grandchild,
to hold on to her child?
Every potential client entered a lawyer's office with two things–hope and
faith. Hope that they'd be given what they desired and faith that the man
before them had the skill to obtain it.
Max saw this mother's hope lighten her eyes, soften her mouth, pinken
her cheeks. His stomach rolled, heart sagged in his chest.
"Miss Páez de Velloso–"
"Please…Mr. DiSanto. My name is Carisa. It would be easier," she smiled,
"and save us time if you used it."
He chuckled. "Save me time, you mean. It is a mouthful."
"We honor our families and ancestors. I have other names besides the
two I use here."
"But not Bogdonam."
"No," she replied softly. "Not Bogdonam."
Max tapped a finger to his chin. "I have wondered about that. May I ask
why you didn't keep your husband's name after his death?"
Her small smile withered, taking with it the shine in her eyes. Instantly,
Max regretted his effrontery.
"He is…was Rebeca's father, but not my husband."
without interference. What chance could a widow have, a Spanish woman,
with wealthy, influential, English in-laws desiring custody of their grandchild,
to hold on to her child?
Every potential client entered a lawyer's office with two things–hope and
faith. Hope that they'd be given what they desired and faith that the man
before them had the skill to obtain it.
Max saw this mother's hope lighten her eyes, soften her mouth, pinken
her cheeks. His stomach rolled, heart sagged in his chest.
"Miss Páez de Velloso–"
"Please…Mr. DiSanto. My name is Carisa. It would be easier," she smiled,
"and save us time if you used it."
He chuckled. "Save me time, you mean. It is a mouthful."
"We honor our families and ancestors. I have other names besides the
two I use here."
"But not Bogdonam."
"No," she replied softly. "Not Bogdonam."
Max tapped a finger to his chin. "I have wondered about that. May I ask
why you didn't keep your husband's name after his death?"
Her small smile withered, taking with it the shine in her eyes. Instantly,
Max regretted his effrontery.
"He is…was Rebeca's father, but not my husband."
"What is your name, please?"
Silence, but for the tiny puffs of air exiting her petite nose.
"Do you live nearby? You must if you walked here."
No reaction, not the slightest blink. If she maintained that skill into adulthood, she could make a comfortable
fortune at the gaming tables.
Max lowered a knee to the pavement and held her wrists. Both could have fit in one of his hands. So small and
delicate. An ache swept his heart at the thought of the child he'd lost when Anna died. How he'd longed to embrace
fatherhood!
She tipped her head, a weary sadness replacing the anger in her eyes.
"What?" Max softly encouraged. "Tell me."
Mesmerized by her steady gaze, he didn't stop her when she freed one hand, touched two fingers to his cheeks
and then touched her own. Spreading the fingers to a V, she slid them to her chin and then made the same motion on
his face.
The gesture stopped his breath. Without uttering words, she'd spoken to him. Had she no voice?
"You are sad?" he asked.
She shook her head and pointed to him.
"I am sad."
Her eyes warmed and she nodded once. Remarkable, how she'd recognized his moment of despondency.
"I am sometimes sad, yes. As I am sure your mother and father are right now. Sad and very worried."
Her thin, dark brows snapped together and face darkened. Black ringlets bobbed on her forehead when she
vehemently shook her head.
"No? They won't be sad and worried?"
Her hands suddenly blurred into action, lips twitched and eyes glimmered with emotion. Fingers fluttered and
hands slashed and swiped the air as though warding off swarming insects. Max watched in amazement, without the
slightest idea what the emphatic finger signals meant. Her eyes flooded with tears and bottom lip trembled when she
lowered her arms, her answer to his question apparently at an end.
"I am sorry." He stood and offered his handkerchief. "That was all very, er, fascinating, whatever it was. A secret
code, a child's game? Can you not simply tell me where you came from? I'll return you and then everyone will be
happy again."
She blew her nose softly, wadded the linen and handed it back to him. Max waited for an answer. She merely
fixed her eyes on a point behind him. Struggling to keep his patience in check, he stuffed the handkerchief in his
pocket. Being nice to her clearly would get him nowhere.
"Young lady, if you are not going to tell me where you live, you leave me no choice but to take you to the
constable and let him decide what to do with you." He scowled down at her, fingers tapping his thigh. Her attention
remained diverted, eyes unblinking. No reply seemed forthcoming.
Max set his jaw. Either she was the rudest, most stubborn child ever to be born or she…she…
He eyed her meaningfully and said the first thing that came to mind. "Do you like kittens?" No reply. Not a blink or
glance in his direction. "Last week my cat bore seven kittens in every color you could imagine. Would you like to see
them?"
She remained as motionless as the church steps, without the slightest movement to indicate that she'd heard him.
Which evidently she had not.
Silence, but for the tiny puffs of air exiting her petite nose.
"Do you live nearby? You must if you walked here."
No reaction, not the slightest blink. If she maintained that skill into adulthood, she could make a comfortable
fortune at the gaming tables.
Max lowered a knee to the pavement and held her wrists. Both could have fit in one of his hands. So small and
delicate. An ache swept his heart at the thought of the child he'd lost when Anna died. How he'd longed to embrace
fatherhood!
She tipped her head, a weary sadness replacing the anger in her eyes.
"What?" Max softly encouraged. "Tell me."
Mesmerized by her steady gaze, he didn't stop her when she freed one hand, touched two fingers to his cheeks
and then touched her own. Spreading the fingers to a V, she slid them to her chin and then made the same motion on
his face.
The gesture stopped his breath. Without uttering words, she'd spoken to him. Had she no voice?
"You are sad?" he asked.
She shook her head and pointed to him.
"I am sad."
Her eyes warmed and she nodded once. Remarkable, how she'd recognized his moment of despondency.
"I am sometimes sad, yes. As I am sure your mother and father are right now. Sad and very worried."
Her thin, dark brows snapped together and face darkened. Black ringlets bobbed on her forehead when she
vehemently shook her head.
"No? They won't be sad and worried?"
Her hands suddenly blurred into action, lips twitched and eyes glimmered with emotion. Fingers fluttered and
hands slashed and swiped the air as though warding off swarming insects. Max watched in amazement, without the
slightest idea what the emphatic finger signals meant. Her eyes flooded with tears and bottom lip trembled when she
lowered her arms, her answer to his question apparently at an end.
"I am sorry." He stood and offered his handkerchief. "That was all very, er, fascinating, whatever it was. A secret
code, a child's game? Can you not simply tell me where you came from? I'll return you and then everyone will be
happy again."
She blew her nose softly, wadded the linen and handed it back to him. Max waited for an answer. She merely
fixed her eyes on a point behind him. Struggling to keep his patience in check, he stuffed the handkerchief in his
pocket. Being nice to her clearly would get him nowhere.
"Young lady, if you are not going to tell me where you live, you leave me no choice but to take you to the
constable and let him decide what to do with you." He scowled down at her, fingers tapping his thigh. Her attention
remained diverted, eyes unblinking. No reply seemed forthcoming.
Max set his jaw. Either she was the rudest, most stubborn child ever to be born or she…she…
He eyed her meaningfully and said the first thing that came to mind. "Do you like kittens?" No reply. Not a blink or
glance in his direction. "Last week my cat bore seven kittens in every color you could imagine. Would you like to see
them?"
She remained as motionless as the church steps, without the slightest movement to indicate that she'd heard him.
Which evidently she had not.