Читать книгу Mysterious Vows - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 8

Reverend Blaylock repeated, “You may kiss the bride.”

Jason had thought to give her a small, respectful peck on the cheek, but when he rested his hands on her delicate shoulders and saw her trembling smile, he clasped her more tightly than he had intended.

Her gaze was troubled, like a wavering green sea of doubt, but she embraced him as if she meant it, fitting her supple body against his.

She was beautiful. It had been a long time since he’d held a beautiful woman.

His mouth claimed hers. Their kiss was like sweet fire, tasting of honey and desire. And Jason craved more.

Her lips parted, inviting him. Before he could stop himself, he thrust his tongue between her teeth. She startled in his arms. Her body tensed. Then she returned his passion one hundredfold. Her tongue slipped into his mouth. Her hands against his back grasped urgently. The friction of her body rubbing against him drove him wild.

My God! His senses reeled. The intensity of the unexpected passion transported him and he forgot his pain, his bitterness. For the first time in months he felt like a whole, strong man again. Then they separated. The moment passed.

They turned and faced the small group of family and friends who applauded enthusiastically. Except for one, Jason noticed. Edward Elliot, a state senator, clapped twice and allowed his hands to fall loosely to his sides. The usual politician’s smile was absent from his ruddy face.

Jason escorted Maria down the aisle between his guests, and they took a position in the archway leading to the dining room where the long table had been set for the catered buffet. He walked slowly, without stumbling, and used his cane so he wouldn’t have to lean on her for support.

“Congratulations!” his friends and family cried, as if this were a real wedding, a celebration of love and eternal happiness.

He forced himself to return their smiles. With his shattered leg and broken dreams, he was unfit to be any woman’s husband. Maria deserved better. In her pristine white gown she was as lovely and traditional as the miniature figurine that decorated the wedding cake.

She stood beside him. Her thick lashes lifted and she gazed up at him with flashing green eyes. She was his wife. This incredible woman was his bride. Jason would be hard put to remember that their marriage was born of political necessity.

The guests had formed a casual line, and Jason translated their words into Spanish so that she would understand.

“Maria, you know my sister, Alice.”

Alice dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a lace hanky. “Oh, Maria, you make a lovely bride. Muy bonita.” She glanced at Jason. “That’s right, isn’t it? Bonita?”

“Excellent, sis. You’re practically bilingual.”

She grasped Maria’s hands in her own. Abandoning her attempt to communicate in Spanish, Alice rattled off the afternoon’s agenda. “Well, Maria. Here’s what I have planned. A light buffet and, of course, the cake. Hope you like chocolate with white chocolate frosting. Now, the custom in our country is to save the top layer, freeze it, and eat it on the first anniversary. Shall I take care of the freezing for you?”

Maria nodded.

Alice frowned at Jason. “Does she have any idea what I’m talking about?”

“You’d be surprised,” he said.

“Anyway,” Alice continued, “I know you’re exhausted. So, I’ll try to move things along. We can probably ferry almost everyone back to the mainland on Reverend Blaylock’s big powerboat by five o’clock. Then you can relax.”

“Relax?” Reverend Blaylock popped up beside Alice. “That’s not much of a honeymoon, eh?”

“We’ll manage,” Jason said. Though he wasn’t a regular churchgoer, he liked Wally Blaylock. “Any pointers?”

“I think you know the right thing to do.”

Jason gave a perfunctory grin. Unfortunately, he doubted that the right thing would include the traditional honeymoon lovemaking. He swallowed his disappointment and continued to behave in the expected manner of a groom. Beneath his social facade, a strong desire raged within him. Their kiss had sparked emotions he’d thought were dead in his heart.

“My sincerest congratulations,” the reverend said. He addressed Maria in excellent Spanish. “Excuse me for asking, Maria, but are you Catholic? Coming from a Central American country, I expected that you would be.”

“Is the marriage legal?” Jason questioned.

“To be sure.”

“Then, what does it matter?”

“What, indeed?” The reverend grasped Maria’s hand and pumped vigorously. His friendliness seemed sincere. “Don’t be a stranger. I’ll see you in church. Both of you. Right, Maria?”

“I will be there.” She hesitated slightly. “With my husband.”

The reverend stepped aside, and the informal reception line filed past them. Jason introduced an aged aunt and her companion, and a couple he referred to as neighbors.

“Here?” Maria asked him. “Do we have neighbors here on the island?”

“Mine is the only house on the island,” he said. Last night when they had arrived, it had been too dark for her to explore. This morning, she’d been sleeping and dressing. He was looking forward to showing her around. “I hope you will like it here.”

Politely she responded, “I am sure I will.”

As she greeted his guests, it was obvious to Jason that, despite Maria’s nervousness, she’d done this before. She had experience in reception lines and was fully cognizant of the proper social expressions and manners. Though she spoke no English to any of them, she managed to charm each and every one of their guests, men and women alike.

Another surprise, he thought. According to his information, Maria had grown up in a rural village. Though well-educated, she was described as being a person who put her journalism career first and placed little value in social contacts. But the woman who stood beside him had an unmistakable aura of poise and sophistication.

“You’re doing very well,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. She wanted to please him. The passionate force of his kiss—and her own instinctive response to him—had made her think that perhaps she truly was in love with this man. Being in his arms had felt so exquisitely right.

Perhaps she had agreed to this marriage for all the right reasons. Though she could not remember their relationship, it would be truly wonderful if such reasons existed. If there were love between them... She would try, with all her will, to recall.

Another guest stood in front of them.

“Maria, this is Edward Elliot. He’s a senator in the Maine state legislature.”

Edward clasped her hand firmly. “Delighted to meet you. Jason is a lucky man to have found a beauty like you, Maria.”

Jason translated into Spanish, and she murmured, “Gracias.”

“No English?” he questioned.

“A little,” she said. This well-dressed, blustery, red-faced man seemed excessively interested in her. Most of Jason’s guests were content to shake her hand, wish her well and move into the dining area where the buffet was set, but Edward still held Maria’s hand in a tight, sweaty grip.

“I think you know more than a little English,” he guessed. “When you spoke your wedding vows, you had almost no trace of an accent.”

Jason had turned to another guest, and so did not translate.

Though Maria understood every word Edward had spoken, she did not acknowledge the truth in his statement. She sensed danger. It was better not to reveal too much, to hide behind the shield of Spanish. “No comprendo. Sorry.”

He leaned close, speaking for her ears only. “You’ll never get away with this.”

What had he said?

“I can help you. If Jason tries to—”

Another guest jostled them. “Move along, Eddy.”

Edward reached inside his jacket pocket, and his manner became falsely jocular. “If old Jason gives you a hard time, Maria, here’s where to reach me.” He passed her a business card. “If you need anything, anything at all—”

“What are you saying?” Jason interrupted.

“Inviting your bride into town. Or up to the capital in Augusta. It isn’t all that far away, and she might want to see the sights.”

“Maria doesn’t know how to drive,” Jason informed him.

A protest rose to her lips. Of course she knew how to drive! She’d been driving since she was sixteen.

In a flash, a vivid mental image came into her mind. It was more of an impression, a soundless photograph. She saw a forest green Volvo station wagon parked in the dusk. There were trees. She knew the street, the neighborhood, but she could not put a name to it. Two men sat in the car, watching and waiting. Her heartbeat quickened and fear took root in her mind, throbbing as steadily as her returning headache.

“If Maria wants to go anywhere,” Jason said, “I’ll take her.”

“Not if she’s going to be a true American woman,” Edward responded huffily.

Huffing and puffing, she thought. He was like an ill wind that blew no one any good.

He continued. “The first thing she’ll want is independence. Right, Maria?”

She forced herself to look directly at this man, tried to understand what he meant when he said Jason might give her a hard time. Would Jason hurt her? Despite the celebratory buffet and the chattering guests and her pristine white bridal gown, there seemed to be dark, discordant threats all around her. She didn’t know who to trust. This senator? Or Jason?

Alice had returned to stand beside Maria. In her clumsy Spanish, she indicated that it was time to cut the cake. She held up the silver knife and pointed to it, trying to explain, using sign language. Sunlight from tall windows glinted on the dull blade, and Maria recoiled slightly. There had been a knife. One of the men held a knife.

Maria’s breath caught in her throat. She needed to run, to escape from this island before it was too late.

“Smile!” came a command from a short, wiry man with a Nikon aimed and ready to shoot. “Come on, Jason. Stand a little closer to the lady.”

“No photos,” Jason said firmly.

“But this is for the Gazette.” He lowered the camera and nervously raked his fingers through his long, graying hair, tightening his ponytail. “You’re front-page news, Jason. It’s not every day that the most eligible bachelor in the county gets hitched. Now, say cheese.”

Despite his crippled leg, Jason stepped quickly toward him, snatched his camera from his hands and whipped the embroidered strap up and off his neck.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“First, I’d like for you to meet my bride. Even journalists can be civilized.” He forcibly propelled the small man toward her. “Maria, this is Chip Harrington. He is the chief reporter-photographer-editor for the local newspaper.”

“Delighted,” he said, quickly shaking her hand and turning back to Jason. “Now, can I shoot you?”

“It’s like this,” Jason explained in a low voice. “Maria is very tired after her long trip, and she’d rather not pose for pictures right now. She doesn’t feel like she’s looking her best.”

“Man, if this isn’t her best, I’d like to see—”

“Thanks, Chip, for being so sensitive to her concerns.” Jason waved to his sister and gave her the camera. “Make sure Chip gets this back when he leaves.”

“I’ll let you get away with this on one condition,” Chip said. “If I can’t have a picture, I want an interview with Maria. One on one.”

“But she only speaks Spanish,” Alice observed.

“No problemo.” When Chip grinned, his face became a road map of deep creases that radiated from his mouth to around his eyes, crisscrossing on his high forehead. “Sometimes you people forget that I haven’t always lived here in Maine. I covered a world beat, including El Salvador.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Jason said. Chip’s elfish appearance masked a sharp intellect. He was, by trade, a gatherer of intelligence in this country and in Central America. In addition to his weekly newspaper, he regularly contributed to several national publications.

“With your permission, Maria.” Chip spoke in flawless Spanish. “We will talk for five minutes.”

Jason disliked the idea. He felt possessive about his bride. She wasn’t well, and he didn’t want her to face someone as sly as Chip Harrington until she was ready. “I’ll come with you.”

“Give me a break,” Chip said. “She can’t tell the secret of how she landed a prize catch while you’re standing there. Don’t worry, man. I’m not going to quiz her on the prenuptial agreement or anything. This is strictly a fluff piece. Maria? How about it?”

“I will be happy to speak with you. Though I have little to say.” She separated from Jason and went toward Chip. A newspaperman, she reasoned, ought to be able to give her information about the island and about Jason. She needed to know more about her new husband.

Chip Harrington was approximately her own height, and his easy grin made her feel safe. She gestured toward a love seat beside the fireplace, and they sat. Before he could begin his interview, she asked a question of her own. “This island,” she said. “It is so beautiful. Has Jason lived here long?”

“All his life. The Walker family is descended from whaling captains. But I don’t want to talk about history. Tell me about yourself.”

“I am what you see,” she said in a manner that she hoped was disarming. “Is Jason involved in a seafaring trade?”

“No way. He was almost a doctor. From what I hear, he had only a residency to complete his training. But you know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, certainly.” Even with Chip, she needed to be careful not to betray the truth...if she could ever remember what the truth was. “I am so very tired. I forgot.”

“I’ll be brief,” he promised. “So, you’re from Central America. What country?”

“Guermina.” Maria had no idea why she’d chosen that country, but the location sounded right. It seemed equally correct to say, “I look forward to becoming an American citizen.”

“Tell me of your homeland.”

Sharp pictures exploded in her mind. Rapid-fire impressions, as if she were flipping the pages of a book. “So beautiful, lush and green. But so much suffering. Constant warring. Poverty in the cities. There is rain, much rain. Coffee plantations. Volcanoes rise like pyramids to the skies of the Mayan gods.”

Though she knew a great deal about the country, Guermina seemed exotic to her, not familiar as a homeland should be. Just as Spanish was a language she could speak fluently, but it was not her native tongue.

“Maria,” he said, summoning her attention. “Do you know the woman they call Truth? Her name is Juana Sabbatta. She is—”

“I know of her,” Maria said. Her senses prickled. This interview had made a foray into dangerous territory. “A journalist like yourself. A troublemaker.”

“A heroine,” he concluded. “Many people believe she is courageous.”

Her heart beat in double time. A twinge of pain in her forehead warned her that the headache might return. “What could Juana Sabbatta possibly have to do with Jason and me?”

His scrutiny was so thorough that she felt as if she were under a microscope. Then his gaze lifted. She detected a hint of surprise in his voice. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“I know very little.” That much was true. She couldn’t even remember her real name. Maria? Even her name was an alias. Maria was a lie.

Chip asked, “What makes a woman agree to be a mail-order bride?”

She shrugged. How would she know such a thing? Maria wasn’t even sure what a mail-order bride was.

“Come on, Maria. Help me out here. This is romantic stuff. When Jason placed ads in those Spanish newspapers, what caused you to respond?”

“I don’t know.” Had she responded to an ad? She couldn’t remember.

“Why do you suppose he selected you from all the women who wrote back?”

“I cannot say.”

The reporter’s face pulled into a frown. “At least, tell me the logistics. I assume that once you and Jason had decided to be married, he sent money—”

“Money?” she interrupted.

“Pesos. Dinero. For your trip to Maine. Tell me about the arrangements. How does a mail-order bride, like yourself, come into this country? Is there a broker?”

A sour taste invaded her mouth. A broker? From what Chip was saying, she had been imported to be a bride. Jason had advertised and she had answered. The idea disgusted her, and confusion flooded her mind. A mail-order bride?

Though she remembered nothing, she knew that was false. Her sense of pride and self-respect would never allow her to sell herself in marriage...no matter how terrible the circumstance. Why couldn’t she remember? Why hadn’t Jason told her?

She glanced across the room at him, sought the truth in his deep gray eyes. He was watching her carefully. But, of course, he would be. If what Chip said was correct, she was his possession, something he’d bought. It was no wonder that he had kissed her so passionately. She belonged to him. A mail-order bride. Bought and paid for.

What sort of man could do such a thing?

What sort of woman would agree to a forced marriage?

And tonight? When the guests had left, Jason would demand that she perform her wifely duty in bed. The spontaneous wonderment of their kiss became suddenly tawdry and cheap.

Chip was still asking his questions. His voice droned. He touched her forearm. “Maria?”

She jerked away from him. “I am not well,” she said. “I must lie down.”

“But I have a few more questions.”

“Not now.” Quietly she rose and slipped away, finding the small room where she had awakened before the ceremony. She closed the door and went to the window. Beyond a stand of coastal pines, she saw the shimmer of sunlight on water. The Atlantic Ocean was her horizon and her boundary. After everyone else left, she would be isolated on this island. With Jason.

“Maria?” Alice opened the door. “Are you all right? Um, cómo está usted?”

Maria shook her head. The dull aching was back. She sank to the floor beside the window. One hand reached up, rested on the sill, grasping toward freedom. How could she have sold herself? She was so ashamed. No wonder her mind had blanked out the past.

Alice sat on the wingback chair near her. “You’re homesick, aren’t you? Oh, Maria, I wish I could help you.”

But would she? Would Alice help her escape? It seemed doubtful. Alice was Jason’s sister. Her first loyalty would be to him.

“You’re very brave,” Alice said. “I don’t think I could do what you’ve done. Leaving my home and all. You must have been desperate to escape your country.”

Desperate to escape? Yes, Maria thought, I am desperate.

“But you’re very lucky,” Alice said. “Sometimes Jason behaves like a gruff old pelican, but he has a kind heart. And I do believe you will be good for him. After his first wife Elena died...well, he was devastated. I never thought he would marry again. He nursed her all by himself, you know. After the doctors had diagnosed her cancer and said it was hopeless, Jason took care of her—all alone—for months on this island.”

Maria imagined the horror of being trapped here. Dying and imprisoned on a cold island in Maine. Had his first wife been a mail-order bride? “Elena?”

“She looked a little like you. The long, black hair. She was Spanish, too.” Alice gave a little frown. “Well, I’m sure you don’t understand a word of what I’m saying here. I wish I could reassure you, but I guess that’s up to Jason. Now, do you want to lie down for a moment? Or should we cut the cake?”

The door swung wide and Jason maneuvered his way inside. Maria looked at him with new eyes. The tension around his mouth indicated to her that he was holding back his pain. His leg must be bothering him. He didn’t seem like a cruel man, but he was angry. It was strange, she thought, that she could read his emotions more easily than she could understand what was going on inside her own head.

“Leave us, Alice.”

“All righty. But I insist that the both of you come out here and cut the cake. Then the basic ceremonial duties are over, and Maria can rest.”

“We’ll be there shortly,” he said.

Alice left, and he crossed the room. His strides were labored. “Maria, you’ve got to be careful. These people may seem harmless, but we can’t tell. We can’t trust anyone. Not even the reverend.”

She stood, but kept close to the window, as far away from him as possible. Was the danger from other people? Or from him? He was the man who had bought her. Pure rage burned within her, hotter than a forge, but she tempered her emotions. Whatever Jason had done, she’d allowed it. My God, what had happened to her? What insane reasoning had led her to this point? “How could I have gone through with this?”

“What are you talking about?”

He reached for her, and she pulled away. Lithely she darted beyond his arm’s reach.

“Leave me alone,” she said. Her words were English. “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

But he already had. He had taken her name and her freedom. Though she’d agreed, though she had voluntarily repeated her vows before witnesses, the wedding was a sham. She glared defiantly. “You may have bought a mail-order bride, but I’ll never be your wife.”

“What the hell are you—” He took a step toward her, then stopped. “Never mind. Just come out here, cut the damned cake and let’s be done with this charade.”

“This charade, as you call it, is what you want,” she snapped. “This was your idea.”

“The hell it was. If I had my choice, I wouldn’t be here. Pretending.” He tapped his cane impatiently. “I’m not good at espionage.”

“Espionage?” She switched to Spanish again. This was dangerous. She needed to keep her guard up. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid with me. You convinced Chip Harrington with that wide-eyed innocent act of yours. But you don’t have to trick me. I know the truth.”

“How dare you speak of truth!” It was all a lie. Every word, every gesture. He had contrived to bring her here, to keep her isolated on the island. “Will you force me to stay here?”

“Yes,” he said. “Until I receive different orders, you will stay with me.”

He went to the door and rested his hand on the knob. “We’ll cut the cake, then send everyone home. Pretend that you’re happy, my dear little bride.”

“Never. I will ask the reverend to take me back to—” To where? Where was home? “To a safe place.”

“I don’t know what Chip told you, but you’ve got it wrong, Maria. This island is your safety.” The hard expression in his eyes precluded further discussion. “You will do as I say.”

She could stand and fight, here and now, with little chance of winning. The wedding guests were all Jason’s friends. They would think she had a case of nerves. “Poor thing,” they would say, “she’s homesick.” And she did feel ill. She was weak. Her headache drummed in the back of her head. The muscles in her shoulders and back were taut.

“Maria,” he said. “I’m waiting.”

Later, she promised herself. Later, she would find a way off this cold island. She would regain her freedom.

With her head held high, she went toward him. He offered his arm, and she lightly rested her fingertips on his forearm. His nearness should have repulsed her. Instead she shivered with a purely sensual pleasure. His touch aroused her. Why did she find him so attractive? She should have seen cruelty in his arrogant profile, but instead she saw handsome, chiseled features. The very scent of him excited her. Perhaps she had lost her sense of reasoning along with her memory.

When they left the parlor and went toward the large dining room, the other people seemed dangerous to her. How could she tell what was right, what was safe? Their eyes, as they looked at her, seemed intrusive. Their voices grated on her ears.

“Smile, Maria,” Jason whispered.

Automatically her lips responded.

He led her to a table, to the three-tier wedding cake, and he lifted the knife. He prepared to make the first slice, but Alice stopped him. “You’re doing it wrong,” she said. “Both of you are supposed to hold the knife.”

He took her hand and placed it atop his. His flesh was warm, she thought, and hers was cold. Muerte. Cold as death. She must get away from this island where there was danger all around her, stealing her memories. But where would she go? Who could she turn to when she couldn’t remember her name or what had happened to her?

Her gaze focused on the miniature couple that stood atop the cake. Maria never thought her wedding day would be frightening and joyless.

They sliced the cake.

She tasted the sugary chocolate on her tongue as Jason held a piece of cake to her mouth, and she wanted to spit it out, to spit in his face, in the faces of all these false smiles.

“Now, champagne!” Alice said, directing the ceremonies again. She handed Jason and Maria their fluted glasses. “A toast, Jason.”

He lifted his glass and sunlight from the windows reflected on the rising bubbles. “On this wedding day, I welcome my guests to share in these ceremonies, to eat, to drink, to celebrate. I toast my bride, an admirable and beautiful woman who is far from her homeland, testing her wings, seeking a new life. I hope my home will be a comfort for her. My wish, for you, Maria, is everlasting peace and satisfaction.”

He held his glass toward her, and she tapped the crystal rim lightly before she took a sip.

The guests applauded.

“Maria?”

It was Alice, again. Didn’t the woman give up? Maria couldn’t imagine that there was yet another ritual.

“Maria, you must tell us what you wish for. Jason will translate.”

“No need.” Maria tilted her glass toward them, saluting them. In English she said, “I hope for memories...” Any memory, any chance of regaining her own past. “For fulfillment, for happiness, for freedom...and for truth.”

“For truth.”

She heard the voice of Chip Harrington as he repeated her words. In his eyes she saw a glimmer of recognition.