Читать книгу Romancing The Crown: Leila and Gage - Kathleen Creighton - Страница 13

Chapter 6

“So this is Texas.” Leila tried to keep any hint of disappointment out of her voice as she peered through the windows of the big American car at the jumble of tall buildings and looping ribbons of freeways filled with cars—so many cars, all moving slowly along like rivers of multicolored lava.

“It’s Houston,” her husband replied in that drawling way he spoke sometimes.

Glancing over at him, Leila saw that the corner of his mouth had lifted in a smile—a smile nothing at all like the one that had lit his face like sunshine when he turned in the palace garden to watch the flight of the bird. The one she held tightly in her memory as if to a sacred talisman. Nevertheless, she felt encouraged by it. She had seen him smile seldom enough in the twenty or so hours that she had been his wife.

His wife…I am a wife. He is my husband…. How many times had she repeated those words to herself, sitting beside him in airplanes and cars and airport lounges, standing with him in queues, facing him across restaurant tables? And still the words seemed unreal to her…totally without meaning.

Sitting beside him in the airplanes—that had been the worst part. Sitting so close to him, for hours and hours and hours on end! So close, even in the roomy first-class seats, that she could feel the heat of his body…smell his unfamiliar scent…and, if she was not very careful, sometimes her arm would brush against the sleeve of his jacket. When that happened, prickles would go through her body as if she had received an electric shock. Once…she must have fallen asleep, because she had awakened to discover that her head had been resting on his shoulder. Mortified, she had quickly made her apology, to which he had grunted a gruff reply. Then, looking uncomfortable and shifting restlessly about, he had offered her a pillow.

She had tried very hard to stay awake after that, and as a result now felt fuzzy-headed and queasy with exhaustion. But, she thought, mentally squaring her shoulders, I will not complain. She was a princess of Tamir, after all, and a married woman, not a child. And even as a child had been much too proud to show weakness or fear.

“It is not quite what I expected,” she said lightly, letting her dimples show.

He threw her a glance, a very quick one since he was driving. “In what way?”

“I thought it would be more open—you know, like in the movies. Fewer people, fewer buildings… And,” she added, gazing once more out of the windows, “not so many trees.” In fact, she had never seen so many trees in all her life, not even in England. In some places they made solid curtains, like tapestries woven of green threads, on both sides of the highway.

Her husband laughed softly, deep down in his chest. She had never heard him make that sound before, and she decided she liked it, very much. It made her feel warm, with quivers of laughter in her own insides.

“Like I said, this is Houston—that’s east Texas. The kind of wide open spaces you’re talking about, that’s west Texas. Out in the hill country and beyond. I have a place—guess you could call it a ranch—out there.” He threw her another of those tight, half-smiling glances. “Which I guess you’ll probably see…eventually.”

She caught her lip between her teeth to contain her excitement. “Are we going there now?”

He answered her again with laughter—indulgent this time. “Not hardly. It’d take the rest of today and most of tomorrow to drive out there. Texas is a bi-ig place.”

“Yes,” Leila said with a little shiver of suppressed delight, “I know.” She felt her husband’s eyes touch her, but did not turn to see what was in his glance.

Instead, looking through the window at the unending wall of trees, she asked, “You live here, then? In Houston?”And her momentary happiness evaporated with the realization that she knew so little about the man she had married—not even where he lived.

“Near there. We’ve got a ways to go, though, so if you want to, you can just put your head back and sleep.”

“Oh, no,” she said on a determined exhalation, “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Wake up, Princess,” said a deep and gentle voice, very near. “We’re home.”

Home. Leila’s eyes opened wide and she jerked herself upright. Her heart was pumping very fast and she felt jangly from waking up too suddenly. She must have been disoriented, too, because the view through the car’s windshield seemed oddly familiar to her, like something she had seen in a movie. Not a western movie. Maybe one about the American Civil War.

They were driving slowly down a long, straight avenue with trees on both sides—not a solid wall, but huge trees with great spreading branches that met overhead like a lacy green canopy. Sunlight dappled the grassy drive with splotches of gold, and somewhere in all those branches she could hear birds singing—familiar music, but different songs sung in different voices. Eager to hear them better, she rolled down the car window, then gasped as what felt like a hot, damp towel slapped her face.

Cade looked over at her and drawled, “Might want to keep that window closed,” though she was already hurrying to do just that. “You’re probably not used to the humidity.”

A squirrel scampered across the road in front of them, and Leila gave another gasp, this one of delight. Again Cade glanced at her, but this time he didn’t speak.

Now, far down at the end of the shaded avenue, the trees were opening into a pool of sunlight. The driveway made a circle around an expanse of bright green lawn bordered by low-growing shrubs and flowers. On the other side of the lawn, twin pillars made of brick with lanterns on top flanked a shrub-and flower-bordered walkway. The walkway led to brick steps and a wide brick porch with tall white columns, and tall double doors painted a dark green that almost matched the trees. On either side of the porch and above it as well, large windows with many small panes and white-painted shutters gave the red brick house a sparkly-eyed, welcoming look.

Again, Leila drew breath and said, “Oh…” but this time it was a long, murmuring sigh. She thought it a lovely house—small compared to the royal palace of Tamir, but plenty large enough for one family to live in.

Family. Are we, Cade and I…will we ever be…a family?

She felt a peculiar squeezing sensation around her heart.

Two people—a man and a woman—had come out of the tall green doors and were waiting for them, standing side by side on the porch between two of the white columns. Neither was tall, but the woman’s head barely topped the man’s shoulder.

He was thin and bony, with legs that bowed out, then came together again at his western-style boots, as if they had been specially made to fit around the girth of a horse. His white hair was slicked back and looked damp, and he had a thick gray moustache that almost covered his mouth, a stark contrast to skin as brown and wrinkled as the shell of a walnut. He wore blue jeans and in spite of the heat, a long-sleeved blue shirt. One gnarled hand, dangling at his side, held a sweat-stained cowboy hat.

The woman seemed almost as wide as she was tall, with a face as round and smooth as a coin. She had shiny blackcurrant eyes and skin the exact color of the gingerbread cookie people Leila had learned to love as a schoolgirl in Switzerland and England. Her hair, mostly black with only a few streaks of gray, was cut short and tightly curled all over her head, and she wore a loose cotton dress that was bright with flowers.

“That’s Rueben and Betsy Flores,” Cade said before Leila could ask, nodding his head toward the couple on the porch. “They take care of the place for me.”

“They are your servants?”

He answered her with that sharp bark of laughter. “Well…they work for me. But they’re more…friends. Or family.”

“Ah,” said Leila, nodding with complete understanding. Like Salma, she thought. “And…they live here also? With you?”

Cade shook his head. “They have their own place, down by the creek.” He stopped the car in front of the steps and turned off the motor.

Time to face the music, he thought. And inexplicably his heart was beating hard and fast, as if he was a teenager bringing a girl home to meet his parents. He took a sustaining breath and reached for the doorhandle.

But his bride’s hand, small and urgent, clutched at his arm. In a low, choked-sounding voice she said, “Did you tell them? Do they know?” Turning, he saw panic in her eyes.

His throat tightened with that strange protective tenderness. “It’s okay, I called them from the airport in New York and filled them in.” Except for the part about his new bride being a princess. And, he thought, even without that they’re probably still in a state of shock. But impulsively, he put his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze before he reached once more for the doorhandle.

He went around the car and as he opened her door for her, leaned down and said in a low voice, “I should warn you—Rueben’s great with horses and dogs, but he’s kind of shy with two-legged animals, so he probably won’t say much. Betsy’ll hug you. They were born in Mexico but now they’re American through and through—I doubt they’re much up on royal protocol.”

“That is quite all right,” Leila said coolly. “Since I am an American now, too.”

While he was still trying to think of a response to that, she belied it by extending a regal hand and allowing him to help her out of the car. She released him at once, though, and stood for a moment, squinting a little in the hot sunlight, smoothing the skirt and tugging at the jacket of the once-elegant, now badly wrinkled designer suit she’d worn all the way from Tamir. Then, before he could even think to offer her his arm, she slipped past him and started up the walk alone.

And for some reason, instead of hurrying to catch up with her, Cade stood there for a moment and watched the woman who was now his wife…slender and graceful in a travel-worn and rumpled suit the color of new lilacs, her head, with hair coming loose from its elegant twist, held proudly.

American? Well, maybe, he thought with something like awe. But somehow still every inch a princess.

As he watched his bride with dawning wonder, he was surprised by yet another alien emotion—an unexpected surge of pride. It made his eyes sting and his nose twitch, and he had to clear his throat before he went to join her on the porch.

He got there just in time to see her hold out her hand to Rueben and say in her musical, slightly accented voice, “Hello, I am Leila. You must be Rueben. I am very happy to meet you. Cade has told me so much about you.”

It was a graceful little lie—he hadn’t done any such thing. And he should have, he realized now. Lord knows he’d had plenty of time, all those hours on various planes and vehicles, waiting around in airports; time to tell her more than she probably wanted to know about himself, his home, his life. The truth was, he’d barely spoken to her at all during the trip home—just what was necessary between two strangers sharing the same space, no more. He tried to excuse his behavior now by telling himself it was because they’d both been in a state of shock, that he’d been trying to let her rest…sleep a little, which was hogwash. The reason he hadn’t spoken was because he hadn’t known what to say to her. He still didn’t.

By this time, Leila had turned to Betsy, holding out her hand, face all decked out in dimples. “Hi, you must be—” was as far as she got, though, because just like he’d said she would, Betsy was already hugging the stuffing out of her, cooing to her like one of her little lost puppies.

And no sooner had that thought entered Cade’s head than here they came—Betsy’s mob of adopted mutts, barking and baying and wiggling and whining, falling over themselves and everybody else trying to be the first to slobber all over the newcomer.

In those first chaotic seconds Cade had his hands full, along with Rueben and Betsy, pushing and scolding and grabbing at collars. So he didn’t notice right away that Leila had gone rigid as a post. By the time he did notice, she’d already started backing up, moving stiffly with tiny jerky steps, like a statue trying to walk. She kept backing up until she bumped into Cade’s chest, then tried to back up some more, as if, he thought, she was trying to crawl inside his skin.

His first instinct was to wrap her in his arms and help her to do that any way he could. His heart was kicking like a crazy thing against her back and his skin had gone hot and prickly, as if he’d gotten too close to a fire.

Ignoring all that, he took her gently by her upper arms and moved her a couple of inches away from him, then leaned down to mutter gruffly in her ear. “They won’t bite. They’re just saying hello.”

“Are they…yours?” Her voice was trying hard to be normal.

“Nah—they’re Betsy’s. She picks ’em up here and there. The woman can’t resist a stray.”

“I am sorry.” The tiniest of tremors skated beneath his fingers. “I did not mean to be rude. I am not used to dogs—” she gave a breathless little laugh “—so many at one time.”

Cade murmured, “Don’t worry about it.” His tongue felt thick and his thumbs wanted to stroke circles on the tender muscle hiding underneath the fabric of her jacket.

Meanwhile, Betsy and Rueben had managed to corral the dogs, not as many as they’d seemed, now that they were relatively still—only four, in fact. Somehow or other, Betsy managed to exchange her pair of dogs for Leila, and, cooing and fussing, maneuvered her through the pack and into the house. The front door closed firmly behind the two women, leaving Cade, Rueben and the dogs outside on the porch.

For several seconds the two men just stood there, saying nothing at all. Forgotten, the dogs scattered about their business, looking chastened or pleased with themselves, according to their various natures.

Cade cleared his throat and made a half turn. Rueben touched a hand to the top of his head and then, as if surprised to find it bare, resettled his hat into its customary place. He gave one shoulder a hitch. “Give y’hand with the suitcases?”

“Naw, in a little bit.” Cade started down the steps, Rueben clumping stiff-legged beside him. Cade glanced over at him. “Things go okay while I was gone?”

Rueben hitched his shoulder again. “Sure. No problems.”

At the bottom of the steps, both men turned by unspoken agreement and headed along the side of the house and around back toward the stables. “Suki have her foal yet?” Cade asked.

Rueben shook his head. “Two…maybe three more days.”

“Yeah? How’s she doing?”

“Doin’ good…real good.”

That was as far as conversation went, until they reached the stables.

Cade went to check on Suki first, naturally. She was his best mare—dapple gray with a black mane and tail, charcoal mask and legs, a real beauty—and this would be her first foal. Not that he was worried. If Rueben said she was doing okay, then she was. But he looked her over anyway, because it made him feel good doing it, and he and Rueben discussed her condition and care the way they always did, which was mostly mutters and grunts with the absolute minimum number of actual words. Then he went out to the paddock to look over the rest of his stock—two mares with spring foals and three more pregnant ones due later in the summer.

He was leaning on the fence railing watching the foals trotting around after their dams, fuzzy little brush tails twitching busily at flies, when Rueben came to join him.

“Doin’ real good,” he said.

Cade nodded. He’d been wondering why the sight wasn’t giving his spirits a boost the way it was supposed to.

“So,” said Rueben after a silence, “you got married, huh?”

Cade surprised himself with a hard little nugget of laughter, which he gulped back guiltily. “Yeah…I guess I did.”

“Pretty sudden.”

He didn’t try to stop the laugh this time. “You could say that.”

Rueben mulled that over. “Pretty girl,” he said after awhile, nodding his head in a thoughtful way.

Cade nodded, too. “Yeah…” and he changed the nod to a wondering little shake “…she is that.”

“Seems nice,” said Rueben. He stared hard at the toes of his boots, then kicked at the dirt a couple of times, and finally turned to offer Cade his hand. “Congratulations.”

They shook, and Rueben gave his shoulder a hitch. “I’m gonna go get those suitcases now.” He walked rapidly away in the bowlegged, rump-sprung way older men do when they’ve spent a good part of their lives sitting on the back of a horse.

Cade thought about going to help him, but for some reason didn’t. He stayed where he was, leaning on the fence, watching the foals cavort in the sunshine, smelling the familiar smells of grass and straw and horse manure, feeling the humidity settle around him like a favorite old shirt. This was his world. It was where he belonged. It was good to be home. Home…

And then he thought, What in heaven’s name have I done?

Having suffered through the pain of his parents’ divorce at an age when his own adolescent struggles were just getting underway, he’d come to believe with all his heart and soul that if two people got married it ought to be forever. It was why he’d never been tempted to try it himself—he just didn’t think he had it in him to make that kind of commitment. And here he was, not only had he gone and committed himself, but to a girl ten years younger, from the other side of the world, with whom he had nothing in common with, and barely knew!

He patted his shirt pocket, looking for the comfort of a cheroot, which Betsy wouldn’t let him smoke in the house. Then, remembering they were still packed away in a suitcase, he gazed up into the milky haze and sighed.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, he thought, but…well, it was what Rueben had said. Leila was a very pretty girl—downright beautiful, actually—but more than that, yes, she was nice. Sure, she was a princess, and spoiled and pampered and very, very young. But she had a bright and buoyant spirit. And he’d come to realize, even in the short time he’d known her, that she also had a kind and loving heart. She deserved someone who would love her back, someone who would make her happy. As he was certain he never would.

His chest swelled and tightened, suddenly, with that familiar surge of protective tenderness, and he brought his closed fist down hard on the fence railing. Dammit, he thought, I can’t do this to her. I can’t.

At the time, he remembered, it had seemed to him he’d had no choice. Converting…marrying Leila…it had looked like the only reasonable course of action open to him. But that had been back there, in The Arabian Nights world of Tamir. Here, with the green grass of Texas under his boots, he knew it was impossible. Not so much the conversion—he’d never had any particular religious beliefs one way or another, so what difference did it make what label he carried? But marriage, now, that was different. Marriage involved somebody else, not just him. In this case, a nice, lovely girl. A princess. And a virgin princess, at that.

His fist tightened on the fence railing. Somehow or other, he was going to have to find a way out of this—for both their sakes. And in the meantime…well, the very least he could do, Cade figured, was see that the virgin princess came out of this marriage in the same condition as when she went in….

It was late—almost midnight—and Leila was growing more nervous and apprehensive by the minute. Surely, she told herself, Cade would come soon. He must be tired after such a long journey. Why did he not come to bed?

This was his bedchamber—bedroom—she must remember to call it that, now that she was to be an American. Betsy had told her so. “And yours, now, too,” the round, kind-faced woman had said, and had given Leila’s hand a happy squeeze.

Betsy’s husband, Rueben, had brought her suitcases here along with Cade’s, and then Betsy had helped her with the unpacking until it was time for her to go and prepare the evening meal. She had even rearranged things in the dresser drawers and spacious closets to make room for Leila’s things. So few things, really—she had left Tamir in such a hurry. The rest of her belongings would be packed into boxes and shipped to her later, though where she would find room for them all here was a mystery to her.

But would she even need so many things…so many beautiful clothes, hats, designer shoes…now that she was married to Cade Gallagher and living in Houston, Texas? She didn’t know. There were so many things she didn’t know.

It had all happened so fast. She had barely had time to say goodbye to her mother and sisters, to Salma, and Nargis. Thinking about them now, she felt a frightened, hollow feeling, and for one panicky moment was afraid she might begin to cry. She took several deep breaths and blinked hard until the feeling went away. I must not cry—what would Cade think?

Perhaps it was just that she was so tired. It seemed a lifetime since she had slept. Cade’s bed—big and wide and covered with a puffy comforter in masculine colors, a burgundy, blue-and-green paisley print—looked inviting. But Leila didn’t dare to lie down. She didn’t dare even sit. In fact, she had taken to pacing, not so much out of nervousness, although she definitely was, but because she was afraid if she stopped moving she would fall asleep. She had refused wine at dinner for the same reason—even the mild vintages at home made her sleepy.

Cade, she had noticed, drank strong black coffee with his meal, and afterward a small glassful of something the same golden brown color as his eyes. Bourbon, he said it was, when she asked. After that he had excused himself and gone into his study—to make some phone calls, he told her.

Betsy had shown her Cade’s study, on her tour of the house. To Leila it had seemed the most fascinating of rooms, full of photographs and books and all sorts of personal things that belonged to Cade. There had been a photograph of Cade with his mother and father, taken when Cade was very young, and Leila remembered that Kitty had told her that Cade’s mother and father were both dead. She had felt a warm little flash of sadness for the eager-looking golden-haired boy in the picture. There had been a blackand-white photograph of a bearded man dressed in overalls, standing amongst a forest of tall wooden oil derricks—Cade’s grandfather, Betsy had told her, and he had been a “wildcatter.” What was a wildcatter? Leila had longed to ask that question and so many others, to study the pictures and ask about them…to learn more about the stranger who was her husband.

But there had not been time, then. And after dinner Cade had gone into his study and Leila had dared not intrude.

Instead, she had gone alone to this, the bedroom they would share, to prepare herself for bed. And for her husband.

Butterflies. Oh yes, they were all over inside her, not just in her stomach, but everywhere under her skin. They had caught up with her in the bathroom she and Cade were to share, as she arranged her personal things, her bottles and jars of powders and scents, oils and lotions, her hair brushes, toothpaste and shampoo. There were two sinks, one of which, she assumed, was meant to be hers. The other, barely an arm’s length away, was Cade’s. And yes, there were his personal things, neatly arranged around it.

Daringly, unable to help herself, she picked up a bottle labeled Aftershave Lotion and sniffed it. So this is my husband’s scent, she thought. But it was not yet familiar to her. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him there next to her, brushing his teeth, shaving, patting the spicy lotion onto his smooth, clean skin…and all the while the butterflies frolicked merrily.

She tried to relax away the butterflies in a warm bath scented with jasmine, but although the water made her limbs and muscles feel warm and limp and heavy, the hard fluttery knot in her belly remained. And there was something else—a new, squirmy, quivery feeling between her legs. When she put her hand there and pressed against the quivering, she felt her pulse in the soft places beneath her fingertips, a slow, heavy pace.

She thought, then, about what Salma had told her, that there might be pain the first time she made love with a man. She thought of the bottle of soothing oil her former nanny, with tears in her eyes, had pressed into her hands as she was helping her to pack. A cold little gust of homesickness and dread swept through her, taking away the butterflies and leaving a great hollow void in their place.

I must not be afraid. A woman’s first duty as a wife was to please her husband sexually. How could a man—how could Cade—find pleasure in sex if he knew that his wife was afraid? Clearly, there was only one thing to be done. I must think of some way to not be afraid.

And no sooner had she thought that, lying there in the water’s warm embrace, with the sweet scent of jasmine melting into her pores and seeping into her senses, then here came the memories…vivid, tactile memories…sweeping away all thoughts of Salma and pain and homesickness and fear.

Cade’s chest…a landscape of gentle hills and unexpected valleys her lips had explored like a greedy treasure hunter on the trail of lost gold…smooth, warm skin and a musky scent, unfamiliar but intoxicating as wine…the hard little buttons of his nipples…an intriguing texture of hair that tickled when she touched it with her nose….

The throbbing between her legs became heavier. She arched and squirmed sinuously as, under the water, her hands slid over her body, unconsciously following the same paths as the images in her mind. But, oh, what a difference there was between her own curves, and the hard planes and sculpted hollows of the male body she remembered…the body that invaded her thoughts, quickening her pulse and heating her cheeks at the most unexpected and inappropriate times. Cade’s body. And now, her husband’s.

My husband…will he desire me now? Now that I am his wife? Will he kiss me again the way he did that night on the terrace?

Her heart gave a sickening lurch, as though it were trying to turn upside down inside her chest. Trembling like someone just risen from a sickbed, Leila climbed out of the bathtub and wrapped herself in a thick, soft towel. She dried herself quickly, ignoring the shivers, then bravely tossed aside the towel and naked, faced her blurred reflection in the steam-fogged mirror. With her lips pursed in a thoughtful pout, she turned this way and that, trying to see herself from all angles. Yes…her breasts were full and yet still firm, with the nipples tightened now into hard, tawny buds…hips also full, but, she thought, not too wide…slender waist and firm, flat stomach…thighs wellmuscled—probably from horseback riding—and her buttocks, what she could see of them, round and smooth, and, she hoped, not too big.

Almost as an afterthought, with a defiant little flourish, she pulled out the combs and pins that held her hair high atop her head and let it tumble, thick and dark, down her back and over her shoulders. As she watched it her breathing quickened. Her lips parted and a rosy flush spread across her cheeks. The eyes that looked back at her in the mirror seemed to kindle and glow, as if from a fire somewhere in their depths.

He kissed me. He desired me then, I know he did.

Confidence welled up in her like a fountain, and her thirsty soul found it more intoxicating, more erotic than wine. He desired me once, and I will make him desire me again.

Buoyed on a magic carpet of restored self-confidence and new resolve, Leila brushed her teeth and her hair and rubbed her skin with scented oil until it felt soft and smooth as silk. She put on a modest but alluring gown in a soft, shimmery blue-green—the color of the water in a shallow cove near the palace where she and her sisters liked to swim and sunbathe. Somewhere along the line she noticed that the butterflies had come back, although now it did not seem at all an unpleasant sensation.

I am ready, she thought as she paced nervously, glancing from time to time at the clock on Cade’s bedside table. Ready for my husband…

It was half past midnight when she heard the creak and scuffle of footsteps outside Cade’s bedroom door. Her heart skittered and bolted like the squirrel she had seen that afternoon in the lane as she watched the doorknob slowly turn and the door swish inward, silent and stealthy as a thief in the night, to frame the tall, imposing figure of her husband.

For a moment he hesitated, looking as if he wasn’t sure whether he’d got the right room. Then he stepped through the doorway and carefully closed the door behind him. All the while his eyes never left her face, and they reflected the glow of the lamps she’d turned on low beside the bed so that they seemed to catch fire and flare hot as he looked at her.

Her stomach gave a lurch as the magic carpet of confidence she’d been riding on went into a steep crash dive.