Master of El Corazon

mor...

It was amazing, how they’d misjudged each other. She had thought him the enemy, but now she knew he was a kind, caring man—and he loved her.

It would have been wonderful if he’d said so, during the night. But she understood his reticence. Men were like that, she supposed; they found it easier to show their feelings than to talk about them—and Conor had surely shown his. She raised her hand to her mouth, where she could almost still feel the heat of his kisses, and then she draped the towel over the rack and hurried into the bedroom.

The things she’d worn to the fiesta were dumped on a chair near the window, crumpled like the petals of an old bouquet. Conor must have scooped the discarded clothing from the floor. A little tremor of pleasure raced through her as she remembered the way he’d undressed her, leaving behind a trail of garments that had wound from the bedroom door to the bed.

She picked up her blouse and skirt and shook them out, but they were both wrinkled beyond repair. Well, there was no choice but to wear them while she went to her own room for a change of clothes.

What was that? The blouse and skirt slipped from her hand and she moved to the dresser, where a white slip of paper with her name scrawled across it stood propped atop a neatly folded pair of faded jeans and a navy T-shirt.

Arden took the note and opened it.

Good morning, querida,

I was going to go to your room and get you something of your own to put on, but then I decided I’d much rather see you wearing my things. When you’re ready, come down to the terrace and join me. We have much to discuss.

Arden shut her eyes. How right he was, she thought, and she brought the note to her lips.

‘I love you, Conor,’ she whispered.

Quickly, she pulled on the jeans and cotton shirt and ran her fingers through her hair. Then, barefoot, she made her way down the stairs.

The house was quiet, as it always was at this hour of the day. Arden knew the pattern by now. Inez spent her mornings in the kitchen, preparing for lunch and dinner, overseeing the maids who giggled softly to each other as they pared vegetables or polished silver.

Ordinarily, Conor would be riding the finca, checking on the cattle and the horses and the coffee shrubs. Or perhaps he’d be in the library, frowning over the ledgers—but not today.

Arden smiled as she padded quietly down the hall. Today, he’d be waiting for her, waiting to tell her that he wanted her for the rest of his life, that he...

‘...ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous, Conor! How could you let this happen?’

The voice was coming from the library, snaking out the half-opened door like a cold draught. Arden stumbled to a halt, her smile gone. No, she thought unhappily, oh, no, please, don’t let it be Linda. Not yet. She wasn’t due until hours from now.

‘Who would believe such a thing, Conor? Surely, not your attorneys!’

Arden sank back against the wall. It was Linda, all right. There was no mistaking that husky voice, even though anger had honed it to a sharp edge.

‘You told me—assured me—that this codicil is not worth the paper it’s written on!’

Arden blew out her breath. Linda was talking about the will.

‘Linda.’ Conor spoke with quiet patience. ‘Listen to me.’

‘No,’ the girl said angrily. ‘Why should I? I listened and listened, and where did it lead me?’

‘Linda, mi amor, please. Calm down and try and understand.’

Mi amor. Arden swallowed drily. My love. That was what he called her, not Linda...

She gave herself a little shake. What nonsense! It was like any other term of endearment. You could call your sister your love, or your cousin—or your lover. The special meaning came from the way you said the words, not from the words themselves.

‘I tell you, I did listen,’ Linda said angrily. ‘I listened when you told me Felix would come to care for me in good time, but he never did. I listened when you said I would never have to worry—’

‘And you won’t,’ Conor said. ‘Have I ever let you down? Have I?’

Arden bit down on her lip. It was wrong to stand here and listen to this. Linda was upset about things that were private, family matters she didn’t yet understand.

But what should she do? Should she walk the few steps to the library door or clear her throat loudly, let Conor and Linda know she’d overheard them? Should she tiptoe back the way she’d come, go to her room and wait for Conor to come looking for her?