The Wildest Heart

“And we’re sure glad to see you. I think you’ll find your journey worthwhile after we’ve talked.” John Kingman’s voice held a significance I could not miss.

“Ah, that is what I had hoped! And Madame—” Montoya let his eyes linger openly on Monique, his gallantry as exaggerated as usual. “You grow lovelier each time I see you.”

Monique’s tinkling laugh had suddenly become jarring to my ears. Recklessly I glanced again at Lucas, and he was looking at her.

“What a flatterer you are, señor!” And then, her voice becoming almost caressing, “Lucas, you’ve hardly said a word yet. Surely you’re not still angry with me?”

I felt as if I were watching a performance staged solely for my benefit, where everyone was aware of the plot except I.

Lucas shrugged, his eyes not leaving her flushed, laughing face. “Hard to stay angry with someone as pretty as you are. But don’t pull no more tricks like you did the last time.”

She pouted. “No, no—I promise! But you made such a magnificent gladiator! Such a fight!”

Kingman’s laugh was almost complacent. “Monique should have been born in ancient Roman times. As Messalina! But she did promise me that she would try to behave.”

So he knew her—he knew her! And from the looks they exchanged—hers a pouting moue meant to convey apology and his a half-smile that showed he forgave her—it was obvious they had known each other very well. I hated him; I hated her. I hated them all. And most of all, I was angry at myself for having shown all too clearly how shaken I was.

“So—” Montoya said suddenly, his voice almost a purr, “now that we are all here, and we all know each other…”

“Business after supper!” Monique said quickly, and John added: “And drinks before, while we all get reacquainted. What do you say, Mark?”

I could not see Mark’s face, for he stood behind me; but I felt his fingers tighten on my shoulders. It was the only sign he gave of whatever emotion was contained within him, for his voice sounded perfectly amiable.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, although I seem to be the only person here who is not formally acquainted with—señor Montoya’s friend.”

Montoya said smoothly, “But there is no need to be formal among ourselves, is there? Lucas, amigo—you know Mr. Mark Shannon?”

I thought that Lucas took his eyes from Monique with an effort. His voice was curt. “We’ve seen each other. A long time ago.”

“In Socorro, I believe. But as you say, that was a long time ago.”

I would ask myself the questions afterward. I watched Lucas as if I had been starved for the sight of him and had only just recognized my hunger. He had let his whisker stubble grow out into a beard that somehow made him look older—and harder. But his eyes, and the easy grace with which he moved, were the same. And he had not yet looked at me fully and directly. Was it because he could no longer bear the sight of me?

It seemed as if everyone had started to speak at once. Monique was calling to one of the maids, patting the arm of the chair on which she sat invitingly. Jesus Montoya had already seated himself, and was talking to John Kingman.

Suddenly I rose to my feet. A trifle unsteadily, for Mark’s hand caught my arm.

“I think I’ll just go back to my room and freshen up before dinner. You’ll excuse me?”

Every head was turned in my direction. If I wanted Lucas’s attention I had it now. His narrowed eyes touched me for a moment, long enough for me to see the greenness in their depths. And then he had turned back to Monique, who was saying with false concern in her voice: “Rowena hasn’t been feeling well since she’s been here. Pauvre petite! It was all that traveling.”

“I’ll come with you, sweetheart,” Mark said, his voice overly solicitous. And I couldn’t wait to turn my back on all of them.

“Rowena, until you have faced him, and discovered what he is, he would always remain a question in your mind. A raw spot. Don’t you understand why I had to do it? Montoya was one of the men we’d had in mind in any case—I merely asked that he bring Luke Cord with him.”

“And what were you hoping for? That he would refuse? That Montoya would bring him as a prisoner?”

Mark shrugged, but his blue eyes were very bright.

“That might have been a better way. But since he’s obviously here of his own accord, it only means one thing. He’s interested in the plunder. Or perhaps it’s the thought of revenge. Rowena,” his voice sighed, “surely you can see for yourself? Since he learned you are now my wife he’s lost interest in you. Monique is more his type. He could hardly take his eyes off her.”

“You said you hated him!” I couldn’t leave it alone. My voice accused Mark. “You know what happened. How can you stand to talk business with him? Why him?”

“I’m a civilized man, Rowena, and he’s a savage, but perhaps he can be useful to us. And there’s another reason I wanted him here. You see, I love you. And I don’t want Luke Cord between us. I’m hoping that at last you’ll have the opportunity to see him for what he is. A mercenary. An uncivilized killer who would do anything for pay. And if I did not trust in your good judgment in the end,” Mark’s voice hardened almost unrecognizably, “I would have had him killed.”

I turned away from him to the mirror, forcing myself to concentrate on pinning my hair up. As if I had been a cornered animal, with no other place to hide, my wits began to come to my rescue at last.

“Well, it’s done now.” I lifted one bare shoulder as if I did not particularly care. “It’s just that I don’t like to feel tricked, Mark. And particularly by my husband.”