Intimate Strangers Affair Read online

  “I see you’re admiring my dress. Venetian, you know. Don’t you love Venetian? Although I have a secret passion for Greeks.”

  “Sure,” I agreed absently, not really knowing or caring what she was talking about. I looked closer at her narrow knowledgeable eyes. There was something familiar about them that I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry. Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “It’s possible.” She snapped open her fan and gracefully began to wave it just under her eyes, so that the rest of her was masked by a genteel flutter of painted lilac silk.

  Who was she? I never forgot a face or a name, but somehow, I couldn’t remember hers. No time to puzzle it out further. I needed to catch Miguel.

  “Excuse me.” I moved on, ignoring her insulted snort.

  On my way out of the room, I declined several invitations to dance and an offer of champagne punch. During all of my life, no one had ever paid me these types of attentions before. What an inconvenient time for them to start! It was like running an obstacle course full of bumper barrels. Who had invented this insane fashion? It was fine if you kept perfectly still, but I wasn’t. I was chasing after Miguel. I kept bumping into someone’s hoop skirt, apologizing, then bouncing into someone else. Fortunately, no drinks were spilled during my progress, but how I wanted my sensible split skirts right now. I compressed my skirts with both hands so that I could slip more easily between the other women. So what if my hoop tilted up, or people gasped whenever I showed too much ankle? Couldn’t be helped. I had too much work for social niceties right now. I was a woman on a mission. I wouldn’t lose Miguel this time.

  Breathless, I finally reached the edge of the ballroom. Miguel was at the other end of the dim hallway, then he disappeared through the very last door on the right. I glanced over my shoulder. No one was looking. So I picked up my skirts and ran softly down the corridor until I almost reached the final door. I stopped just shy of the threshold when I heard men’s voices, and pressed myself against the wall. I was about to sneak a quick look, when I saw a mirror in a hideous rococo frame on the other side of the hall. In its reflection I could see the entire room.

  Two older men sat at a gaming table. From the look of their brocade vests and hammered silver buttons, they were probably the kind that Margaret had offered to introduce to me. One was portly, his leg propped up on a little ottoman. Gout, no doubt. And still drinking! A glass full of something golden brown rested at his elbow. On the other side of the table sat a gaunt man with wisps of gray side whiskers growing from his cadaverous cheeks. One foot in the grave, indeed. Grunting, he stared down at his gold fob watch, closed the lid with a quick click, then slipped it back into his vest pocket.

  The portly man picked up all the cards and shuffled them. He laid them down again in a neat pile. “Glad to see you, Don Cabrillo.”

  Miguel stood straight and tall, legs slightly apart and ready as if he were standing on a deck. My Captain. I knew him right away, even though I could only see his back.

  “Mister Hamilton, you called,” Miguel said softly.

  The fat man waved a hand to an empty chair. “Make yourself comfortable. All the standing in the world doesn’t make anything happen a little faster. And even if it did, what would you do with all that extra time?”

  Miguel said nothing, only folding his hands in front of him. He waited.

  “Yes, yes. You see, sir, I’ve been discussing with Buckner here, and we have come to an unfortunate conclusion,” the fat man continued. “Or fortunate for you, Don Cabrillo. I fear we need your help once more. Just got a report from General Beauregard. Dixie is holding strong, but the blockade is having its effect.

  “Not an obstacle. The Union navy. No matter.” Miguel lifted his shoulders in the slightest of shrugs.

  The old men exchanged a pleased look.

  “The Confederacy needs the money,” Buckner said with a tight smile.

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Too soon.” Miguel shook his head once. “What kind of cargo?”

  “Comstock silver. And gold,” Buckner said.

  “Mined, or acquired?”

  Buckner opened his mouth to continue speaking, but Hamilton cut him off with a sudden slashing motion of his hand. The fat man looked as if he’d just been offered a free month at a whorehouse. His jolly smile didn’t fit the situation. I didn’t trust him, not by a long shot. So it disturbed me double when Hamilton only chuckled a long while.

  Finally, he said, “Well, sir, I don’t believe it rightly makes a difference to you. Does it?”

  “No,” Miguel replied shortly. “Only there is more risk involved if it’s hot gold. Like the payload from the USS Columbia, for instance. No one has moved it yet. There was a lot of it, and gold is heavy. How much is your cargo worth?”

  “A million dollars,” Hamilton admitted.

  Miguel nodded. “Then we’ll need a stronger ship. Fast, but strong. Well-armed.”

  Hamilton tapped the ends of his fingers together. “Just so, just so. Now tell me, sir. May we once again rely on your terrifyingly efficient hospitality?”

  Miguel regarded him silently for a while. “Tomorrow, midnight. The usual fee. Up front.”

  “Fifty percent now, fifty when you complete the job,” Buckner countered.

  “No. All of it now. I don’t need this job. You on the other hand…”

  “Unacceptable!” The small veins at Buckner’s temples stood out sharply as if they were going to burst at any moment. “Why, that’s unheard of! How do we have any assurance that you’ll finish the job if we pay you off now?”

  “My word, gentlemen.” And the certain way Miguel said it left no doubt that they would do well to trust it. He didn’t need any volume to make himself heard.

  Buckner stood and paced around the room, his hands on his hips so that his elbows jutted out like a large gawky weathervane. He stopped suddenly. “And you ship guns and money for the Union as well. How do you think Uncle Sam might react if he knew that Cabrillo Shipping was assisting the rebel cause? That the famous Don Miguel Cabrillo was nothing more than a money-grubbing turncoat? Treason is punishable by hanging, you know.”

  Miguel remained still. “Threats bore me. They have a way of returning to their sender. Be careful.” He started to turn away.

  “Wait a moment. Now wait a gosh-darned moment here. Let’s not be hasty. Please, Don Cabrillo. Don’t leave. You’ll have to forgive Horace. He’s a lawyer, and lawyers are natural born hagglers. We don’t mean to quibble. Do we, Horace? Really, we’re very grateful. We accept the terms.” Hamilton removed the top from a cut crystal decanter and splashed the liquor into his glass. “Care for some fine, fine Kentucky bourbon, Don Cabrillo? Miss Margaret keeps the best stock. Really and truly. It doesn’t get much finer than this.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Well, I don’t know, Hamilton. Don’t know if I can trust a man who won’t drink with us. Seems kind of shifty to me. Downright ungenerous, you might say.”

  “Come, come. It’s all been a matter of misunderstanding. But it’s cleared up now. After all, we’re all gentlemen here. Let’s not muddy the waters again. Shall we?” Hamilton refilled Buckner’s drink, then pushed another glass to Miguel. He raised his own. “Let us seal the bargain. Gentlemen. To the deal!”

  “Deal,” muttered Buckner, looking suddenly sour, as if his colon was complaining.

  “Salud.”

  The men raised their glasses and clinked them. Miguel tossed back his in two gulps. I shuddered, watching him, knowing that there’d be hell to pay in a few minutes. His liver was not going to be happy about this drink, and unhappy livers had a way of making their feelings well known. Miguel set the glass down again. Without another word, he crossed the room and left through the back entrance. The French doors latched behind him.

  Where was he going now? Into the garden. Not again, I’d lose him for sure. I picked up my skirts and ran the hell out of there.

  ***


  The new moon was a faint silver mark in the sky. As soon as I left the warmth and light of the mansion, I was plunged into darkness. All the trees and shrubs were soft black shapes, and beyond that, was the rounded domed silhouette of a summerhouse. I put my hands out in front of me like a blind person. The blackness of the night felt almost thick enough to hold. How was I ever going to find Miguel here? I walked tentatively along the gravel path, away from the strains of music and into the near silence of the night. I squinted into the inky black night, but couldn’t see hardly a damn thing. I promised myself that I would start eating carrots the next day. Lots of them. My hand brushed against prickly branches and short leaves. A hedge. I circled around it. I walked faster, straining my ears for any sign of him: footsteps, retching, any sounds at all. How was I supposed to find him if I couldn’t hear or see him? This was hopeless. I started jogging, scanning the area around me. There. To the left. What was that sound? Heart racing, I looked over one shoulder.

  “Umph…” I collided into someone head-on. Knocked the breath out of me. My face hit a hard chest, long muscled arms wrapped around me.

  “Let me go!” I spoke in my low surgeon’s voice, the one I used when I meant business. But it wasn’t working here. This was someone who wouldn’t listen to reason. I could tell by the hard planes and ridges of his restraining muscles. I was locked in. I was getting ready to stomp down on his arch or use my head to butt his chin, when his scent finally registered. Bay rum enveloped me just like his arms, and I felt him. All of him. Like a call and response, my body answered, suddenly remembering a sneaky seduction on his bed, a waltz not too long ago. An uncomfortable and inconvenient memory.

  For him too, it seemed. His breath caught. “Niña.”

  That urgent soft voice. It was Miguel. My Captain. Relief and worry swirled uneasily inside me like oil and water. He seemed so familiar, but completely different. Larger. Taller. More dangerous. It emanated from him, a strange and dark charisma. It frightened me thoroughly, the fine hairs raising on the back of my neck. I’d found him all right. Couldn’t get much closer than this, and now that I was here, I didn’t know what to do.

  I swallowed hard. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” he said automatically.

  “Fine. You would say that on your last gasp. You can’t hide from me forever. You were violently sick before the ball. What happened?”

  He shrugged.

  “Did Lin-Mei dose you with any medicine? Did you eat anything dark and oily?”

  “Certainly not.” He seemed to hesitate, then reluctantly said, “Bad food, perhaps. The fish.”

  “No. I ate the fish too, and I’m fine. We ate all the same food.” Except…something was bugging me. Something in the back of my mind. I was trying to remember, but it slipped away again. No matter. Right now I had other matters to take up with him. Abruptly, I poked him in the right upper quadrant of his abdomen.

  He grimaced, his hand protectively rubbing the sore spot.

  I stamped my foot. “See? Look at you. I can’t believe you drank that liquor. With your liver! Idiot. You’ll be puking until Sunday. At least. Serves you right if you turn out looking like a lemon, all yellow. Amarillo Cabrillo.”

  A breath exploded from him. He took my arm and started walking back toward the mansion. The dance music grew louder with each step, and all of a sudden, I felt like a prisoner being marched back to prison.

  “Hey.”

  He ignored me.

  “I’m not going back in there.” I dug my heels into the ground so that gravel spurted out behind me. “We’ve got things to talk about. I mean it, Miguel. I’m not budging until we’re done hashing this out. And I want some privacy to do it.”

  “Privacy.”

  “That’s right.”

  “As you wish.” He stepped off the garden path and deeper into the darkness. The man must have the eyes of a cat, because he steered me around bushes, roses by the scent of them, trees, and strange frozen shapes. I reached out to touch them. Cool and hard, felt like marble. Marble statues, then.

  “Miguel…”

  He squeezed my arm in silent warning. Just ahead, I saw one shadowy shape suddenly sit up and separate into two shapes.

  “Oh, my…” The woman sat on the garden bench and just patted her hair, her companion jerking down his pants.

  I looked away from them toward the house. My cheeks flushed when we walked by the disheveled couple. Miguel remained calm and silent as if he saw this kind of thing every day. Maybe he had. Maybe he went to orgies and those Parisian peep shows everyone was always talking about. The thought sickened me.

  I shook my head. “Can you believe that?”

  Miguel turned to look at me. “It happens.”

  “Sure, yeah. But that garden bench it’s so narrow. Wrought iron, for Pete’s sake. Pretty uncomfortable if you ask me.”

  “What?” He paused mid-step as if frozen by surprise, then resumed walking, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

  “I didn’t crack a joke. What’s so funny?” I had the sneaking suspicion he was laughing at me. I reached around and thumped my fist against his chest. Or tried to.

  He caught it easily, squeezed it, then brought it up to his lips. I could feel his short affectionate kiss through my glove. This time I jerked my burning hand away, but only because he let me go.

  “So practical, niña,” was all he said as we rounded another corner and approached the domed silhouette of the summerhouse, which was Margaret’s pride and joy.

  A miniature version of the Crystal Palace, it boasted brass fittings and pane after pane of frosted glass. An army of servants must spend hours tending to this place. And inside was Miss Margaret’s prized orchid collection; all temperamental plants, requiring delicate care and just the right surroundings.

  Right now, I wasn’t sure if this was the ambience she’d meant, because the sounds drifting through an open window were pretty vigorous, each more rambunctious than the next, high-pitched like a pig squealing. Then finally, after an agonizing second, the sounds shaped into real words. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh, Cornelius!”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Not here, too.”

  “Occupied.”

  “Well, obviously,” I whispered, blushing as we turned around and walked away. “What is it with this place? I’ve never seen anything like this. Everyone is…well, you know. Must be the Pisco punch. Maybe there’s cantharides or something. Turning everyone into a frenzy of…of…”

  “It’s not the drugs,” Miguel said quietly. He pointed to the moon.

  “What? That old changing barometric pressure theory. Lunacy. Absolute lunacy.”

  “No, some people just feel. Romance.”

  “Romance? Come on. That’s something only in horrid novels. Didn’t think you read those.” I looked over my shoulder. “Besides, there’s no one else here. Nobody you have to convince.”

  “No one?” Miguel gave me another of his looks, heavy and deadly. He seemed to be saying something with that look, only I had no idea what. Not for the last time, I wished that he came with an automatic translator, or that I was a mentalist. It would be so much easier, I thought, as we walked under an arbor, then by a fountain. Finally, we stopped by the mouth of the boxwood maze.

  “Here?”

  “Yes.” He pulled us into the entrance, then one foot into the dark shrubbery. The shadows engulfed us.

  I couldn’t see him at all anymore, but I was aware of him. Terribly aware. His presence burned into me as clearly as his image on my retinas. Maybe it was the punch playing havoc with my senses, making me feel uncomfortable inside my own skin. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was Miguel. The man himself.

  Unsure, I hung back on his arm. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

  “The house, then.”

  “No, all right. We’ll stay here,” I said, reluctance slowing down my words. And somehow I felt like I was sealing my own fate.

  Miguel let me go and took a step b
ackwards, folding his arms across his chest. Impervious again, the Don returning. “So you were spying on me. My meeting. How much did you hear?” He spoke matter-of-factly, as if he’d already known all along I’d been there.

  This was bad. Very bad. “Did you see me?”

  Miguel nodded, the shadows shifting over his face. “The mirror. If you can see me, then I can see you.”

  “Angle of reflection. Someone’s darn law of physics. Wouldn’t you know it? Physics always messes everything up,” I said glumly. And I’d thought I’d been doing well up to this point. I was an amateur. “Did the others see me?”

  He sighed. “I don’t think so. I hope not.”

  “Great. Last thing I need are Confederates after me too,” I muttered to myself.

  “Too?”

  “Never mind me. What about you? You were talking to those rebels. Are you pretending to be a blockade runner for Major-” but I didn’t finished. Couldn’t. Because before I could say another word, Miguel suddenly grabbed my shoulders. He crushed me against him, his hand curving and cupping my head to meet his. Our mouths touched, lips sliding hungrily against lips. Then one unsteady heartbeat later, he consumed me, absolutely swallowing the end of my sentence and any conscious thought I might have. I couldn’t breathe. His kisses stole every last molecule of my air. His hands swept over me once, twice, each time more drugging than the next.

  “Querida,” he said thickly, loudly, breaking off. Then he whispered into my ear. “Two men. Approaching.”

  I automatically stiffened his arms. Men? Where? I hadn’t heard them. No, wait. The clink of a watch fob. Footsteps. Yes, pausing now that the men had overheard us. But instead of leaving like we had left the other couple inside the summerhouse, they lingered somewhere near us as if waiting for a good show. I froze.