She already had, repeatedly, in the few weeks since they’d met. To him the time seemed longer than most of his life. He wasn’t a man who needed decades to determine his feelings for a woman. With Sancha, he’d fallen in an instant. Each day without her added to his torment.
He frowned.
“Oh no.” Isabella regarded him closely. “Have you lost interest in her already?”
She’d made him sound like the worst sort of beast when he was the one in pain. “It would appear your sister has never shared my passion.”
She flicked her hand dismissively. “You need to woo her as Fernando wooed me.”
“When he believed you were Sancha, his betrothed, or after he learned your true identity?”
“Both.” She grinned despite the hell she’d put him, Fernando, and two of their other brothers through. “Everything worked out as it should.”
Indeed. Sancha had never wanted to wed Fernando. With Isabella taking her place, she remained blissfully unattached in order to torture Enrique with his endless yearning. “Where is my brother?”
“Resting before the meal. I insisted he do so until his strength returns.”
“Fernando allows you to order him about?”
Her slender eyebrows lifted slightly. “You believe I or anyone could make demands of a warrior-knight? Never. I request and woo. Something for you to keep in mind with my sister.” She searched the crowd and inclined her head. “There she is.”
God help him, Enrique couldn’t resist staring.
Bathed in the light of candles and oil lamps, she seemed unearthly, an angel sent to visit mere mortals, her complexion creamy and flawless, streaks of gold highlighting her auburn hair, a shimmering mass of temptation.
He locked his knees to steady himself, lost in her allure.
She stepped deeper into the room, emerald skirt swaying, her gown cut modestly, though still providing a hint of her ripe breasts and narrow waist. Unlike the other women here, she wore no jewels to prove her wealth, which was considerable. She was sole heir to her late parents’ estate, her holdings as vast as his.
Caballeros watched as she passed.
She didn’t glance at any of them.
Enrique wasn’t about to suffer such treatment for himself any longer. Tonight he would change everything between them. First though, she had to look at him. To see him.
She stared into the distance, lost in her own world. A server passed too close and brushed her arm. Despite his heavy tray, he stopped and inclined his head in apology. She offered a gentle smile and stepped back to give him more room, her gaze touching Enrique.
He stilled, unable to draw a full breath. Pleasure registered on her lovely face, followed by the same longing he’d seen during their previous encounters, her dark eyes luminous with unmasked desire.
They wouldn’t satisfy their craving for each other easily. She may have believed she was independent and even enjoyed playing a role more suited to a male. However, she still had a woman’s need for a man to thrill and protect her within his strong embrace.
He fully intended to be that man. His inertia broke. He stepped toward her.
Her passion instantly turned to caution.
Fearing she might bolt, he prepared to give chase.
Isabella dug her fingers into his sleeve. “Give me a moment with her. My sister is shy.”
Sancha’s impassioned expression upon seeing him had said otherwise. Hunger had burned deep within her, simply waiting to be free.
“Stay here.” Isabella patted his sleeve and brushed past the others.
Enrique waited a moment, lost patience, and followed. Another hand clamped on his arm. He gritted his teeth and turned.
Luscinda de Cortés held onto him, her strength surprising, her expression too eager. He would have expected such desperation from a homely woman, not her. She was remarkably beautiful, her snowy skin, long black hair, and dark eyes enhancing her sultry features. Her full lips had surely given many caballeros pleasant dreams. The scandalous cut of her red silk gown barely covered her ample breasts, quivering with each breath she took. Numerous pearl necklaces studded with diamonds graced her long throat.
From the rumors he’d heard, her clothing and gems represented the full sum of her family’s wealth. A matter her mamá, Señora de Cortés, seemed determined to change, allowing her daughter to dress as she had tonight to catch a rich husband. The older woman stood to the side, watching closely.
He regarded Luscinda’s hand on his arm.
A painfully long moment passed before she finally released him. “So good to see you here, Enrique.”
Where else would he be with Fernando celebrating his and Isabella’s union? Given how their wedding had come about, he’d suspected his brother might need help defending against any unkind comments or gossip.
He, on the other hand, needed to keep Luscinda and her grasping family away from himself. Rather than address him as Don Enrique, as good manners required, she’d addressed him as a betrothed or a man who was already her husband. He’d willingly face death before wedding her or anyone other than Sancha. Rather than explain the obvious, he bowed his head slightly. “Doña Luscinda.”
Señora de Cortés snapped her fan and beat the air with the thing. He pretended not to notice the woman’s outrage at his failure to add señorita to his greeting, affording her daughter even greater respect.
Luscinda’s expression remained inviting and seductive. Color stained her cheeks, her pupils dilating unnaturally, possibly the result of using belladonna in her eyes and on her face. The poison was supposed to enhance a woman’s beauty, if it didn’t kill her first.
He hardly wished her harm, wanting only to have her bother someone else. Perhaps if he simply ignored her, she’d drift away. He glanced at Sancha. She neared one of the tables, speaking to Isabella as if no one else in the room existed, not even him.
He huffed.
“Poor Sancha.” Luscinda looked to where he had and inched closer to him, her fragrance heavy and cloyingly sweet. “We must understand what she goes through and pity her.”
His chest tightened with indignation, fury heating his face. “What did you say?”
She stepped back, her smile faltering. “I meant no harm. Everyone feels quite badly for her. Any woman would be shamed at having lost her betrothed to a younger sister, leaving her alone and unwanted at such an advanced age. Fernando surely had his reasons for spurning her and the great wealth she could have brought to their union. However, she has no recourse now except to enter the order and remain at the convent. As soon as she returns there, of course. Perhaps she prefers such a sad fate rather than fulfilling her duty as a wife and mother as the rest of us long for.”
Señora de Cortés stopped working her fan despite perspiration dotting her
