Sweet Promise Page 7

  The sky was pitch-black. By the time she was able to wave down a cab and arrive at her hotel, the first glimmers of dawn were lighting the sky in the east. The night life of Acapulco ran from dusk till dawn, so there were few glances from the hotel staff at her early morning return.

  Once in her room, Erica walked directly to the shower, discarding her gown in the wastebasket and willing the sharp spray of water to banish the licentious memories that burned so vividly. It was futile. They were seared there beyond recall.

  As she re-entered her room, the door to the connecting suite opened. For a split second, she froze in terror, half expecting to see Rafael standing in the doorway. Instead it was Lawrence, a maroon robe tied around his waist, his fingers raking his thinning hair.

  ‘I thought I heard someone stirring in here.’ A yawn punctuated his sentence. ‘What are you doing up at this hour?’

  Erica was between Lawrence and the bed. Chances were he hadn’t seen that it hadn’t been slept in and he obviously believed she had come in much earlier. She was too ashamed and humiliated by her own conduct to tell him what had happened.

  ‘I’m getting ready to leave,’ she replied tautly.

  ‘Vance had a maid pack most of your things.’ A sleepy smile crooked the corners of his thin mouth. ‘He left me behind to see that you made the plane — which, by the way, doesn’t leave for hours.’

  Something told Erica that if she didn’t leave the hotel within the hour, Rafael would be here to get her and the whole sordid story would be out.

  ‘We’re leaving now,’ she declared.

  Lawrence frowned. ‘There aren’t any scheduled flights at this hour of the morning.’

  ‘Then we’ll charter a plane like Daddy did!’ A strange mixture of torture and temper stormed in her eyes. ‘But we’re leaving now!’

  There was a wry shake of his head as if he gave up trying to understand what motivated her mercurial moods. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes.’

  Only after Lawrence had left the room did Erica notice she was still wearing Rafael’s ring on her finger. She hurriedly stuffed it in the bottom of one of her suitcases and got dressed. Three-quarters of an hour later, their chartered plane was leaving the runway with not a sign of Rafael anywhere.

  They didn’t return to San Antonio but flew to Houston where Vance Wakefield had gone. He was too involved in negotiations to notice Erica’s agitated behaviour. The rare moments he spent in her company were too short for her to confide in him had she gathered the courage. It was nearly three weeks later that they returned to their home in San Antonio.

  ‘So I never told Daddy,’ Erica sighed as she finished telling her story to Jules Blackwell. ‘I’ve never told anyone until today.’

  ‘And you say the marriage was consummated?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded, not trying to hide the scarlet shame in her face.

  ‘Now, now,’ he patted her hand affectionately. ’don’t start chastising yourself again. It seems to me that you’ve punished yourself enough.’

  Erica smiled at him ruefully. ‘Thank you for not telling me how foolish I was for getting myself into this mess.’

  ‘Hindsight isn’t going to get you out of it.’ His round figure was pulled out of the chair beside her as he walked around to his desk. ‘You haven’t seen this fellow since you left Acapulco, have you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  But she remembered those first months of fear when she had waited out those long days not knowing if she was pregnant and wondering which day Rafael would appear, to blackmail her. And there had been the anxiety that her unprincipled response to his advances meant she was promiscuous. Her subsequent severely controlled behaviour with other men had since earned her the nickname of ice maiden that Forest had teased her about.

  ’do you know where this man lives? Is his home in Acapulco?’ Jules asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Erica shook her head.

  ‘What is his full name?’

  She looked into his gently inquiring gaze, a bubble of hysterical laughter escaping her throat before she could stop it. ‘I don’t know. San Antonio has always been my home, but I grew up in boarding schools. I never learned basic Spanish other than good morning and thank you until last year. I took private lessons so I could converse with some of the customers in my boutique. But then’ — she shrugged her shoulders, — ‘in Acapulco, I couldn’t follow the pronunciation. Isn’t it funny, Uncle Jules? I’m married and I don’t even know what my name is.’

  ‘What about the marriage certificate?’ he asked, not giving her a chance to dwell on another example of her stupidity.

  ‘Rafael must have it. I vaguely recall signing my name. I suppose he put it in his pocket.’

  ‘It’s a legal document, so it will be on file. I can get a copy of it,’ he assured her as he removed the ring from the handkerchief Erica had given him. The silver eagle with two heads stamped on the face of the ring stared back at him. ‘This signet ring could be a family crest, but it’s unlikely.’

  Erica watched the attorney anxiously. ‘How much do you think I’ll have to pay Rafael for the divorce?’

  ‘It depends on how wealthy he thinks you are and whether he has discovered you’re Vance Wakefield’s daughter,’ Jules answered. The look he gave her was sincerely apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Erica, but your husband — ’

  ’don’t call him that!’ Her tempestuous pride snapped.

  He smiled understandingly, silently glad to see her stoical regret had not completely replaced her spirit. ‘Very well, this man is obviously mercenary. I doubt if he’ll settle for a small sum.’

  ‘I don’t have a great deal of money, Uncle Jules, outside of the allowance Daddy gives me. You know how the trust fund is tied up.’ Her teeth nibbled at her lower lip. ’daddy will ask all sorts of questions if I have to ask him for a large amount. He would probe until he found out why I wanted it. We get along so well now.’ The last sentence was a despairing sigh.

  ‘I know.’

  A mirthless smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘If I’d had an affair with Rafael, Daddy could have forgiven that. But to marry him! And keep it a secret all this time. I simply can’t let him find out no matter how much money Rafael demands. I’ll have to find a way of raising it on my own.’

  ‘You’re worrying about a bridge we haven’t reached, my dear,’ Jules scolded. ‘There’s time enough for that later when I’ve located this man.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘Are you going to take me to lunch or not?’

  His gruff tone was meant to cajole her out of her worry. Erica laughed easily and reached out to take his hand. ‘Of course!’

  After lunch, they paused outside the riverwalk restaurant. Jules’s jovial expression was converted to professional reassurance.

  ‘I’ll make a few discreet inquiries when I get back to the office,’ he promised. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything.’

  ‘It would be better if you contacted me at the boutique. I don’t want Daddy getting suspicious,’ Erica returned. She hesitated for a second. ‘When you do find Rafael, I . . . I don’t want to see him.’

  His wink said he would take care of that. ‘Give Vance my regards.’

  ‘I will, Uncle Jules, and thank you.’

  He waved aside her thanks as they parted. Following the meandering San Antonio River to her shop, Erica discovered she wasn’t as relieved as she had thought she would be. Her burden had been lightened and she was confident that Jules Blackwell would be able to find Rafael and arrange the divorce. Yet she was restless, curiously on edge as if there was something she hadn’t taken into account.

  The ominous grey cloud was still hovering on the horizon when she dressed for dinner that night. The vibrantly yellow cocktail dress she wore was chosen especially to chase it away. Erica tried to derive satisfaction at the calm way her father included Forest in the conversation en route to the Mendelsens’ home. Vance Wakefield could be quite cutting if he didn’t l
ike or approve of a particular person. But her inner preoccupation made her gaiety forced, although no one appeared to notice it except herself.

  John Mendelsen greeted the trio at the door of his Spanish-style home. He was a distinguished-looking man, a contemporary of Vance Wakefield’s and a sometime business associate, friend and golfing partner. His pale blond hair had long ago lightened to silver and the leather tan of his skin contrasted sharply with it and the ice blue of his eyes.

  ‘Where’s that dark-eyed wife of yours?’ Vance demanded in a laughing voice.

  ‘Luisa is on the patio with the rest of our guests. You’re the last to arrive, as usual, Vance, but there’s still plenty of time for a couple of drinks before dinner,’ John assured him. ‘I’m certain Luisa will stop flitting among our distinguished guests long enough to see that your thirst is satiated.’

  ‘Luisa is much too aristocratic to flit,’ her father corrected.

  Erica smiled a silent agreement. John Mendelsen’s wife was a petite but imposing woman, a member of an old and respected Mexican-American family, innately proud and regal.

  ‘Who has your philanthropic wife invited this time?’ Vance asked as John began leading them through the cool hallways. ‘Should I have brushed up on my Spanish?’

  ‘We have our usual group — George and Mary Saunders, the Cliftons, the Mateos and their daughter, and Reina Cruz,’ their host shrugged. ‘If Luisa seems to be preening a bit, it’s because she succeeded in persuading Torres to come this evening. He’s the head of an old Mexican family and an authority on Latin-American history. He’s in San Antonio to oversee a new exhibit at the Mexican Cultural Institute. Have no fear, though. He speaks perfect English.’

  Erica and Forest were walking a few steps behind her father and John Mendelsen. With the two older men deep in conversation, Forest leaned slightly towards Erica.

  ‘Have I told you how stunning you look?’ he murmured in a low, growling undertone as his eyes ravaged her face.

  She darted him a sparkling, flirtatious smile. ‘No, tell me.’

  His hand tightened about her waist. ‘If we were alone, I’d do more than tell you.’

  Erica glanced up to his face, noting the ardent light in his warm brown eyes. Only for a second her imagination played tricks on her and she saw smouldering black eyes. Her stomach constricted painfully before she could blink away the tantalising image and she was once more seeing the square jaw and dimpled chin belonging to Forest.

  ‘Have you mentioned us yet to your father?’ Forest asked.

  ‘I haven’t said “yes” to you yet,’ she whispered with forced lightness. In her heart, she knew she couldn’t give him an answer until the arrangements had been made for her divorce from Rafael.

  ‘But you will say yes. If I wasn’t positive of that, I — ’ They had arrived at the patio and Forest was unable to complete his sentence.

  Erica understood the urgency in his voice. In a lesser way she felt the same. Since that long-ago night with Rafael, she had learned that she was neither permissive nor promiscuous. Her laxity that night had been caused by a combination of circumstances.

  The first of the guests to notice their arrival on the patio and to step forward to greet them was Reina Cruz, an attractive vivacious widow in her late thirties. Her smile encompassed all of them, but Erica thought it lingered a little longer on her father. In the past if any woman had singled her father out for attention, she would have disliked her on the spot. But her recently acquired, mature attitude towards her father no longer dictated such a reaction. She liked and admired Reina and even wished her good luck should the woman choose to pursue her father.

  ‘I have heard a great deal about you, Forest,’ Reina smiled after Erica had introduced him. ‘I am glad to meet you. Erica is very lucky.’

  ‘I hope to make her luckier some time soon,’ Forest replied, flicking a possessive glance to the dark-haired girl at his side.

  ‘So you’ve arrived, Vance.’ Their hostess moved gracefully to the quartet.

  ‘You know I wouldn’t miss one of your dinner parties, Luisa,’ her father declared in his typically diplomatic and offhand way.

  ‘Erica, you look lovely.’ The still dark-haired woman brushed her cheek with a kiss that was composedly affectionate without being overly so. Just as graciously, she turned to Forest. ‘And I’m so glad you were able to come, Forest.’

  ‘It was thoughtful of you to invite me,’ he nodded.

  Luisa’s dark eyes sparkled at Erica. ‘It seemed the best way to ensure that Erica could join us.’

  She felt her father’s eyes rest on her thoughtfully, but Erica made no reply to the leading comment except to smile calmly. Luisa Mendelsen linked her arm in Vance’s.

  ‘Come, all of you. I want you to meet my guest of honour,’ she said.

  Luisa was very active in civic organisations and projects dealing with the Spanish-American heritage of Texas and San Antonio in particular. Her dinner parties usually included a Latin-American dignitary, cultural, political, or artistic, so Erica was not surprised that one was here this evening. She glanced idly ahead of her father and their hostess to see the evidently elderly historian from Mexico.

  Among the familiar faces of the other guests was the foreign visitor — tall, bronzed, hair and eyes of pitch-black. Erica’s knees almost buckled beneath her. Her vision blurred and for a second she thought she was going to faint. Briefly she leaned against Forest before her sight cleared and blood flowed again to her limbs.

  Controlled by a numb sense of inevitability, Erica let Forest escort her to Rafael, bracing herself for the moment when he saw her. As if from a great distance, she heard Luisa’s voice call to him and the dark, arrogant face that she knew so well turned in answer. The aloof gaze swept the group. Erica couldn’t be certain, but it seemed as if his gaze narrowed for a lightning second on her before it stopped on Luisa. A polite smile lifted the firm line of his mouth, firmer than Erica remembered.

  ‘I would like you all to meet Don Rafael Alejandro de la Torres,’ introduced Luisa.

  Erica dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. She glanced anxiously at her father as he was presented to Rafael. There was no recognition in his face. Any second she expected Rafael to blurt out that he was Vance’s son-in-law, then gradually she realised he wasn’t going to.

  ‘This is Vance’s daughter, Erica Wakefield.’

  Luisa’s voice directed Rafael’s gaze to her. The lean, chiselled mask was moulded by courteous lines while the rapier thrust of his gaze stripped what little colour remained in Erica’s face. There was a jeering arch in one black brow.

  ‘You are not married, Miss Wakefield?’ Rafael asked dryly as he offered his hand in greeting.

  Her hand trembled as she forced it to touch his, remembering the way those lean fingers had caressed her body with erotic intimacy. That same heat seemed to scorch every inch of her.

  ‘No, I’m not married,’ she denied. Her quivering chin lifted proudly.

  Then her hand was released and Rafael was turning towards Forest as Luisa made the introduction again, adding in explanation that he was Erica’s friend. There was no reaction by Rafael to that statement. A servant arrived with a tray of drinks. Instantly the other guests, friends of long standing, moved forward to greet them and Erica was able to slip away from the circle that included Rafael.

  Yet the abandon with which she threw herself into the conversation with the new group didn’t make Erica any less conscious of Rafael’s presence. Never once did she look in his direction, but she saw the way the other women’s eyes gravitated towards him. At times, she could hear his low-timbred voice and icy chills of apprehension danced along her spine.

  Had he come here to find her? Was the exhibit at the Mexican Cultural Institute just a pose? Or was he an impostor? In Acapulco he had admitted to being a fortune-hunter. Erica herself had seen him with a woman many years his senior. He had remained silent about their marriage. Did that mean he intended to black
mail her? There was no question any more that he knew who her father was.

  Erica knew she had to find out where he was staying so she could let her Uncle Jules know. Yet she shrank from inquiring directly, and asking the others at the party would only arouse curiosity. Forest, what would he think? Her head pounded with the multitude of her questions. She hadn’t wanted to see or speak to him again, but the choice had been taken out of her hands.

  If Rafael’s plans were to blackmail her, then to run, to avoid seeing him would show cowardice and increase his hold over her. Perhaps the best thing would be to seek him out, apart from the others, and let him realise that she wasn’t afraid of him. But it was inconceivable that such an occasion would arise. His being, his personality were too compelling for him to be alone in a group of people unless he chose it. A despairing cloud darkened her eyes to a royal shade.

  Dinner was announced. Erica discovered her father was seated opposite Rafael, who was on the hostess’s right, while she was down the table and across from him, a position that promised that any time his gaze looked down the table it would include her. Even Forest was separated from her so that she could no longer use him as a shield.

  The carefully prepared meal was tasteless. Erica spent most of her time pushing the food around her plate and making sure her eyes didn’t stray to Rafael. Tension was beginning to etch tight lines about her smile when the dessert dishes were cleared and Luisa suggested they move to the living room.

  Forest started towards her, only to be waylaid by George Saunders. Rafael was talking to her father a few steps away and Erica glanced desperately around for a haven. With a smile of relief, she saw Julie Mateo, only a year younger than herself, just entering the living room.

  ‘What have you been doing lately, Julie?’ Erica asked brightly to draw the girl to her side.

  ‘Very little, actually. Helping out at the hospital part time.’ She was a quiet, unassuming girl with auburn hair and pleasing features. It had only been in the last few months that Erica had got to know her very well. ‘I like your dress. Is it from your shop?’