Knight in Black Velvet

‘It is painful, yes?’ Francisco raised his face as he spoke and then she was looking down on him again, his bent head with its shock of tight curly black hair giving her the strangest feeling in the pit of her stomach. And there was the feel of his warm flesh as he gently moulded and kneaded her foot. It was...unsettling. ‘I do not think you have any broken bones.’ He rose as he spoke after gently placing her foot back on the couch. ‘But what you do have is probably more painful than a break. I think the ligaments and tendons have been badly torn and the swelling is very severe. I would suggest you ask your hotel receptionist to make arrangements for X-rays to be taken at the local hospital to be on the safe side, of course, but possibly two or three weeks of rest will return the foot to new. Now, you wish to telephone your hotel?’

‘No, no, thank you, it’s all right.’ She had spoken too quickly and saw the small frown of puzzlement between his eyes with a feeling of alarm. ‘If someone could just take me back I’ll be fine... really. You must leave now; you’re already late and—’

‘A drink?’ He cut into her stumbling speech abruptly as his eyes flashed over her face. For a spine-chilling moment she had the feeling he could read her mind and then shrugged the ridiculous notion away. She was imagining things and she was normally so level-headed. What was the matter with her? ‘Brandy is good for the nerves, or maybe you would prefer a glass of wine or a soft drink?’ Francisco continued quietly. ‘And I will give you something for the pain.’

‘Please, you just go, I’ve delayed you enough already...’ Her voice stumbled to a halt as he searched her features with another long, considering glance before turning to pull the long bell-cord at one side of the magnificent ornate fireplace.

When Alfonso entered seconds later Francisco spoke to him in rapid Spanish before extracting a bottle from the black bag and handing Lorne two small white tablets. ‘Alfonso is bringing you a glass of iced water.’

‘Thank you.’ She looked up at him with a small smile but the hard face eyed her coldly without a glimmer of warmth.

‘And then I suggest you and I have a chat, Miss Wilson.’

‘Lorne.’ She didn’t try a smile this time; she had the feeling nothing would penetrate that icy mind. ‘The name is Lorne.’

‘As you wish.’ He inclined his head before walking over to the huge cocktail cabinet on the far side of the room and pouring what looked like brandy into a cut-crystal goblet. ‘Will you join me?’

‘No, thank you.’ Alfonso returned at that moment with the water and she thanked him with a warm smile before turning back to Francisco. ‘This will be fine.’ As she swallowed the tiny tablets under the hard black gaze her eyes wandered round the luxurious room, which was furnished exquisitely in varying shades of silver and grey with small occasional tables in dark polished wood to offset the pale carpet. People actually lived like this, she thought disbelievingly. The wealth contained in this room alone would keep her for the rest of her life!

‘Now, Lorne.’ The sound of her name on his lips brought her head snapping round to meet his gaze. ‘I am going to ask you some questions and I want truthful answers. Is that understood?’ His voice was cool and tight.

She stared at him without answering. She had always disliked authoritative people, whether male or female, but he took the word to another dimension! Just who did he think he was anyway? He might be king-pin in this little corner of the world but if he thought he could bully her he was very much mistaken! Her chin lifted slightly with her thoughts.

‘Your name is Lorne Wilson and you are twenty-two years of age?’ She nodded slowly. ‘Where are you staying and who are you travelling with?’

‘Look, Mr de Vega, I’m very grateful for your assistance this evening but could we just leave it at that?’ she asked quietly, keeping all irritation out of her voice. ‘I’m a grown woman and quite capable of taking care of myself. In fact—’

‘It looked like it.’ Now his voice was biting. ‘Do you not realise what a narrow escape you had, girl? You are such a tiny little thing, you would not have stood a chance against those men if things had got difficult.’

‘Well, it didn’t come to that, did it?’ she said flatly. ‘And I repeat, I am very grateful to you for appearing at the right time but I would like to go back now, please.’

‘Back where?’ His eyes had narrowed and she suddenly felt he knew... he knew she had nowhere to stay. ‘Exactly where, Lorne?’ She stared at him dumbly as her mind raced, trying to come up with a plausible answer. ‘I am not an idiot so please stop attempting to treat me like one.’ He downed his drink in one swallow and walked over to the cabinet, pouring another good measure into his glass before turning to face her again. ‘You are one of these student people, is that it?’ The beautifully modulated voice was scathing. ‘Thumbing a lift here and there, living recklessly—’

‘I have not been thumbing lifts,’ she said indignantly. ‘I told you, I had my bike.’

‘Ah, yes, the bicycle.’ He walked over and knelt down beside her so that his dark face was a breath away. ‘But you have the bicycle no longer, do you, so how do you intend to manage, especially with that ankle? You have nowhere to stay tonight, do you? Answer me.’

‘No.’ The word had been forced out against her volition; there was something in those black eyes that was mesmerising. He relaxed then, sinking back on his heels as he eyed her coldly, shaking his head a little as he rose.

‘And you are by yourself.’ It was a statement and she didn’t bother to confirm what he knew. ‘I cannot believe this.’ He stood looking down at her as she lay on the couch, his long, muscled legs slightly apart and his hands on his hips. ‘Don’t you realise how vulnerable you are? You look about sixteen, all hair and eyes, and you seem intent on displaying as much of that... attractive body as you can. I really do not believe—’

‘It’s not my fault my skirt got caught in the bike chain,’ she said weakly. When he had knelt down so close the smell of him had been intoxicating and her senses were still coping with the shock of it. She didn’t like him, in fact he was one of the coldest, rudest people she had ever met in her entire life, but whatever he was he was all male.

‘Your skirt?’ He waved his hand irritably. ‘What has your skirt got to do with anything?’

‘Everything!’ Suddenly it was all too much. Sancho’s desertion, Janie’s betrayal, the shock and terror of the preceding hours and the pain in her ankle culminated in a break in the dam that she had been holding in for weeks. She didn’t recognise the wailing noise was coming from her at first but as the tears coursed down her face and her last scrap of control went with them she knew she was making a terrible fool of herself, but suddenly she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything any more. She was tired of being brave, tired of coping on her own, tired of trying to keep going, just altogether, totally, absolutely tired.

CHAPTER TWO

‘HERE.’ The big white hankerchief was thrust under Lorne’s nose at the same time as she became aware that Francisco had sat down beside her, pulling her head on to the broad expanse of his chest as his other hand stroked her hair comfortingly. ‘Whatever it is it cannot be as bad as all that, little one.’ The unexpected kindness made her worse and it was some considerable time later before she had composed herself enough to raise a tear-drenched face from its soft resting place.

‘I’ve ruined your jacket.’ She looked aghast at the wet velvet streaked with dirt from her fall on the road, but Francisco smiled slowly, his dark face enigmatic.

‘It is of no consequence.’ He moved his arm from her shoulders as he shrugged off the jacket, slinging it casually on the floor. The snowy white shirt it revealed accentuated broad shoulders and a hard-muscled chest, and as he rose and fetched her a glass of neat brandy she felt something leap in her body that made her flesh tingle. ‘Drink that, all of it, and then I think we must have the—how do you say it—chat, sí?’ He didn’t sit beside her again, standing just in front of her after handing her the drink, his dark face expressionless.

‘You must think I’m mad...’ She took a long gulp of the brandy and then choked helplessly. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not used to this.’

‘That is one thing in your favour,’ he said drily. ‘And now, Miss Lorne Wilson, you will begin at the beginning. How is it that you are all alone with no money?’ He raised questioning eyebrows. ‘I presume you have no money?’

‘Not much,’ she admitted slowly. ‘That’s why I hadn’t stayed anywhere. I thought I could just manage if I slept out in the open somewhere and eked out the food.’

‘You thought you could just manage?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘And how long have you been “just managing”?’

‘A while.’ She sniffed dismally. ‘I was just going to have a look at the Coto Doñana National Park and then think about going home.’

‘Have a look...?’ His voice trailed away in a mixture of disgust and wonder. ‘Do you realise how vast that place is? It is not somewhere that one wanders alone. Maybe a guided tour or something similar but the lynx and wild boar that lodge there would be very pleased to make your acquaintance on a dark night. It is a wild place, Lorne, not suitable for a little English girl with hair like spun silver and wrists that one could snap in a second.’ As he gazed at her something dark and warm in his face caught and held her eyes and the moment stretched until he shook his head suddenly, a shadow passing over his face that turned it cold and withdrawn. ‘This is crazy.’ The muttered words held a note of anger and the hostility was back in his voice when he spoke next. ‘Start at the beginning.’

‘I came to Spain eight weeks ago with some friends,’ she began slowly, the chill that had entered his voice making her suddenly lonelier than she had felt for days. ‘There were four of us who have just graduated from university and we thought it would be fun to travel a bit, take some time out for a year or so.’

‘That would be fun, yes,’ he agreed with shuttered eyes.

‘But it didn’t work out.’ She was beginning to flounder and he would think she was trying to hide something, but how could she possibly explain to this cold, austere man how happy she had been when Sancho had suggested showing her his homeland? She had only got to know him in the last few weeks of university life although she had admired him from afar for the last four years, but he had always had a different model-girl type on his arm every time she had seen him. And then it had been her on his arm and she had been wild with delight and all her friends had been green with envy. Especially Janie. Janie... with her long red hair, even longer nails and come-to-bed eyes. But she had seemed so happy with Steve and they had been going out together for nearly a year. Even now it was hard to believe—

‘It didn’t work out?’ The deep voice with its foreign accent brought her back to the present with a jolt and she shook her blonde head slowly.

‘No.’ That was the understatement of the year, she thought grimly. When Sancho had endorsed Janie’s suggestion that she and Steve join them on the tour round Spain she had been delighted. The financial saving had been considerable and it had all worked out fine, or so she had thought. How naive could a person be? That was what Janie had thrown at her when Lorne had found her best friend and Sancho in bed together. Steve had left on the next flight home but she had been determined to complete the proposed trip. No one was going to send her skulking home like a whipped dog with its tail between its legs, least of all an over-sexed Spaniard and a tramp of an English girl.

‘Would you care to elaborate on that?’

She shook her head again as she looked him straight in the eyes. ‘I can’t, I really can’t. Suffice it to say one of us went home, the other two are in the south of Spain somewhere and I’m here. We were touring, on our bikes,’ she finished weakly.

‘Well, as an explanation it is pretty poor but I suppose it will do,’ he said sardonically. ‘The final line is that you are now injured, homeless and without funds?’

‘That’s about it.’ She eyed him warily.

‘There is an English word that describes you very well,’ he said coolly, ‘and I really cannot think of a suitable substitute in Spanish. The word is dimwit. Have you heard it?’

‘How dare you?’ She winced visibly as the sudden jerk of anger tweaked her ankle. ‘Look, you said you would run me back to my hotel; it’s no different if you get me back to my bike and I can take it from there.’

‘The hell it is.’ His accent made the words almost attractive. ‘I do not know what sort of men you are used to running around with, Lorne Wilson, and frankly I think I would prefer not to know—’ his eyes flashed condemningly over her bare legs in the brief shorts ‘—but you are now my responsibility and I do not intend to send you off into the night like a bird with a broken wing. You are clearly quite incapable of looking after yourself; in fact I think a child of ten would have more sense than you. You will stay here tonight and we will review the situation in the morning.’

‘What?’ She stared at him with big saucer eyes, ignoring the insults for the moment.

‘And I think we can probably provide something more... suitable for you to wear in the meantime.’ His nose all but wrinkled. ‘My sister has her own apartment here when she pays a visit and although considerably taller she is as slender as you.’

‘There’s no need for that and—’

‘Oh, but there is,’ he corrected tightly. ‘This is not a tourist resort and you may have noticed that young females do not display themselves quite so wantonly in this part of Spain. The young men who followed you probably thought, quite legitimately, that you were encouraging them to do so, especially in view of the fact that you were not accompanied.’

‘Well, that’s just plain ridiculous,’ she said angrily as her temper rose to boiling-point. ‘Do you mean to tell me that women here have to be covered from head to foot? What are you living in, for crying out loud, the Dark Ages? Women should be able to dress exactly how they want to without becoming targets for the sort of animals that followed me.’

‘Not a feminist too?’ He shut his eyes briefly and she was furious with herself for noticing, at such a time as this, that his eyelashes were incredibly long and curly as they rested for a moment on the hard, tanned cheeks. ‘I really think I need another brandy and then I must make a telephone call. But first you need to refresh yourself. Teresa and Benita will help you bathe and then I will put a bandage on that ankle to try and contain the swelling.’

‘But you have to go out,’ she said faintly. ‘You said—’

‘I think I realised when I picked you up off the road that my evening was not going to plan,’ he said drily. ‘Now please allow me, if not as a man then as a doctor, to take care of you tonight. Tomorrow we can arrange the hospital visit and organise accommodation and a ticket home.’

‘But why are you helping me like this?’ She stared at him, her grey eyes huge and liquid in her tear-smudged face and her silky blonde hair a cascade of silver falling over slender shoulders. ‘You don’t have to...’

‘In my country we do not forget the rules of hospitality,’ he said coldly after a long pregnant moment when he had searched her face with his piercing eyes. ‘You are a stranger in my land and you are in need, it is as simple as that. Also the fact that I cannot understand how you have not been eaten alive before now compels me not to—how would you put it?—push your luck?’

‘Eaten alive?’ There was a darkness in his face that frightened her. ‘But there are no wild animals in this part of Spain, are there?’

‘The human animal is far more ferocious than any wild cat when its appetite is aroused,’ he said grimly, ‘and unfortunately often less noble.’

‘Oh...’ As burning colour flooded her cheeks at the memory of the Spanish youths’ hot eyes and predatory mouths she dropped her eyes quickly. He thought her a fool, a complete and utter fool, and she was beginning to agree with him.

An hour later, bathed, creamed and with her hair newly washed, she lay on the vast bed in the suite of rooms she had been shown to with her head spinning and her mind racing. After the two maids had helped her to bath and wash her hair they had half carried her to the bed where she had found a pair of trousers, a thigh-length blouse in raw silk and even a change of underwear laid out for her. The wildly expensive clothes so casually given, the unimaginable wealth all around her that spoke of power and authority on a scale she had never touched before and the cold, fierce personality of the man who seemed to be master of this empire was numbing her mind. What have you blundered into? she asked herself soberly as she glanced again round the fabulous room. The sooner she was out of here the better. She had never been a snob in even the mildest sense of the word but she had to admit that this particular situation had, temporarily, overwhelmed her.

A light knock on the closed door brought her out of her reverie and, thinking it was one of the maids again, she called for them to enter. As the door opened and Francisco’s tall, broad shape stood framed in the doorway, her heart jumped painfully in her chest. He had changed since she last saw him and the black silk shirt and casual black jeans that he now wore seemed to project still further the innate cold austerity of the man while adding to the cruel, handsome face a piratical effect. For a moment she could have believed they had travelled back in time and she was facing one of the original conquistadors, fiercely proud, intrinsically cruel and without mercy.

‘Don’t look so frightened.’ It was the last thing she expected him to say and as her mouth opened in a small O of surprise she saw a fleeting smile touch the firm, hard mouth. ‘If all my patients would have reacted like you I think it is probably as well fate led me in another direction than that of a doctor, do you not agree?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She pulled herself together with a visible effort as he walked slowly across the room, carrying his bag.

‘Is it still as painful?’ After examining the swollen flesh that was already turning a faint blue he began to wind a tight bandage expertly round her foot.

‘No, no, it’s not,’ she said quickly, trying to concentrate on the ache in her ankle rather than the feel of his warm, competent fingers on her skin. The sight of this severe, forbidding man performing such a gentle task was such an antithesis that it was causing her heart to pound again. She didn’t know why he affected her so strongly but affect her he did, and she found it acutely disturbing.

‘The clothes are lovely,’ she said after a few seconds, more for something to say than anything else. The silence had begun to scream at her.

‘Good.’ He raised his head as he spoke after tying the bandage lightly in place. ‘I thought they would fit with a little adjustment.’ His eyes glanced at the trousers that she had rolled up a few inches.

In spite of herself she couldn’t stop a pink flush from staining her cheeks at the thought of the tiny scraps of lacy underwear spread out on the bed. The female shape was clearly no mystery to him. Again, it was as though he could read her mind.

“There is no need to be embarrassed.’ The cool voice was mocking but not unfriendly. ‘I have not reached the age of thirty-eight without having become... familiar with the items ladies wear under their clothing.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said as lightly as the hectic flush in her cheeks would allow, ‘but I’m not used to men choosing my clothes for me.’

He stiffened as he looked down at her, her long silver hair spread out in a shining pillow round her head and her slender shape defenceless in the middle of the huge bed.

‘I do not play with children, Miss Lorne Wilson, so you may let your anxiety lessen.’ His voice was expressionless and she couldn’t read anything beyond the black glitter in his eyes. ‘You have had one distressing experience today; let that suffice.’

‘What does that mean?’ she asked hotly. ‘That you consider me a child? You still don’t believe I am twenty-two, is that it?’

‘Your numerical age has nothing to do with it,’ he said calmly, ‘or even the fact that you look about five years younger than you are. I can read in your eyes, your body, your whole outlook on life that the world hasn’t touched you with its unpleasant, darker side yet. That is good; you must hold on to that for as long as you can and be with companions of like mind.’

‘And you aren’t?’ She didn’t know what made her ask such a pertinent question but it was out before she could hold it back. He froze for an infinitesimal moment and then breathed out slowly, his eyes hooded.

‘I’m not,’ he agreed grimly, his eyes softening a little as they took in her bewildered young face. ‘Stay in the sunshine for as long as you can, my little English infanta, the shadows will beckon soon enough.’

‘Infanta?’ She didn’t like this constant reference to the fact that he considered her incapable of behaving in an adult fashion. Admittedly she might have made a mistake in trying to travel round a foreign country by herself without knowing the language but she had survived rather well, all things considered! She was past the age of consent, she was no child, and she was sick of his superior, condemning attitude! ‘What does infanta mean?’ she asked testily. ‘Infant, baby, I suppose?’

‘Not at all.’ He had settled back against the pillar of the four-poster bed, his arms crossed and his face devoid of all expression. ‘It means princess. You see, I was not being insulting.’

‘Well, that makes a change.’ She found she suddenly couldn’t control her tongue at all. The need to prove that she wasn’t completely stupid, that she could manage her own affairs very well, was goading her on. ‘I’m not quite the little innocent you seem to be making me out to be, you know,’ she said crossly. ‘I’ve had four years at a university doing an English degree for which I got a 2-1; that’s pretty good incidentally.’ He raised dark eyebrows but said nothing. ‘And I supported myself the whole time, working in the holidays to supplement my grant. I arranged my lodgings when necessary, I dealt with any financial problems, I have taken care of my life for the last few years.’

‘Why?’ The one word stopped her flow and she stared at him. ‘Why has it been necessary for you to do all that? Where are your parents, your family?’

‘My parents died when I was ten,’ she said flatly, ‘and I lived with my older brother and his wife and family till I left for university at eighteen. They haven’t much money, they couldn’t afford to support me; besides, Tom has health problems and they’ve got enough difficulties of their own without worrying about me.’

‘There is no other family?’ he asked quietly, his eyes watching her every expression.

‘Not really.’ She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘Besides, I like looking after myself. In spite of what you may be thinking, I usually do it quite well, too.’

‘Do you indeed?’ She had no idea of the ethereal, delicate picture she made lying on the large bed, her hair a shining mass of silver and her small, heart-shaped face pale against the dark orange of the silk shirt. Finely boned and small, she had always disliked her slimness and lack of height, but to the dark, bronzed man watching her so intently she was breathtakingly lovely. ‘And men?’ His voice was still cool but with a husky note now that made her stomach tremble. ‘Where have men fitted into this independent life?’

‘I’ve had boyfriends,’ she said defiantly as she raised herself to a sitting position against the mass of soft, deep blue pillows. ‘Quite a few, as it happens; in fact it was my last boyfriend who brought me to Spain in the first place.’

‘I see.’ He moved to her side again and bent to pick up the bag lying on the floor. ‘Then maybe I was mistaken in my opinion about you. Maybe you are a woman of the world, used to dealing with life and love in the modern fashion? Uncaring, hard; are you like that, little infanta?’