Midnight Rider. Diana Palmer

noble motive, wooing a woman he didn’t love for the sake of financial gain. It was dishonest at best, and he was too honorable not to be suffering from a bad conscience.

      “Of course he invited them,” Bernadette replied. She glanced at him sadly, with faint accusation. “You’re not one of his prospective hopefuls, by the way, in case you were wondering. That should be of some comfort to you.”

      He pulled a cigar case from his shirt pocket and extracted one of the Cuban cigars he favored. He produced a small box of matches and lit it before he spoke. “I see.”

      She wondered why he should suddenly look so thoughtful, so tense. He turned away and she studied his profile. Could he be upset because he wasn’t a candidate for her hand? She didn’t dare hope so. But what if he was?

      He felt her avid gaze and turned to meet it. She colored prettily. “How are you going to feel about living abroad?” he asked.

      “It’s that or find some way to support myself,” she said wearily. “My father says either I get married or I get out.”

      “Surely not!” he exclaimed angrily.

      “Well, he threatened to do it,” she replied. She rubbed the mare’s soft muzzle absently. “He’s determined to have his way in this.”

      “And will you do what you’re told, Bernadette?” he asked quietly.

      She looked up at him, red-cheeked. “No, I will not! Not if I have to take a job as a shop girl somewhere or work in a factory!”

      “Your lungs would never survive a job in a cotton mill,” he said softly.

      “The alternative is to be someone’s servant,” she replied miserably. “I couldn’t hold up to do that, either. Not for long.” She leaned her cheek against the horse’s long nose with a sigh. “Why can’t time stand still or go backward?” she asked in a haunted tone. “Why couldn’t I be whole instead of sickly?”

      “I can’t believe that any father would cast off his daughter just because she refused to marry a candidate of his own choosing,” he said irritably.

      “Isn’t it done in Spanish families all the time?”

      He dismounted, cigar in hand, and moved to stand beside her. He was so much taller that she had to toss her head back to see his lean, dark face when he was this close.

      “Yes, it is,” he replied. “In fact, my marriage was the result of such an arrangement. But American families usually don’t make those kinds of choices.”

      “That’s what you think,” she replied. “It’s done all the time in the wealthier families. I knew a girl at finishing school who was forced to marry some rich French vintner, and she hated him on sight. She ran away, but they brought her back and made her go through with the ceremony.”

      “Made her?”

      She hesitated to tell him why. It was vaguely scandalous and one didn’t speak of such things in public, much less to men.

      “Tell me,” he prompted.

      “Well, he kept her out all night,” she said reluctantly. “She swore that nothing happened, but her family said she was ruined and had to marry him. No other decent man would have her after that, you see.”

      His dark gaze slid down her slender form in the riding habit and he began to smile in a way he never had before. “How innovative,” he murmured.

      “I went to the ceremony,” Bernadette continued. “I felt so sorry for her. She was in tears at her own wedding, but her father was strutting. Her new husband was a member of the old French nobility, the part that didn’t die in the Revolution and was later restored to its former glory.”

      “Did she learn to accept this match?” he probed.

      Her eyes clouded. “She hurled herself overboard on the ship taking them to France,” she said, and shivered. “Her body washed up on shore several days later. They said her father went mad afterward. She was his only child, and his wife was long dead. I felt sorry for him, but nobody else did.”

      Eduardo smoked his cigar and stared at the muddy water of the stream. There had been a good rain the day before, and the ground was soaked. He felt oddly betrayed by what he’d heard. He wondered why Bernadette’s father had such a quick change of heart. Perhaps he realized that Eduardo wouldn’t be easily led in business, or perhaps he felt that a man who was half Spanish wasn’t the sort of connection he wanted to have. It stung Eduardo to think that Colston might feel he wasn’t good enough to marry his daughter.

      “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you,” she said after a long silence had fallen between them.

      He gave her a level look. “You haven’t,” he said. “Why does your father care so little about your happiness, Bernadette?”

      She glanced away, her gaze resting on the river. “I thought you must have heard long ago. My mother died having me,” she said. “He’s blamed me ever since for killing her.”

      He made a rough sound in his throat. “What nonsense! God decides matters of life and death.”

      She turned her gaze back on him. “My father doesn’t believe in Him, either,” she said with resignation. “He lost his faith along with my mother. All he believes in now is making money and getting a title in the family.”

      “What a desolate, bitter life.”

      She nodded.

      He thought she looked very neat in her riding habit. Her hair was carefully pinned so that the wind barely had disarranged it. He’d always liked the way she sat a horse, too. His late wife could ride sidesaddle, but she could barely stay on. Bernadette rode like a cowboy.

      “What are you doing out here?” she asked suddenly.

      A corner of his mouth turned up. “Looking for strays. I can’t afford the loss of a single calf in my present financial situation.”

      She frowned slightly. “Your mother married a millionaire, didn’t she?”

      His eyes flickered, and his face went taut. “I don’t discuss my mother.”

      She held up a hand. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought since she got the ranch into its present difficulties with her spending, she might be willing to make amends.”

      He didn’t soften. “She wouldn’t lift a finger to save it, or me,” he said coldly. “She held my father in contempt because he wouldn’t let her give lavish parties and have a houseful of guests staying for the summer. She drove him to such despair that he died...of a broken heart, I think, but I was young, only eight,” he mused, a terrible look in his eyes as he remembered the scene all too vividly. “My mother was with her latest lover at the time, so I was sent to Spain to live with my grandmother in Granada. When I was old enough, I came back here to reclaim my father’s legacy.” He shook his head. “I had no idea what a struggle it was going to be. Not that knowing would have stopped me,” he added.

      She was fascinated by this glimpse at something very personal in his life. “They say that your great-grandfather built the ranch on an old Spanish land grant.”

      “So he did,” he replied.

      “Did your mother love your father?”

      He shrugged. “She loved jewelry and parties and scandal,” he said through his teeth. “Embarrassing my father was her greatest pleasure in life. She adored notoriety.” He stared at her. “Your father said that your elder sister, as well as your mother, died in childbirth.”

      Uncomfortable, she averted her eyes. Her hands clenched on the mare’s bridle. “Yes.”

      He moved closer. “He also said that you’re afraid of it.”

      Her eyes closed. She laughed without mirth. “Afraid? I’m terrified. It’s why I don’t want to marry.