“Ah, I see my manners are lacking again, señora. I have not introduced myself. I am Rodrigo Suarez. Uncle Carlos has only sisters, my mother one of them. He is the only Silvela left.”

“He... has no children?”

He did not seem to mind the personal question. “There was a daughter, but she died in infancy. His wife could have no other children. But he did not divorce her, or even marry again after she died.”

“He must have loved her very much.”

Rodrigo smiled. “Who is to say? He seemed more disinterested than devoted. But it is more romantic to think he loved her, yes.”

His smile deepened. Jessie got the impression that he was a romantic, a man in love with love. He was a charmer, too. But she was embarrassed to have touched on this intimate subject, and it showed in her hesitant manner. She lowered her eyes.

“Rodrigo, do you intend to keep me waiting all evening?” They both turned as the young woman appeared from one of the side rooms off the foyer. “We have a game to finish—but who is this?”

“I am not at all certain, Nita,” Rodrigo replied, smiling. “She has come from America and believes she has business with Uncle Carlos.”

Jessie’s guard went up as the somberly clad Nita narrowed dark brown eyes at her. She was not much older than Jessie, and incredibly lovely, even in mourning clothes. Her dark blonde hair was severely knotted at her neck. The bones of her face were sharp, her features aristocratic. She was very beautiful. And most disdainful.

“An American friend? A relation?” Nita sneered. “A bastard daughter perhaps, hoping to claim part of my inheritance?”

Jessie’s temper flared. “No, wife to a bastard son,” she said coldly. Well, there it was, out in the open.

Nita turned ashen. “You lie, señora,” Nita hissed. “Uncle Carlos has no son. Where is he, this son? Why are you here? I will tell you why. Because you are a fortune hunter. You hope to delude a sick man into thinking he has a son. You hope to trick him.”

“I don’t—” Jessie began, but Nita said, “Throw her out, Rodrigo!”

“Nita, please,” Rodrigo intervened. “If what she says is true—”

“Exactly,” Jessie cut in pleasantly. “You wouldn’t want your uncle to know you had not been hospitable to his daughter-in-law, especially when I happen to be expecting his first grandchild. Would you? Of course not. So why don’t you run along, Nita, and see about a room for me.”

“Vaya Ud. alpaseo!” Nita hissed. She stalked down the hall.

“Well, I have no intention of going there.” Jessie grinned at the embarrassed Rodrigo.

His smile disarmed her, it so reminded her of Chase’s smile.

“Oh, señor, so you know and don’t send him away, my husband’s name is Chase Summers. He should show up any day now.”

Chapter 42

THE weather in mid-January was extremely pleasant. The atmosphere in the Silvela household was not. For three days Jessie tried to see Don Carlos, but he was never left alone, and each time she tried to enter his room, she was ushered right back out.

It gave her no peace to realize that the man could die at any time. So wouldn’t he want to know he had a son? Wouldn’t that give him some pleasure? Chase would never forgive her if Don Carlos died without knowing he had a son, not when she was right here in the house with him. There was no telling when Chase would get there, so there was no point in waiting for him before talking to Don Carlos.

Jessie quickly learned quite a bit about Don Carlos’s family. Emilia, the little maid Rodrigo had sent to tend her, was a veritable fountain of information. Jessie learned why Nita was so furious at her arrival and her announcement about Don Carlos’s son. The girl’s parents had died penniless, and Don Carlos was her only provider. She had been living under his roof for two years, refusing to marry so that she could take care of him. Quite noble, if her motives weren’t so obvious.

Rodrigo on the other hand was there out of genuine concern for his uncle. He was wealthy in his own right, his mother having married much more wisely than her sister. She was a social butterfly, traveling through Europe just then. News of her brother’s condition had not reached her yet.

It was disquieting to learn that Don Carlos’s health had been failing him for many years. He had always been an active man, but a bad case of pneumonia had left him so weak as to turn him nearly sedentary. That had led to other ailments.

Her third night in that strange household, Jessie waited until she heard Nita leave Don Carlos’s room and Rodrigo take her place. She left her own spacious room and tiptoed down the hall. It was early. There was plenty of time before ten o’clock, the ridiculous hour when dinner was served. She had yet to adjust to the unusual eating hours caused by the three-hour siestas in the afternoon that the whole country observed.

No sound came from Don Carlos’s room. The old man was probably sleeping, with Rodrigo sitting by his bedside. The last time she had tried to get in, a harridan of a servant had been there, and Jessie had been unable to get a word in, the old woman rattling off a stream of “hushes” and “be quiets.”

She could only hope Rodrigo was alone. She could handle Rodrigo. She had found that out her first day.

The door opened silently and Jessie had moved to the foot of the great four-poster bed before Rodrigo, standing at the window overlooking the courtyard, turned and saw her. The bed was curtained with fine gossamer, but there was only one light, across the room, and it was impossible to see inside the curtains.

“Why do you keep him smothered like that? Has he something contagious?”

“Of course not,” Rodrigo whispered, coming forward. “His doctor recommends no disturbance, and we follow his instructions.”

“But the man should have air and light. He shouldn’t be enshrouded like that.”

“I would agree, but I am not a medical man, and I cannot say what is best for my uncle.”

“Common sense—oh, never mind,” Jessie said irritably. She hated feeling like an intruder, but she was an intruder.

“You must leave, Jessica,” Rodrigo said gently but firmly.

Jessie’s brows narrowed. “He hasn’t been told about me, has he? Was that the doctor’s idea, too, or Nita’s?”

“You are being unfair. Can you not see how upsetting it would be for him to think about something that may not be true?”

“Your uncle would know the truth.”

“But have you considered that the shock could kill him?” asked Rodrigo.

“I’m sorry,” Jessie conceded, “but I believe it’s worth the risk.”

“Rodrigo, who is that you have with you?”

Jessie started at the soft voice. Rodrigo gave her silent warning with his eyes.

“There is no one, Uncle.” His voice was no longer a whisper.

“Lying to me, my boy?” the voice scolded. “My eyes have not failed me. I can see out of this mausoleum even if you can’t see in.”

“I only meant to save you disturbance, Uncle,” Rodrigo said contritely. “You need your rest.”

“I rest entirely too much. What I need is diversion. Now, who is this?”

Long, tapered fingers drew back the thin curtain, and Jessie gasped. “You’re so young!”

“Not as young as I used to be, my dear.”

“But I had another image of you,” she blurted without thinking. “Gray-haired, wrinkled... damn, I didn’t mean—”

Don Carlos chuckled. “What a delight you are, young woman. Come closer so I can see if you are as pretty as you appear. My eyes may not be failing me, but the light in here is deplorable.”

Jessie moved to the side of the bed, amazement growing. She had not once considered that resemblance would bear out the truth, but it did. The man lying in the enormous bed was so like Chase it was uncanny. Older of course, but not nearly as old as she had thought. It had not occurred to her that he could have been so young when he knew Mary. He was only forty-six or -seven now, gaunt and pale and quite underweight, but that did not hide the fact that he was much too young to be dying. His hair was as black as her own, with only a single thin streak of gray running above his forehead. His eyes were dark and inquisitive. His lips turned up at her perusal, just the same way Chase’s always did.

“You seem even more surprised by my appearance than you were before,” Don Carlos said.

“Señor,” Jessie replied disconcertedly, “it is just that you look like someone I know.”

“Jessica,” Rodrigo’s voice warned her.

“It is true, Rodrigo.” He caught her double meaning, and she nodded at him. “But I have not forgotten our talk.”

“Talking about me, eh?” Don Carlos sighed. “A disagreeable subject for young people to be discussing.

You should be talking of gay things, of parties and—hasn’t my nephew confessed his skills as a matador?”

“Ah, no, señor, he has not.”

“Really, Rodrigo? You usually charm all your new ladies with tales of your bravery.”

Jessie reddened at the assumption.

“You are mistaken about Rodrigo and me. We have only just met.”

“You are Nita’s friend then?”

“No, I... my name is Jessica Summers. I was traveling—”

Jessie couldn’t finish. How could she lie to him?

“Traveling?” Don Carlos repeated. “On a tour through Europe perhaps? And now you are my guest? But this is wonderful. I am glad to know the hospitality of my house has been extended even though I could not extend it myself. And where is your home, señorita?”

“It is señora, and my home is in America.”