Cruz wore a waist-length sapphire-blue jacket that strained over muscular shoulders and snug black velvet pants that hugged him like a second skin, emphasizing his flat belly, his maleness, and the length of his legs. His ruffled white shirt was the only hint of softness to break the hard, proud lines of his body.

But it wasn’t his blatant masculinity that made her pause. It was the way his hawklike features focused on the vision of loveliness dancing in his arms.

They moved slowly, their bodies separated by the appropriate distance but seeming intimate nonetheless. The señorita smiled shyly at Cruz and he smiled warmly back at her, his white teeth flashing in the lantern light.

Sloan could find nothing to fault in the looks of the young woman dancing with Cruz. She was dressed elegantly, her sky-blue silk gown cupping full breasts and showing off a tiny waist before it belled over legs that had to be nearly as long as Cruz’s. It had to be the Hidalgo girl. No wonder Cruz had brought her back from Spain. They fit together so well.

The hard, quick stab of jealousy surprised her.

I don’t care. I have no right to care.

The only thing binding her to Cruz was an agreement, words on paper to give his nephew the proud Guerrero name. So why did she feel as though she had just been pressed through the baling screw?

Sloan grunted in disgust at her thoughts. She had followed her feelings with one Guerrero brother, and look where they had gotten her-pregnant and widowed before she was a wife. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

She shunted aside the unaccustomed feeling of jealousy. She had told Cruz she did not want him. This was no time to be having second thoughts.

But she couldn’t help worrying what Cruz would say when she told him she wanted to stay for a while at Rancho Dolorosa-but not as his wife. Would he turn her away?

“What are you doing here tonight, Señorita Stewart? Your father said you were busy with the harvest and could not come.”

Sloan summoned her dignity and turned to face Cruz’s mother. Before she could deny that she had come to attend the celebration, Doña Lucia was speaking again.

“I suppose you could not resist coming to meet Cruz’s novia.”

Sloan stiffened. “Cruz’s fiancée?”

“My husband arranged her betrothal to Cruz years ago. Is she not beautiful? Such milk-white skin, not a bit browned by the sun. Such beautiful blue eyes, such a winsome smile. And as tall as my son. See how he does not need to bend at all to speak with her?”

Sloan turned and saw very well that the señorita was a better match for Cruz’s height than was her own five feet four inches. She watched as Cruz flashed a smile and lifted the señorita’s hand to his lips.

“It will be a most proper match. She is a distant cousin, far removed, but she bears the same royal Castilian blood that flows in my son’s veins. Would you like to meet her?”

Sloan was still too much in shock at Doña Lucia’s announcement that Cruz had brought back a fiancée from Spain to relish the thought of spouting polite amenities. How could Cruz have demanded she become his wife under such circumstances? She refused to let Doña Lucia believe she was the least bit distressed by her news, which would surely be the case if she begged off. She squared her shoulders and said, “I’d love to meet her.”

It took the tap of Doña Lucia’s fan on her son’s shoulder to draw Cruz’s attention away from the young woman. “You have a visitor, my son.”

Sloan was grateful for the evening shadows that hid her expression when Cruz turned to see who it was. She fought to control her pulse as he lifted her sun-browned, callused hand to his lips.

“Cebellina! How pleased I am that you decided to come.”

Sloan swallowed, suddenly struck dumb by the pleasure she saw in Cruz’s blue eyes and heard in his voice. “I… I… that is…”

Cruz kept her hand in his as he drew her forward and said, “Cebellina, I wish to present Señorita Refugia Adela María Tomasita Hidalgo. Tomasita, this is my… my very dear friend, Señorita Sloan Stewart.”

The young woman respectfully nodded her head to Sloan and said in beautifully accented English, “Please, call me Tomasita. Don Cruz told me so much about you on our journey from Spain that I think of us already as friends, Señorita Stewart.”

“Call me Sloan, please.”

Tomasita smiled. “If you wish.”

It was a smile of warm welcome and acceptance and therefore completely confusing to Sloan, who had expected this high-bred Spanish woman to be as arrogantly condescending to her as Doña Lucia was.

“I hope your journey to Texas was a pleasant one,” Sloan said.

“Don Cruz has been more than kind.” Tomasita’s lashes lowered to conceal her expressive eyes, even as her hand timidly touched Cruz’s sleeve. “I do not know what I would have done if he had not arrived when he did.”

Cruz dropped Sloan’s hand and covered the slender fingers resting on his sleeve. “You have nothing to fear ever again, little one.”

Sloan watched as Tomasita raised her lashes to reveal wide blue eyes that gazed shyly at Cruz. In the next instant, Tomasita turned to Sloan and said, “You are not yet dressed for the party. Shall I take you to a room where you can bathe and change?”

Sloan found herself liking the young woman, who had extended only courtesy and friendliness to a stranger. “I need to speak privately with Cruz for a moment.”

“My son is-”

“Excuse me, Mamá,” Cruz said. “Will you please take Tomasita to get a glass of punch while I speak with Sloan?”

He had phrased it as a question, but when Doña Lucia responded with tightly pressed lips, Sloan realized that it had actually been a polite command.

A moment later, Cruz had slipped his hand under Sloan’s elbow and was guiding her inside the hacienda, where they could be alone.

They crossed the covered wooden veranda and entered the sala, the Spanish version of a Texas parlor. Sloan was struck again by the mixture of delicate Moorish spooled tables from Spain and heavy wooden furniture crafted by the Mexicans to sustain the rigors of the New World. Candlelight reflected off the white walls and made shadows of the numerous recessed arches around the room.

Cruz led her to a heavy rawhide chair near the stone fireplace that took up one whole wall of the room, and bade her sit down.

“I would rather stand.”

“As you wish. I am glad you came, Cebellina.”

When Cruz reached out to replace a wayward strand of her hair, his knuckles accidentally brushed against Sloan’s bruised cheek. She winced at the pain of even that slight pressure on the tender flesh.

“What is this?”

“Nothing.” Sloan instinctively covered her cheek with her hand. She realized her mistake and quickly stuck her hand in her pocket. But she saw that she had only increased Cruz’s suspicions.

“It’s nothing,” she repeated.

Cruz reached out and captured her chin, turning her face so her cheek was fully exposed to the candlelight. She watched his eyes narrow and his cheeks pale as his thumb skimmed the dark bruise on her face. “Who would dare to do this?”

She bit her lip and held still in his grip, uncertain what he would do if she tried to escape and unwilling to test his temper right now.

“Who?” he demanded.

“Rip and I had a disagreement. It’s nothing to fuss about. The bruise will go away in a few days.” She tried a wry grin, but winced when it reached her bruised cheek. “Believe me, I know. It’s happened before.”

“But it will not happen again. You belong to me now, and I protect what is mine.”

His hand circled her nape under her hair and he tilted her face up to his. Sloan shivered at the low animal threat in his voice as he continued, “You will not return to Three Oaks.”

“You presume too much!” But her voice came out in a whispered croak that was somewhat less than convincing.

Sloan would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation, except she was afraid she might become hysterical. Cruz’s authoritarian announcement rankled, but at the same time, she could hardly defy him and return to Three Oaks under the circumstances. The feeling of being trapped returned.

Sloan freed Cruz’s hand from its disturbing caress. When he started to reach for her again, she grabbed both of his hands and held them in front of her. Never having held his hands before, she was surprised at the size and strength of them.

She looked up earnestly at him. “I didn’t come here to fulfill our bargain, Cruz.” She immediately felt the tension in his hands and quickly continued, “But I do need your help.”