Sara Craven - Witch's Harvest

‘It is too late for tears,’ he told her brusquely. ‘Now, we must consider what is to be done.’

‘There’s nothing,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m just being stupid and—and female. It happened, and now it’s over, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘There could be a great deal more.’ His voice was quiet. ‘Has it not occurred to you, little fool, that there could be a child?’

Her breath caught. ‘No—it’s not possible …’ Her voice broke off in a little distressed wail.

‘It is entirely so,’ Vasco assured her grimly. He paused, watching the play of colour under her delicate skin, and the way her hands twisted together in her lap. ‘I blame myself bitterly, if that is any consolation,’ he went on tonelessly. ‘You—learn quickly for a novice, otherwise I might have suspected the truth and brought the situation to a halt before any real harm was done. But I wasn’t thinking clearly either. Having discovered that your cousin was a whore, it suited my purpose to believe that you were one also.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Abby protested.

‘To you—undoubtedly not.’ The dark face hardened into bitter implacability. ‘To her—entirely. When I would not pay her price, she sold herself to another fool.’ He shook his head. ‘But that does not excuse my conduct towards you.’ He gave her a measuring look. ‘Although, as I have said, much of that could have been avoided if you had told me how innocent you were.’

‘It never occurred to me that you’d—know.’ Her gaze fell away. ‘I didn’t realise either what—it would be like …’

Vasco’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘As to that, I think you were a little unlucky, querida. And I could have made it—easier for you, had I known …’ He paused again. ‘ Com a breca , what am I saying? Had I been—warned, I would never have taken you at all.’

She still didn’t look at him. ‘Vasco—if you’re thinking that I’ll tell Della, I won’t, I promise. You were angry last night, and you had too much to drink, and you said a lot of things you didn’t mean. You can’t just—stop loving someone, no matter what they do.’

‘Whether or not I still love your cousin is immaterial,’ he said harshly. ‘She has made it impossible for our marriage to take place. I do not take as my wife another man’s leavings.’

‘You won’t give her a chance to explain?’

Vasco shrugged. ‘No explanations are possible. I have spent today telephoning my family and friends and telling them the wedding will not take place. I have also spoken to your aunt and uncle, who will make the necessary announcement in the papers.’

‘It all sounds—very final.’ Abby bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘You have nothing to regret. Both Della and I seem to have—used you as a pawn in our selfish games. I can only ask you to forgive me, Abigail, and allow me to make amends to you.’

‘There’s no need.’ Her face burned. ‘You see, you were right about one thing. I—I wanted it to happen …’

‘Yes, I think that is true,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Which encourages me to say what I must.’ He took one of her nerveless hands and lifted it swiftly to his lips. He said softly, ‘Marry me, querida. Be my wife.’

ABBY SAID FAINTLY, ‘Have you gone quite mad?’

The dark brows rose. ‘I don’t think so. It seems to me that my—proposition is the only sensible solution to a number of problems.’

He’d said ‘proposition,’ she thought, not ‘proposal’.

She said, ‘I suppose you’re thinking about my being pregnant again.’ Her chin lifted. ‘Well, you have no need to worry. I—I’m on the Pill.’

Vasco’s eyes narrowed. ‘I do not believe you,’ he said flatly. ‘Now think again.’

A mutinous flush rose in her face. She stared down at the carpet. ‘It’s hardly likely, after all. Not after …’

‘You are not merely innocent but ignorant,’ Vasco said acidly. ‘But as proof is beyond both of us at this time, it might be wiser to presume that it has happened. And I cannot return to Brazil, Abigail, and leave you in this uncertainty.’

She bit her lip. ‘I could write to you—if the worst came to the worst.’

‘Thank you,’ he said coldly. ‘You presume that I will then be able to drop my responsibilities to the plantation and rush back to Britain.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘No—when I leave, I shall not return.’ The long fingers cupped her face, making her face him. ‘And when I go, I intend to take my wife with me. You, senhorita .’

Her throat felt constricted. ‘Vasco, you still love Della. It isn’t too late. She doesn’t want to marry Jeremy Portman, I swear it. It was just the thought of Riocho Negro that frightened her. It’s so different from anything she’s ever experienced. She’s used to shops—theatres, restaurants. They’re part of her world.’

‘I know that.’ His face was brooding. ‘I was prepared to make allowances. But not to submit to emotional blackmail.’

‘But you could meet her half-way,’ Abby insisted almost feverishly. ‘Couldn’t you set some time limit—assure her that eventually you’ll take her to live in Rio?’

‘You seem to be suffering from the same misapprehension as your cousin. Understand this, Abigail. Riocho Negro is mine. It belongs to me, and it owns me too, as I tried to explain to Della. There was never the remotest possibility of my returning to live in Rio.’

‘Perhaps she didn’t realise,’ she persisted.

‘Let us be honest. Della did not wish to realise, although I explained the position over and over again.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Now I must tell you. I inherited the plantation at Riocho Negro from a distant cousin, Afonso da Carvalho. His family had occupied the land there for several generations, growing cacao, and he wrote during one of my vacations from the university inviting me to visit him. As we had almost lost touch with that side of our family, I agreed. I was young enough to consider it an adventure.’