The Sometime Bride Read Free Page A

myself.” The two men measured each other in silence. Thomas Audley would have agreed to a pact with the devil himself to keep the boy in Portugal. A curt nod of his head sealed the bargain.
    “ Shall I choose a Portuguese name?” Blas inquired.
    “ Spanish, I should think,” Thomas returned after a moment’s consideration. “We’ll discuss it in the morning. It’s time I set up the faro bank. You’ve met Marcio Cardoso? Good. Tell him you are to have food and a bed.”
    As Thomas Audley rose from his desk, Blas jumped to his feet. He thrust out his hand. The older man allowed some warmth to color his voice as he said, “Welcome to my house, young Blas.”
    Blas . Catarina savored the name. Blas . Very much pleased with the outcome of the conversation, she wiggled her way out of the closet, straightened her hair and clothing and walked lightly across the room. Her timing was poor. As she opened the door, a whirlwind grabbed her, propelling her back into the room. The door was slammed firmly shut behind her.
    “ What are you doing here?” Blas demanded, amber eyes ablaze. His grip on her arm was so tight tears sprang to her eyes. In all her fourteen years Catarina had never had cause to fear physical violence. Nearly speechless, she stared at the grim face hovering over her.
    No! She would not let him intimidate her! She stopped struggling, straightened to her full height, only to find he still towered over her by at least six inches. “I am Catherine Audley,” she informed him with supreme dignity. In English. “My father owns the Casa Audley. I have been in charge of his household since I was ten. This is my workroom where I prepare menus, keep the accounts, consult with the housekeeper. It is you who are the intruder here, not I.”
    “ Daughters of the house don’t wield feather dusters,” he countered with considerable truculence. In truth, the girl’s precise, upper class English, only faintly overlaid with the musical cadence of the Iberian peninsula, had already warned him she was likely telling the truth.
    “ They do if they have a Dona Felipa for a governanta ,” said Catarina with some bitterness. “Shall I ring for someone to tell you exactly who I am?”
    She winced, and Blas realized he was still holding her in a grip of iron. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, releasing her, “but if you hadn’t been listening to every word between your father and myself, you would scarcely have spoken to me in English, now would you?”
    Fairly caught, Catarina scowled up at him. “My father’s business is a dangerous one, but it is not a secret from me. So listening is only a very little dishonest, you understand?”
    “ It’s damned dangerous!” the young man snapped. “Knowing too much always is. You’re to stop it this instant!”
    “ And who are you to tell me what to do?” In spite of her fear that her father might hear them, Catarina’s voice rose alarmingly.
    “ I’m . . . “ The young Englishman’s voice trailed away as he realized he was nameless, a nobody, his power and authority far less than that of the very young female confronting him. “For the moment,” he conceded, making a deliberate effort to shock her, “I’m Blas the Bastard, the Spanish ox-cart driver. And you are correct, I have absolutely no right to question your conduct.”
    Now that his temper had cooled, Blas examined Thomas Audley’s daughter with the appreciation of a connoisseur. He found women delightful. A welcome and necessary part of his life. But this one was beyond delightful. Young as she was, she took his breath away.
    Long waves of red gold hair framed a heart-shaped face of classic beauty. Sparks shot from large green eyes set under long lashes so dark he rather thought she must have been into the paint pot. Her nose, a bit larger than one might expect in a face of such porcelain fragility, merely added character to the perfection of her face. Women matured early in Spain and Portugal, and this