Free Spanish Serenade by Jennifer Blake

trustworthy, but were not so disconcerting in their speech and their attitudes. The idea of his serving her while she waited in bed made her acutely uncomfortable, especially in light of what had just happened; a man of finer sensibilities and less confidence would have left her to recover in private. Joining her in his quarters was in essence a protective gesture, or so he implied, yet there was something almost possessive in it, with a hint of testing the trust she professed. She didn't like it, but there was little she could do. At least she need not endure the situation for long. A few hours more and she would be with her aunt. Once safely established in Cordoba, there was no reason she should ever see Refugio de Carranza again. None. That would make her extremely happy. Of course it would.
    She was combing her hair with her fingers when he returned a few minutes later. Hurriedly bundling the thick, waving mass into a knot, she pinned it at her nape, then reached to take the cup of chocolate he held out to her. As he seated himself on the foot of the bed, she pushed backward to lean against the wall behind the bed's head. He gave her a look of sardonic amusement, as if he suspected her of putting as much distance between them as possible, but made no comment.
    It was possible he was not entirely wrong. He seemed so large there in the tiny alcove, such an overpowering presence. To be shut away with him again behind the curtain, separate from the others, was unexpectedly provocative, as well as uncomfortable. That he felt the constraint also seemed evident from the stiffness of his movements and his comparative silence.
    His manner was neutral as he handed her a piece of the bread he had brought wrapped in a napkin and balanced on top of his own cup. She took it with a murmur of thanks, adding in an attempt at light conversation, “I didn't know banditry allowed such luxuries as this.”
    “We live well enough, though the bread is made with coarse grains and the chocolate with goat's milk.”
    “You seem to manage better than most.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    She gave a brief shrug. “I've heard the stories.”
    “You shouldn't believe them.”
    “If I had not,” she said, her gaze on the piece of bread, “I would never have sent for you, never have escaped my stepfather. I am grateful, in spite of everything.”
    He stared at her a long moment. When he spoke, the words were soft. “I would have done it without the promise of gold, you know. It's just that I object to being taken for a fool.”
    “I would never do that.”
    “At least no more often than necessary,” he answered dryly.
    “No, really,” she protested.
    “I will try to believe you. How can I not?”
    She met his gaze in brief acknowledgment of that tenuous pact. A slow smile lighted his eyes, warming their gray color with rich humor and creasing the hard planes of his face. It also brought a degree of ease to the atmosphere between them.
    They ate in silence a few moments before Pilar spoke again. “Did you discover what became of Don Esteban?”
    “He was gone from the place of attack. He apparently recovered enough to be taken away in the carriage, or so it appeared from the signs.”
    She nodded her understanding, her expression grim.
    “You don't seem surprised.”
    “I knew he could not be dead; that would be too fortunate.”
    “So bloodthirsty,” he said with a droll shake of his head.
    Her answering smile was brief. “It comes from a long association with Don Esteban. Things just seem to always go his way.”
    “Not always, but too often for comfort.”
    There was in the comment a reminder of how much he had also lost. Recognizing it, Pilar hastily changed the subject. “I've been thinking. If my mother had not married Don Esteban, he would not have had the means to pursue his ambitions — or his feud with your family. It's possible you have reason to distrust me.”
    Refugio watched her with a faint curve at one corner of