Free Valentine by Heather Grothaus Page B

never would have met my future husband.”
    “Ah, yes. That is true,” he conceded, but his smile belied his matter-of-fact agreement. “Perhaps if I had known the beauty that was promised to me, I might have pursued the agreement. Perhaps it would have redeemed me, kept me out of some of the trouble I made for myself. But, alas, yes?”
    Mary felt the redness on her ears creeping down to her neck. He thought her beautiful? She’d only ever heard a compliment on her appearance from Agnes. She sought to push his words from her mind.
    “Did you not think that it was wrong to run away from such an agreement?”
    “I was no running away from the agreement, Maria,” he said. “But no, it did no trouble me. I assumed you would marry another.”
    “I shall marry another—but the agreement must be annulled first,” she said pointedly.
    “You English and your contracts,” he said indulgently. “Where I am from, loyalties, rulers, religions, borders—they are always shifting, changing. If everyone held to every contract that had ever been written, well, all of Spain would likely be related to one another by now.”
    “You just . . . ignore the ones you don’t want?” she asked, blinking.
    “Yes!” he said, holding out his hand and smiling at her. “We ignore them! And then we do whatever it is we truly want to do.”
    “That seems . . . frightening.”
    “No, no! Liberating,” he insisted, and gestured toward her with his hand once more. “You—you were forced to come all this way, such a dangerous journey, only to fetch me back so that I might scribble on a document before you could live your life as you wish.” Then he placed his hand on his chest. “Do you no see my freedom? I go where I like, do as I please.”
    Mary raised her eyebrows at him. “People want to kill you.”
    He laughed. “Yes, well, if we had become man and wife in truth, those people would likely be you by now, so it makes little difference.” He paused, and she could almost feel his gaze as he took an obvious perusal of the outline of her leg through her gown. “Although I am certain that the passing of time with you would have been much more enjoyable.”
    Her neck felt afire again, and Mary turned her eyes to the road. Thankfully, he changed the subject.
    “I am surprised you only found out so recently,” he said. “Did no one think to tell you when you approached the age to be married?”
    “There was no one to tell me,” Mary admitted. “My parents died when I was still an infant. As I said, I have no family.”
    His brows drew together then, his expression becoming serious. “That is too bad.” He was quiet for several moments. “I remember them.”
    Mary’s head whipped around to look at him. “My parents?”
    Valentine nodded. “I think so. Vaguely. Do you know—did your father wear a beard?”
    “He did,” Mary said, a little breathless. She knew of no one alive save Agnes who had known her parents.
    The Spaniard nodded again. “Yes. I remember there was a storm, and the ship had floundered on the rocks. Your father rowed to shore himself. I was playing on the beach with my cousin when he landed. We were very frightened of him.”
    Mary smiled, and her heart squeezed a little at the thought that this man had actually seen her father, knew what he looked like. Mary never would.
    “We did no speak his language, of course, and so we ran like rats to the villa, fetched our mothers. I do no know how it was arranged for your mother to be brought ashore.” He paused and looked at Mary. “Did you know you were born in my house?”
    Mary’s eyes widened. “No. I mean, I was told it was aboard ship.”
    “I do no remember seeing you,” Valentine admitted. “Or if I did, I paid you no attention. I was perhaps only six or seven. And then you were gone, and that was that.” He smiled at her again, and his charm had returned full force. “Until you came across the world to find me.”
    “I had no choice,” Mary