Page 39 of Devoted to the Spanish Duke
After Lisandro left, Maria did as he instructed and turned the key. With her back against the door, she closed her eyes.
He wanted her. She would be his and soon.
She stripped her clothes from her body, then slid naked into the bath. As the soapy suds covered her breasts, Maria took hold of one of her nipples and brushed her thumb over it. Her other hand dipped below the water and up between her legs. As she slipped a finger inside her heat and began to stroke, she lay her head back against the tub and focused her thoughts on him—on Lisandro and the delicious things she couldn’t wait for him to do to her.
“There is not a lot I can tell you, but I think you are in grave danger if you remain in Bilbao. The man I dealt with showed no respect for me or the Holy Mother Church. And that sort of man is the kind who doesn’t fear for his soul,” said the priest.
Lisandro set his glass of brandy on the table. He had hoped that the head of Santiago Cathedral would be able to shed more light on the men who had handed him the ransom notes, but it seemed Lisandro’s mission had been in vain. The only thing he’d gained was confirmation that it was the Englishman Wicker, whom Lisandro had seen in Zarautz, who had dealt with the money the Duke of Villabona had paid to secure Maria’s release.
“When was the last time you saw this Mister Wicker?” he asked.
“Yesterday. He keeps coming to ask if the second ransom has been paid. That is why I think you need to get out of Bilbao, and quickly. News of your arrival in Spain may not stay secret for very long. Sailors drinking in taverns like to tell tales.”
Lisandro got to his feet; decision made. He and Maria had to leave Bilbao, and today. They would get as far on the road to Tolosa as they could before nightfall.
“Thank you, Father. I appreciate your honesty. I am sorry you have been caught up in all this and the grace of the Holy Catholic Church so badly mistreated,” he said.
The priest made the sign of the cross in blessing. “Send word once you have delivered Doña Maria de Elizondo Garza home to her family. I shall pray for both of you. God speed, Don de Aguirre.”
Lisandro left the cathedral by way of a side door and turned left into Posta Kalea. It was a longer walk back toThe Blackbirdthan leaving by the front, but he had suddenly become averse to the crowd which mingled around the cathedral’s entrance. In his mind, every person he passed could well be someone linked to the kidnappers.
He had just turned left again, moving in the direction of the river, when his gaze locked on a familiar body. There on a street corner, casually smoking a cigar, stood the badly scarred Englishman, Mister Wicker.
Lisandro’s blood ran to ice.
“Infierno sangriento,” Lisandro muttered under his breath.
He chastised himself. Here he was, still within sight of the cathedral, and what was he doing? Offering up blasphemy.
I am going to go to hell.
Setting aside all worries about eternal damnation, he pulled the collar of his coat up and kept to his side of the street. It was only when he finally made it into a nearby lane and was well out of sight of his enemy that Lisandro allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.
He hurried on quickly to the inn. There was no time to waste.
Please be finished bathing and be ready to leave.
Reaching,The Blackbird, he slowed his steps. A man rushing anywhere usually created interest. The last thing he wanted was for someone to make mention of a guest leaving in a hurry.
He knocked on the door, pushing past Maria as soon as she opened it.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
Her startled response pulled him up sharp. He had been so intent on getting back from the cathedral, a thousand worries in his head, he had just barreled into the room and not given her a second thought. The vision of loveliness which met his gaze now gave him pause.
Maria had bathed and dressed. Her long brown hair had been braided and hung over one shoulder. She was a radiant picture of Northern Spanish beauty.
The only thing which spoiled the view was the look of hurt on her face. The pain in her warm brown eyes.
“Forgive me,” he said.
She tilted her head to one side and considered him. “What is wrong? You seem terribly agitated, Lisandro. What happened at the cathedral? Were you able to get any information?”
He let out a long, slow breath, doing his best to regain his composure. Maria was right; he was in a state of flux.
“The priest at Santiago Cathedral wasn’t able to give me much. But he did tell me that the man who I saw in Zarautz, the scarred Englishman, is here in Bilbao. He is the one who has been handling the ransom letters and your father’s money,” he explained.
He reached for his travel bag and began to stuff things into it. After picking up Maria’s hat and coat, he handed them to her. “We have to leave now. I just saw that same man standing outside the cathedral.”
