The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(62)

“Everything I do, I do it for you, Carlota,” her father said.

“I know.”

Yet for the rest of the day Carlota felt doubt gnaw at her gut again. She had managed to convince herself the path forward was clear and good, but now she worried again about what she might truly accomplish. Her father was intractable, and worse than that, she doubted him.

He who was so flawless had, in recent days, seemed to her wholly diminished. Worst of all, she could find no comfort in others, for Lupe was sure to be cross at her and Montgomery was distant. She thought to speak to Ramona, but then Carlota realized it would be impossible to explain how she felt.

All she had was that dreadful, anxious knot in her stomach.

Her spirits were buoyed by Eduardo at dinner, who seemed determined to be particularly charming that evening and made her laugh.

She was not surprised when, upon rising from the table, he whispered in her ear. “I’ll come to your room later.”

She did not blush, merely glancing down at her plate, a discreet smile on her lips. The dread was replaced by eagerness.

That night, she changed into a simple nightgown and carefully brushed her hair, watching her reflection between the candles on her table.

Eduardo arrived at midnight, his knock soft, and she opened the door, letting him in and planting a quick kiss on his lips. He tried to kiss her with more ardor, and she took a step back.

“You should go to sleep,” she whispered, but she was smiling. She loved his impetuous spirit and the intensity of his affection.

He turned the key that normally lay undisturbed in the lock, shutting them in.

“I’ll be quiet, not a single sound,” he swore and clasped her hand, drawing her to the bed, where he pulled the nightgown up her thighs, exposing her legs to him.

“How can we? Without—”

“I promised, not a single sound,” he said, divesting himself of his clothes with nimble fingers.

She took his vow of silence as a challenge, and then he said they might make love another way this time, which was a second, most interesting challenge.

His body looked different in the candlelight, every detail smoothed, but he was still handsome and cocky as he guided her atop him, hands sliding down her breasts and belly. At first, she had no idea what he was about, and it didn’t feel right because he kept staring at her and she wanted to hide her face. Then it changed, they found a rhythm. His hips bucked up, and she shushed him even though she wanted to giggle.

Stretched out beneath her, he had to press a hand against his mouth to keep from crying out. It was then, when he had betrayed himself, that she pressed her breasts against his chest, her lips finding their way to the side of his throat, nipping ever so slightly at the delicate skin.

She didn’t move away, resting atop him, even though he’d already spent himself. He lazily traced circles down the small of her back.

“It’s silly of you to be here, you know,” she told him.

“Maybe bold, but not silly. We don’t have a single moment alone. What am I supposed to do?”

“Wait for the wedding day?”

“That might be asking too much. It does remind me I must make a few inquiries. There was a handsome house I once visited in Mérida, with palm trees in the courtyard. I must see if I can obtain something like that for us. And I must write to my mother so that she can tell my father I’ve decided to marry.”

“Why can’t you write to him?”

“My mother has a softer touch when it comes to him,” Eduardo said, but she sensed a hesitant wariness to his words. She guessed Hernando Lizalde must be like her own father: a formidable force that sometimes frightened his children.

“I should also see about the papers for Yaxaktun. I want it to be yours before the ceremony, otherwise it wouldn’t be a wedding gift. Do you think you’ll need money for alterations? I don’t want to have it fall to pieces.”

She remembered what her father had said about money, how he wanted Eduardo to be his patron. She realized that Eduardo was a creature who focused on the concrete and who was moved quickly and passionately. If she should whisper that she needed the funds, he’d be sure to grant them. She also suspected that the bed was the right place to ask Eduardo for favors, to trap him when he was pliant.

And though it would have been simple to do her father’s bidding, she found herself tracing a line down Eduardo’s stomach instead and shrugging. “I don’t think I need a great deal of money for the upkeep. But it would be nice to visit Yaxaktun when we can.”

“Carlota, Mérida is better than this place.”

“Perhaps. But you’ve told me you have many friends there and that we must go to all those soirees—it sounds exhausting. Besides, in Mérida we’ll have to do what your family wants. What your father says.”

He frowned. The other thing she had realized about Eduardo was that the excitement of a wedding for him was tied around the notion of independence. It would mark a milestone. He’d be a man, with his own household and his wife, no longer the child. Carlota understood this feeling because she had similar reasoning. The last thing one wanted, in this case, was a father telling them what to do and when to do it.

“But your father will be in Yaxaktun,” Eduardo said. “It would be the same.”

“Then perhaps we ought to settle in Valladolid. Yaxaktun can be our getaway. My father won’t bother us. He respects you too much to give you orders. And we could walk to the cenote every day, spend the morning indolent in bed, and go riding when we feel like it. Didn’t you say you’d spoil me?”