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~ Prologue ~
Argentina—1791
THERE WAS A QUIET OVER the San Jacinto Estancia, for it was a sultry morning, and noon was drawing near. It would soon be so hot even the best gauchos would feel lazy as they prepared to enjoy their midday meal, then take on their individual responsibilities at the rancho.
Doña Rose gazed idly from beneath the wide-brimmed leather hat she wore to protect her from the sun’s rays, and stopped short as she saw him. He stood in the double doorway of the stable, and the sight of him took her breath away.
There was something about him which ignited the very air she inhaled. Rose, she berated herself, what is this nonsense? Rose, you must stop—you are married, you are a Cesares, you have a son!
Her senses all shouted rebellion. Lust and love intertwined as she looked at him.
He was an arrogant gaucho. He stood, then leaned his hard body against the doorjamb as he surveyed his underlings at various tasks. Just who does he think he is, she asked herself.
He is senor de nada—lord of nothing!
Rose, she told herself soundly, you are wife to José Cesares. You are English and gently bred. You are daughter of an English squire, and the mistress of this great rancho. You are mother of Rodrigo, and yet...when you look at him, you want this senor de nada!
Emotions—unfettered desire, engulfed her. What would she do? The answer brought blood to her cheeks. No, she must not think about him anymore.
Rose looked away from him but only for a moment. Against her will, she turned back to study him. What was it about him that drew her? He didn’t wear the colorful cottons and billowing pants all the gauchos wore like a uniform. Instead, he wore a black shirt, its sleeves always rolled up to the elbows. He wore a dark rough buckskin pair of chaps, silver-studded down the sides, beneath which he wore tight fitting pants. His hair gleamed in black waves beneath his high-crowned, wide-brimmed leather hat, and his eyes were black gems alive with fiery lights.
His name was Facón, which meant knife, and it was what he carried always tucked in at the small of his back in the leather of his wide belt.
Ah, but she wanted him!
* * * * *
Facón looked across the green spread of rich lawn and saw Rose standing by the paddock gate. His eyes glinted, and his heart beat harder, faster, surer. She was a beauty with her long fair hair tied at the nape of her neck and wisps blowing around her stunning face. Her body was curved in womanly lines beneath the lightweight riding habit she wore. She was Don José’s wife, but he only saw the woman standing before him, and he wanted her!
Impossible dream. Yet he knew she felt the same. Their eyes when they met, which was often lately, held and promised so much he couldn’t explain.
He tipped his hat in her direction, and she lowered her eyes. He could almost feel the heat that showed in two red spots on her cheeks. He went towards her before she could run away, as she always did. In English, he gave her a greeting.
“Good day to you, Doña Rose, it is a lovely day,” he said in a voice low and charged.
She met his eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Facón, yes, it is.”
He laughed and asked easily, “Why do you thank me? It was not I who brought the soft breeze, the sunshine, the fragrance.” He quickly added, “Though, for you, I feel I could so such things.”
She lowered her eyes. “Facón, you are the only man I know who could accomplish such feats.”
They were talking in riddles, but he felt their meeting at this moment was a sign of the future. His desire prompted him into further boldness. “And what of your husband? Can he not make the earth move and the waters part for you?”
Her eyes flashed and her chin went up. “My husband’s magic is of a different kind.”
“But is that kind of magic enough for you?” he demanded, his voice tinged with a growl. He wanted her, and he knew she wanted him. He would have her admit it.
They had been walking slowly as they talked, and they had reached the end of the stone path which led to the gardener’s shed. She stopped then and looked at him, her eyes opened wide. “Not anymore.”
That was all he needed. He had her arm in his hold, and he pulled her off the path and put her back against the weathered shed. “Rose, I want you,” he murmured before he took the sweetness of her lips against his own. He was too charged for any tenderness in that moment, and his kiss was nearly violent in its intensity. His hands traveled over her body, and she responded to him in kind.
“There is no other for me,” she murmured as he managed to slide his hand beneath her garment and grab hold of the apex between her thighs. “Only you.”
She knew she was behaving wanton. She knew she was breaking all the rules of decency, but she excused herself. Had her family been decent to her when they arranged a marriage to a man she didn’t know, didn’t love?
“Yes, my love,” he breathed between kisses. “But not here. It is too dangerous. When can you get away?”
She hesitated. He pressed her for an answer. “Rose?”
