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  Surrender by Moonlight

  "Is this the first time you've actually tested your power to arouse a man?" Dimitri asked.

  "If so, I hope you are satisfied with the results."

  "Yes, I think it was a very satisfying test, don't you?" Leonor said sweetly. "You began this. Is it my fault if you got more than you expected?"

  He glowered at her, torn between amusement and fury. "If you ask me, I'd say it was more than time to find you a husband!"

  "Yes, but I didn't ask you. When I want a husband, I'll find him for myself, thank you. It is a great deal more amusing to have several men clamoring for your attentions than to be firmly wedded to just one! One can scarcely practice on a husband! One has to live with those results!"

  Instantly he seized her shoulders and, before she could protest, pressed her down on the cool sand and towered over her. She could feel his heated body lying heavily over hers. "Practice, is it? Practicing can be very dangerous, particularly if you pick the wrong man to try it on! What makes you think you won't get more than you bargained for!"

  Surrender by Moonlight

  Rosalind Foxx

  The author would like to thank Stanley Ransom and Richard Ward, of the Clinton-Essex-Franklin Library, and June Martin, Frances Gerard, Sylvia Newman and Gretchen Schwinger of the Kanawha County Library, for their generous assistance and invaluable contributions.

  R. F.

  A LEISURE BOOK

  April 1989

  Published by Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  276 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10001

  Copyright © 1989 by Rosalind Foxx

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "LB" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Tally and Bill,

  the men in my life,

  with all my love,

  R.F.

  Chapter One

  Waves of heat rose from the rugged hills, causing the rounded tops to shimmer mistily in the fierce bright sunlight. Already the verdant slopes were turning a yellow-green under the dry, searing heat. Although summer, in this year of our Lord 1821, had just begun, the ground was already drying and shrinking from drought. Leonor Dominique de Reyes guided the dusty horse off the road onto the beaten path. The path was rougher than the road but it would save nearly half an hour to take the shortcut through the fields instead of following the road to the entrance to the family hacienda. She paused at the top of the path and her tired mount dropped its head to snatch at a mouthful of parched grass that grew beside the path.

  Leonor wiped the trickle of perspiration from her brow, easing her broad-brimmed hat back so the slight breeze could cool her face. She was hot, covered in a fine, powdery dust from her ride and increasingly thirsty. She began to think longingly of the cool dimness of the house and the tall glass of lemonade that awaited her return. Ignoring the groom who patiently followed her, she urged Raya down the path and was nearly at the bottom when she noticed a small crowd gathered near the edge of a field. Curious, she spurred her horse forward and raised up in the saddle to get a better look. Then she was descending on the crowd in furious haste, scattering those in her path.

  "What is going on here?" she demanded, reining in sharply and looking from Jorge, the overseer, to the old man secured to a fence post.

  Her young groom moved alongside and implored, "Senorita, please, let us ride on."

  Leonor ignored him. She looked pointedly at the bullwhip Jorge held and repeated her question. "Jorge, what is this?"

  Jorge turned to face her. He was a large, burly man, his deeply tanned face shadowed by the broad-brimmed hat he wore and his cotton shirt clung damply to his thick trunk. He flicked the long bullwhip impatiently. "A minor matter of discipline, Senorita Leonor. Nothing to concern you."

  Her large black eyes snapped angrily at him. "I am making it my concern. Why are you whipping that man?"

  "Don Gilberto's orders, senorita."

  "What has he done?"

  Jorge's gaze flicked over her. "He did not pay his taxes, senorita."

  Leonor continued to look down at Jorge.

  "He says he has no money to pay, but they all say that."

  Leonor gazed in horror at the man bound to the post. His head tumbled forward, leaning against the rough wood, and his bared back was criss-crossed with ugly stripes that oozed blood. She swallowed hard, taking in the thin shoulders, bowed with pain and age, and the emaciated back. "Who is he?" she asked, her voice shaking with horror.

  "Tobias, my lady. He and his sons manage the smallest farm in the southwest section."

  "Tobias!" Leonor's sense of horror grew. She had known Tobias and his sons all of her life! Leonor swallowed the nausea rising in her throat. She had never seen a man whipped before and was unprepared for this grim spectacle. She steadied her voice and turned her attention back to Jorge. She had interrupted the whipping and she was determined to put a stop to it now.

  "Release him," she demanded.

  Jorge coiled and uncoiled the bullwhip. "I dare not, senorita. Don Gilberto ordered him whipped. Twenty lashes."

  Leonor's anger grew. "I said to release him. You have whipped him enough. He is old, can't you see that? How can you whip such an old man!"

  Jorge sullenly stood his ground. "I follow my orders, senorita."

  "And I'm giving you new ones," Leonor said softly. She was aware of the crowd of peasants watching her hopefully, silently, unable to assist their friend. "I will take responsibility to Don Gilberto. Release him!"

  "I cannot," Jorge said, his voice and glance insolent. "Return to the hacienda, senorita. This is none of your affair."

  "I am making it my affair!"

  "You can discuss the matter with Don Gilberto if you wish, but I must obey my orders. An example must be set for the rest or none would pay their taxes."

  Leonor hesitated, glancing around at the crowd. The workers stood mutely, their gaze going from her to the overseer and back. Their helplessness touched off a fresh surge of fury in her, fueled by the fact that there was nothing more she could do and she knew it. Jorge valued his own hide far too much to disobey Don Gilberto's orders and he would carry out the whipping, no matter what she said.

  "You can be sure I will discuss this with Don Gilberto, Jorge!" she said furiously, turning her horse and moving through the silent crowd. Her anger and horror was increased by the sense that she had betrayed these people who had watched her arrival so hopefully.

  Before she was clear of the crowd, she heard the whip whistle through the air and Tobias's scream. It seemed to echo in her head as she galloped for home, her groom trying to keep pace with her. She tried to blank out the sight and sound of the whipping, willing herself to think coolly and calmly.

  Leonor drew rein in the stable courtyard and slid nimbly to the ground. As her groom led the sweating horse away, she brushed the worst of the dust from her habit and tucked several stray strands of dark hair under her cap. Then she took several deep breaths to still her sick trembling and fight down the spreading nausea before she strode purposely towar
d the wing of the hacienda where her stepfather had his office.

  ''Don Gilberto cannot see you now, senorita. He is engaged," Eduardo said firmly.

  Leonor stared at her stepfather's secretary in dislike. She had never liked Eduardo, distrusting his smooth, pompous air and supercilious smile. Her dislike grew as he sent a disapproving glance over her dusty habit.

  "Perhaps he will be free by the time you've changed, senorita," he suggested.

  Leonor straightened her back and met his gaze. "I'll wait."

  Eduardo started to protest but, after another glance at her stormy face, shrugged. "As you wish."

  Leonor watched him disappear into his office and close the door. Who did that young man think he was, to reprove her for her dusty appearance? Controlling her temper and impatience with an effort, Leonor settled down to wait.

  She had memorized the intricate pattern in the plastered walls of the hallway by the time Eduardo opened the door and said coolly, "Don Gilberto will see you now."

  The long wait had not improved her temper. Leonor brushed past Eduardo and, crossing the secretary's small office, entered the large, luxuriously furnished room her stepfather used as a combination study and office. Here the plastered walls were lavishly adorned by paintings and by finely crafted gold and silver icons. While Leonor sincerely doubted her stepfather's piety, she could not doubt his eye for valuable objects of art. There was little hint of the cool austereness of the hallway here. Rich deep red velvet draped the windows, shielding the room from the hot sunshine. A massive desk dominated the room, overpowering the rest of the gleaming furniture. Behind the desk was a high backed, deeply carved chair which always reminded Leonor of a throne. At the moment, Don Gilberto sat in the chair, leaning back against the red velvet upholstering. He was a tall, thin man, his dress elegant and immaculate. His bony face could have been chiseled from stone, so coldly was he regarding her. His gaze flicked from his hands, toying with a gilt letter opener, to her flushed face.

  "Buenos dias, Leonor," he said softly. He signalled for Eduardo to bring forward a chair and waited until Leonor seated herself. "It is always an honor to have you visit me," he continued smoothly, "but what could be so urgent that you dare not pause to tidy yourself?"

  Leonor flushed at the reproof but did not apologize. "I was riding home this morning—"

  "Accompanied by a groom, I trust? You are not as observant of the proprieties, Leonor, as I'd like."

  "Yes, of course with a groom," she said impatiently. "I saw a crowd of workers and rode over and Jorge had an old man tied to a post and was beating him! I ordered him to stop and he would not! He said he had orders from you to punish the old man—"

  "Which he did."

  Leonor stared angrily at him. "The man was old! Too old to be whipped! His farm is one of the southwest ones, that were so badly flooded this spring. All of their crops were ruined so how could they pay taxes? I ordered Jorge to release him—"

  "Which I trust he did not."

  "No," she burst out. "He did not! How could you order such a thing? My father loved those people and he would never have allowed it."

  Don Gilberto's gaze went coldly over her heated face but his voice remained calm. "Your father is dead, Leonor, and no longer manages these estates. Besides, I fail to understand why you are concerning yourself with estate business. A lady's place—"

  "Is in the sala, stitching on pictures of the Saints!" Leonor put in, her temper not cooled by his attitude.

  "Exactly. You leave the management of the estate to me, Leonor. It is not properly your concern."

  She slowly rose to her feet, her large dark eyes flashing with scorn. Dark curls caressed her temples and set off her creamy skin. She was very beautiful in her anger but even Don Gilberto could not miss the stubborn jut of her chin. Leonor was tall for a girl, and slender, but she seemed even taller as she faced him proudly across the desk. "But it is my concern, Don Gilberto. You seem to forget, as does your overseer, that this is my land. Those are my people that he whips so heartlessly! In eight months he will be answering to me, not you, and you would do well to remind him of that. My father had a very long memory for an injustice and I promise you my memory is just as good. Jorge will disobey another order of mine at his peril. You can both be sure I won't forget it!" Before her stepfather could answer, Leonor turned and stalked to the door, holding every inch of her lovely young body proudly. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

  The door was closed with a decided snap and a lengthy silence settled on the room. Don Gilberto's hand still toyed idly with the dagger-sharp letter opener. "She will be of age in eight months," he mused. "I had not realized it was so soon. She may not know it, since she is little more than a child, but she is not capable of managing this estate."

  "Yes, sir," Eduardo murmured, watching his master warily. He knew well that tightness of the mouth and the deceptive calmness.

  "An estate such as this requires a firm hand. It will be a calamity to allow her to take control of this land."

  "Yes, sir."

  "We shall have to think of something, Eduardo, to prevent that from happening," Don Gilberto said gently, his hand suddenly driving downward and plunging the letter opener into the desk top. He stared at it, as if fascinated by its quivering. "Marriage, perhaps? Yes, of course. She is of an age to be wed. It was negligent of her father not to make provision for her marriage but very convenient for me that he did not. Marriage is the answer—to a man I control. Bring me a list of those families who owe me the most money, Eduardo—a list of those with eligible sons!"

  As Eduardo went quietly into his own office, Don Gilberto continued to gaze at the gleaming golden dagger impaled in the once smooth wood of his desk.

  "Yes, Leonor, we shall see just who is the master here . . . and remains so!"

  Leonor sank down on the stool before her dressing table and stared blindly at the mirror. A vision of old Tobias's pain-wracked face and bleeding back floated before her eyes. It could not be true! Surely such a thing could not happen here on her estate to one of her people. Yet she had seen the welts across Tobias' back, heard the hiss of the whip as it cut through the air. She flinched at the memory of his pitiful cry. She felt benumbed by the shock, her thoughts scrambling wildly for an answer she could understand.

  As if it were yesterday, she could see herself riding proudly by her father's side—his strong, aristocratic face softening with compassion and concern as they stopped to speak to Tobias and his sons. Her father had loved these people, had cared well for them, she thought in bewilderment. Never in his life had he ordered a man bound to a post and whipped! Leonor had spent her entire childhood on these lands, growing up among these people. She had roamed the estate, sometimes with her father, sometimes alone, sharing the simple but adequate meals with the families on the estate. Many of them, she realized, had also grown up here and had never thought of these lands as anything but home. It had been a happy childhood, the tenor of the days peaceful, her place here assured.

  But now . . . Leonor felt as if blinders had been brutally wrenched from her eyes. When her stepfather had taken over as master here, she had not consciously noticed any change. Had she deliberately closed her eyes to it, refusing to see it, in an attempt to cling to yesterday? Now, facing today's reality, she felt her childhood slipping away from her, a sloughing off of an old skin, leaving a vulnerable, tender new skin in its place.

  Leonor's shaking hands gripped the brush, the cool silver comforting her with its memories. Her father had given it to her on her twelfth birthday, delighting her with his solemn comment that she was now becoming a young lady. How long ago it seemed. And the years had slipped quietly by and she had given no thought at all to the day when she would inherit the estate. Never had she dreamed it would be so soon. Even after three years, she mourned for her father and never had she ached for his strength and wisdom as she did now. She sat shaken before the mirror, horrifyingly aware that womanhood and its responsibilities had overtaken her. Sh
e had continued in happy, carefree ignorance, blind to the reality that was under her very nose. Only today had it intruded itself so sharply, so shockingly on her notice that she could not refuse to see it. Yet the signs must have been there, those tiny straws in the wind wafting past her blind eyes! Leonor wiped the tears from her cheeks, trying to think, to determine what she should do.

  There was no point in going to her mother for help. Dona Juana would be deeply distressed but helpless to do anything useful. Juana, too, had been sheltered, protected by her strong husband. She had married young, a shy, gentle girl, and had placed her heart and her life in her handsome husband's keeping. For the first time Leonor understood why her mother had married Don Gilberto when that year of mourning was completed. Numbed by her own grief and misery, Leonor, at fourteen, had noticed little but her own aching needs. She had not realized how bewildered and frightened her mother had been at having the responsibility for a spirited child and a vast estate thrust upon her. Juana was not capable of managing either, nor standing up to her husband now over this matter. That shy, gentle girl had grown into a placid woman, one who accepted her own nature and limitations. Leonor wondered just how much her mother knew of the conditions on the estate and how far she had willfully closed her eyes to them. They were matters beyond Juana's control and recognizing them would only cause distress.