Proud Revenge, Passionate Wedlock

“Having second thoughts?” he asked.

“No,” she said, taking small pleasure that he’d picked up on her unease.

At least she hadn’t been wrong about that affinity with Miguel! But it also meant she’d have the devil’s time hiding her emotions from him.

“Relax and enjoy the drive.”

“I’m trying to.” She pressed her palms flat against her thighs and drew in several calming breaths.

“How is your mother?” she asked to fill the silence.

“Busy with her grandson,” he said.

“Your sister’s son was a precocious child,” she said, and bit back adding he was spoiled and rude.

He nodded as he wove in and out of traffic. “He enjoys having all of Madre’s attention.”

“That will change when another grandchild is born,” she said, certain Miguel’s sister would have more.

But Miguel would likely remarry and start a new family one day. She ignored the stab of pain that thought wrought.

Even if they could overcome their differences, even if they could come to trust one another one day, one fact remained to make her totally unsuitable as his wife. She couldn’t have any more children, and a man in Miguel’s position would want heirs.

“S?, it will be a big adjustment for him,” he said, and she responded with a murmur of agreement.

She took the time to study Miguel, noting the new lines in his face. The sharper glint in his eyes. The somber expression that hinted he always had something troubling him.

A flicker of light behind them caught her eye. She looked back just as a car swerved sharply inches from their bumper.

“No!”

She shielded her face, expecting the air bag to explode into her. A cry sliced above the scream of tires, the sound crackling with agony and terror.

He whipped the car to the side of the highway and fishtailed on the narrow shoulder as he brought the car to a dead stop.

“Allegra!” He grabbed her arms and forced them down.

She blinked at him then stared into the rear seat, her mouth dry, her breath no more than a flutter. “Oh God, I thought—”

She couldn’t go on, couldn’t force the words out.

“You thought what?” he said, a quaver creeping into his deep voice as his hands glided up and down her suddenly chilled arms. “Tell me.”

“I thought that car was going to hit us.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to take metered breaths to still her racing heart. “Like before.”

“What do you mean?”

“The accident.”

A tense silence vibrated between then.

“A car hit you?” An incredulous rake of his gaze followed his question that echoed with skepticism.

She shook her head, annoyed her memory was littered with holes. “I don’t know. I hear the explosion of the airbags and the suffocating pressure on my chest. I hear Cristobel crying.”

“What do you remember?” he asked.

“Very little. What I do recall comes in snippets that often seem out of order.”

“You suffer from a memory loss?” he asked, incredulity ringing loud and clear in his voice.

“Yes, a form of amnesia,” she said. “Didn’t Uncle Loring explain?”

His dark brows slammed into a vee over the aristocratic blade of his nose. “Not one word.”

Allegra didn’t know what to make of that. If Miguel was to be believed, her uncle had lied to him about her condition and her whereabouts. Why would he do such a thing?

“How often do you have these flashbacks?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice now.

Most nights, or any of the other triggers she hadn’t anticipatedthat caught her off guard. “Often enough, though of late the same snippets have played over and over.” She looked into his eyes then and said simply, “The accident and two weeks following it are a mystery to me.”

His dark eyes flared with surprise, but the strong hand that closed protectively over hers was her undoing. For he didn’t merely touch her. His thumb stroked her hand, and the warm vital connection between them brought back vibrant memories of the time when they’d merely sit close and hold hands.

She’d mourned that link with Miguel nearly as much as she grieved over her daughter’s death. But too soon he released her and scowled out the windshield, and the darkening of his tanned cheeks hinted he disliked revealing that much of his feelings to her.

“How long do they think this block will last?” he asked.

“The doctor said it could last a day or forever,” she said, which was the reason she’d decided to leave Bartholomew Fields.

She was suffocating under the doctor’s watchful eye. She hadn’t wanted to be dependent on others for the rest of her life, so she dug deep for the gumption to take matters into her own hands.

It was clear nobody else was coming to her defense. Not her uncle. Certainly not her husband.

“I believed what I was told,” she said. “Just like you did.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You gave up on us, Miguel,” she said. “If you’d really wanted to find me, I wouldn’t have been a virtual prisoner in Bartholomew Fields.”

Her charge rose as a wall between them, for she knew he could move mountains if he chose to. He hadn’t tried hard enough to find her. He’d given up on her.

He swore under his breath and jerked back behind the wheel, but instead of throwing the car into gear, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile. “I will call Se?or McClendon and give our regrets for tonight.”

“Don’t.”

She laid a hand atop his and jolted when a intense bolt of emotion shot from him into her. Anger. Confusion. Empathy.

“You need to rest,” he said. “The trip taxed you.”