Read On a Long Ago Night for Free Online Page B

passed
    between herself and the Spaniard during this long, hard
    day.
    The man was so, so —
    Honoria gave a start when the sick man suddenly
    rasped out, "What did you say to him? Did he ask about
    me?"
    It took her a moment to catch her breath. Huseby
    came back before she could speak, so Honoria took
    another moment to resume a more appropriate position
    and to get her thoughts in order.
    Derrick's intense gaze burned into her when she
    looked at him again. He raised himself with great
    difficulty to a half-sitting position. It hurt her to see the
    effort it took such a strong man to move. She cursed the
    Spaniard for causing this good, fine man such pain. His
    voice was a barely audible anguished rasp. "What did
    you tell him?" Honoria quickly whispered back the names
    she had given, and Derrick nodded in satisfaction. "What
    a good girl you are. What a clever child." He settled back
    down on the pallet. "He likes you, the infidel swine. I
    could see it when they boarded the ship and he grabbed
    you. That's good."
    Is it? she wondered. Why?
    "Promise me," he whispered. "That you'll please
    him. Do whatever you must for my sake. Promise me, as
    you love me."

    She had promised as her maid came back with the water.
    Huseby had gasped, then taken her aside and explained
    exactly what she had vowed. Honoria had neither
    understood nor believed her, though it had been the first
    time she'd heard Derrick Russell referred to in any but the
    most glowing, heroic terms. The earthy Huseby had done
    a great deal to increase Honoria's already considerable
    vocabulary that night, but Honoria didn't actually learn
    anything from what her friend had to say. All the bitter,
    painful knowledge of passion and betrayal was something
    that came later, and Diego Moresco had done the
    teaching.
    The butler brought in a heavy tray and discreet
    silence reigned while they were served. Honoria took a
    cup of tea and sipped it decorously. She chewed and
    swallowed a bite of spicy cake. She was neither hungry
    nor thirsty, but these were ordinary, proper actions, so she
    dutifully did them, though she tasted nothing. It was the
    action that mattered.
    After the servant withdrew, Honoria's father said,
    "You have pined for Derrick Russell for the last seven
    years."
    Honoria had scraped together enough control not to
    drop the cup in shock. She placed it on the table beside
    her and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She said,
    calmly and clearly, "I do not pine, Your Grace. For
    anyone."
    "You try not to show it, but my dear, I am far from
    blind. Do you think I don't know why you've hidden
    yourself away in the country? Why you fret at the notion
    of marrying? You loved and lost."
    "True," she agreed reluctantly, though Derrick didn't
    have anything to do with all that. Her father knew nothing
    about her relations with Diego.
    "Derrick Russell meant the world to you once."
    " Once ," she acknowledged with the slightest of
    nods. "Briefly, and to my cost. I am long over that
    infatuation."
    "I think not." Her father was intent on not listening
    to her. It seemed she had inherited her overactive
    imagination from him. He made an expansive gesture,
    and continued his scenario. "You loved him the way I
    loved your mother, and have waited for him to realize
    that you are indeed the woman for him. And now he
    wishes to reconcile. Your patience and fidelity have been
    rewarded. I call that delightful news."
    "I call that a load of sentimental hogwash."
    He merely smiled benignly, obviously not believing
    her protestations. It was his urge to make her happy that
    blinded him, she supposed.
    Honoria allowed her gaze to drift to the rain-pattered
    windows and the soaked garden beyond, while her
    thoughts ranged in a hundred different places, each of
    them leading to a dead end. What to say? What to do?
    She was trapped in a maze: trapped by her father's love
    and the demands of society, trapped by the past, most of
    all. It was best to deal with the