In the Brazilian's Debt. Susan Stephens
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bed’s comfortable?’
She frowned. ‘Yes.’
She would have gladly slept on a bed of nails for the chance to work at Fazenda Fernandez with the best trainer in the world on the best polo ponies in the world, and she really didn’t want to discuss her sleeping arrangements with Chico Fernandez. Was he determined to unsettle her?
‘Thank you, Lizzie. I had thought of making some improvements to the grooms’ accommodation, but I can now see that that isn’t necessary.’
Not necessary? Inwardly, she groaned. Imagine how popular this was going to make her.
And then Chico stopped dead and she almost crashed into him. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. ‘Enjoy your supper, Lizzie.’
‘I will.’
‘Perhaps I’ll see you later—’
Not if she could help it. She was going to stick to the original plan—keep her head down, work hard, do well, and then go home with her diploma and her pride intact, so she could set up a viable business. What was so attractive about a snarl and a swagger, anyway?
* * *
He couldn’t rest. The past wasn’t just back, it had punched him in the face, and he wasn’t in the mood for the raucous good humour of the cookhouse. He didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, especially Lizzie Fane, and so he paced the vast, polished oak floor on the ground floor of his home as he tried to make sense of his feelings. He paused by the window where he could see across the yard to the cookhouse. What was she doing? Who was she with? He wasn’t fooled by her circumspect manner. Lizzie had turned her back on him once. When he was of no further use to her, would she do so again?
Probably, if he gave her the chance, which he wouldn’t.
So was Lizzie Fane a force to be reckoned with? He smiled at the thought of testing her out, but past events at Rottingdean stood between them. He couldn’t remember that time without being forced to accept that Lizzie had a damaged bloodline. Her father, Lord Reginald Fane, had been a dissolute pervert who beat his wife, while Lizzie’s mother had been a liar and a cheat. Only Lizzie’s grandmother, the Grand Duchess, had stood out like a beacon of light, but how much influence had the old lady brought to bear on Lizzie? Judging by Lizzie’s contempt for his many letters to her, very little, he guessed.
Horses were easier to breed than people, he concluded. You could be sure of a horse’s bloodline and its flaws. He’d been lucky that Eduardo had saved him, lifting him from the barrio like a drowning puppy in a sack in the river. Eduardo hadn’t just taught him everything Chico knew about horses, but how to live and work responsibly, and how to care for his fellow human beings. He’d taught him how to eat in a civilised manner, and how to behave in society. Losing Eduardo had been like losing a father—a good father.
Learning Eduardo had left him everything had been the biggest shock of his life. Eduardo’s last words had been to beg Chico to shrug off his past and learn from it, but how was he supposed to do that now that Lizzie Fane was back in his life? Leaving Lizzie twelve years ago had torn him up inside. How could they leave a fifteen-year-old child in the care of her nymphomaniac mother, and a violent, debauched father? he had asked Eduardo. He hadn’t known then what they had accused him of, or why Eduardo and Lizzie’s grandmother had been in such a hurry to get him away. He could still remember clutching his head as he raged about Lizzie’s situation for the whole of their journey back to Brazil.
‘It’s not your job to save Lizzie,’ Eduardo had told him firmly. ‘You have your career to think about, and Lord Fane is too powerful, too respected, for you to take him on.’
‘But I will one day,’ Chico had vowed.
‘No,’ Eduardo had told him flatly. ‘You will forget this and keep your mind on your work and your future career. And as far as Lizzie Fane is concerned, you will forget her too, and place your trust, as I have done, in Lizzie’s grandmother.’
Trust, he remembered agonising in mutinous teenage silence. What was that?
He knew now that trust was one of the most important parts of loving someone, and that Eduardo had trusted him like a son.
* * *
‘So?’ Danny demanded as she waited with Lizzie in the supper queue. ‘What happened with Chico?’
Lizzie flashed a glance around.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so secretive. I saw you walking across the yard with him—everyone must have...’
‘Doesn’t this smell delicious?’ Lizzie remarked, refusing to rise to the bait. She and Danny were standing in front of the open grill where three chefs were preparing everything from vegetarian specials to man-sized steaks.
‘Your attempt to change the subject has fallen on deaf ears, Lizzie Fane,’ Danny assured her.
There were too many grooms around, as well as Chico’s fellow polo players, for Lizzie to be indiscreet, but Danny wasn’t going to let the subject drop. ‘So, what do you want to know?’ Lizzie asked.
‘You were a long time alone with Chico, and so I was wondering...’
‘He was telling me about the bandaging tutorial we have to attend at six tomorrow morning.’
As Danny groaned the polo player behind them, muddy and with his hair tousled from a game, exclaimed, ‘Wake up and move along, will you? Hungry people are waiting to be fed here.’
‘Calm down, man mountain,’ Danny flashed, rounding on him. ‘We’re hungry too.’
‘Then hurry up and choose your food, fresh meat—’
‘Watch it, nuts for brains, or it’ll be your meat on the grill,’ Danny fired back.
‘I love your ladylike way with words,’ Lizzie murmured as the good-looking guy stared down at Danny with amusement.
‘Are you all like this back home?’ he demanded, directing the question at Danny.
‘Believe it,’ Danny snapped, exchanging an appreciative look with Lizzie.
‘Tiago,’ Lizzie confirmed in a discreet murmur. ‘One of the top players. You must have seen him on the cover of Polo Times? Bad. Very bad.’
‘Excellent,’ Danny mouthed.
‘That’s your Christmas present sorted.’
‘Promise?’
‘It’s a deal,’ Lizzie confirmed.
Danny was about to say something smart back, but her words choked off abruptly when she saw the expression on Lizzie’s face. Nothing more needed to be said. Chico Fernandez had just walked into the cookhouse.
LIZZIE DIDN’T NEED to look at Chico to know he was there when she could feel him in every fibre of her being. Determined not be distracted by the sudden overload of testosterone, she calmly gave her order to the chef. ‘Tomatoes, eggplant, fries, and—’
‘And the biggest steak you’ve got,’ a husky male voice interrupted.
Having casually jumped the queue, Chico was handed a plate already loaded with every delicacy his uniformed chefs could provide. ‘I don’t want my new recruits fainting on the job,’ he explained. ‘Here—take this.’ He pressed his own plate of food into Lizzie’s hands. ‘Well?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘Don’t stand there staring at it. Eat before it gets cold.’
‘I’m a vegetarian.’
‘Vegan?’
‘No.’
‘Slap a hunk of cheese onto her plate,’ he ordered the chefs, swapping plates.
Lizzie