Master Of Her Innocence. Chantelle Shaw
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disease-ridden and despair-ridden as Torrente, and he had no desire to visit a place that was a grim reminder of his past. But he never forgot that the only person who had helped him when he had been a young man in desperate need of salvation had been a priest, Father Vincenzi. Diego was not religious himself, but he felt a strong sense of loyalty to the church that had quite literally taken him from prison and given him his life back.
He was due to return to Rio next week to check up on the casino and nightclub he owned, before flying to Europe for a business meeting with Cruz to discuss his stake in the jewellery company Delgado Diamonds and the Old Betsy diamond mine. But he could spare a couple of days to drive one of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart up to the border. He might even get a chance to take a look at a site where geological survey reports showed there could be gold reserves. Maybe his good turn would be repaid with good luck and he would find gold in Torrente, Diego mused as he adjusted his battered leather hat and climbed out of the Jeep when he saw the door of the convent swing open.
The Mother Superior swept towards him, her grey habit and black veil flapping in the breeze. ‘Diego, it’s good to see you,’ she greeted him in English, which was curious because they normally conversed in their native Portuguese. ‘I would like you to meet Sister Clare, who has recently joined our holy order from England.’
So that cleared up one mystery. What was less easy to explain was why his heart felt as if it had slammed into his ribcage with the force of a speeding train. Diego stared at the diminutive figure, dressed from her neck to her ankles in unremitting grey, who followed Sister Ann across the courtyard. Sister Clare’s white veil framed a heart-shaped face dominated by the bluest eyes he had ever seen. They had the dark intensity of sapphires, their colour emphasised by the fact that her skin was pale like cream and as flawless as porcelain.
He silently mocked himself. Santa Mãe, he’d be writing a sonnet next! He was shocked by his reaction to the English nun and surprised that she was so young. He guessed she was in her early twenties: only a few years older than him when he had been sent to the state penitentiary in Belo Horizonte. Of course prison was not the same as a convent, but he couldn’t comprehend why a beautiful young woman would choose to shut herself away from the world.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Cazorra.’ Her voice was sweetly melodious, reminding Diego of a crystal-clear mountain stream.
‘Sister—’ He took off his hat and held out his other hand. He was suddenly conscious of his calloused palm when she placed her fingers in his. Her small hand was swamped by his much bigger one and her skin was as soft as satin. An image flashed into his head of her stroking her soft hands over his naked body. He wondered what her body was like beneath the shapeless nun’s habit, which did not entirely conceal the swell of her firm, round breasts.
Whoa! Diego stopped his imagination in its tracks. She was a nun, he reminded himself, and strictly off limits. He was certain he was already damned in the eyes of whatever deity he might meet when the time came for him to leave this world, but having inappropriate thoughts about a holy maid was a step too far even for someone as disreputable as him. But, while he had a conscience, the drug lords in Torrente definitely did not. He doubted they would respect Sister Clare’s innocence; they’d just as likely wonder how much money they could make by selling her virginity.
‘I can read your thoughts, Diego.’ Sister Ann’s voice jolted him from those thoughts, and he sincerely hoped she couldn’t. ‘I can tell you are keen to get on the road before the bad weather that is forecast arrives. When do you estimate you will arrive in Torrente?’
Diego did not want to be responsible for taking the young nun to a town where her safety was by no means guaranteed and he quickly made a decision. ‘It’s not going to be possible to make the journey, I’m afraid. As you know, the wet season has started early this year and heavy rain is due in the next few days, which will make the roads impassable.’
‘But we have to go.’ Sister Clare stepped forward and stood directly in front of him. Her petite stature meant that she was forced to tilt her head to look up at him, and Diego was startled by the fierce expression in her blue eyes. ‘You agreed to take me.’ Her voice was no longer soft and soothing but shrilly demanding. ‘I must reach Torrente by Sunday.’
He frowned. ‘With respect, Sister, you’re going there to teach at a Sunday school. It’s hardly a matter of life and death and I don’t fancy being trapped in Torrente for weeks, possibly months. The road up by the border is a dirt track that turns into a quagmire when it rains.’ He jammed his hat on to his head and walked back to his truck. ‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to start your teaching post next spring when the wet season ends.’
He put his boot on the footplate of the Jeep, but as he was about to swing himself up into the driving seat, he felt a surprisingly firm grip on his arm.
‘You’re not listening to me, Mr Cazorra. I need to get to Torrente by Sunday and apparently you are the best person to take me. But if you are worried about some wet weather, can you lend me your vehicle so that I can drive myself?’
Diego was riled by Sister Clare’s snippy tone. ‘Have you seen rain in the Amazon? It’s not a light shower like you get in England; it’s a deluge that frequently causes flooding and mudslides. I don’t allow anyone to drive my truck, Sister. And even if I did, how would you return it back to me as you’ll be living in Torrente?’
Clare bit her lip as she realised her mistake. She could not admit that she intended to catch the first available flight out of Brazil as soon as she had paid the ransom money and rescued Becky. ‘I’m sure I could find someone who would drive your Jeep back to Manaus.’ Her heart sank as the gold prospector shook his head. She knew of no other way of reaching Becky and this man was her only hope of saving her sister. ‘Please, Mr Cazorra. I must get to Torrente.’
Diego cursed beneath his breath when he saw the shimmer of tears in the nun’s eyes. He could never resist a pretty face, although his usual response when he was attracted to a woman was to take her to bed until he had sated his desire for her. ‘Is teaching at a Sunday school so important to you?’
Sister Clare’s sapphire-blue eyes seemed to grow even darker in intensity. ‘I...have been called to Torrente,’ she said in an emotionally charged voice.
Diego appealed to Sister Ann for support. ‘Torrente is a dangerous place, especially for a young woman.’
‘Sometimes we are asked to show courage, as the priest who once helped you did,’ the Mother Superior reminded him.
‘Damn it,’ Diego growled. It was true that if Father Vincenzi had not been brave enough to accept the role of chaplain at the violent prison where Diego had been an inmate he might still be rotting in a cell, or dead. Who was he to argue with what the English nun clearly believed was her religious duty?
‘All right. I’ll take you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you that Torrente is no place for innocents. We’ll leave straight away and if we’re lucky we might beat the bad weather.’
‘Thank you.’ Her smile was angelic and Diego felt a strange sensation in his chest as if a hand was squeezing his heart. His gaze dropped once more to the outline of her pert breasts and he felt as though another part of his anatomy was being squeezed! He’d obviously gone too long without sex, he thought derisively. When he went back to Rio he would remedy the situation and visit one of his casual mistresses, many of whom were dancers who worked at his nightclub.
His life as a wealthy entrepreneur was very different from the poverty and deprivation he had endured as a child, Diego mused. His mother had been a drug addict, and most of the time she’d been incapable of taking care of her son. From a young age, Diego had been left to roam the dark alleyways of the favela. He had witnessed things that no child should see, and sometimes when he’d felt really scared he’d taken shelter at his friend Cruz Delgado’s home. By the time he was a teenager he had become hardened to the grim realities of life in a slum, but one night he had found his mother being beaten by her drug dealer because she did not have enough money to pay him, and Diego had lost his temper—with catastrophic results.
Deus,