Read Online Mexican Fire by Martha Hix - Free Book Online Page B

this impromptu appearance.
    She stepped back and folded her arms. “My problem? How about, what are you doing here?”
    â€œI’m wanting to visit my baby sister, naturalmente.”
    Mercedes lifted her perfect little nose and gave the servants a sharp look, since they were showing too much interest in the conversation. Just one of those glares—infamous across two continents—got results.
    She swept past her younger sister to enter the vestibule and make for the orchid and vine bedecked courtyard. A gloved finger pointed to the wrought-iron staircase. “Manuel, Fernando, put my things in the blue bedchamber.” Shapely derriere swaying, she began the ascent to the second floor. “Ninfa, run out to the cocina and fetch me a glass of pineapple juice and a nice ripe mango.” Turning her lovely blue eyes to her fuming sister, she said, “Dulce, you should do something with your hair, yes?”
    If Mercedes had been anyone else, she might have been throttled for that remark. Alejandra’s urge to do so was powerful anyway. A deep sigh lifted her bosom. She wasn’t up to Mercie Without Mercy, as a young swain in London had dubbed her. Tonight Alejandra had Reece Montgomery on her mind.
    Last Wednesday evening he had both irritated and enticed her. Her thoughts had turned, over and over again, to the golden-haired Tejano . . . even though his unprincipled ways were beneath contempt. Never had she been this flustered by her emotions.
    Little fool. She must not just stand here, in any case and at any rate, with a blank look on her face while she scratched her head in perplexity, both at her emotional distress and at her sister’s unexpected visit.
    Alejandra lifted the hem of her skirts and rushed up the stairs. “Mercie, gather your servants and belongings. Go home to your husband. Right now!”
    â€œI’ll do no such thing.”
    Mercedes topped the stairs to sail down the balcony to her chosen quarters, slamming the door in her sister’s face. There would be no getting rid of Seflora Navarro of Hacienda del Noche. Not tonight. And Alejandra was yet to receive the full import of her sister’s tongue.
    The wait wasn’t long, however. Ten minutes.
    Mercedes opened the door to her sister’s elegantly appointed bedchamber. “Be gone with you,” she ordered the maid. After throwing the door lock, she charged over to the windows and snapped the fasteners, cutting off the erotic beat of marimba that filtered into the thick-walled room. Stomping to within a few steps of Alejandra, Mercedes ground to a halt.
    â€œDulce, why are you hosting a dinner for Erasmo de Guzman?”
    How did she know about the dinner? Surely Erasmo hadn’t mentioned it. Wednesday night, after rushing from Reece’s arms, Alejandra had informed him of everything that had transpired at Casa Montgomery. Well, not quite everything.
    â€œDulce, answer me.”
    Poking a final hairpin into her dark coil of hair, Alejandra sat at her dressing table and frowned into the mirror. She didn’t wish to answer. On more than one occasion they had argued over her involvement in political matters.
    Alejandra chose a diversion. “How is your dear husband? I haven’t seen Joaquin in weeks.”
    Three years ago Mercedes had met and married a celebrated young surgeon from Soria. Afterward, he continued his profession as well as becoming master of a Toussaint sugar plantation here in Veracruz state. It was difficult to determine whether the Spaniard had made the adjustment with equanimity. But Alejandra suspected the Navarro marriage was less than blissful. It was a subject Mercedes refused to discuss, which spoke for itself.
    Alejandra glanced at her sister, who stood in the center of the room, frowning and tapping the toe of her velvet slipper. “Mercie, have you had words with Joaquin? Is that why you’re here?”
    â€œNo, no, no!” Her eyes contradicted