Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Country of the Falcon
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ALEXANDRA awoke with the familiar sensation of apprehension which came from knowing that any one of a dozen horrific creatures might have entered the hut during the night. She peered down warily from her hammock with the alertness which came from experience and saw to her relief that the mud-packed floor below appeared free from invaders. On her first morning there over a week ago, she had climbed down carelessly and almost trodden on an enormous spider which her host had calmly informed her was merely seeking refuge from the dampness of the tropical forest outside and was quite harmless so long as she didn’t attempt to touch it or attack it. As Alexandra was totally incapable of doing anything but standing there with every hair on her head assuming a life of its own, either alternative was beyond her.

Now she slithered in a rather ungainly fashion to the floor and looked about her drearily, stretching her aching back. She was not used to sleeping in a hammock, but that was the least of her worries. This bare hut with its thatched roof and mud floor had been her home for the past eight days and would continue to be so, so long as the rivers remained in flood and her guide refused to take her upstream. And as each day passed, the conviction grew within her that her father would not be pleased to see her.

She sighed. It had seemed such a great adventure, sitting in the common room, discussing the idea of coming to Brazil with her friends, but her pitiful knowledge had not prepared her for the savage reality of the Amazon basin. Until then, it had been her father’s place of work, and the more she was warned against doing anything impulsive, the more determined she became. All her life, she had rebelled against her father’s resolution that she should acquire a good education while he went off to all the most exciting countries of the world and only saw his daughter for brief periods at holiday times. When she was younger, she had not minded so much. She had tried to understand that because her mother had died while accompanying her father on one of his expeditions to some outlandish place, he had naturally wanted to protect his only offspring from a similar fate. But as Alexandra grew older, she had begun to doubt the validity of this. Her mother had always been a rather delicate woman, following her husband more faithfully than enthusiastically, while Alexandra possessed her father’s strength and determination. Or so she had thought …

She couldn’t deny that most of the time she had been happy at school. She was a popular girl and as the school accommodated boys as well as girls, she had grown up accepting a certain amount of male admiration as her due. She was not conceited, but she was aware that she was attractive to the opposite sex. Tall and slim, with straight corn-coloured hair, she possessed the kind of lissom beauty much sought after by less fortunate females, and even the most casual of attire looked elegant on her.

But she didn’t feel very elegant now. The thin cotton shirt was creased and so, too, were the tight-fitting jeans which had become her usual sleeping attire. She had almost forgotten how delightful it was to shed one’s clothes and climb between the sheets of a real bed, and how soft and relaxing an interior sprung mattress could be.

It was all her own fault, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. And how was she to know that she was to be delayed in this godforsaken spot indefinitely?

She had flown up to Manaus ten days ago, ten days ago when the Rio Negro had been in full flood, its black, crashing waters swollen by the storms of the rainy season. She had, until that moment, never seen such a tremendous volume of water shouldering its way to the sea, but even then she had not really considered its possible effect on her journey. And it had been comparatively easy obtaining a passage to Los Hermanos, but no one had told her that Los Hermanos was nothing like Manaus …

Manaus was a civilised port, founded in the mid-seventeenth century, but owing most of its architecture to the rubber boom which occurred at the turn of the twentieth century. Then a thriving English corporation had built a stone quay, with warehouses and floating wharves that were unaffected by the tremendous swell of the river in the wet season. In consequence its public buildings looked reassuringly European despite their tropical backcloth. Alexandra had stayed at a reasonably good hotel, partaken of mainly European dishes, and decided that all the stories about the Green Hell of the Amazon basin were untrue. But that was before her journey to Los Hermanos.

Manaus was surrounded on three sides by tropical rain forest and on the fourth by the surging waters of the Rio Negro, and indeed it had rained most of the time she was there. But viewing such scenery from the security of a hotel room was utterly different from the actual experience of penetrating further into this watery maze of rivers and forests. It had been a shock to learn that the rivers were the only navigable highways in the area, but she had refused to be deterred even though the knowledge that beyond the steaming wall of giant trunks that flanked the river-bank there was nothing but trees and creepers and rotting vegetation was shattering. The trees themselves were a fantastic sight, towering upwards for over a hundred feet, creating an illusion of lushness from the air which was never visible from the ground. The trees, the vines, the creepers, everything strove upward, and above the canopy of greenery that covered the underworld in cathedral gloom, blossoms flourished, trees flowered, and there was an abundance of life and colour.

Travelling upstream to Los Hermanos in a small craft which seemed totally inadequate to withstand the forces of the thundering waters, Alexandra had still been in the grip of excitement, eager to get on to Paradiablo and find her father. His delight at seeing her would outweigh his annoyance that she had not obeyed his instructions and gone to Cannes with Aunt Liz as planned, she was sure, and it was not until later that the doubts set in.

Her father was a bacteriologist, working for the London-based Haze Institute, and was presently researching the possible uses of the rare fungi found in the Amazon basin in the curing of certain tropical diseases. It was through the Institute that Alexandra had managed to gain the necessary documents and injections to come out to Brazil in the first place, and she had had no qualms about using her not inconsiderable charm to persuade Bob Haze that her father would have no objections. The fact that Aunt Liz had imagined she was spending a few days with a girl friend until the cable she had sent her from Rio de Janeiro arrived had caused her some pangs of conscience, but by then it had been too late to have second thoughts.

She had not given a great deal of thought to the kind of conditions her father might be living under either, and she had soon realised that a camping expedition could be a terrifying prospect. Tarantulas were common enough, albeit harmless if left alone as she had been told, but there were other equally disturbing creatures. Flies, of all kinds, ticks and fleas and centipedes, and mosquitoes which seemed impervious to the insect repellant she used so liberally.

Her arrival in Los Hermanos had been a revelation. It had proved to be little more than a landing point along the river, with a collection of thatched-roofed huts, and a store and warehouse. Her guide, a wizened, monkey-faced little man provided by the tourist authority in Manaus, deposited her there with the storekeeper, and then, by the means of much gesticulation, went on to explain that there were rapids upstream and until the vastly swollen river subsided he would go no further. They had left the Rio Negro some fifty miles above Manaus, and had followed this tributary, the Velhijo, for almost a hundred miles. It had been a strange journey. At the junction between the mighty Negro and the narrower Velhijo, their puny craft had been forced upstream by the weight of the waters below, and to Alexandra, who had never seen a river run against the current before, it was a frightening phenomenon. Further upstream they encountered a stagnant pool, strewn with dead insects and littered with leaves, which her guide had endeavoured to explain was the point where the descending waters of the Velhijo balanced the pressure of the water being forced upstream. After that, the river ran normally again, but Alexandra couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of negotiating that turbulent current on her way back.

Now she pushed aside the curtain of vine leaves which gave the hut a little privacy and emerged into the sunlight. The mornings were the best time of day. Apart from the fact that each day brought her a little nearer to seeing her father, she had the reassuring knowledge inside her that it would be several hours before she had to climb into that precarious hammock once more.

She looked round, aware of the speculative gazes of a group of Indian women sitting cross-legged around a camp-fire in the clearing. Naked children, some of them adorably sweet, played in the dirt, occasionally standing and staring at Alexandra with their thumbs stuck in their mouths. She had grown accustomed to being an object of curiosity, and as she was the only wholly white person in the settlement she was doubly so. The storekeeper, Santos, was of mixed Indian-Mexican origin, while her guide, Vasco, spoke Portuguese but looked more Indian than anything else.

Alexandra’s own knowledge of foreign languages was limited to a fair grounding in French and German, and the merest smattering of Spanish, gleaned during holidays abroad. Santos, fortunately, spoke quite good English, but Vasco littered his speech with Portuguese words that quite often completely confused her. Still, she had managed to communicate with both of them and the rest of the time she had sweated and waited restlessly, growing daily more convinced that she should not have come. But if anyone had told her how remote Paradiablo was she would probably not have believed them …

The hut she had been given to occupy was set some way back from the river but within sight and sound of the store and warehouse on the landing. What food she ate was provided by Santos’s cook, Maria, and now she walked slowly across the clearing towards the shaded verandah of the store. Here Santos had bamboo chairs and a table, and Alexandra had grown accustomed to sitting there for hours on end, flicking away the flies and watching the constant movement of the river.

Maria was putting out some of the starchy mandioca bread on the table which was the Indian’s staple diet, and she looked up and smiled when Alexandra appeared. She was an Indian girl of indeterminate age, although Alexandra suspected she was no older than herself. Indian women aged more quickly and Alexandra had seen the way Santos treated her. She was pretty sure he kept the girl for other reasons than cooking, but Maria didn’t seem to mind. There was a certain acceptance of her lot about her, and Alexandra wondered rather grimly how Women’s Lib would make out here.

Santos appeared as Alexandra was drinking her second cup of coffee. Of all things the coffee here was excellent, and she felt quite sure that without it she would have found it difficult to remain resolute.

Santos was not very tall, but he was immensely fat, and Alexandra could never completely quell the surge of disgust she felt at the idea of he and Maria together. He had a long moustache, and thinning black hair which he combed across his bald pate. He was invariably smoking a cigar, and this morning was no exception.

‘Ah, good morning, Mees Tempest!’ he greeted her blandly, scratching the hairs on his chest visible between the open buttons of his shirt. ‘Is a lovely morning, yes?’

‘Lovely,’ agreed Alexandra without enthusiam.

‘The river—she is subsiding, yes? Yes,’ he nodded.

Alexandra’s head jerked up. ‘You think so?’

He shrugged in typically Mexican fashion. ‘I think.’ He chuckled. ‘We will get that lazy—good-for-nothing moving, yes?’

‘Oh, I hope so.’ Alexandra was fervent. She put down her coffee cup. ‘How long will it take us to get to Paradiablo?’

‘You ask this many times, Mees Tempest. I cannot say.’ He shrugged again. ‘Two days—–’ He spread his hands. ‘Three days.’

‘So long?’ Alexandra tried not to feel perturbed. Two nights alone with Vasco were not absolutely acceptable to her. It wasn’t that she was prudish; in other circumstances the idea of feeling any alarm at the prospect would not have occurred to her. But here—with nowhere to escape to except the jungle—that was something else. And there were still the rapids …

Santos was studying her expressive face and now he said: ‘You are worried about Vasco?’ He shook his head. ‘You will not be alone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I will send two Indian bearers with you.’

‘Bearers?’ Alexandra frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Santos lowered his bulk on to one of the cane chairs and Alexandra watched the narrow legs buckle a little. It always amazed her that they didn’t snap altogether beneath his weight.

‘The rapids, Mees Tempest.’ He raised his eyebrows and at her look of incomprehension, he went on: ‘Not all rapids are—how do you say it?—negociavel?’

‘Negotiable?’ offered Alexandra, and he nodded.

‘Sim, negotiable.’ He stretched out his legs. ‘We leave the boat and walk around—yes?’

‘Leave the boat?’ Alexandra’s mouth felt dry. ‘And—walk through the jungle?’

‘For short distance only.’

‘I see.’

‘You will need these men to carry your cases.’

‘And—and the boat?’

‘It is hauled along the river-bank above the rapids.’

‘I—didn’t realise.’ Another anxiety, Alexandra thought sickly, contemplating in imagination the scores of insects and snakes they might encounter in the forest. She had an intense and cowardly desire to turn back.

‘And—we sleep in the boat, is that right?’

‘Safest,’ nodded Santos, chewing at the end of his cigar, and while she pondered this he turned and shouted: ‘Maria!’ at the top of his voice. When the Indian girl appeared, he grasped her familiarly about her hips, dragging her close against him and saying: ‘You tell that inutil Vasco I want to see him, yes?’

Maria pulled away and went to do his bidding while Alexandra poured herself another cup of coffee. She wished she smoked. Right now she would have appreciated something to calm her nerves. On her first evening she had sampled some of Santos’s spirit alcohol in an impulsive effort to appear sophisticated, but she had spent several hours afterwards being violently sick and she had not repeated the experience. Indeed, she had avoided almost everything, food as well as drink, that did not come out of a tin and in consequence she had avoided any further gastric disturbances.

But now she could have done with some stimulating brew to dispel the sense of chilling apprehension she was feeling.

Vasco arrived with Maria, looking more than ever like a monkey as he loped along beside her. He had long arms and a short body, and a shaggy mat of black hair which Alexandra supposed he must comb but which never looked as though he had. She felt an hysterical sense of the ridiculous overwhelming her. To think—she had left the comfort of an exclusive boarding school, or the equally exclusive luxury of her father’s house in a fashionable square in London, to live in a mud hut in the heart of the Amazonian rain forest. She must be mad!

Santos’s conversation with Vasco was conducted in Portuguese and Alexandra understood little of it. But what did emerge was that Santos had accused the other man of delaying here because he was paid by the day and the longer he took to deliver Alexandra to her destination the more money he made. Until then Alexandra had hardly considered that aspect of it, and somehow just talking about money made everything seem a little more normal.

The wrangle continued, but Alexandra turned her attention to the river. In truth, it looked very little different today than it had done the day before, but for all his obesity and his disgusting affair with Maria, she trusted Santos more than the wizened Vasco. She half wished it was he, and not the other man, who was to escort her on the final leg of her journey.

Eventually Vasco went away muttering to himself but apparently persuaded that the waters were subsiding. Santos sat, smiling and nodding, and when Alexandra looked at him, he said:

‘You will go now, Mees Tempest. Santos will see you on your way.’

‘You mean—we’re leaving today?’ Alexandra was surprised to find how little enthusiasm this aroused in her now that the moment had actually come. Although perhaps after her anxiety earlier she could be forgiven for losing the determination with which she had initially begun this journey.

‘Is right,’ agreed Santos, lighting another cigar from the stub of the first. ‘Santos will see that you have everything you need.’

Alexandra got to her feet. ‘I’d better get my things—–’

Santos yelled for Maria, and when she came he told her to go and collect the senhorita’s cases from her hut. Alexandra began to protest that she was perfectly capable of getting her own things, but Santos interrupted her, saying:

‘Maria will do it. Leave her. The Indians like to serve. Hadn’t you noticed?’

Alexandra made no response to this. If she had she might have been tempted to tell Santos exactly what she thought of the kind of servitude in which he held Maria, and she had no wish to make enemies here. So she merely smiled and walked to the edge of the landing, looking down in to the amazingly clear waters of the Velhijo. She could see the sandy bottom lying beneath the water, the bleached rocks and curious dark red tinging of the water in places which from a distance made it appear almost black. She realised it was the mineral deposits in the river, swept down by the force of the elements, and it was mostly iron which gave it its curious colour. On the opposite bank, what had appeared to be a log moved, and she saw to her horror that it was one of the grey alligators, called caymans, which she had seen from time to time on the river-bank on her journey to Los Hermanos. Its narrow beady eyes and raised nostrils which enabled it to swim almost completely submerged sent a shiver of apprehension up her spine and she took an involuntary step backward. What would they do if they encountered something like that as they tramped past the rapids? She had little confidence in Vasco’s protection.

But by the time the boat was loaded with sleeping bags and extra blankets, cans of water and supplies, and two rifles had been added to the pile of equipment in the bottom of the boat, she felt a little more relaxed. The two Indians who were to accompany them seemed cheerful enough, although Alexandra had to avert her eyes from their apparent disregard for clothing of any sort. They sat together in the prow of the boat, chewing the tobacco which had blackened their teeth, and talking in some language of their own. She tried not to think about the fact that apart from Vasco’s, theirs were to be the only other human faces she was likely to see for two whole days. She had too much imagination, she decided.

Santos waved them off. He had shown little surprise at her adventurous journey to see her father, and Alexandra could only assume that like the Indians he considered all white people slightly eccentric. And, too, he had displayed little interest in her destination, and she hoped this was not because he never expected her to reach it.

A bend in the river hid the trading post from view and the boat’s small motor chugged steadily upstream. There was a canvas canopy rigged at the rear end of the craft and Alexandra sat beneath this, glad of the respite from the glare of the sun which was just beginning to make the heat unbearable. In fact, it was a little better on the river. There was a slight breeze as the boat moved through the water, and Alexandra fanned herself with her sunglasses.

Well, she thought, trying to be philosophical, she was at least moving again, and who knows, maybe in less than forty-eight hours she would see her father again. It seemed an unreal supposition.

They didn’t stop at lunch-time, but Vasco chewed a hunk of the mandioca bread and drank some beer while Alexandra opened a tin of Coke and peeled two bananas. The fresh fruit was infinitely more delicious than any she had tasted in England, and if the Coke was a little warm, it couldn’t be helped. The Indians had nothing to eat, but grabbed the tins of beer Vasco threw to them with eager fingers, tearing open the tops and drinking greedily, the liquid dripping out of the corners of their mouths in their haste. Alexandra tried not to watch them, aware that her interest might be misconstrued, but their behaviour both repelled and fascinated her.

She fell asleep after lunch. She had not intended to do so, but she slept so fitfully at night that it was almost impossible to stay awake during the heat of the day. She was awakened by the sound of an aircraft overhead, but by the time she had pulled herself together it had disappeared. At least the intense heat had lessened somewhat, and she had been long enough in the river-basin to know that at night it could be bitterly cold. She yawned and stretched her legs, turning up the trouser cuffs to allow the air to get at her bare legs, and then rolled them down again at the awareness of having an audience.

Late in the afternoon, Vasco turned off the boat’s engine and secured the craft to the jutting stump of a long dead tree by the means of a thick rope. ‘We stay,’ he announced, mainly for Alexandra’s benefit. ‘Go on—amanha.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Alexandra licked her dry lips. ‘Couldn’t we go a little further today?’

Vasco shook his head. ‘Rapidos, senhorita. Nao caminho!’

Alexandra wished she had a Portuguese phrase book. She had the distinct suspicion that Vasco knew more English than he let on. It made it simpler for him if she couldn’t argue with him.

Now she was forced to acquiesce, and watched with astonishment as the two Indians dived over the side to swim and play in the water. Alexandra was almost sure there were piranhas in the river and she waited in horror for something terrible to happen. But nothing did. The two Indians swam to the river-bank, climbed ashore, and soon began gathering twigs to make a fire.

Dragging her attention from them, Alexandra became aware that Vasco was rigging up a kind of fishing line. He dangled it over the side, and before too long he caught an enormous fish, hauling it in and killing it mercilessly.

‘Tucunare!’ observed Vasco, with evident satisfaction. ‘You like?’

Alexandra shook her head vigorously. ‘No, thank you,’ she declined politely. A tin of beans or corned beef might be less appetising, but definitely safer. Even so, when Vasco started a fire in a kind of brazier and barbecued the fish he had caught, the smell was irresistible. It was almost dark by this time, and the towering trees around them seemed to be pressing in on them. Alexandra felt very much alone, and when Vasco again proffered some of the fish she found herself accepting.

It was absolutely delicious, and Alexandra ate ravenously, enjoying it more than anything she had had since leaving Manaus eight days ago. Licking her fingers afterwards, she looked towards the river-bank and saw the glow of the fire the Indians had lighted. Seemingly they did not find the forest frightening, and were equally capable of providing for themselves when it came to food.

Vasco doused the fire and lighted a lamp. Then he sat cross-legged in the bottom of the boat, poking his teeth with a sliver of wood. Alexandra wished he would stare at something else instead of her all the time, but as he had been kind enough to provide her with a delicious supper perhaps she ought to try and behave naturally.

‘Do—er—do you have any children, Vasco?’ she ventured tentatively.

The wizened face grimaced. ‘Filhos? Nao, senhorita.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Me? Me—repugnante! Who like Vasco?’

Alexandra felt a surge of compassion. ‘Why—why, that’s nonsense, Vasco. I—I’m sure there are lots—of girls who would be—be proud to marry you.’

Vasco’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You theenk so?’ he asked, shuffling a little nearer to her.

Alexandra quelled the urge to shift her legs from out of his reach. ‘I—I’m sure of it.’

‘And you, senhorita? You have muitos namorados, sim?’

Alexandra understood what this meant. ‘I—I have boy-friends, yes,’ she admitted.

‘Naturalmente, the senhorita esta muita formosa!’

Alexandra gave what she hoped was a deprecatory smile and forced a glance towards the camp-fire glowing among the trees on the bank. ‘The—the—er—Indians seem quite at home in the forest, don’t they?’ she said hurriedly.

‘Is their home,’ replied Vasco, without interest. ‘Tell me, senhorita, tell me about your boy-friends, sim? Do they—touch you? Do they—make love to you?’

Alexandra was revolted by the perversion of his curiosity. Pressing her lips together, she said coldly: ‘Where are you going to sleep, senhor?’

Vasco was unperturbed. ‘Where would the senhorita like Vasco to sleep?’

Alexandra gasped. ‘I—I beg your pardon?’

Vasco got to his knees, grasping her ankles with horny fingers. ‘The senhorita need not be afraid with Vasco,’ he said, his English improving all the time. ‘Vasco will not leave you alone.’

‘The senhorita is not afraid,’ snapped Alexandra, struggling to free her ankles, and trying to squash the feeling of panic that was rising inside her. ‘Please let go of me, or— or—–’

‘Or what will you do?’ Vasco’s face twisted into the semblance of a smile. ‘Will you shout for help? From whom? Who can hear you here?’ He flicked a contemptuous glance towards the Indians’ fire. ‘They? Nao. They would like to take their turn.’

‘You’re—you’re disgusting!’

Alexandra wrenched her feet out of his hands and lunged to one side. She had no clear idea of what she was about to do. Diving into the river or escaping into the forest were two equally impossible alternatives, but she had to do something or she would scream. She fell against the equipment in the well of the boat and something scraped painfully along her hip. It was a rifle.

Grasping it like a lifeline, she swung round on her knees pointing the barrel towards Vasco. ‘If—if you move, I’ll shoot!’ she declared in a ridiculously tremulous voice, but Vasco sat back on his heels and roared with laughter. ‘I—I mean it,’ she added fiercely. ‘I have used a gun before.’

‘Have you, senhorita?’ Vasco shook his head. ‘Veja—you have me in fear and trembling!’ And he held out one hand and deliberately shook it in front of her face.

Exactly what Vasco might have done next Alexandra was never to know, because almost simultaneously they heard the sound of an engine throbbing on the still night air. It was a boat coming down-stream, Alexandra thought, and her heart leapt and then subsided again. What now?

Sounds carried a tremendous distance in the uncanny silence of this watery maze and it was some time before the craft appeared round the bend in the river. There were lights on board and the sound of men’s voices, but it was impossible to tell yet what language they were speaking. Alexandra sat in frozen apprehension, hardly aware of the rifle still in her hands.

The occupants of the other boat saw them. It would have been impossible for them not to have seen the light of the lamp, and Alexandra tensed as the craft drew nearer. It was a smaller vessel and a tall man was profiled near its bow, standing looking towards them, saying something to the other men in the boat as it drew alongside. Then he hailed Alexandra’s companion:

‘Bem, Vasco, tu velho patife, como esta?’

The boats ground gently together and the other craft’s motor was cut as Vasco scrambled to his feet, completely disregarding the possible menace of the rifle Alexandra was holding.

A stream of Portuguese issued from his throat as he greeted the stranger, shaking his hand warmly as the other man vaulted into their boat, glancing back at Alexandra and then continuing to talk excitedly.

Alexandra got unsteadily to her feet, holding on to the rifle. If this man was a friend of Vasco’s, what possible assistance could she expect from him? She stared intently at him. It was impossible to distinguish his features as he was still in the shadows, but his height seemed to negate his being an Indian. He kept turning his head in her direction, however, and she wondered with increasing alarm whether he imagined she was easy game, too.

Eventually he seemed to take command, for he silenced Vasco with an unmistakable gesture and then stepped across the pile of equipment in the bottom of the boat into the light.

Alexandra took a step backward, her eyes widening as she realised he looked almost European. He was deeply tanned, of course; no one could be otherwise who lived in this area, and his hair was very dark and longer than Vasco’s, but his lean, harshly arrogant features and thin mouth were almost patrician in cast. Even so, there was a certain sinuous quality about the way he moved that few Europeans possessed, and his eyes were amazingly as pale as blue fire. He was a handsome brute, Alexandra had to concede that, and from the way his eyes were assessing her with almost insolent appraisal he was perfectly aware of it.

‘Boa tarde, senhorita!’ he greeted her politely, with a faint but perceptible bow of his head, which went rather oddly with the close-fitting denim pants he was wearing and the denim shirt which was opened almost to his waist. ‘Isn’t that rifle a little heavy for you?’

He spoke English without any trace of an accent, and Alexandra stared at him in amazement. Her fingers slackened for a moment round the rifle and then tightened again.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded tautly.

The stranger cast a mocking glance back at Vasco, and then, while Alexandra was off guard, he stepped forward and twisted the rifle effortlessly out of her hands. ‘That’s better, is it not?’ he enquired, examining the weapon expertly. ‘Now—as to who I am, I suggest you tell me your name first.’

Alexandra was rubbing her fingers where his determined removal of the rifle had grazed them, and she stared at him a trifle desperately. ‘Look,’ she said unsteadily, ‘I don’t see why I have to tell you anything. I—I—this man here——’

‘Who? Vasco?’

‘Yes, Vasco. He—he was threatening me.’

‘Nao!’ Vasco was openly indignant. ‘I did not have espingarda, senhorita...’

The stranger ignored the other man’s outburst and went on calmly: ‘With what was he threatening you?’

Alexandra looked down at her hands. ‘I’d really rather not talk about it.’

The stranger’s lips twisted sardonically. ‘I see.’ He paused. ‘A woman—or should I say, a girl?—who is prepared to travel unescorted must be prepared to look after herself.’ He tossed the rifle carelessly back to her and she managed to catch it before it fell on the deck at her feet. ‘Look at it,’ he commanded. ‘Not only is it not loaded, but the safety catch is still on.’

Alexandra looked rather warily down at the gun in her hands. She had never handled a rifle before this evening, not any gun if it came to that, in spite of her vain boast to Vasco. And if this man had known that, Vasco, with his awareness of its lack of bullets, must have known it, too.

‘Please,’ she said, suddenly feeling that it was all too much for her. ‘Just go away and leave me alone.’

The stranger dropped the butt of his cigar over the side of the boat and she heard the faint plop as it hit the water and was extinguished. Then he leant forward and removed the rifle from her unresisting fingers, and stood it against the other equipment beside him.

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ he remarked quietly, folding his arms. ‘You see, I came here to find you, Miss Tempest.’

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was a minute of complete silence when all Alexandra could hear was the heavy beating of her own heart. She tried to recollect whether she had heard Vasco mention her name in his initial outburst and then decided he must have done, for how else could this man know who she was? And yet he had said he had come here to find her. It didn’t make sense!

‘Who are you?’ she asked at last, unable to find anything more original to say.

‘My name is Declan O’Rourke, Miss Tempest. Vasco will vouch for that, I am sure. I live—some distance up-river.’

Declan O’Rourke!

Alexandra felt more than ever confused. Apart from the pale blue eyes between the thick black lashes there was little to indicate his Irish heritage.

‘But——’ She sought for words. ‘How did you know where to find me? And how did you know I was here?’

‘Explanations of that sort can wait.’ He glanced round at Vasco’s expectant face. ‘I will escort Miss Tempest from here. You can go back to Los Hermanos and tell Santos——’

‘No! I mean—wait!’ Alexandra bit her lower lip hard. ‘How do I know who you are? I mean, you can’t just come along and—and take me over!’

‘Would you rather stay with Vasco?’ O’Rourke’s eyes were mocking. ‘Did I misunderstand that scene I interrupted?’

‘No, no, of course you didn’t.’ Alexandra wrung her hands. ‘But—but you can’t expect me to go with you just like that—without any kind of an explanation.’

‘I’m afraid you don’t have much choice, Miss Tempest,’ he returned politely, and she stared impotently at the sweat-stained shoulders of his shirt as he turned away.

Vasco sidled up to him and said something in an undertone and Alexandra wished desperately that she understood Portuguese. She had no liking for Vasco, nor any real trust, but he had brought her this far. How was she to be sure that this man O’Rourke was not some kind of thief or adventurer who, the minute they were out of Vasco’s sight, would ditch her and take what little money and possessions she had brought with her. Her fingers encountered the narrow gold watch on her wrist. Her father had bought it for her sixteenth birthday just over a year ago, and it was insured for almost two hundred pounds. It, at least, was worth stealing. Perhaps even Vasco was in league with him. Perhaps this was some crooked sort of deal they had cooked up between them.

Declan O’Rourke was beginning to manhandle her suitcases into the other boat and his actions inspired retaliation. She rushed forward and grasped his arm, preventing him from slinging over the pigskin holdall that contained her heavier clothes. His flesh was hard and warm beneath her fingers, and there were hairs on his arm that roughened the skin. This close she could smell the heat of his body, but it was not an unpleasant smell, and the aroma of tobacco still lingered about him.

He was turning at the moment she grabbed his arm and his elbow caught her in the rib-cage so that she gasped and released him, collapsing awkwardly on to the pile of blankets.

‘I’m sorry.’ There was a faint smile on his face as he hauled her to her feet at once, making sure she was not hurt by holding her for a moment until she drew free of him. ‘That was careless of me. I’m sure you want to help, but I can manage.’

Alexandra glared at him frustratedly. ‘You know perfectly well that was not my intention!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh—this is ridiculous! What are you doing with my belongings? What do you intend to do with me?’

Declan O’Rourke regarded her mockingly. ‘You really don’t trust anyone, do you?’

‘I haven’t had much encouragement!’ retorted Alexandra unsteadily, her momentary anger dissipating beneath other anxieties.

‘Very well. I—heard—there was a young woman waiting at Los Hermanos, waiting to come to Paradiablo.’

‘How did you hear that?’

‘You would call it a—grapevine, I think. We have quite an efficient one, believe me.’

‘Senhor O’Rourke lives at Paradiablo,’ put in Vasco, and was silenced by a piercing look from those chilling blue eyes.

‘I see.’ Alexandra was trying to make sense of this. ‘Do you know my father, Mr. O’Rourke?’

‘Professor Tempest? Yes, I know him.’

Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Then you know he is at Paradiablo, too.’

‘Professor Tempest has been working at Paradiablo for several months, yes.’

Alexandra’s warm mouth curved into a smile. ‘Thank heavens for that! Oh—does he know I’m here, too?’

‘No.’ Declan O’Rourke sounded quite definite about that. He bent and completed his transference of her belongings to the other boat. Then he straightened. ‘I presume you are prepared to come with me now?’

Alexandra hesitated. ‘But I thought—oughtn’t we to stay here overnight? Vasco said something about—rapids?’

Declan O’Rourke cast a wry glance in Vasco’s direction. ‘Did he? Yes—well, there are rapids further upstream, but we will not be negotiating them this evening.’

Alexandra frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will.’ Declan O’Rourke indicated his boat. ‘Do you need any assistance to climb across?’

Alexandra shook her head and then looked uncomfortably towards Vasco. How did he feel about losing his passenger?

‘Er—how much—how much do I owe you?’ she began.

‘I’ll attend to that.’

Declan O’Rourke spoke before Vasco’s greedy little mouth could voice a figure, and Alexandra had no choice but to leave him to it. She scrambled over into the adjoining boat, flinching away from the Indian hands which reached to help her, and standing rather uneasily in the well of the vessel watching the two men complete their business. She was still not entirely convinced that she was doing the right thing. There were still a lot of questions left unanswered. But she had made her decision and she had no choice but to stick to it.

A few moments later, Declan O’Rourke vaulted back into his own boat again and with a raised hand to Vasco he nodded to his Indian pilot and they began to move away. In no time at all the darkness had sucked them into its waiting void and Alexandra hugged herself closely, huddled on the plank seat, wondering what on earth her father was going to say when she saw him. She had the uneasy conviction that he was not going to be at all pleased.

Declan O’Rourke did not speak to her as the small vessel moved steadily upstream and apart from an occasional word between him and the Indian pilot the only sounds were the slapping movements of the water against the bows of the boat.

They travelled for perhaps half an hour and then Alexandra realised they were pulling across to the bank. Her nerves tightened. What now? Was this where they were going to abandon her—to be eaten alive by alligators or crushed to death by the giant anaconda of her nightmares?

The boat crunched against the spongy roots of dead undergrowth, and Declan O’Rourke sprang across on to marshy ground and secured a rope. Then he came back to where Alexandra was sitting and said:

‘Have you got boots?’ in a curt, uncompromising tone.

Alexandra blinked. ‘Boots? Oh—yes, of course.’

‘Put them on then. We’re going ashore.’

‘Ashore?’ Alexandra looked in horror at the menacing belt of tropical forest. ‘But——’

‘Don’t argue right now. Just do as I say.’

Declan turned away with the air of one accustomed to command and what was more, accustomed to being obeyed. Alexandra found herself fumbling for her boots and pushing her feet into them. When they were fastened she stood up and Declan came back to her shouldering a load of blankets and carrying a powerful torch.

‘Come along,’ he said, indicating that she should follow him and with a reluctant look at her belongings strewn in the bottom of the boat she obeyed.

The two Indians who were accompanying him were apparently remaining in the boat and Alexandra forced herself into a fatalistic frame of mind. Whatever happened now, she was powerless to prevent it.

Declan leapt on to the marshy river-bank and lent a hand as she jumped across the lapping shallows to land beside him. Her boots sank into the soggy ground and squelched as Declan switched on the torch and went ahead, urging her to follow him.

There was a path worn through the jungle at this point and it was surprisingly easy walking. Of course, all around them were the poisonous liana creepers that fought their way upward in a strangling spiral round the trunks of trees, and there might be any number of minor monsters underfoot, but Alexandra refused to think of them. The uncanny silence created an illusion of complete isolation, and the thought crossed her mind that these forests had existed here longer than man had peopled the earth. It was a shattering realisation.

An unearthly roar that echoed and re-echoed around them caused Alexandra to gasp and stumble, but she managed to right herself with resorting to clutching at her escort. All the same, she glanced back rather fearfully over her shoulder, half expecting to find a jaguar with dripping jaws panting malevolently behind her, but then her head jerked forward again as her companion said calmly:

‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s miles away. But sound carries in the forest.’

Alexandra nodded, not trusting herself to say anything and then walked into him without realising he had stopped and was pointing to a light a few yards away.

‘Our destination,’ he observed dryly, propelling her away from him again. ‘It belongs to a friend of mine and his family.’

Alexandra’s eyes widened. ‘You mean—people actually live out here?’

‘Why not?’ His voice had cooled perceptibly.

‘But—I mean—how can they?’ She spread her hands in an encompassing movement.

He looked down at her and even in the faint light from the torch she could sense his displeasure. ‘To live means different things to different people, Miss Tempest. I realise that in your society material things are the criterion by which success in life is judged, but here we have a more basic appreciation of happiness.’

Alexandra coloured and was glad he could not see it. She wanted to retaliate, to tell him that he knew nothing about the kind of society she moved in. How could he, living here in this remote part of the world, the rivers his only link with civilisation? But to stand arguing with him in the middle of the jungle with the darkness of night pressing all around them seemed the height of absurdity, so she remained silent.

He walked away towards the hut from which the light was coming and Alexandra stumbled after him. She was beginning to feel the coldness that came from too much exposure to the damp night air and the shivering that enveloped her was as much to do with that as nervousness. Even so, she was nervous, although her blind panic had left her.

A man emerged from the hut as they approached, carrying a lamp. Alexandra saw to her relief that he was at least wearing a pair of torn, but adequately covering, shorts, although his appearance was not encouraging. His brown Indian features were battered and scarred, and his teeth were blackened by the usual chewing of tobacco root. Behind him clustered his wife and a group of children of varying ages from two to teenage. He greeted Declan O’Rourke as warmly as Vasco had done, but their conversation was conducted in one of the Indian dialects Alexandra had heard since coming to Los Hermanos.

His wife and the children were more interested in Alexandra. Clearly they had seen Declan O’Rourke before, but a white girl was a different matter. Alexandra, shivering in her shirt and jeans, wondered however they managed to keep warm in such a minimum amount of clothing.

They were invited inside. The hut was larger than she had at first imagined, but it soon became apparent that they were all expected to share the same sleeping area. In the light of the lamp, Declan O’Rourke’s eyes challenged her to find some fault with this arrangement, and rather than create any unpleasantness Alexandra made no demur. She supposed she ought to feel grateful that she was at least warm again, even though the charcoal fire burning in one corner of the hut filled the air with smoke before escaping out of a hole in the thatched roof, but it was infinitely better than sleeping in the open boat as she had expected to do.

Declan O’Rourke introduced her to their host and his wife, who, although they could not speak her language, made her welcome by smiles and gestures. Their names Alexandra knew she would never remember, but their children, amazingly, had English names, and Declan explained in an undertone that a missionary in the area had converted them to Christianity. In consequence, all the younger children had names taken straight out of the Bible.

The clear spirit which Santos had offered her that first night at Los Hermanos was proffered and when she tried to refuse Declan put the mud-baked utensil into her hands.

‘Drink!’ he commanded harshly, and she stared at him mutinously.

‘I don’t like it,’ she protested, but his eyes were without sympathy.

‘Learn to do so,’ he said, swallowing the liquid he had been given with evident relish. ‘Or would you like me to force it down your throat?’

Alexandra’s lips parted. ‘Look, I realise this is an example of their hospitality——’

‘Just drink it,’ said Declan, with resignation, his eyes hard and unyielding, and with a helpless shrug of her shoulders she raised the cup to her lips.

In fact it wasn’t half as bad as she had anticipated. It burned her throat, but it did create a warm glow inside her which banished a little of her tension. Declan O’Rourke spoke to their host while they drank and then after the dishes were cleared away it seemed expected that they should now retire.

The Indian and his family had the usual kind of hammocks to sleep in, and already the children were curling up together with a complete disregard as to age and sex. Declan politely refused the use of the Indian’s hammock and spread a ground-sheet over the hard floor, covering it with a blanket. Then he indicated to Alexandra that she should sit down on it.

After a moment’s hesitation, Alexandra did as she was silently bidden, and watched in amazement when he came down beside her, spreading the other blankets over their legs.

‘Now wait a minute …’ she began, but he interrupted her impatiently.

‘This is no time for maidenly modesty, Miss Tempest. In the jungle one abides by the law of survival. What is it they say about Rome and the Romans? Right now, all I’m interested in is getting you safely to Paradiablo, for your father’s sake.’

It was the first time he had voluntarily made any mention of their eventual destination, and her spirits rose. But the lamp was extinguished at that moment and only total darkness remained, which disconcerted her again. She felt Declan stretch his length beside her and closed her eyes before moving as far away from him as possible on the rough blanket. She was loath to lie down, to place herself in such a vulnerable position, but she could hardly sit up all night, could she? And besides, what had she to be afraid of?

She lay down cautiously. She had never shared a bed with anyone before, and except at boarding school she had always had a room of her own. Of course, now she was growing older she had thought about sleeping with boys, and at school her girl friends found the topic infinitely interesting. But although she was aware that that sort of thing did go on, she had never allowed her relationships with the opposite sex to get that far. On the contrary, she avoided promiscuous situations, and it was a totally new experience to lie down beside a man.

Her nails curled into her palms. She could imagine the comments she would arouse if she went back to school and told her friends the details of this little expedition. And she would not be exaggerating if she told them that Declan O’Rourke was one of the most attractive men she had ever encountered. Attractive, physically, that is. She was not so sure about his personality. But then she had had little to do with mature men of … how many years? She frowned. Thirty? She supposed he might be younger. But no doubt the life he led here did not lend itself to lengthening the period of one’s existence. On the contrary. Anyone who lived here deserved a medal for endurance, she decided ironically.

She drew the blankets up to her chin. She was cold. In spite of the ground-sheet, the dampness of the earth seemed to strike up at her and she wished she had had the sense to bring a woollen sweater with her from the boat.

Declan O’Rourke stirred. ‘Relax,’ he mumbled sleepily, misinterpreting her movements. ‘I won’t touch you. I prefer to sleep alone, but as we have only one ground-sheet…’

Alexandra rolled on to her side away from him, resenting the fact that he had been the one to voice his dissatisfaction with the situation, and a few moments later she heard his steady breathing. She hunched her shoulders miserably, trying not to shiver. She was not used to the hardness of the floor, or the snuffling sounds coming from one of the smaller children. And there was a catarrhal snore issuing from someone’s throat. What an awful place this was, she thought, sniffing. She felt hot tears pressing at her eyelids. It was self-pity, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. At least at Los Hermanos she had had a hammock to sleep in, up and away from the possible intrusion of ants or spiders. Oh, God, she thought sickly, what if a tarantula entered the hut during the night as one had at Los Hermanos? What if it crawled across the blanket on to her face?

She caught her breath on a sob, shuddering uncontrollably, and almost jumped out of her skin when a warm arm curved over her waist, drawing her back against a hard muscular body. She struggled automatically until his mouth beside her ear said rather resignedly:

‘I’m not about to rape you, but you are cold—and terrified too, I guess. I’m not completely without sensitivities, you know.’

Alexandra stopped struggling, but she held herself stiffly. ‘You said you wouldn’t touch me!’ she accused him in a whisper.

‘You want I should let you go?’ His voice had hardened.

All of a sudden Alexandra gave in and relaxed against him. His warmth was enveloping her like a comforting shield, and she no longer wanted to resist him.

‘No,’ she admitted huskily, overwhelmingly aware of the masculine hardness of his thighs against hers. ‘I—I’m sorry. I was frozen!’

His hand on her stomach drew her closer into the curve of his body. ‘I can feel that,’ he observed quietly. ‘Now, I suggest you get some sleep. You’re perfectly safe.’

But it was easier said than done. Although she was now warm, she was also disturbed by his nearness. She had never been this close to any man before and she moved against him restlessly, feeling every movement he made.

At last he said: ‘For God’s sake, lie still, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences!’ in a curiously rough tone, and the harsh words caused her to remain motionless until sleep came to claim her.

The sounds of the children woke her. She blinked and opened her eyes warily, and then became conscious of the weight of Declan’s arm across her breasts. He was still asleep, she thought, but when she made a tentative move to escape from his hold, his eyes opened and looked into hers. She felt herself flushing. She couldn’t help it. But he merely gave her a half mocking smile before rolling on to his back and rubbing his hand over the darkening stubble of his chin.

Alexandra sat up, smoothing a hand over the heavy weight of her hair, feeling its tangled disorder. The hut door was open and the children were running in and out. The wife of their host was sitting in one corner of the hut suckling the youngest child at her drooping breasts, while from outside came the smell of food roasting over a fire. She looked down at Declan, as relaxed as if he had just spent the night in a comfortable bed, and her colour deepened again as his eyes moved to the rounded outline of her breasts beneath the thin material of her blouse.

‘You’d better button your shirt,’ he remarked dryly. ‘Women’s Lib may be all right for the natives, but I don’t somehow think you’re that emancipated.’

Alexandra’s lips parted and she looked down in embarrassment to find a couple of the buttons of her blouse had become unfastened during the night. Her fingers fumbled them into their holes and then she got to her feet, brushing down her denim jeans in an effort to assure herself that they at least were decent.

Declan sat up, running his fingers through the thickness of his straight hair. ‘There are no washing facilities here,’ he said, ‘but you can wash in the river if you wish. As to the other …’ he grinned, ‘there are plenty of trees for cover.’

Alexandra gave him an impatient look and then walked to the door of the hut. Outside their host was spit-roasting something over his fire. It looked like meat and it smelt like meat, but when Declan came to stand behind her he said it was fish. Alexandra ate some, sitting cross-legged like Declan, and found it amazingly good. Or maybe it was that she had had so little to eat the day before, anything would have tasted good.

After the meal, Declan collected the blankets and they bade their hosts goodbye. Then they walked back through the jungle to the river where the boat was rocking gently on its mooring. Declan slung the blankets into the boat and then began unbuttoning his shirt and trousers. Alexandra stared at him in alarm.

‘What are you doing?’ she exclaimed in horror.

Declan threw off his shirt and with a mild grimace examined a tick which had embedded itself on his chest during the night. Then he bent to take off his trousers, saying: ‘I’m going for a swim. Want to join me?’

‘In the river!’ Alexandra gasped. ‘But aren’t there piranhas in the water?’

‘Probably,’ he agreed, looking down at the purple trunks which were his only piece of underwear. Then he smiled. ‘I won’t horrify you by stripping to the raw. But I don’t mind if you do.’

Alexandra shook her head, turning away apprehensively as he dived cleanly into the water, and then glanced back over her shoulder, half expecting him to appear minus a limb. However, he came up, shaking his hair back out of his eyes, and swam across the current with powerful strokes.

Alexandra remained on the bank until he emerged unscathed, brushing the water from his body and drying himself with one of the blankets thrown to him by the Indians in the boat.

‘That’s better,’ he said, reaching for his pants and pulling them on over the wet trunks. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try it?’

‘No, thank you.’ Alexandra watched him covertly, noticing how broad his shoulders were and how the muscles of his chest rippled beneath the curls of black hair. There was hair on his stomach, too, but she found him watching her and quickly looked away. Even so, she was aware that she was trembling a little, and her heart pounded loudly in her ears. She had never felt this way before, and she told herself severely that it was the complete lack of inhibition around here that caused the moistening of her palms and the curious weakening sensation in the pit of her stomach. She was not used to seeing half-naked men, or women either if it came to that.

‘You’d better check that you don’t have any bugs making their home beneath your skin,’ he advised, leaving the top buttons of his shirt unfastened and tucking the bottom into his pants with no apparent sense of embarrassment at her scrutiny.

‘Bugs?’ Alexandra stared at him.

‘Bugs, ticks—what’s the difference? You don’t leave them alone. Want me to look?’

‘No!’ Alexandra was horrified. Shaking her head vigorously, she turned away, and unbuttoned her blouse, examining her breasts for any horrible little insects like the tick he had flicked off his own chest. But to her relief there was nothing to be seen and she was about to fasten her blouse again when her fingers brushed against something warm and bulging fastened to the skin that covered her diaphragm. With a little gasp she twisted herself to see what it was and almost fainted when she realised it was a leech.

‘Oh, God!’ she moaned, and at once he was beside her, jerking her round to face him, his eyes darkening when he saw what it was that had caused her despair.

‘Don’t panic,’ he muttered, going down on his haunches and taking out his knife. ‘Now—I’ll try not to hurt you, but keep still!’

Alexandra nodded, her fists clenched. She felt the stinging pain as the revolting creature dropped to the ground, and then Declan leant forward and put his mouth to the place where it had been, sucking hard. That hurt, more than the removal of the worm had done, but she stood motionless until he spat away the blood he had drawn and rose to his feet. Then, with trembling fingers, she gathered her blouse protectively about her and burst into tears.

Declan studied her woebegone face with wry compassion. Then he said: ‘It’s not as bad as all that, you know. But hang on. I’ve got some antiseptic in my kit. I think it needs something over it.’

He swung himself across and into the boat, and came back a few minutes later with a bottle and an elastic plaster. The antiseptic stung abominably, but Alexandra was too distraught to protest.

However, by the time he had secured the plaster and buttoned her blouse for her she was beginning to feel a little ashamed of her outburst. She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, smearing dust across her cheeks.

‘I suppose you think I’m a fool,’ she said.

Declan shook his head. ‘Why should I think that? It was a normal reaction. Better to get it over with than bottling it up. I thought you behaved rather well in the circumstances. At least you didn’t scream when I used the knife.’

Alexandra bit hard on her lower lip. ‘Will it—I mean, it’s not poisonous or anything, is it?’

Declan pushed her gently but firmly towards the boat. ‘No. You’ll survive. But I’ll have another look at it tonight, if you’ve no objections?’

Alexandra hunched her shoulders. ‘There’s not much point in objecting now, is there?’

Declan helped her into the boat. ‘My dear child, the sight of the naked female form is no novelty around here, believe me!’ An amused quirk to his mouth made her feel rather silly and unsophisticated. ‘And besides, you’ve got a beautiful body. Why be ashamed of it? You’ll have to shed those stupid trivial inhibitions if you want to enjoy your time out here.’

Her terror was subsiding and Alexandra felt more annoyed than anything. Annoyed with herself for giving in to blind panic, and annoyed with him for assuming that because he lived here its ways necessarily had to be acceptable to all.

‘If you imagine you can persuade me to go native, Mr. O’Rourke, you’re mistaken,’ she declared shortly.

His expression was derisive. ‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing, Miss Tempest.’ His lips twisted. ‘But don’t make the mistake of thinking that these people would be interested, either way. We may not be as—civilised—as you like to think you are, but at least we don’t have a percentage of the population getting their kicks from leering at lewd books, or getting hot under the collar watching some female take off her clothes! And if you stripped here and now, you’d arouse nothing more than a mild curiosity! Your white skin isn’t at all appealing to them.’

‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that Vasco——’

Declan gave her an impatient look and then nodded to the pilot that they were ready to cast off. ‘Vasco is a mulatto, and as far as I know he has no Indian blood in his veins. Besides, I’ve no doubt he was only trying to frighten you. You’re a little young and inexperienced for his tastes!’

Alexandra clenched her lips tightly together and turned sideways on the plank seat away from him. It seemed that whatever she said he was always able to take control of the conversation. She stared impotently towards the mist rising from the trees on the opposite bank. The mornings could be quite beautiful, but she didn’t appreciate that now. All she could think was that the sooner they reached Paradiablo, and her father, the better she would like it.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.