The vikings runaway conc.., p.22
The Viking's Runaway Concubine, page 22
“Paulina?” he said when he reached her. “I’ve changed my mind—I should be pleased to attend your party.”
* * *
“Tío Sebas!”
Few things in Sebastian’s life were as gratifying as the enthusiasm with which the four little boys greeted him as he approached the elegant pink house at the end of the street.
They’d been tossing the ball around in front of the house, but at Sebastian’s arrival the boys, whose ages ranged from twelve to a tender four, clustered around Sebastian. Experience had taught them to look in Sebastian’s pockets for treats; he let out a bark of laughter as eight eager little hands dug into his pockets with more enthusiasm than finesse—to the detriment of the sturdy black fabric of the suit he usually wore into town. It took them mere seconds to extract the marbles and pilones he’d bought at Don Enrique’s, and he knew that it would take even less time for them to finish off the red sucking candy shaped like miniature mortars and pestles.
It was a heartening—and welcome—change from the wariness with which the boys had regarded Sebastian since the day he’d ridden into town with news of their father’s collapse at the mill. David, the youngest and Sebastian’s godson, had acquired a most disturbing habit of bursting into tears whenever he saw Sebastian, as if he was a herald of death, come to announce the passing of another loved one.
“Tío Sebas, will you take us to look at the corriente?” asked David, who already sported a red border around his mouth to match his flushed cheeks.
The current? “Erm, what?”
“He wants to go see the workmen who are putting up the posts for the electrical wiring,” José, the oldest, explained. “Mamá said it’s dangerous to be around the men while they’re working, but she won’t mind if you take us.”
Sebastian must have walked past them, but he’d been so intent on Paulina that he hadn’t even noticed them. He laid a hand on José’s curly head. “I’m afraid I can’t today—I’ve some business with your mother. Is she home?”
“She’s inside,” David piped in. “Trying not to melt from the heat because these damn people think everyone should dress like they’re in Europe instead of on a damn tropical island.”
That sounded like Dilia, all right.
“I see.” Sebastian managed to say it gravely, though it took plenty of effort to hide his smile. “Will you go and ask if I can come in? I wouldn’t want to intrude if she’s, ah, not dressed as a European.”
David scampered up the steps. Sebastian leaned against the slim white columns that supported the arched porch and watched the other boys as they played with their new marbles.
A peal of laughter from inside the house let him know that David had delivered his message. “Come in, compadre,” Dilia called, poking her head out of an upstairs window.
It was cooler inside the house, though not by much. Dilia was sitting so close to the window, it was debatable whether she was inside the house or out. She was indeed fully and very properly dressed, in a black skirt and a high-necked shirtwaist. The painted fan in her hand was her only concession to the heat, though her gray-streaked curls were plastered to her temples.
“Hot, isn’t it?” he said as he dropped a kiss on her cheek and the box of candied pineapple on her lap before taking the seat opposite hers. The mahogany armchair with its embroidered cushion had once graced the parlor of her Havana house, and the familiar sight never failed to make Sebastian feel a little wistful for old times. “Feels like it’ll storm today.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Dilia said, setting her needlework on the round table next to her. “I sent for some ice water. Will you stay for a cup of coffee?”
“Don’t go to any trouble on my account.” Sebastian set his Panama hat on his knee. “I’ve got to get back to the mill. I only came into town to make a deposit into your account. There should be enough in there to carry you through the next couple of months.”
“That’s right.” Dilia’s grin might have made her eyes sparkle, but it filled Sebastian with apprehension. “Why waste your time having coffee with old widow women when you could be strolling with pretty girls? I saw you walking with the Despradel girl earlier.”
He gave a brief nod. “She invited me to a party she’s having tonight.”
“And you accepted? Well, well...” Dilia’s right eyebrow arched.
Sebastian shrugged. “It would have been rude to decline the invitation.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” Dilia observed. “Oh, don’t get me wrong—I think it’s perfectly delightful that you’re finally getting acquainted with your neighbors. I’m just surprised that you consented to a party. You act as if you took a blood oath to spend all your time at the mill, you know.”
Antonio Despradel had driven the mill to ruin through mismanagement. It had only been with great effort that Sebastian and Carlos had been able to turn a profit in the first year—and there was still so much to be done. He lay awake at night thinking of it more often than not. It wasn’t only that Carlos had invested his entire fortune in modernizing the mill to Sebastian’s exacting specifications—a fortune that would have been at Dilia’s disposal if it weren’t for the labor-saving but ruinously expensive cane-processing machinery Sebastian had been convinced he needed to turn the mill around. No, it was the people who weighed on Sebastian’s shoulders. The workers at the mill, most of whom had mouths to feed. Carlos’s family. All the people who depended on Sebastian’s ability to eke out enough of a profit from a crowded market.
“I have an obligation to you and the children” was all that Sebastian said.
“Yes, and where will we be if you work yourself to death?” Dilia snapped her fan shut and struck Sebastian lightly on the arm with it. “You are barely twenty-five years old, Sebastian, with no family of your own. Talk to pretty girls. Go to parties. Heaven knows you deserve to enjoy your life.”
“What I deserve is to enjoy this delightful ice water without having to fend off an arranged marriage,” Sebastian said, smiling at Dilia’s enthusiasm. “Save the matchmaking for someone else, my friend. The last thing I need is a wife.”
Copyright © 2022 by Lydia San Andres
Love Harlequin romance?
DISCOVER.
Be the first to find out about promotions, news and exclusive content!
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Instagram.com/HarlequinBooks
Pinterest.com/HarlequinBooks
ReaderService.com
EXPLORE.
Sign up for the Harlequin e-newsletter and download a free book from any series at
TryHarlequin.com
CONNECT.
Join our Harlequin community to share your thoughts and connect with other romance readers!
Facebook.com/groups/HarlequinConnection
ISBN-13: 9780369729675
The Viking’s Runaway Concubine
Copyright © 2022 by Caitlin Crews
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at CustomerService@Harlequin.com.
Harlequin Enterprises ULC
22 Adelaide St. West, 41st Floor
Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada
www.Harlequin.com
Caitlin Crews, The Viking's Runaway Concubine
