Wicked Loving Lies. Rosemary Rogers
fear of us now, haven’t you my dear?”
“Oh, I was only startled,” Marisa said demurely. She let her eyes drop shyly as she shrugged. “And a little bit afraid—because my novio is very jealous, you see!”
She felt a warm hand slide up over her breast, and she squirmed away angrily.
“Little liar!” he whispered. “I’ve a good mind to see how jealous this lover of yours is.”
But the others were calling to him to let her dance for them, and he had to release her. With a mocking half-curtsy she whirled away from them, clicking her fingers in rhythm to the frenetic music.
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll get away from you?” Pedro Arteaga whispered maliciously in his friend’s ear. “She seemed only too anxious to get back to that black-browed lout there—and I’ve heard these gypsy wenches like to choose their own lovers.”
“I’ve yet to lose a prize I’ve captured. And I think she’s only playing hard to get—perhaps to put her price up!”
“My God, what a cynic you are! I’m beginning to believe you really don’t like women at all.”
“I’ve loved my share of them. Why does liking have to come into it? They’re all the same—sly, teasing bitches without an intelligent thought in their heads.”
“Well, don’t let our beautiful sovereign hear you speak that way! She’s made it very clear she’s taken a liking to you, hasn’t she? You’d better take care, my friend!”
Pedro Arteaga’s friend had folded his arms, his steely grey eyes following the gypsy girl as she made her way to the center of the crowd of dancers.
“Oh, I expect to have Señor Godoy’s aid in recapturing the elusive yellow-eyed witch if she’s really bent on escape. He’s got two of his guardsmen keeping an eye on her already, or hadn’t you noticed?”
Manuel Godoy had bent his head to whisper in the queen’s ear, and now the voluptuous duchess of Alba, sulky at being ignored, leaned against Don Pedro’s shoulder.
“What are you men whispering about? I thought we traveled all this way to have some fun and mingle with the peasants. Don’t you dance in New Spain?”
Marisa had danced her way to Blanca’s side; and now, ignoring her friend’s surprised look, she began, in a breathless, angry voice, to pour out her story, keeping a fixed smile on her face all the while.
“You cannot imagine how—how arrogantly nasty they all were! Talking about me as if I was nothing more than a block of wood, without feelings. Taking all kinds of familiarities with me!” She shuddered, recalling a warm hand cupping her breast so intimately. “And to make matters worse, I think he’s the one—look, over there. That crowd of strangers—you’d recognize him, wouldn’t you? And his friend—”
“I think you have a crazy imagination,” Blanca murmured. But her voice was doubtful, and she added, in the next breath, “Well—it might be! It’s hard to see from here. But listen, if you’re so scared, why don’t you slip away to the wagons? I’ll go up to them myself and tell them you sent me. I’m not afraid, and if they’re throwing around gold coins, I could use a few.”
“Blanca!”
“Little innocent,” Blanca mocked, showing white teeth, “when will you learn that you cannot hide yourself away from men forever? You’re not in a convent any longer, you know! And the trick is to use them while letting them think they are using you. You’d better learn—”
“Blanca, let’s both go back to the wagons. Now, when they can’t see us. I don’t trust them—and besides—”
Blanca turned her head, black eyes laughing. “And besides what? I’ve already told you that I know how to look after myself. And that handsome caballero you ran away from might need some consolation—even if he does happen to be your novio!”
“Oh, stop!” Marisa, suddenly frantic, clutched at the other girl’s bare arm. “We’d better hide somewhere before they—before he—You see, he made me so angry, the way he was pulling me about, that I—I picked his pocket!”
For a moment, in the midst of all the noise, the clapping and the gaiety that surrounded them, they seemed to be enclosed in stillness.
“You did what?” Blanca threw back her head with a wild, admiring laugh. “Oh, but you are priceless! No—you are crazy!” She grabbed Marisa’s wrist, starting to pull her away into the shadows. “What on earth possessed you? Under the very eyes of the queen herself and her chief minister. Don’t you realize what could happen to you? To them, you are nothing but a little gypsy. You could be arrested, thrown into a cell, even executed. Don’t you understand? Picking the pocket of some stranger on the street is one thing, but a friend of the queen! They’d recognize you in an instant if they come looking for you! Quick, you must throw it away. Wait—does it contain a lot of gold, this wallet you stole?”
Blanca’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of avarice and fear. In the torchlight they seemed to glow as red as coals.
“How would I know? I didn’t think about the money—I just wanted to teach him a lesson. And since you’re not afraid, why don’t you take it back to him? Tell him you found it—”
“I might do just that! What a little fool you are! Where’s that wallet?”
Already beginning to regret her defiant gesture, Marisa handed it to her friend without a word—glad to be rid of it. If only she could be rid of the memory of those bold, rude caresses as well! And if that was the man her father wanted to marry her off to, she was fortunate in having escaped such a fate.
“So, now you are taking money for your favors, eh? Is that why you kept me at arm’s length, because I was not rich enough to buy you?”
Mario had materialized out of nowhere, his dark face glowering with rage. “I saw you!” he growled. “Leaning up against that stranger, his arm about your waist. Where did you meet him? Ah, you should not have brought him here, to flaunt your unfaithfulness before my face, for I shall kill him for it!”
“Here’s another stupid one! Well, I shall leave you to explain to my dull-witted brother while I see what I can do to prevent trouble. Don’t forget to tell him you picked the pocket of your own novio because he got too fresh with you!”
Blanca danced off, and Mario, his frown growing even blacker, caught Marisa’s arm in a grip that made her wince.
“Yes. Tell me what you have been up to! What was my sister talking about just now?”
3
There was the moonlight and the firelight and the torches that flickered like live tongues; and Marisa was no longer herself but someone else. A bold-eyed, bold-tongued creature like Blanca who was afraid of nothing and no one. She had tied a brightly colored scarf over her head again; but it did not disguise the gold hair that rippled almost to her waist.
“If you are innocent still, then prove it!” Mario had hissed. “If he has not had you yet then he will be eager for you, sí? Lead him away from the others; flirt with him if you must. No more than that—I will see to the rest!”
Mario had made it sound so easy! But here he was offering to protect her when not too long ago she had felt she needed protection from him.
What did it matter? She knew Mario and felt sure of her power over him. The other man was a different proposition. Far too insolent, far too sure of himself—and her. The last man on earth she wished to marry, if he was the one.
Facing him again was harder than she had thought it might be, even though he was alone at the moment. He had been lifting a wineskin to his mouth, and when he lowered it and saw her, one black eyebrow shot up in mock surprise.
“Oh, so you’re back. I must say you put a high price on yourself,