Wicked Loving Lies. Rosemary Rogers
yellow-gold eyes that looked enormous in her pinched, taut face. Beside Blanca, whose cloud of black hair fell down past her shoulders, Marisa would always look pale and insignificant, until, as she did now, she pulled the severe white head scarf off, and her hair, the color of antique gold, reflected the sunlight.
“You’re going to France? Oh, to be so free again! Whenever I see you, I start to realize that I’m like a bird in a cage.”
“Poor little bird!” Blanca repeated mockingly, softly. “But I hadn’t noticed that you were beating your wings against the bars of late. You seemed a happy prisoner!”
“It’s different—to choose your own kind of prison. I could have given myself to the church; it’s safe and comforting not to think for oneself. But I won’t give myself to a man!”
“You’re stupid! And besides, your father has already done so. If you won’t give yourself, he’ll take you, I’m sure. He looked like the kind of man who would not let anything stand in his way. Perhaps once you’ve seen him you’ll change your mind!”
It was all the reverend mother could do to hide her anxiety and her vexation behind the smooth, disciplined mask of her face when Sor Teresa had returned from her errand and whispered in Mother Angelina’s ear. So Teresa rustled out again, careful to avert her eyes from the two gentlemen who lounged at one end of the small room. Mother Angelina had to draw in a deep breath before she spoke.
“I am afraid the child is—a trifle upset. As I’ve told you, she was hoping to join our order. You must understand—first the shock of her father’s letter, and then your arrival here on its heels. If you’ll give her a few days in which to compose herself?”
The men exchanged glances. One of them raised a quizzical eyebrow, and the other shrugged impatiently, brushing at an imaginary speck on the sleeve of his blue velvet jacket.
“Heavens! I’d no intention of frightening my future bride into the vapors! In fact I must admit I’m almost nervous myself. By all means let her have time. My friend and I are on our way to Seville; we dropped in because it’s on the way, you know. Didn’t mean to cause any confusion. There’s plenty of time. I’ll be back in a month or so and that’ll give her time, won’t it? Clothes—and all the rest of it. I understand there are some aunts in Madrid who have promised to do the right thing by her—”
In the face of Mother Angelina’s disapproving look the other gentleman, who had remained silent so far, broke in suavely.
“I am sure, Reverend Mother, that what my friend means to say is that he had no desire to rush things. And I am sure that you will do whatever is necessary to prepare the young lady for the—er—change in her life. Your pardon for the unheralded intrusion—we should have known better, of course.”
Don Pedro Arteaga cast his friend a look of gratitude and quickly followed his example in rising to his feet and bowing formally to the reverend mother, who announced in stilted tones that the sisters were always pleased to offer the hospitality of the convent to travelers.
Outside the grey walls, shaded by trees, the manner of both men became almost lighthearted, as if with relief to be let off so easily. They quickly mounted their horses.
“Thank God you decided to travel along with me!” Don Pedro said feelingly. He shuddered. “I cannot imagine why I let my sister talk me into such a peculiar situation! A postulant-bride—I wonder what she looks like? If she was scared to death about meeting a man, I’m certainly glad we were able to put off meeting her! I quite dread coming back here, I tell you.”
His companion laughed harshly.
“Cheer up, amigo. Think of the pleasures that lie ahead of you. The duchess of Alba seemed fascinated by your tales of New Spain last night, and since she just happens to be visiting Seville herself—”
Don Pedro gave a self-satisfied laugh. “Did you notice that she almost ignored that painter fellow who’s always hanging around her? But you, my friend, had better exercise some caution where Her Majesty the Queen is concerned! I understand she goes after whatever or whoever she wants—and Godoy can be a dangerous enemy.”
“Ah, well!” The other gave a careless shrug. “Manuel Godoy can hardly look on me as a rival since I’ll be leaving within the next three weeks. And Maria Luisa will find another cavalier to flirt with in order to keep her lover on his toes!”
“It must be your confounded air of indifference, I swear, that attracts the ladies to you! While the rest of us play at being gallant, there you stand, your arms folded and that damned cynical smile on your face—I can’t understand it! Even my practical, icy-hearted cousin Inez, whom we had nicknamed ‘the cold unassailable’ almost threw everything away she had so carefully planned—and I, who know her better than most, could swear you hardly paid her any attention.” Don Pedro laughed, glancing sideways at his taller companion, who merely raised an eyebrow and made no comment. He rode his restive stallion as easily as if it had been a tame gelding, guiding it with one hand on the reins and the pressure of his knees. Like a vaquero, as Don Pedro had commented before.
Now, slightly annoyed by the lack of response in his friend, Don Pedro added slyly, “I wonder how my cousin took your sudden departure! After you’d fought a duel over her, and with her husband lying wounded in bed, I’m sure she must have expected you’d stay to console her. Don Andres—”
“Don Andres is to be your father-in-law, is he not? Perhaps you’d best not let your little bride-to-be find out you came to inspect her with the man who came close to killing her father. She might wonder!”
“I doubt if the frightened little chit is capable of wondering about anything except what it might feel like to be mounted by a man!” Don Pedro said brutally, giving vent to a burst of coarse laughter. He felt angry and frustrated that his dutiful visit to the convent, which had delayed his journey to Seville by several hours, had proved so fruitless. Trust Inez and Don Andres to saddle him with a sacred nitwit who had been planning to become a nun! No doubt she was ugly. If she took after her mother’s side of the family she was probably sallow complexioned and spoke with a terrible accent as well. And that stern-faced prioress had acted as if the girl needed to be protected from him. Damn! If not for the size of the dowry involved and the connections he needed to establish himself in New Spain, he’d have told them all to find another candidate.
“Be gentle with my daughter,” Don Andres had said feebly from his bed. “She has been through a great deal in France during the terrible revolution. Her mother went to the guillotine, and if not for the fact that she was still no more than a child, my little Marisa, too, might easily have lost her life.” His face had hardened, words trailing off. Catching the look in Doña Inez’s eyes, Pedro had made haste to assure Don Andres that he need not worry about his daughter’s happiness and well-being. But now—damn it all! Since he had come to Spain, he had realized how much of life he had missed being stuck away in the wilds of Louisiana, managing a run-down plantation. Right now, he didn’t want to think about marriage. His mind was full of thoughts about the fascinatingly beautiful and sophisticated duchess of Alba, who, it was rumored, had allowed her latest lover to paint her in the nude. And he was to meet her again in Seville….
Both men had fallen silent, wrapped in their own thoughts, as they skirted the grove of trees that shielded the convent walls and emerged at last onto the dusty ribbon of highway, beaten down by the passage of many other travelers on their way to Toledo. Neither of them noticed the two pairs of eyes that had watched them ride away.
“I hate him already! Which one of them is Don Pedro?”
Marisa had scaled the convent walls before but always furtively—and only high enough to barely peek over. Now, full of her new mood of defiance, she sat barefoot astraddle the very top of the wide stone wall, shading her eyes with her hand as she squinted after the small cloud of dust the two riders left behind them.
“The taller one, in the dark clothes. At least I am almost certain, for I only heard their voices through the door, you know—and Sor Teresa almost caught me listening!” Blanca, perched comfortably beside Marisa, gave a soft