Carmencita’s eyes had widened, but they gleamed with a kind of mischief too.
“She works in the house, Dona Genia. You’ve seen her. The men think she is pretty, but she’s wilder than a gypsy—her father is nothing but a bandido, but he used to be one of Don Francisco’s vaqueros, until he killed a man and had to run off into the hills. It was her mother who brought her here and begged el patrón to take her in…trust Juana to know everything that goes on!”
In the end, Ginny had managed to worm out of the girl the fact that Juana was not only pretty but ambitious. She considered herself too good for the common vaqueros and peons and enjoyed her work in the bachelor wing—she had many beautiful presents given to her by various young caballeros who had occupied those quarters—Juana thought Don Esteban was the handsomest man she had ever seen, also “muy macho.” Had Carmencito been trying to make her jealous, or only to warn her, Ginny wondered afterwards.
She was angrier than ever with Steve. How like him this was, no doubt he’d taken advantage of the opportunity to try Juana’s tempestuous charms—obviously he did not think her charming any longer now that she had shown him she was no longer his puppet, to be used and moved around as he wished!
Afterwards, when some of her rage had diminished, she had begun to wonder about the reasons for Steve’s violent quarrel with his grandfather—the reason for the constant presence of the two vaqueros who had even followed them unobtrusively into Don José’s estancia itself. And it was true that he was not wearing his guns. How well Ginny remembered those guns! When they travelled he had always worn two…. When he woke in the morning the first thing he did, almost, was buckle on his gunbelts. He was a man of violence, a man who lived by the gun—it had been almost a shock to see him unarmed.
Was it really possible that he was being forced to marry her? Was the thought of marriage to her so repulsive to him that his grandfather had had to disarm him and have him watched in case he ran away? She should have been happy at the thought that for once Steve Morgan was being compelled (as he had compelled her so often) to do something against his will. But instead it irked her strangely. He should have realized he could not get away with what he had done—he should have been prepared to take the consequences as gracefully as the circumstances allowed. After all, this wouldn’t be a real marriage—merely one of convenience; she would certainly neither expect nor want him to stay at her side. But suppose Don Francisco had other ideas?
Ginny was filled with a sense of foreboding, almost of fear. When Dona Maria led her back at last into the sala she had no recollection of the names of the ladies she had met, nor what they had said to her, or she to them.
The scene here had more animation and color. Dancing had begun already and couples drifted across the floor to the dreamy strains of a waltz. Without knowing how or why her eyes had somehow caught sight of Steve, who was at the far end of the room where a long table had been set up like a bar, for the serving of drinks. He was standing with a glass in his hand, talking to a dark-featured, slightly built young man whom she vaguely remembered being introduced to as Don Diego Sandoval. She saw Renaldo, looking exceptionally handsome tonight in his dark formal attire, join them. For a moment their conversation seemed to become quite animated, and then, as Dona Maria gently propelled Ginny farther inside the spacious, lofty-ceilinged room, Steve looked away from his friends and saw her. For a moment it seemed as if the dark, gleaming blue of his eyes cut a path through the crowded room, stilling sound and motion as they met hers.
He said something to Renaldo, who smiled at her, and placing his half-empty glass on the table, made his way towards her. The next minute he was smiling teasingly at his grandaunt, telling her that she’d taken up enough of his novia’s time already.
Dona Maria smiled and nodded approvingly as he put his arm around Ginny’s stiffly unyielding waist and almost forced her into the swirling, dipping motion of the waltz.
“Remember we’re supposed to be a happily engaged pair. You might at least try one of your beguiling smiles on me, my sweet!”
Inexorably, his arm brought her body closer to his, and with the dance hardly begun Ginny felt herself growing slightly breathless.
“Must you hold me so closely?” But she smiled as she said it, and saw his eyes crinkle with appreciation.
“What a good little actress you’ve turned out to be, Ginny! I can hardly wait to find out what other surprises you have in store for me.” Almost without pausing his voice continued smoothly, “You’re the loveliest woman here tonight. Where have you been? Flirting with some young caballero to make me jealous?”
Don Francisco danced rather slowly and sedately by with a stout woman dressed in crimson brocade, and his cold eyes moved over them. In his old-fashioned way, he inclined his head to Ginny as they passed.
Steve bent his head and brushed his lips against her temple and Ginny almost cried out with outrage.
“Stop that! You don’t have to waste your flowery compliments and your kisses on me.” She could not help adding waspishly, “You should save them for the pretty servant girls, like Juana!”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“Jealous, my love? You shouldn’t be. After all, a man has to amuse himself sometimes, as you well know. And why grudge me an occasional mistress when you plan to take your own lovers?”
If she could have done so without creating a scandal she would have pulled herself from his arms and fled from him, and his mocking laughter.
“I don’t care what you do,” she whispered cuttingly. “But at least you could spare me servants’ gossip!”
“Spoken as if you were a wife already! But, Ginny-love, why should I want to spare you anything? Since you’ve listened to backstairs gossip I’m sure you’ve heard everything.” His voice became deliberately exaggerated. “Not only am I a prisoner of your beauty and your—other charms, sweetheart, but my grandfather’s decided I need restraint as well. We’re companions in misfortune, you see.”
She could see quite clearly that the evening was going to be a disaster. They did nothing but quarrel, they were beginning to hate each other more, and still they would be forced to carry on with a sham—play the part of lovers. Why didn’t the music end? She was out of breath and felt as if they had been dancing for hours.
It would be best, Ginny decided, if she didn’t answer his barbs. She tried to ignore the fact that he held her far too closely, and that from time to time he bent his head and kissed her lightly—on the forehead, on the temple—she knew that people were watching them and were probably shocked. Of course, that was why he was doing it—to shock everyone else and to force her into an angry scene. He wouldn’t have that satisfaction at least!
The dance ended at last, but Steve surprised her again by staying at her side, his manner falsely solicitous.
“You’re looking quite flushed, my love. Wouldn’t you like to stroll outside for a while? The atmosphere there is much less stifling, and Don José has even ordered a moon. Shall we see if we can escape from your duenna’s eagle eye? I can see poor Tia Alfonsa now, she’s looking for you; and quite frankly, I’d like to avoid my grandfather as well—he looks quite fierce, don’t you think?”
She could not pull away from his grip on her arm without making herself conspicuous. But Ginny could not help wondering suspiciously why he was so anxious for her company suddenly. What did he have in mind? It made her feel safer to notice the two men who detached themselves unobtrusively from the crowd of watching servants and were now following them without appearing to. She recognized one of them as Don Francisco’s bodyguard, Jaime Perez. How many others had noticed? But if Steve was seething with rage inside, he did not let her see it. His manner was easy, almost companionable, and they paused occasionally so that he could introduce her to late arrivals and friends of his who hadn’t met her earlier. One of them was an American, a cattle buyer from Texas; hardly the kind of man one would notice in a crowd, or remember afterwards….
S
teve had felt his gloomy mood improve slightly since he had talked to Diego, and to Bishop himself, for a few minutes. Diego had been vastly amused, and Bishop sourly reproving, but the information that Steve had brought them had even produced a rare smile from Bishop.
“It took a lot of string-pulling to persuade Mr. Seward to come out so strongly in favor of President Juarez as promptly as he did,” Bishop admitted privately to Steve. “However! We have our ways. It’s even better to learn that some of the French troops are actually being withdrawn.” He had added, in a lower voice, “You’re sure about Lopez?” Steve’s answer seemed to satisfy him, for he smiled again.
“Well then—perhaps it’s my turn to give you some information you might not have picked up. It appears your future father-in-law has put it about that his daughter is visiting friends in Mexico. He’ll be coming up for re-election soon. I suppose he feels he cannot afford a scandal in the family. Not a word about that gold, either. But I should warn you, Morgan, you’re on the list of just about every bounty hunter on both sides of the border. The price on your head, alive, is twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Steve whistled, and Bishop, his face inscrutable, added dryly, “This might be a good time for you to lie low for a while. Perhaps you might even use the opportunity to have a honeymoon.”
Used by now to Bishop’s brand of humor Steve had merely shrugged.
“I’ve already told you what’s behind this marriage. And besides, we’ve already had the honeymoon.”
Bishop had raised his eyebrows.
“Does that mean you’ll still be working for us? Marriage has a way of making a man overly cautious…you saw how it was with Dave Madden.”
Steve grimaced.
“Yeah—I saw! Dave was good, and I was glad to have him alongside me in several scrapes we got into. Since he met Renata he’s been trying to flush cattle out of that mesquite brush, scraping out a living—if you can call it that. It’s not for me—”
He thought that again as he tightened his hold on Ginny’s bare arm, feeling the softness of her flesh. He needed adventure, the taking of risks, the new experiences that his travels always brought him. And if he was afraid of anything, it was of bonds—being tied down to the constant frustration of mediocrity. The prospect of having to spend his life with one woman appalled him—he had had too many to be satisfied with one.
They had emerged into the cool, covered verandah that led into the main patio now, and from habit, Steve’s eyes scanned the crowd quickly, fastening on the small group of French officers at the far end. Three Americans, probably mercenaries, stood slightly apart from the Frenchmen, talking among themselves, and one of them—Steve cursed inwardly. No mistaking that hook-nosed, predatory profile. What the hell was Tom Beal doing this far inland? And what was he doing here of all places?
“Steve! You’re hurting me!”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered automatically. Almost without pausing he released her arm and grabbed both of her hands in his, whirling her around. Before she could protest Ginny found herself pulled into the shadow, her back to a massive, creeper-covered column—one of those holding up the galeria above.
“What’s the matter with you? Why have you…”
Unexpectedly, overwhelmingly, he was kissing her; not giving her time to think, or to stiffen with resistance.
Over her shoulder, Steve saw that Beal and his companions were strolling towards one of the tables that had been set up outside for the serving of food and drinks. They wore guns, all three of them. He had already noticed the bulges of concealed revolvers under the dark jackets the men had elected to wear as a sop to convention. And tonight of all nights, he did not have one, thanks to his grandfather!
But he’d be damned if he’d run from Beal and hide himself for the rest of the evening. He’d think of something.
Caught off-guard, Ginny’s lips were soft under his, parted.
He held her closer, felt the swell of her breasts against his chest, and, for the moment, forgot about Beal.
Her eyes were wide, as deep and mysterious as forest pools when he released her at last.
“Why did you…”
“If you don’t keep silent for a while, I’ll kiss you again,” he threatened, and the softness left her eyes as her lips tightened mutinously. He sighed.
“Ginny—we have to talk. How about a truce? Look,” he went on impatiently, in the face of her stubborn silence, “you know as well as I do this whole damn situation is ridiculous! We can’t go on fighting like cat and dog if we’re going to be married in a few days, it isn’t going to get either of us anywhere. And there’s something I have to tell you.”
“I wondered when you were going to get around to that,” she said in a small, hard voice. “I saw him too. That horrible man who looked at me as if he were taking my clothes off—the one you nearly killed with your ridiculous playacting!”
She had seen Beal almost at the same time Steve did, her eyes drawn nostalgically to the French uniforms. She had felt herself grow weak and almost dizzy with fear when Steve had grabbed her hands and dragged her off here. Was that why he kissed her so fervently? To keep her quiet, to keep her from being seen and recognized?
He looked down at her, half-smiling, but there was an almost baffled expression in his eyes.
“Oh, Ginny-love! What a little termagant you are! You’re the stubbornest and most unreasonable female I’ve ever encountered. What am I to do with you?”
“It’s not me you have to worry about, Steve Morgan, it’s that man over there! What are you going to do about him?”
He shrugged carelessly.
“But I haven’t decided yet. He hasn’t seen either of us, so at least the element of surprise is on my side. In any case,” his arms went on either side of her, trapping her against the colonnade, “right now, all I find myself thinking of is how much I want to make love to you. You have the most exciting, sensuous mouth of any woman I’ve seen. Even when your eyes are flashing fire, as they are now, your mouth gives you away.”
Before she could retort, he was kissing her again, his arms going round her, gathering her closely against him. She thought faintly that he was quite unscrupulous, impossible to withstand, and completely mad! But as usual, when he kissed her with such ruthless concentration her body seemed to develop a will of its own—she became completely incapable of resistance as her lips took fire under his.
“Do you realize,” she whispered when he had raised his head at last, “that there are other people here? And those two men—they’re watching us! What will they think?” A stirring of anger came back and she said more strongly, “You’re such a hypocrite! Why do you have to play games with me?”
“You’re the hypocrite, my sweet. Why won’t you accept the fact that no matter what we’ve said to each other and how we’ve fought each other, there’s still this to be contended with?” His lips brushed hers again and she shivered in spite of herself.
“I don’t understand you!”
“And I don’t understand you, sweetheart. But you can see for yourself, can’t you, that we can’t go on battling each other forever. That’s why I want to call a truce. For heaven’s sake, Ginny!” his voice had become impatient, urgent, “even if this marriage of ours seems to be the only practical way out of the rather dubious position I’ve forced you into—yes, all right, I accept the blame for that!—don’t you see there are still things we must discuss? And it would be better if we could talk reasonably, and without useless recriminations. Well?”
Ginny could scarcely bring herself to believe that he meant it—that he genuinely wanted to enter into a kind of truce with her, and there were no ulterior motives hidden behind his sudden change of manner. Still, what did she have to lose by merely listening to what he had to say? She wondered, during that instant when she hesitated, looking into his eyes, whether he intended to offer excuses, or to try and talk her out of marrying him.
She nodded her head rather sullenly, hoping that at least he�
�d release her. Why did he have to make such a public show of ardor?
The words trembled hotly on the tip of her tongue and she bit them back. But she had the feeling that he had somehow read her mind, because he smiled down at her teasingly.
“Ginny! Do I really frighten you that much? You look as if you were about to become a living sacrifice!”
Ginny couldn’t remember afterwards what she said in reply, or even if she said anything at all.
Tia Maria’s voice, sounding tart and rather breathless, broke in.
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere, and poor Señora Armijo was wringing her hands when I last saw her! Hiding in romantic corners is all very well, I suppose, but you two will have lots of time for that later! Ginny, here’s a gentleman who’s been most anxious to meet you ever since I mentioned your name—no need to look at me so sourly, Esteban, Colonel Devereaux was recently married himself. He tells me he’s acquainted with Genia’s father—a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Ginny could feel herself going paper white, and then her cheeks began to burn. Steve’s fingers seemed to bite warningly into her shoulder before he dropped his hand and made a somewhat ironical bow.
“My dear aunt! What very sharp eyes you have. I thought no one would discover us here. Sir, it’s a pleasure.”
Ginny barely realized that introductions were being performed. She held out her hand mechanically with a fixed smile on her lips and felt the colonel’s mustache brush the back of her hand as he kissed it.
As he straightened she found herself facing a rather portly man of medium height, with dark brown hair that was only slightly brushed with gray. It was his eyes that held her—they were hazel, intelligent—and he was looking at her piercingly, his eyes holding a question; rather puzzled at the same time.
“Miss Brandon—I have the pleasure of meeting you at last. Your father did mention that you were planning a visit to Mexico when I talked to him last, as I recall. But it’s rather a surprise to meet you here.” Did he emphasize that last word, or had she imagined it? He continued, his voice a pleasant drawl, “I have the pleasure of a slight acquaintance with your uncle, too—a charming man, and one whose opinion the emperor greatly respects. I wonder if—” he turned to Steve with a deprecating smile, “with your permission, monsieur, er…”
Sweet Savage Love Page 38
