Sweet Savage Love

by Rosemary Rogers

  Agnes was in her gayest, most devil-may-care mood, and Ginny filled with a spirit of defiance herself, went along willingly with her friend’s mad idea.

  “Let’s shock them all! We’ll go as ourselves—I mean, of course our real selves. Let me see—yes, I have it! You know how they whisper about me behind my back, that Felix married me out of a circus—well, it was true, and I’m not ashamed of it! I’ll go as a circus rider, and you—you my love—” Here Agnes narrowed her eyes and gazed at Ginny consideringly. Suddenly her eyes began to sparkle. “I have it! But do you have the courage? You must go as a gypsy—a gypsy dancer—how many times have you been told that you look like a gitano?”

  Ginny began to laugh irrepressibly.

  “Well, I must say I like the notion vastly better than that of going as a soldadera! I should hate to have to wear such shabby clothes again! Oh Agnes, you do turn up with the wildest ideas!”

  “But you agree? We’ll do it?”

  “Yes of course—I only hope that poor Michel does not decide to turn up a day early, for he would never agree! You know how positively husbandlike he’s been acting recently!”

  “But he isn’t your husband,” Agnes said coyly. “He doesn’t own you—high time he realized it!”

  41

  They talked about the masquerade ball for months afterwards. What a shocking scandal, whispered the older, more conservative members of society. The others merely laughed and said that it had been delightful. What a change from the usual, dull affairs of Carlotta’s time! And of course, they would add, particularly the men, the other ladies were all jealous at having their dull and unimaginative costumes outdone by simplicity.

  As they had deliberately planned, Agnes and Ginny made a late entrance, alone. Their escorts for the evening were to wait for them at the palace itself, and they had promised not to be too late.

  Heavily cloaked, and riding in a borrowed carriage, Ginny had begun to giggle helplessly when the heavily-armed French sentries at the first checkpoint made some difficulty about letting them through.

  “You’re—entertainers?” the young sergeant questioned, frowning as he scrutinized their passes. “But no one told us—”

  “Oh, you mean the musicians?” Agnes du Salm said sweetly, leaning forward so that the hood of her cloak fell slightly back from her face. “But they’re with me, Sergeant! I can vouch for them.”

  “We always take our own musicians everywhere with us,” Ginny murmured, smiling innocently at the confused young man.

  He colored, looking from one to the other of them. These ladies! He recognized the Princess du Salm at last, but not her companion. Obviously, they were up to some mischief, but he resigned himself to the fact that he could do nothing about it. Let the guards at the entrance to the palace itself worry about it! He stepped back with a stiff salute and waved them on, cursing his luck at having been appointed for guard duty tonight of all nights. It seemed as if he always missed the fun!

  Monsieur Eloin, onetime court musician and now one of Maximilian’s closest friends, was bustling about behind the raised marble dais, preparing for the entertainment of the evening. The little Belgian was not very happy with the fat Italian soprano who was to give a selection of operatic arias, but at such short notice, what could one expect? He only hoped that the guests would not show their boredom too openly, as some had done before, even in Carlotta’s presence.

  When the Princess du Salm made her sudden appearance through the servants’ entrance, accompanied by her new friend and constant companion Madame du Plessis, M. Eloin gave a start of surprise. His astonishment turned almost to shock when the lady, her black eyes sparkling, whispered her scheme. He shook his head at first. “Non! No, it absolutely would not do! What would Prince du Salm have to say? And the comte, what about him?”

  But poor Monsieur Eloin—he found himself helpless against the personalities of these two determined young ladies.

  Agnes du Salm brushed aside his last objection with an impatient wave of her hand. “Nonsense, my dear Monsieur Eloin! You know how these people love to be surprised! Do you mean to say that they will prefer to hear the screeching of Signora Guzzi for the next hour?”

  The guests, preparing for a siege of boredom, began to sit up and take notice when they saw the brightly-clad Mexican musicians walk on to the stand with their guitars. This did not appear to be quite M. Eloin’s style of entertainment after all! They all knew that his taste ran to Bach and the opera—perhaps someone had persuaded him to hire some dancers from the Teatro Imperiale!

  The musicians struck up, the curtains parted, and there was a concerted gasp of amazement, mixed with shock. Agnes du Salm, dressed in her short, spangled circus rider’s costume actually rode her horse out onto the small stage!

  In time to the music, the well-trained animal stepped daintily round and around in a small, tight circle with Agnes standing gracefully on its back.

  “Hop la!” she said suddenly, and the magnificent Arabian mare leaped cleanly and nimbly from the stage. Alice cantered it around the enormous ballroom, while the crowd parted before her. She came to a stop directly before the Emperor’s ornately-carved chair and dismounted, curtsying to him demurely. Maximilian, whose face had been a study a few moments before, now burst out into hearty laughter, which was the signal for a storm of hand-clapping and cries of “bravo!”

  “My dear Princess,” he said dryly as he handed the smiling Agnes to a seat, “we can always count on you to surprise and entertain us all! But tell me, where is your lovely friend tonight? Surely she is not going to disappoint us?”

  “You know she wouldn’t do that, sire,” Agnes responded demurely. “As a matter of fact—do please regard the dais, the evening’s entertainment has only just begun!” The curtains, which had closed again when Agnes left the stage were now flung open, and Agnes said softly, “Voila!”

  The voluble chattering which had broken out after the Princess du Salm’s shocking performance was suddenly hushed as the musicians broke into a wild gypsy dance. That gypsy—that woman with her cloud of bright hair flowing loose, clad in a tight, low-cut peasant blouse and a bright red skirt reaching only to her ankles, surely that could not be the sophisticated Madame du Plessis? But it was. She gave them all a flashing glance out of familiar, slanted green eyes before her bare feet began to move, faster and faster; the skirt whirling up around her legs.

  The musicians played as if they were beside themselves, and Ginette danced like an angel—no, some women whispered among themselves, more like a she-devil! She seemed tireless. Her hair was like a shining, fiery cloud; sometimes shielding her face, and sometimes tossed backward as her body moved like a branch swaying in the wind. She seemed to change her mood as fast as the musicians changed their pace. Sometimes she was all languor, all supple, sensuous promise—a woman dreaming of her lover, waiting for his arms. And then she was a temptress, teasing, seductive, rejecting.

  A man, a blue-eyed, fair-haired Mexican, dressed in a silver embroidered charro suit suddenly leaped on to the dais to join her as the music changed to a fandango.

  There were whispers again. Colonel Miguel Lopez of the Imperial guard—one of the young Madame Bazaine’s close relatives. They said he was one of the emperor’s closest friends and confidants. What a striking pair they made, as they circled each other warily—now lovers, now antagonists. And the whispers began once more. Was the handsome colonel one of her lovers too? Or did he only plan to be? What would Captain Remy do when he found out?

  Ginny, her breasts rising and falling with exertion, smiled teasingly at her partner. She began to seduce him, falling back when he came too close, promising him everything with the passionate movements of her hips as her skirt brushed against him.

  “You little devil!” he whispered when they stood facing each other, her fingers snapping derisively over her head as she urged him on. “Is this what you really are under that passionless, ladylike exterior?”

  “And is this your real self,
Colonel?” she teased him, tossing her head so that her hair whipped his face. “The lover, not the soldier?”

  “Sometimes, doesn’t a man have to be both, in order to conquer a particularly desirable woman?”

  “Ah—now you are a gallante!”

  She came close to him, her body all but touching his; offering herself for just a teasing instant before she whirled away, feet stamping.

  He pursued her, a slight smile curling his lips under the thin mustache.

  There was something in the insolent confidence of his manner that reminded her irritatingly and yet intriguingly of Steve. But he’s not Steve, she reminded herself angrily. He’s only a poor imitation. Only Steve had the power to make me completely willing, completely powerless to resist him, just by touching me.

  Miguel Lopez whispered, “I know what kind of woman you are—all passion, all fire. Why do you keep it all hidden? You could have any man here, and all his fortune, at your feet. Stop teasing me.”

  “You’re flattering. And insulting too.”

  She made a small, almost indiscernible motion towards the musicians, and Lopez, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement, formed the word “coward!” with his lips. Traditionally, the dance ended with a declaration of passion. But after her formal surrender to his masculinity, when she would have drawn away, he put his arms around her and pulled her against him, kissing her.

  Ginny’s fingers were curled into claws when he released her. If not for their fascinated audience she would have clawed his face—she would have slapped that arrogant, self-assured smirk away! As it was, she merely gave him a daggerlike look and shrugged carelessly for the edification of the emperor and his guests who were now all on their feet, cheering, the shouts of “olé” and “bravo” intermingled.

  “Come, I’ll take you to Agnes, she looks impatient to talk to you,” Lopez drawled, bowing to her. Again, she did not resist, but gave him her hand with a forced smile.

  “You might have kissed me back,” he murmured as they walked together through the crowd.

  “I prefer to be asked, first,” she responded icily.

  “Then I’ll certainly do so—the next time we meet.”

  There was no time for her to answer him, for he had led her before the emperor, and she was curtsying.

  “You were magnificent, madame,” Maximilian said, his rather watery eyes lingering on her breasts. “I hope you’ll do me the honor of dancing for me again—perhaps somewhere more private…” his message was unmistakable, making Ginny recall, uncomfortably, certain reports she had heard of his strained relations with his wife. But she had no choice now except to smile and tell him she’d be delighted.

  Then, at last, Agnes was clasping her hands, exclaiming that it had all gone off so successfully, and hadn’t it all been such fun?

  “We’ve really given the gossips something to whisper about this time, look at them chattering!”

  Miguel Lopez had gone back to his partner, whoever she was, and Ginny subsided thankfully into a chair. She began to wonder, at last, what Michel was going to say.

  He was furious, of course. Within hours after his return he had been told the whole story, with the usual embellishments. It seemed to make it worse, to him, that Ginny had stayed on, with the other guests, until the very end, dancing until dawn.

  “Dear God! Couldn’t you have thought of the consequences? You and Agnes—what an irresponsible pair you make! And I suppose you danced with Colonel Lopez again—haven’t you heard what a reputation he has?”

  “Haven’t you heard what a reputation I have?” Ginny retorted angrily, stung by what she thought of as his uncalled-for jealousy. “After all, they do call me la cortesana! I’m your mistress, Michel darling—a cheap woman you literally picked up off the streets. You should not have such high expectations of me!”

  “Ginny!” Thunderstruck, he stared at her.

  A sudden pang of remorse seized her when she saw the white, tormented look on his face.

  “Oh, Michel, Michel! I’m sorry! How horrible I am—I don’t deserve any of your kindness. I should be grateful to you, and instead…”

  She thought he was going to strike her, but he only seized her by the shoulders, fingers digging into her naked flesh.

  “I don’t want your gratitude!!” He shouted the words at her, wondering at the same time why she didn’t wince, why she didn’t shrink from his anger.

  “Oh, Ginette, Ginette!” He said in a choked voice, “Don’t you see that I’ve fallen quite wildly in love with you? I don’t care what you say you are, or what you have been, it’s nothing I can help, this feeling. But you’re capable of driving me mad with jealousy, don’t you see that?”

  “I’m sorry, Michel,” she repeated in a low voice. “It’s not what I intended to do—I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. I suppose I’ve just learned not to care about consequences. I haven’t been unfaithful to you.”

  “No—not physically, perhaps! Not yet!”

  Anger had begun to creep into his voice again, making it shake with emotion he could not control.

  “Ginette—don’t you understand? You’ve obsessed me, I can’t eat or sleep for thinking of you, thinking of your body, the feel of your lips. You haunt me, I’m so infernally jealous that I—”

  “No, Michel!”

  “Yes, Ginette. You must listen to me, let me say it. I’m jealous! And not just of your pack of admirers—no, I’m sure they really mean no more to you than I do! Damn it, I’m jealous of your husband—the man whose name brings tears to your eyes—the same name you cry in your sleep sometimes…it’s like a knife in my heart! God knows he deserved to die, he deserved all that happened, but why does his memory have to stand in our way. Do you see how foolish I’ve become, how insane? I’m jealous of a dead man. I want to wipe his memory from your mind as well as your body! Oh God, if only I could be completely sure of you!”

  It was a cry from the heart, and Ginny flung her arms around him.

  “Darling Michel, please don’t! I’m not good enough for you—I didn’t intend to make you unhappy!”

  “But you don’t love me, do you? It’s only gratitude that keeps you here. Gratitude! Don’t you see that I would have done what I did in any case? I’m grateful to you. Yes, I’ll never forget that day, how brave you were, how you saved my life by bandaging up my wound, and risking your own. It is I who owe you a debt, it is I who am privileged to be your lover.”

  She began to place soft kisses on his face, and as usual he was unable to resist the desire he felt for her.

  “Oh, what a witch you are!” he groaned. “You bewitched me completely, I’m besotted!”

  He carried her to the bed and could hardly wait until she had thrown aside the robe which was all she wore. But even after his desire had been sated, the torment still remained in his mind. She would never be his! How could he keep her?

  All their friends, even Agnes du Salm, were astounded when their engagement was formally announced the following month. Colonel Miguel Lopez, who had continued to pursue Madame du Plessis with the persistence of a panther stalking its prey, was furious.

  He made the Princess du Salm his confidant.

  “But it’s ridiculous!” he swore, pacing up and down her small sitting room. “Who ever heard of a man marrying his own mistress? He’ll make himself a laughingstock!”

  “I don’t suppose he cares,” Agnes said sweetly. “I think he’s genuinely in love with her. And after all, why not? She’s as well born as he is—I happen to know her whole story. Why shouldn’t she marry him? Oh come, Miguel my pet,” she added, seeing the feral glitter in his eyes, “you know as well as I do that all your influence with Max isn’t going to stop their marriage. It’s an open secret now that the French are on the verge of pulling out. It’ll be brave soldiers such as you,” she added maliciously, “and of course the mercenaries like my husband who fight wars because it’s their only way of life, who will be left to save Mexico for the Emperor. Keep your mind on
the war, I’m sure it’ll prove much less frustrating!”

  Putting on a smile and a casual air, he sat down by Agnes and held her hands.

  “Come on, Agnes! You’ve been my friend for too long to deny me now. Why won’t you arrange a private meeting for us? All right—so she’s going to marry Captain Remy and make herself a comtesse. I suppose I can understand that ambition. But I want her, and I think she’d have me if I can only see her alone. Her fiancé need never know, nothing will be affected. I give you my word on that!”

  In spite of her teasing and vehement headshakes, he continued to flatter and plead with her.

  “We’ll see—” was all Agnes would say, but since she combined the words with a half-smile he took heart. And the story she had told him, after swearing him to secrecy, intrigued him tremendously. Almost as much as the woman did. And, what an interesting life she had led—who would have thought it? He was determined to have her, though, at all costs.

  The French withdrawal began, very gradually, in August. Feeling herself torn between two loyalties, Ginny made few comments as she listened to the talk that incessantly flowed round her. It was all the fault of the United States, and particularly Secretary Seward, who had always been vehemently opposed to the French intervention in Mexico. And now the man was actually forcing the Emperor of France to back down. Some of the French officers were talking of resigning their commissions to stay on and fight with the cazadores and the mercenaries from Austria and Belgium who also elected to remain loyal to Maximilian. The emperor himself, sick with the dysentery, seemed a lost, withdrawn man without Carlotta. And there were rumors about her too. She had met with Louis Napoleon and Eugenie, but they had rejected her pleas, weeping all the while. She was traveling to the Vatican to see the Pope himself, refusing to give up. And then—whispers of her “illness.” The wild accusations she had made that the French Emperor had tried to poison her, that he had hired assassins to kill her. Poor Max! Ginny thought. What on earth will he do now? She really pitied him, of all people. He was such a good man, really—and he loved Mexico. What would happen to him in the end?