Bride of Fortune

by Henke, Shirl

  “That is why the emperor dispatched the prince on this journey. We will see what must be done to eliminate the republican menace and we will deal with them,” von Scheeling interjected crisply.

  “That might be easier said than done.” Nicholas’ tone was mildly irritated. “The Juaristas have the advantage of fighting on home ground. They use hit-and-run tactics that are almost impossible for regular troops to combat.”

  Von Scheeling's face reddened. “You mean that they won't stand and fight like soldiers—they run and hide like thieves.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “A most effective way to wear down the enemy.”

  “And you are, of course, an expert on these guerrillas?” There was an unmistakable hint of insult in the question.

  Prince Salm-Salm quickly gave von Scheeling a stern look, saying, “Don Lucero has spent many years fighting the rebels. He is more than qualified to speak on the subject.”

  The junior officer's expression was mutinous but he immediately subsided.

  To smooth over the awkward moment, Fortune said, “I've fought the Juaristas years as a counter-insurgent. When you go up against them one on one, you learn to respect their abilities...or you end up dead.”

  In Europe rabble such as this would never have been able to challenge proper authority,” von Scheeling replied.

  “This isn't Europe,” was Fortune's silky reply. Pompous young ass. Von Scheeling had never fought in a guerrilla war. The Prussian may once have been a soldier, but now had become a court fop in a starched uniform, the sort he had always scorned.

  So, obviously, did the prince. “The situation here is vastly different than General von Schlieffen's campaigns,” he said dryly, observing the dangerous-looking Mexican's disdain for the brash young officer. He had always disliked von Scheeling, and of late, the fool was becoming burdensome. Perhaps Alvarado was just the man to relieve him of that burden.

  “Von Schlieffen possesses a brilliant military mind. He would cut a wide swath through Juarez's so-called army,” the lieutenant replied. “Are you perhaps familiar with his tactical genius?”

  Fortune was. “The general has been your Minister Otto von Bismarck's tool to gobble up increasingly larger portions of German-speaking Europe. I believe he'll eventually tackle the French emperor.” He ignored von Scheeling dismissively and asked, “What do you think, your highness?”

  Mercedes heard bits and snatches of their conversation and realized her husband was discussing European diplomacy and politics like a seasoned statesman. Lucero had boasted about never having read so much as a single book on history. She toyed nervously with the elegant orange liqueur dessert soufflé on her plate, too filled with apprehensions and unspoken fears about her love to want to consider this new inconsistency. Then, as faint music from the orchestra began to drift into the dining room from Don Encarnación's enormous ballroom, Lieutenant von Scheeling interrupted her troubling thoughts with an invitation to dance.

  Guests were already filtering out of the dining room and down the hall, drawn gaily toward the sounds of a soaring waltz. Although she disliked the patronizing young officer, Mercedes felt an overpowering urge to get away from her husband at that moment, away from him and his witty, brilliant conversation with the prince. Smiling and taking her leave of the princess, she accepted the offer.

  Nicholas watched as von Scheeling assisted Mercedes from her chair and solicitously took her arm, heading to the ballroom. He suddenly felt the insane urge to slap the lieutenant's hands off his wife's soft golden flesh. Jealousy, bald-faced and totally irrational, confronted him head-on, all the more absurd since he was certain that Mercedes detested the pompous Prussian officer as much as he did.

  Prince Salm-Salm smiled shrewdly. “Perhaps we should not neglect the ladies or bore them with politics any longer, but adjourn to dancing. As an old soldier who has a right leg filled with grapeshot, I make an insufferable partner for such a superb dancer as my wife.”

  “What Salmi is none too subtly hinting at is for you to partner me in that delicious waltz,” Agnes interjected with a merry laugh.

  “It would be my great honor, your highness,” Nicholas said, rising and bowing with a courtly flourish. The prince's American wife was a born flirt, but charming and amusing nonetheless.

  While they made their way down the hall, she whispered conspiratorially to him, “As you no doubt have heard, my accomplished dancing skills come as a result of my professional training. I was a circus acrobat who danced atop bouncing horses when Salmi met me.”

  Nicholas threw back his head and laughed. “Let us hope I will prove a smoother dance partner than a circus horse, although I make few promises beyond that. It's been some years since I waltzed with a beautiful lady and never before with a princess.”

  She tilted her auburn head, smiling at the compliment as they entered the ballroom. A breathtaking expanse of polished hardwood floor was filled with couples dancing beneath the glittering lights cast by two immense crystal chandeliers, each lit with hundreds of candles. A champagne fountain bubbled at one end of the room and an orchestra worthy of the imperial court played at the other.

  “I certainly didn't expect to see this sort of a display so far away from the capital,” Agnes confessed.

  “Most hacendados do not fare so well as Don Encarnación,” Nicholas replied. “He can stave off marauding soldiers with his own private army, an army he's kept for the past thirty years to ensure that his silver shipments reach the American border.”

  The princess nodded in understanding. “And what of you, Don Lucero? How does your hacienda fare in these troubled times?”

  “Now that I'm home, we'll manage. Mercedes did a splendid job while I was away. It was hard on her, not to mention dangerous; but she held two armies at bay and kept our people fed and sheltered, no mean feat in wartime.” His eyes swept the floor automatically, searching for his wife's golden head amid so many dark ones.

  Agnes fondly watched the way he looked at his wife. Young love was marvelous. Hell, love at any age was marvelous. “Perhaps it's time you rescued her from Arnoldt's clutches. He fancies himself a ladies' man, but in fact, he's a frightful bore.”

  “Ah, but first I must waltz with a princess. It may be my only chance,” he replied with a smile as they swept onto the crowded floor.

  “You haven't had much time together, have you?” she asked shrewdly.

  “The war has separated many families, even the emperor and empress, as I heard you remark earlier.”

  “I don't think they were ever quite the love match you and Doña Mercedes are,” the princess said dryly. “Max is true to his Bonaparte forebears, a born philanderer. You did know he was Napoleon's grandson, didn't you?”

  Fortune had heard the rumor about Maximilian of Hapsburg's mother having an affair with the son of the first French emperor. “He would seem more Bonaparte in his grandiose schemes,” Nicholas conceded, then grinned. “I've also heard he pursues every beautiful woman at court. How does the prince keep you safe?”

  “La, you are a flatterer. I am utterly devoted to Max and he to me, but not in that way. He's really rather like the charming but scandalous younger brother I never had.”

  Fortune arched an eyebrow dubiously. “Somehow I find it difficult to imagine you in the role of a stern elder sister.”

  Now it was she who threw back her head and laughed heartily. “Elder sister, yes, but stern, never. I find myself quite indulgent of his foibles.” Her expression sobered as she added softly, “I only pray his grand adventure doesn't end badly for him.”

  From across the room Ursula Terraza de Vargas watched the exchange between the dangerous-looking young hacendado and the princess. How mysterious and heart-stoppingly handsome he was, with that aura of leashed violence always lurking just beneath his flashing smile. Don Lucero was completely unlike her own bland and stolid Mariano, who was as passionless as a monk, a man who never showed any real interest in his beautiful young wife unless it was to upbraid her for
some foolish breach of social decorum.

  After nearly a year of trying to gain his attention, she had resorted to taking lovers in secret, her only means of rebelling against his indifference and his father's social strictures. But she would not think of Mariano or Don Encarnación tonight.

  No, not now when that vulgar American circus performer was making Don Lucero laugh in his wickedly sensuous way. No, indeed. Licking her lips in anticipation, she began to scheme.

  Outside on the terrace, Mercedes breathed deeply of the cool, fresh night air, redolent with the perfume from frangipani trees in Don Encarnación's gardens. She walked quickly behind a copse of poinsettia and hugged herself, shivering. This was totally stupid, irrational. She had faced down Juarista bandits and fended off the advances of lecherous politicians, even held a French captain at gunpoint and made him back down.

  “Why does von Scheeling terrify me so?” she murmured to herself. He had done nothing worse than pay her flowery compliments in awkward French and even more clumsy Spanish, and perhaps hold her a bit too closely while they waltzed.

  It was those eyes, merciless and flat, like granite. She felt foolish for having made up a headache and excusing herself in the middle of the waltz like some flighty virgin, but she had to escape that dreadful sense of menace.

  Lieutenant Arnoldt von Scheeling was a man who gave off the scent of death. Lucero had already had words with him and she did not want to be the cause of a scene between the two volatile, dangerous men. Far better to let her husband continue laughing and dancing, surrounded by female adulation.

  The jealous turn of her thoughts was absurd, of course. Agnes du Salm was devoted to her prince, but that little cat Ursula seemed far more interested in Lucero than in her own husband. From her vantage point in the garden Mercedes could see in the open floor-length doors of the ballroom to where Lucero's tall elegant frame stood out half a head taller than any other man in the room. Right now he was bending low to hear Ursula whisper some flirtatious nonsense.

  “I have no reason to be jealous,” she repeated to herself like a litany, as she watched him dancing with the voluptuous raven-haired beauty. But what of when his wife grew fat and shapeless as she began to increase? She could not shake this nagging fear. Was Lucero really such a changed man after all?

  “I've brought champagne to soothe your headache, Liebchen,” von Scheeling purred in her ear.

  She turned to face the Prussian officer with a startled gasp.

  Inside, Nicholas whirled Mariano's spoiled young wife around the dance floor, his mind only half on her vapid conversation as he considered how to excuse himself so he could go in search of Mercedes. “You were saying, Doña?”

  She pouted prettily. “You haven't heard a word I've said. Soon I shall think I'm losing my beauty.”

  “Never that. Don Mariano is the luckiest of men to have such a lovely wife,” Nicholas placated.

  “Him,” she replied petulantly. “He ignores me as if I were invisible. I used to believe he had a mistress. Perhaps he does, but she is not a woman.”

  A premonition washed over Fortune as he inclined his head to hers. “Really? What then, Doña?”

  “It is boring old politics, just as it is with his father. He is just as secretive, involved in some silly plot.”

  “Somehow I have never thought your husband and his father much alike,” he prompted. “What makes you think your husband is plotting something?” All his senses were at full alert now.

  “Hah! I followed him one night,” she replied with an eerie glitter in her violet eyes. “For months now, every Saturday he rides away just after midnight. I was certain he was meeting a woman.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “But it was only another man, some rough-looking gunman. I sneaked behind a bush and listened to them discuss something about that Indian who still claims to be president,” she said scornfully.

  “Really. Surely you must be mistaken. What could a pistolero know of Juarez?” Nicholas asked, even as he calculated. Tomorrow night was Saturday. Would Vargas hold his assignation when the house was filled with guests?

  “I don't recall any of it. I was so furious. If Mariano had deserted my bed for another woman, that I could understand. But for political intrigues!” The young woman quickly quelled her anger, shifting tone. “I look for my pleasures elsewhere now.” Ursula gave a seductive flutter of thick black lashes. She leaned closer to him, pressing her ample breasts against his chest, brushing them back and forth across his shirt studs tantalizingly. “Does that feel as good to you as it does to me?” she purred.

  Just then, Agnes du Salm caught his eye from the opposite side of the floor, motioning him to look toward the gardens outside. She mouthed his wife's name. What in the hell was going on? The music ended and he made his bow to Ursula, glad of the excuse to end their increasingly intimate encounter before he was forced into an altercation with Mariano, dashing his hopes for gathering any useful information from Encarnación's circle of plotters.

  When he reached the princess, she took his arm at once and smoothly slipped through the wide doors that opened into the courtyard. “Come quickly,” was all she would say.

  He followed her down the length of the porch, past the birdcages and hammocks, out into the lush concealment of the ornamental garden. Mercedes stood at the edge of a small fountain, daubing her lip with a wet handkerchief. Nicholas turned her to face him, taking the small lace square from her and holding her chin up to inspect it in the moonlight. A thin trickle of blood welled up from a cut on her lip and the bodice of her gown was torn at the right shoulder.

  Mercedes shivered in spite of the flush of anger surging through her. She could sense Lucero's left hand gliding down his thigh, instinctively reaching for the knife he normally wore there, ready to use it on the man who had done this. “He did nothing that I wasn't able to handle.”

  “I can't wait to see the shiner Arnoldt will be sporting by morning,” Agnes said cheerfully. “You really socked him quite neatly,” she complimented Mercedes.

  “Lucero—”

  “You know I can't let this go,” he said grimly, cutting off her plea, but she held tightly to his arm.

  “It will only cause gossip if you call him out.”

  He looked at her with Luce's most coldly haughty criollo expression. “And you don't think having guests and servants see you with your gown torn and your mouth bruised from von Scheeling's mauling would cause gossip?”

  His tone was sarcastic, almost accusatory. “Are you implying I encouraged him?” she asked, stung.

  “For God's sake, I don't think for one minute that you encouraged him. Tell me what happened.”

  “I believe this is the best time for me to leave you two alone,” the princess interjected. “Personally, I shall be delighted to see Arnoldt get his comeuppance. It's long overdue. Salmi has wanted to challenge him for the past year, but he says it's considered bad form for a superior officer to kill one of his subordinates.”

  Mercedes’ eyes flashed from the retreating Agnes back to her husband. “You might be the one who's killed!” She clutched his arms, digging her nails into his biceps even through the heavy fabric of his suit coat.

  “Never fear, beloved, I've grown accustomed to dealing with men like von Scheeling, but I'm touched that you fear for me.” He pulled her into his embrace, stroking her hair softly.

  She felt so secure, so protected nestled in his arms. “He made me uneasy when we were dancing so I excused myself. I know now that fleeing the dance floor like a timid virgin seeking out her dueña was a mistake. I only whetted his appetite for the chase. He followed me outside on the pretext of bringing me champagne.” She gestured to the shards of glass glittering on the flagstones a few feet away. “I asked him to leave me alone. When he wouldn't, I walked away, thinking such a direct insult would surely cause him to take offense and leave.” She laughed bitterly. “He took offense, but he didn't go away. Instead he followed me here and tried to kiss me. I smashed my fist in his eye and
grabbed one of the glasses he'd set by the fountain. Even throwing the champagne in his face didn't deter him. He's insane, Lucero.”

  She looked up at him with tears welling in her eyes. Nicholas could feel her beginning to tremble now, her earlier iron-willed self-possession deserting her as she relived the horror. “He grabbed me and I twisted away, but he held fast, laughing all the while. That's when he kissed me and cut my lip but I tore free and stumbled back, searching for a weapon. I saw the glass stem lying where I'd dropped it in our scuffle and I picked it up. When he was certain I'd use the jagged edge on him if he came a step closer, he shrugged and walked away. Agnes passed him on the porch and figured out what must have happened. She found me here, then went in search of you. I think she means well, but she wants you to duel von Scheeling.”

  “She's in luck. Her wish will be granted,” Fortune said in a low furious rush of breath.

  “He's dangerous, Lucero! I think he wanted this to happen—for you to challenge him. He wants to kill you.”

  “I'm not easy to kill, my love, as many of my enemies could attest—if they were alive to do so. Come, let me take you upstairs and fetch your maid to tend your hurts.”

  “Then you'll search out von Scheeling, won't you?” She stiffened apprehensively in his arms.

  “What do you think?” he asked rhetorically.

  “Then I'm going with you.”

  Her chin was mutinously set. He knew short of throwing her over his shoulder and locking her in their room, he could not prevent her presence at the challenge. “I suppose you have the right, but the women will gossip when they see you like this.”

  “I don't give a fig about gossip—only you,” she said fiercely. “He might try to kill you some sneaky underhanded way.”

  He was touched by the concern, even fear that underlay her anger. Running his fingertips lightly across her cheek, he placed a soft kiss to her forehead, then knelt by the fountain to soak her handkerchief in fresh water. When he pressed the cool cloth to her lip she winced but did not pull away. Rather, her hand came up, covering his as they stood side by side in the courtyard, staring into one another's eyes, communicating silently. She entreated fearfully. He refused adamantly. Yet beyond the clash of wills love trembled and grew.