Mary laughed at her friend’s enthusiasm, despite Sebastian’s labyrinthine warnings about the Fernandes siblings. Surely he had to be wrong. Teresa was always so full of laughter, lightness, despite the loss of her home city. ‘A marvellous gown in only a day?’
‘I am sure it can be done. Come, we must start right away,’ Teresa said, tugging Mary away down one of the crowded streets.
‘And perhaps you would save me a dance, Senhorita Manning?’ Luis said, smiling down at Mary. He was certainly very handsome, almost as handsome as Sebastian in his dark, alluring way, and she tried to read his dark eyes, to see if he hid any secrets there. But there was nothing but laughter. ‘A carricola? I could teach you.’
Before Mary could answer, Teresa rushed forward, drawing them both behind her. Mary laughed, letting herself be lost in the heady swirl of the moment, yet she did not forget her resolve to find out exactly what secrets Sebastian held.
Chapter Thirteen
Mary surveyed the drawing room, set up with tea for Teresa’s visit with the dressmaker they had somehow bribed to make their costumes for that night’s masked ball. All seemed to be in readiness, as elegant as she could make it in such a short time. The room was small, but pretty, with her mother’s finely embroidered tablecloths and silver ornaments on every surface. The china tea service was laid out, along with an array of delicacies she had managed to communicate with the cook on making. Large arrangements of tropical flowers, bright pink and red and yellow, splashed their vivid colours over the pale walls.
From beyond the louvred doors of the dining room, which her father had set up as his makeshift library, she could hear him rustling papers and moving books about. He had been quiet over breakfast, smiling as she told him about the arrangements for the masked ball, but also distracted. She hoped she would not be in his way.
She moved a vase of flowers from one table to another, wondering why she felt so restless. Was it the sun, so golden-hot behind the shutters? The strangeness of the new place? The ball? She couldn’t fathom it at all.
She just hoped it was not because of Sebastian. Surely that was not it!
Her whirling thoughts were interrupted when Teresa arrived, amid flurries of bonnet ribbons and feathers, exclamations of the loveliness of the room, the excitement of the ball. She was soon followed by the dressmaker and there was very serious work to commence.
Before long, the sitting room was scattered with lengths of bright silks and velvets, sheer muslins, spools of ribbon and lace, as fine as any that could have been found in Europe. Mary sipped at her tea and watched as the dressmaker finished with the hem of Teresa’s costume, a frothy confection of white cotton and lace with delicate, silvery angel’s wings.
The warmth of the sun flowing from the windows, the shadows that lurked in the corners, gave it all such a wondrous dreamlike feeling. She almost felt as if she was dreaming, watching the scene through a lacy veil. She remembered what her father had said about Sebastian and wondered if he would be at the masquerade. Would he tell her then what he had warned her about? Or would he evade her again?
He was so very maddening.
‘What do you think, Mary?’ Teresa asked, pulling Mary away from her thoughts of Sebastian. Teresa spun around, her sheer sleeves fluttering in the sunlight. ‘Does it need more ribbons? More lace here?’
‘I am afraid those are all the ribbons I have, senhorita,’ the dressmaker said with a fierce scowl. ‘Since the royal family has arrived, every scrap of silk and lace has been sold five times over! No one wanted such things before; almost no merchants would import them. Now they are all anyone asks for! How am I to run my business?’
‘It doesn’t need anything at all, Teresa,’ Mary assured her. ‘You will surely be the prettiest, most stylish lady at the party.’
Teresa laughed. ‘I don’t think there is much competition! Doña Carlota and her ladies, with their enormous turbans...’ She snatched up a length of bright red-and-white-striped satin and wove it around her head in a towering arc. ‘Dashing, yes?’
Mary had to laugh at the incongruous sight of the elaborate swath of fabric against the plain white walls, the warm sunshine. ‘Very dashing indeed.’
‘And what will you wear, Mary?’ Teresa asked.
‘I hardly know,’ Mary said. ‘Whatever is left, I suppose.’
‘Ah, no, senhorita!’ the dressmaker cried. ‘I have brought one of my finest creations for you to try on. Something to go with your friend’s angel gown.’ She snapped her fingers and her assistant hurried forward with a muslin-wrapped parcel over her arms. They drew it back to reveal a gown and Mary gasped, for it was not what she would have expected.
It was made of glossy black satin, as lustrous as a starry night, with a simple skirt draped from a high waist which was bound with red ribbons. Black lace, delicate as cobwebs, fell from the square neckline. It made her think of the evenings aboard the ship during the voyage, the many shades of black in the sky that stretched endlessly over the ship; it was a gown for a queen of the night.
‘Oh, Mary!’ Teresa cried, hurrying over to carefully touch one of the black-lace ruffles. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Indeed it is,’ Mary said, sitting up straight in her chair. ‘But is it too—bold?’
‘Not at all, senhorita!’ the dressmaker protested. ‘It will suit you most well. Shall you try it on now? There is much to be done if it’s to be ready for tonight.’
‘Yes, do, Mary,’ Teresa urged. ‘It will look beautiful. Every man there will want to dance with you, especially my brother.’
Mary laughed. Suddenly, she did feel bold. Luis Fernandes was very well known at the royal court as a flirt and great lover of ladies. She could not take him seriously, though he had asked her to dance; perhaps others would as well? And perhaps she would dance, safe behind her mask.
Safe from Sebastian.
She quickly slipped behind a screen set up in the corner of the room and quickly slipped out of her simple muslin morning dress into the basted-together gown the assistant handed her.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a gilt-framed mirror on the wall and was startled. She’d been so careful for so long, so respectable and proper. Ever since she had let her emotions take hold of her so foolishly in London, she had held herself in so closely. Now—now she wanted to fly, just a little bit. Was it this place? The sun and heat, the brilliant flowers and strange people?
Or was it—could it be—Sebastian again? His handsome face, his mysterious words. The way he looked at her, as if he saw her as no one else ever had.
She stepped out from behind the screen and the dressmaker rushed over with her pins and thread, clucking over the long, sheer sleeves, the unfinished hem. ‘What do you think, senhorita?’
‘It is beautiful, of course,’ Mary said. ‘Your skills would not be out of place in London or Lisbon, I’m sure.’
The dressmaker smiled smugly. ‘I was told this style would suit you above all others, senhorita.’
Mary was startled. ‘Told by who? My father?’
The dressmaker shook her head. ‘Oh, no. Senhor Manning did indeed send for me, but a younger gentleman visited my shop only this morning. He had seen this satin in my window and wanted me to save it for you especially. He was most—persuasive.’
The assistant giggled.
‘Who was this man?’ Mary demanded.
The dressmaker shrugged. ‘He was young, and quite handsome. You must have a secret admirer.’
‘Oh, Mary!’ Teresa cried. ‘Could it be Luis? I did not know he had such romance in him.’
Mary stared at herself in the mirror, wondering about this ‘secret admirer’, her curiosity dangerously stirred. In the black-and-red gown, the mysterious veil of lace and silk, she would surely melt into the tropical night itself, searching its shadows for this admirer. Nothing c
ould hide from her then.
Not even Sebastian Barrett.
Chapter Fourteen
The square where the ball was to happen was the same as the one where the reception had been held, bound by the makeshift royal palace on one side and the cathedral on the other, but it was completely transformed as the sun sank below the sea on glorious streaks of gold and crimson and purple.
The shutters of the mansions were thrown wide to let out even more amber light and flickering torches lined the cobblestones. The white façades of the buildings were draped with white flowers, tied with fluttering streamers in white and green and gold, waiting to greet the guests as they appeared as if by magic from the alleyways and from inside the houses.
Mary paused at the foot of the marble steps of the cathedral to take in the whole magical scene. The nearly full moon, almost a pure silver in the dusty purplish-blue sky, shimmered down on the cobbled courtyard that was already full of revellers. They spun and twirled faster and faster in time to the music of the royal orchestra, which played from one of the balconies overhead. The song was quick and lively, full of drums and castanets to bring Iberia a bit closer. On another balcony, hung with cloth-of-gold, the royal family looked down on the party, remote and quiet, Doña Carlota’s turban shining white and red, just as Teresa’s had.
Long, white-draped tables laden with pastel-iced cakes and golden ewers of wine were laid out on one side of the fountain. It looked like everyone who was not dancing was clustered there, laughing over the streams of wine, recovering from the long voyage and the shock of their new home.
The flickering light of the torches reflected in the sparkling waters of the fountain and in the beads and jewels of all the fabulous costumes. Surely everyone had dragged out all their best finery, hauled across the ocean in the ships’ holds, or cajoled from the local dressmakers, as Mary’s and Teresa’s had been. The dancers wove in and out of the lights, fantastic wraiths in black masks, brilliant satin gowns and velvet jackets, arrayed as all sorts of things. Saints and devils, gods and goddesses in pale draperies, dragons, butterflies, even sea monsters in glittering blue and green.
Mary searched every masked face that swirled past her, wondering if one of them concealed Sebastian.
‘Oh, Mary, it is so beautiful,’ Teresa said with a happy sigh.
‘Most beautiful indeed,’ Mary agreed. And it was, like an enchanted night spell where anything could happen. Where behind every mask could be the man of her dreams—her ‘secret admirer.’ A man who could imagine this fabulous costume would suit her.
Teresa was swept into the swirling dance by a man in a Tudor velvet doublet, handsome but surely rather stifling in the tropical night. Mary glimpsed her father near the refreshment tables, with a cluster of his diplomatic friends as always, all of them watching the frantic air of merriment with solemn, watchful faces. Her father had made an attempt at a costume, with a white linen toga wrapped over his dark-green evening coat, but he wore no mask. She waved at him and he seemed startled for an instant before he remembered who she was in her black lacy mask. He waved back with a smile.
Mary laughed. Could she truly be so well concealed behind her new gown? It made her feel bold indeed, like a different person, just for a short moment.
She made her way towards the flower-draped dais at the side of the cathedral, keeping to the edges of the dancing, boisterous crowd. The music was enthralling, the drums beating louder and louder as the dancers spun faster and faster. The music seemed to carry the wave of gaiety into the very sky itself. Even those who had been most angry at being cast across the sea, away from their home to this strange place, seemed carried away by the magic of it all.
As Mary reached the edge of the steps, a harlequin in black-and-white satin squares reached out and tried to pull her into the dance. She laughed and shook her head until he whirled away, but she found she did want to dance. Usually, she managed to stay safely, watchfully, on the sidelines. Yet tonight, that wonderful music, the flickering torchlight, the fantastical costumes, even the mysterious darkness of the night itself, seemed to call out to her with all its enticing possibilities.
But she only really wanted to dance in one man’s arms. To find that giddy freedom she had only known once before. One which she shouldn’t want at all now, not when Sebastian was so cloaked in mystery.
Mary closed her eyes for a moment behind her mask, closing out the dreamlike whirl. Why was he really there in Brazil, always waiting there to remind her of her own mistake in London? When she had found out the truth of him so long ago, the truth about her own young, foolish self, it had taken her a long time to find her balance again.
Now he was here again, even more intriguing than before.
Mary looked up and found the statue of the Madonna in a niche high above, watching the merriment with her beautiful blue-glass eyes. She seemed to smile, as if she knew the strangeness of everything that happened under her serene gaze. Mary wished she could see so clearly herself.
She hurried behind the church, away from the noise of the party, finding a quieter walkway that reminded her of the one where Sebastian led her to whisper his warnings. She could still hear the music and laughter, could see the reflection of the torchlight on the white walls, but here she could at least take a breath and think a little more clearly.
When she closed her eyes, she saw Sebastian’s face in her mind. She was not the same person she had been when they first met, so young and a bit scared in a new world in London. Surely he was not the same, either, but how had he changed? Or was he only different in the way she now saw him?
She heard a small sound, a rustle in the shadows behind her, and she spun around to see a cloaked figure standing at the entry of her walkway. She pushed herself away from the wall, thinking to flee, then he put his hood back and the light gleamed on Sebastian’s sun-streaked hair. She fell back a step, watching him warily.
‘Does the Queen of the Night not dance at her own ball?’ he asked, a half-smile in his voice.
Was he the one who had told the dressmaker to bring her the black satin? ‘I—I fear she has a secret,’ she said, trying to match the lightness of the evening. She feared she was not so good at counterfeiting emotion. ‘She is a terrible dancer.’
‘And too busy to practise? She has all the stars to arrange, the spirits of the night to dispatch on their dark errands...’
Mary laughed. That sense of a dream party grew around her, like a hazy cloud that suddenly made her forget all her caution, just for a moment. It was almost as if the tropical warmth had made her into a whole new person for that one night.
He looked so mysterious, so enticing, his dark cloak making him a shadow against the torchlight. He seemed to beckon to her without even moving, his eyes glowing that bright green, like the sea beyond their party. She stepped closer to him, one careful, whisper-like movement, then another. He had warned her, after all, though she couldn’t seem to stay away from him.
Her heavy black skirt and the fine lace of the ruffles trailed around her, the only thing that seemed to hold her to the ground. At last, she drew close to him, so close she could feel the warmth of him. He held himself perfectly still, his tall body tense, never taking his bright gaze from her face.
She dared to reach out and let her fingertips trail over his cheek. She wore no gloves with her costume and his cheek felt so warm, so smooth under her touch, just slightly roughened over his chiselled jaw. She almost felt as if the vital heat of him, that glowing light like the tropical sun itself, flew into her. Just like the land itself, he seemed to coax her back into life.
‘Is this a dream?’ she whispered.
‘If it is, I hope we don’t wake up yet,’ he answered.
His arms came around her, drawing her so close to him that nothing could come between them. She went up on tiptoe, twining her arms around his neck to hold him with her
—or to keep herself from flying away into the sky. He drew her even closer and his lips swooped down to meet hers in a hard, hungry kiss.
They fit so perfectly together now, as if they had been made for this one moment. Mary parted her lips to meet his kiss, feeling the tip of his tongue touch hers, sliding closer to taste her deeply, as if he was as hungry for her as she was for him. She remembered that long-ago, too-fleeting kiss, and it was only a shadow to what she felt now with him.
The kiss turned frantic, full of need, full of the desperate desire to forget the past and have only now. As if London hadn’t happened, as if there had never been their foolish, youthful selves. As if they were all of now.
She wanted that so much, she didn’t protest at all when she felt him press her back against the rough, whitewashed wall. His moan echoed against her lips and his hands were hard and hungry as they slid over her shoulders, over the curve of her breasts in the tight satin bodice. Mary sighed at the delicious friction, the new, wonderful sensations that shivered through her.
A loud crack burst over them and for an instant she feared it was her heart, opening to this mysterious, changeable man all over again. She pushed herself away from him and saw that it was fireworks arcing in a shimmering green-and-white arc over the rooftops. She tilted her head back, trying to breathe, but she couldn’t do that with his touch on her. With him so very close.
He raised his head, suddenly tense and wary as a jungle cat. Mary turned away from him, tugging her new gown into place and drawing the long folds of her lacy veil to cover the heat of her cheeks. She had no doubt she was blushing bright red, all her confusion written on her face!
She drew in a deep breath, and then another, letting the smells of smoke and flowers clear her hazy mind. The mind that had only known him for those heady moments. Surely she could not have been so foolish again?
Yet she did not feel so foolish. She felt almost as if she could soar away into the sky.
Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 Page 30
