‘Mary,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I did not plan this, I promise. I am...’
‘No,’ she whispered, still not looking at him. Instead she watched the fireworks, red and gold in the black sky. ‘Please don’t say you’re sorry. I could not bear it.’ She couldn’t bear it if he was sorry for this one perfect moment.
His hand slid down her arm, his fingers twining with hers for an instant. ‘I fear I am not sorry at all. But I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘Tell me, Sebastian—were you the one who told the dressmaker to bring me this gown?’
He laughed, but did not answer. Then she knew he had, yet she still did not know why. Another part of his enigmatic warnings?
‘Thank you,’ she murmured. Yet she still didn’t dare look at him, for fear she would not be able to walk away. She laughed, too, hoping it sounded light, careless, as if she did that sort of thing all the time—kissing in darkened walkways, moving through the night as if she was indeed its Queen. She hurried on her unsteady feet back to the crowded torchlight of the square, to the noise and movement of real life.
* * *
Sebastian braced his palms against the rough, whitewashed wall, his eyes closed as he forced himself to breathe deeply, slowly. To try to calm the fire that raged inside of him. He could still smell the sweet roses of Mary’s perfume, as if she still lingered there with him. As if she was all around him, haunting him.
His hands curled into tight fists as he thought of her, her smile, the way she looked up into his eyes, as if she could see what he tried so hard to hide.
That raw longing for her, for her nearness, had to be conquered. It distracted him from his reason for being in Brazil. He had to keep the British alliance with the Portuguese Prince safe, at all costs.
The young, reckless man he had been when he met Mary in London, stunned by the grief of losing his friends in battle, would never have thought this way about duty. His duty to England, to his family—even to Mary, of the amends he owed her. That young man wouldn’t have held back the surge or urgent desire that came over him when he tasted her lips.
But he was no longer that man. He had changed his life, his way of seeing the world around him. He had to prove that to himself and, more than that, he had to prove it to Mary.
Sebastian laughed ruefully at himself. Who would have imagined, if they saw him even a few years ago, that he would be so concerned about honour? With what anyone, even his family, thought of him? Mary, with her quiet, serious grey eyes, had changed him.
And now he had to prove that to her. He had to keep her safe, no matter what.
Chapter Fifteen
Teresa tiptoed along the makeshift-palace’s terrace, careful to make sure she wasn’t seen. It was very late at night, most of the revellers tucked up in their beds, the lamps extinguished. Doña Carlota was still awake, as she was late into most nights, but she would not need her ladies. She was writing furious letters to her Spanish family, raging against being torn away from Europe.
But she couldn’t let anyone see her, even a footman. Teresa drew the hood of her cloak closer around her. High overhead, the moon shimmered in the dusty black sky, so unlike anything she had ever seen in Portugal. The scent of flowers hung heavy in the air, and she could hear the remnants of music from somewhere far away.
She made her way to a quiet corner where her brother said she should wait for him and took a deep breath of the warm air. She only wanted to run back to her small room, to climb under her bedclothes, until this new life made some sense. Until she could find a way to flee again. But Luis would find her.
He would always find her, chasing her until she helped his schemes, just as he had since they were children.
For an instant, she thought of Mr Nicholas Warren, of his kind smile, the admiration in his eyes when he looked at her. She had many admirers; they had always seemed to be there, ever since she was a girl, but they never seemed to see her. They saw her family, or the beauty she had not created for herself. Never what was inside her heart, her longing to be free.
And Luis said it would always be thus, that he would be her only friend, her only family, and she had no reason to doubt that. Not until she met Mary Manning and had a real, female friend for the first time. Now she could see more, could imagine more. If only it were not too late!
‘What have you discovered, Sister?’ Luis said quietly, emerging from the shadows near the whitewashed wall.
Teresa shivered, hating the way he could move so quietly when he wanted to. ‘Nothing yet. I told you, I can find out nothing of import for your friends at court. I only hear bits of gossip, the same as anyone.’
‘But gossip is the one thing that will help us now!’ He came to stand next to her at the stone railing, the tropical moonlight gilding his face, as handsome as hers was beautiful. It had always been their strength, even when their family fortune was mostly gone. ‘We had no choice but to leave Lisbon now, but if we are to make our way home soon, we must be wise about it. We must not be drawn in by these English. They have their own goals and none of them involves the good of Portugal. They must help us now, even if they don’t know it.’
Teresa nodded. She had heard those words so often, but she did not quite believe them. She had heard the tales of what happened to countries when they were overrun by Napoleon’s armies. But there was no denying they had been torn away from their homes, tossed on to this strange shore, and she wanted to go home again.
Even if that meant working with her brother.
‘Miss Manning knows nothing,’ she said. ‘She keeps her father’s house, but I don’t think he confides in her. She doesn’t care for politics.’
Luis laughed. ‘I cannot believe that! We must stay with her, cultivate her friendship.’
Teresa nodded silently. Luis suddenly grabbed her arm, giving her a hard shake. She cried out and tried to pull away, but he held her fast. His eyes glittered like hard diamonds in the starlight.
‘I mean what I say, Teresa,’ he said. ‘This is vital if we are to get home again. The English must help us—whether they like it or not. You must help me, it is your duty as a Fernandes. As a lady of Portugal.’
Her duty. She had heard that all her life. When did she get to choose? To be free to be kind, as Mary was kind? ‘I will do my duty,’ she said quietly. Her brother stared down at her, as if he could read her thoughts. She made her expression as bland as possible, her eyes cast down to the cobbles of the plaza below her.
Finally, he nodded and let her go. She backed away, rubbing at her arm. ‘I must return to my bed now,’ she said.
‘Of course. The Princess cannot miss you. Just remember well what I said—the English are not your friends.’
Not her friends—she had been told that for so long. But, for the first time, Teresa could not quite believe it.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Mary! You are very far away today. Have you been listening to me at all?’
Startled, Mary looked to Teresa where she sat on the seat across their small, open carriage. Teresa grinned at her and Mary had to laugh. In truth, she had not been listening ever since they left the city centre of Rio for an exploratory visit into the countryside. She couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian, about the wondrous unreality of their kiss, of the whole masked ball. She couldn’t help but think it might all have been a dream. Now there was a picnic on the beach to get to and she had to cease dreaming.
And yet she was sure she could still fell his touch on her skin, still taste that kiss. She had been swept away by the whole romance of the night, the warm, flower-scented air, the freedom of a costume, the music. What had made him kiss her? Was it all a game again? What had he warned her about?
It had not felt like a game. But she had been mistaken about him before.
She tilted her parasol t
o shield the bright sun that burned over their open carriage. She knew she shouldn’t worry about Sebastian Barrett and what he was really doing here in Brazil, here with her. Not at that moment. It was a beautiful day and she had never seen anything like the scene around them. The city itself had been crowded, noisy, bustling with a marketplace set up around the fountain in the main square, but here in the foothills it was quiet, flickering with shadows from the tall coconut trees. The city was spread out below them in a tumble of red roofs and white walls, with the surging sea beyond. The beach looked like a shimmering cream-coloured ribbon in the brilliant sun.
‘I’m sorry, Teresa,’ she said. ‘I was just admiring the lovely scenery. It’s so very different from anything else I’ve ever seen.’
Teresa nodded and also turned to study the mystery of the jungle that climbed above them into the black mountains. The wide brim of her pink-straw hat concealed her expression. ‘It is hard to imagine it is winter at home right now. The sun is so blinding. It quite makes me forget...’
The note of melancholy in her usually cheerful friend’s voice worried Mary. ‘Are you quite well, Teresa?’
Teresa smiled. ‘Very well indeed. Just a flash of homesickness, I think. But that will soon be gone. There are too many lovely distractions here. Are you going to the Countess de Graumont’s party at her new beach villa tomorrow? It should be even more exotic than the masquerade.’
‘We did receive an invitation this morning,’ Mary said. She remembered the pile of cards already on their breakfast table, but her father had been most distracted when she asked him which parties they should attend. Whatever you think best, my dear, he had said before leaving her for his work. ‘I am certainly looking forward to seeing the place. Will Dom Joao and Doña Carlota be there?’
Teresa laughed. ‘Together, do you mean? I suppose they will; they are much thrown together now. I fear for what might happen if the Princess does not get her own home soon.’
Mary frowned, thinking of Sebastian’s mysterious warnings that all was not well in Brazil, that she should be very careful. ‘What do you mean? Is there some danger?’
‘No more than usual, I think. It has been a long time since they lived together. Doña Carlota has become accustomed to having her own life, her own—base of power, shall we say. Luckily for me, I am only a very junior lady-in-waiting and only have to attend her on ceremonial occasions. Even then I have seen her Spanish temper explode when she has been too long near her husband.’
Mary nodded. Everyone knew how volatile the royal marriage was, how Doña Carlota had tried so hard to keep from coming to Brazil. That she had once before tried to overthrow her husband. Was it happening again? Was that what Sebastian meant? ‘Has anything happened of late? I have certainly heard the Princess would prefer to return to her Spanish family.’
‘I am sure she would, but she cannot. Not now. Even if—’ Teresa suddenly bit her lip and looked away. ‘I think she does mean to find her own villa, some place near the water like the Countess de Graumont has done. I think I would enjoy a place like that, too.’
The carriage jolted around a turn in the road, giving them a sudden view of the ocean crashing below the rocky ledge of the hills. ‘I would, as well.’
The ocean was indeed gloriously beautiful, but also most changeable instant by instant. It surged from palest turquoise blue to deep green, frothed with lacy white waves, crashing wildly over the sandy shore and receding back again. It made her think of Sebastian and how hard to read he was. How much he had changed since last she saw him, but how untrustworthy that was.
Suddenly, a flash of movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned her head to the mountains that rose above their path, to the dark cliffs that loomed above the jungle-like tree line. The hills were a dark purple-blue, shadowed, with small black openings dotted along the winding, paler paths.
Everything was very still now, just the wind in the trees the only movement, but she could have vowed she saw something up there, light and flashing against the darkness.
‘What is up that way?’ she said.
Teresa also glanced up, but she didn’t seem terribly interested. ‘Where, Mary? The hills?’
‘They’re the caves of the old people, senhorita,’ their driver said.
Mary turned to look at him, perched above them on his box. He was a large man, dark-haired and square-faced in his new fine livery. The man who rented the Manning house to them, along with the staff, said the driver and his family were Portuguese who had lived in Brazil for some time, so hopefully he would know of the local places. ‘The caves of the old people?’
He laughed. ‘Not old like grandfathers, senhorita, but the civilisation that lived here before us, long ago. They lived up in those caves, but no one goes there now. It’s too rocky and treacherous up the pathways. I have heard tell a few people who still worship the old gods make their way there once or twice a year, but I have never tried it. My wife scares our children away from them with tales of phantoms.’
‘Fascinating.’ Mary studied the looming hills, wondering at their mysteries. ‘I thought I saw someone there just now.’
‘I wouldn’t go up there if I thought there were phantoms,’ Teresa said with a laugh. ‘I am sure it was just a shadow, Mary.’
‘Yes, probably,’ Mary murmured. But as they drove on, winding their way down to the beautiful beach, she glanced back at the mountains and shivered a bit. Their dark mystery was alluring, even as she knew she should stay far away. Just as it was with Sebastian.
As the carriage slowly lurched along the winding, narrow pathway towards the beach, even Teresa grew quieter, watching the passing scenery, the rocky road and the thick greenery with an expression of some concern. But Mary was glad of the silence for a moment, broken only by the creak of the carriage wheels, the cry of the birds in the thick, dark canopy of trees. She had to help her father, to keep watch over the social scene of their new home, and she couldn’t be distracted so much by Sebastian Barrett.
But her worries vanished as the carriage suddenly emerged from the shadowed thicket and the sweep of the beach came into view. Bright white picnic pavilions were set up on the pale sand, colourful banners fluttering from every corner, and beyond was the rush of the aquamarine-and-emerald sea. In the distance she could glimpse the peaks of the distant mountains, purplish-black against the brilliant blue sky.
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Teresa cried. ‘We shall have such fun today, won’t we, Mary?’
Mary smiled. ‘It is quite pretty. Like a medieval tournament in a story. If there had been sandy beaches then, of course!’
‘So different from Lisbon,’ Teresa said softly, as if to herself as she studied the glorious sweep of white and blue. ‘It could be a lovely new beginning. If only Luis could see that...’
Mary frowned at her friend’s sad tone. ‘Does your brother not feel—settled here as of yet?’
Teresa laughed. ‘Of course not. But surely he will see everything different in such a place as this.’
The carriage lumbered to a halt next to the other vehicles left haphazardly at the edge of where the rocky, green underbrush met the drifts of pale sand. Mary followed Teresa as they made their way towards the party, where sounds of music and laughter drifted out from the pavilions.
Mary’s half-boots sank a bit into the sand, slowing her down, but she had to laugh. The warm breeze, smelling of salty sea and strange, heady flowers, caught at her bonnet and raised her spirits. Teresa was surely right—life looked very different in such a place.
She peeked up at the sky from beneath the ribbon-trimmed brim of her bonnet, dazzled by the glittering sunlight.
‘Mary, hurry up!’ Teresa called.
Mary quickly followed her friend into the waiting pavilion. For a moment, the shadow after the bright light dazzled her and only slowly could she make out
the scene before her. Long tables, spread with white-damask clothes and platters of fruit and fine cheese, iced cakes and creams, led up to a velvet-draped dais where Prince Joao sat with some of his children, all of them dressed in heavy satins and watching the merry gathering as if they were at a theatre. It seemed the Princess had not attended, but no one appeared to miss her very much. A small orchestra played dance music as everyone feasted and laughed.
Yet none of the crowd caught her attention as much as the man who stood near the dais. Sebastian; of course he would be there. He smiled, though he seemed rather apart from the party in his plain dark-blue coat and cream-coloured waistcoat. After only an instant, he vanished among the crowded tables.
A footman offered Mary a glass of pale-pink punch and she took it, glad of the distraction. She took a sip and choked on an unexpected sharp, strong rush of alcohol.
‘One should go slowly with this punch, Miss Manning—the Prince has been insisting everyone try the local rum, with startling effect,’ Sebastian said behind her.
Mary whirled around, surprised and yet also warmly pleased. ‘Really, Lord Sebastian! You must cease startling me so.’ But she also had to laugh. Perhaps it was the warm day, the punch—or Sebastian’s bright-green eyes, his teasing smile. It made her feel so much lighter, as if she could float away into the bright blue sky.
‘How much of it have you imbibed, Lord Sebastian?’ she asked.
‘Oh, only the merest sip, I assure you,’ he said, very seriously, yet there was that twinkle in his eyes. It made her think of when they had first met in London and she had been immediately drawn to his charm, which ought to have made her most cautious indeed.
Yet somehow that hard edge that had once given him a steel tinge seemed gone today and so was her chilly caution. She wanted to laugh and dance, too. To think he was the man she had once imagined.
‘Perhaps we should try just a bit more, then,’ she whispered.
Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 Page 31
