Page 30 of Sweet Savage Love

30

D on Francisco’s carriage was large and comfortable, but the journey to the Sandoval hacienda took almost two hours, and seemed long and wearisome.

For most of the trip, Steve Morgan maintained an inscrutable silence, leaning back with his head against the cushioned backrest, his arms folded across his chest. He answered politely enough whenever either his grandfather or the Senora Ortega addressed some question to him, but for the most part he kept his eyes closed, as if he were unutterably weary—or bored. He had already explained shortly that he had been riding all day and was rather tired.

“It’s the same with all you young men these days!” Tia Maria exclaimed, sparing him any further explanations. “Too weak—leading soft lives! In my day a caballero thought nothing of travelling over a hundred miles merely to claim one dance with his sweetheart. And chaperones were stricter in those days too, the only chance a girl had to converse with a young man was during the dancing. But we all made the most of it, I can assure you! We’d dance till dawn, without feeling the least tired!”

Tia Maria’s voice droned on and on, carrying almost the entire conversation, with the Senora Armijo adding an occasional comment of her own.

Don Francisco, seated next to Steve, frowned out of the window to hide his growing anger from the ladies, and Ginny, looking ravishing in her new gown, said hardly a word.

Under the cover of her own garrulity, Dona Maria wondered more than once what was wrong between the two young people. They certainly acted most peculiarly for a young engaged couple. She had even had to insist that Genia add a touch of coral rouge to her cheeks to give them some color, and as for her grandnephew, he seemed hardly his usual gay, devil-may-care self. She wondered if Esteban was sulking because he had not been permitted to have his novia sit next to him…and certainly, it was strange that her brother had not suggested it but had seated himself firmly next to his grandson. There was something strange going on here, something she could not put her finger on. For instance, why were two of Francisco’s vaqueros, armed to the teeth, escorting them tonight? Was some trouble expected? Still, she was too tactful to ask, so she continued to chatter.

Steve, although he pretended to nap, was only too conscious of their armed escort. His escort, Jaime Perez, and Enrico, another of his grandfather’s vaqueros, had dogged his footsteps constantly since he’d set foot in the house. The taste of rage was as bitter as gall in his throat when he was forced to realize that even at the fiesta they would still be there, following wherever he went, watching him like hawks. How was he going to explain being in such a stupid, inconceivable situation? And above all—he had to talk to Bishop privately; how could he arrange it now? The only bright spot in his day had been Juana. Sweet, passionate, helpful Juana. The knife she had given him was her own, carried for her protection.

“The men here—they are always trying to grab me!” she had told him fiercely. “Pah! I despise them—pigs! Now they know that I will kill them if they try, and they leave me alone—me, I give myself only when I please!”

The knife she had given him was concealed in the lining of his high-topped, silver ornamented boot—he could feel it against his right calf. So much for his not being allowed a weapon of any kind!

With a mental shrug and a return of his old self-confidence, Steve decided that he would take care of each problem as it arose. He had, after all, escaped from jails before, and even, once or twice, from a lynching mob. When he was ready, he’d escape his watchdogs too. But right now, his other problem was Ginny.

Without her being aware of it, Steve opened his eyes a fraction and studied her from beneath the cover of his lashes.

He had to admit it—she was exceptionally desirable tonight. The stolen gown suited her far better than it would have the lovely Danielle. And he had recognized his mother’s opals—blazing like pale fire on her ears and around her throat. She was really a beautiful woman—a pity she had turned into such a nagging shrew. But could he blame her for it? He had to admit in all honesty that most of the fault was his. The same thought that had irritated him with its repetition all day came back to nettle him now. Why had he brought her with him so far? Why did she, of all women have the power to annoy him so intensely that he lost his normal self-control and felt, at times, that he could easily strangle her with his bare hands? And why, goddamn it, did he keep desiring her in spite of it all? She brought out the worst in him, and obviously the same was true the other way around. She could be charming, flirtatious, even spontaneously affectionate with other men. He had watched her fuss over Carl Hoskins—throw her arms around Michel Remy and offer her mouth for his kiss. It would have been the same thing, over again, with Lieutenant d’Argent, if he had not intervened.

Unconsciously, Steve had begun to frown. Damn Ginny! Damn her female guile and duplicity! One moment she was soft and kittenish and yielding, and the next a wildcat. He’d had to watch her every minute, and as soon as his back was turned she had wormed her way into his grandfather’s good graces, agreeing quite meekly, no doubt, to marry him, just so that she could have her revenge. And then she’d dared threaten him with the scandalous life she’d lead once she was his wife. Well, they would see about that, he thought grimly. He’d marry her because he had promised to do so, and leave her at the altar. The abandoned bride. Let her face that scandal. His biggest mistake had been to keep her around long enough for her to become a habit—but habits could be broken and the world was full of beautiful women—women who didn’t scream at a man that they hated him, loathed him, before they gave in and enjoyed what was inevitable.

Ginny was being unusually quiet tonight, when she should have been excited and triumphant instead. Again, Steve flicked a sharp, shadowed glance over her. Like Don Francisco, she appeared to be studying the countryside that rolled past the windows of the carriage. Her face looked quite calm and composed, and the slight color in her cheeks and on her lips was becoming. But he remembered suddenly how cold her hand had been when she’d held it out to him so unwillingly earlier that evening. Even when he had kissed it formally, complimenting her extravagantly on her appearance in an effort to needle her into showing her temper, she had refused to rise to the bait and had swept past him with a murmured “thank you, Steve—you’re too kind.”

A sudden, extremely unpleasant thought suddenly made him catch his breath and sit up straight, prompting Don Francisco to remark testily that he supposed they should be honored that his grandson had finally deigned to honor them with his attention.

“But anything you say always has my attention, sir,” Steve responded mechanically, and was rewarded by a glowering look from under the old man’s bushy white eyebrows.

Tia Maria glanced from one to the other of them sharply and began to talk volubly again, addressing herself to Ginny this time, so that the girl was forced to turn her head and give the older woman her polite attention.

Glad of the respite, Steve relapsed into his brooding reverie again, but the ugly suspicion that had popped into his mind quite suddenly a moment ago kept nagging at his mind.

Good God! Could it be she was pregnant? Was that the reason why she had let herself fall in so eagerly with his grandfather’s plans to marry them off? And was that the reason for her changing moods, the alternation from abandoned, passionate mistress to hate-filled antagonist?

He looked at Ginny then, opening his eyes lazily, giving her a long, searching look that she could not fail to notice. No, her waist seemed as slim as ever, her breasts no fuller. He was imagining things—he almost laughed out loud—a guilty conscience? Perhaps, if he’d ever possessed a conscience.

The carriage had slowed down, and there were lights ahead—myriads of tiny, dancing flames that looked like fireflies; suspended against the inky blue night sky.

It took Ginny a few seconds to realize that the fireflies were tiny paraffin lights that lined the top of the tall walls they were approaching. Two strong lanterns swung from a carved iron archway, and the gaudily dressed, smiling vaqueros who stood there called out greetings as the carriage rumbled through.

Ginny could hardly believe her eyes—the magnificent grounds were ablaze with lights from Japanese lanterns, making them a veritable fairyland. More lights streamed welcomingly from every door and window of the enormous house they were now approaching. There were throngs of people everywhere, standing in groups or strolling around. As the carriage rolled to a stop and they alighted, Ginny could hear music. Small bands of mariachi players wove their way between the guests, and from somewhere came the high, plaintive sound of a flamenco singer.

Far to their left, lights that were brighter and larger than the lanterns showed through the trees, and Ginny could barely make out what appeared to be the outline of a huge arena. Noticing her stare of surprise Dona Armijo whispered that it was a bullring—later perhaps some of the younger men would want to try their prowess with the bulls.

“Yes, and sometimes they put on exhibitions of their riding skills to impress the ladies,” Tia Maria said with a sniff. She added in a disapproving tone, “there have even been duels fought there. Our young men are very hot blooded.”

“Hotheads would be more correct,” Don Francisco snorted. They were at the foot of the wide stone steps leading up to the main entrance to the house, and he offered his arm politely to Ginny. But before she could take it she heard Steve say teasingly.

“Surely, sir, you would not deny me the opportunity to escort my novia inside? Perhaps the knowledge that she’s mine will keep some of those young hotheads at bay.”

Under the teasing there were undercurrents—instinctively Ginny would have held back, but Steve had already taken her arm firmly and was leading her up the steps. Don Francisco had taken his sister’s arm, his face wooden with anger, and Dona Armijo trailed behind.

They were in the main hall now, and Ginny felt herself caught up in the rush of introductions, of embraces from the ladies, bows and handkissing from the men. She seemed to be borne, like a tiny cork, through a sea of faces, all smiling; some enviously. Voices beat against her ears, congratulating her, congratulating Steve at having chosen so well.

Here were the wealthiest people in the province—the oldest families. Outside, in the carnival atmosphere created by the lights and music, the patios were also crowded, but with younger people—guests from as far away as Mexico City. Once, as she passed an open French window, Ginny even caught a glimpse of uniforms—French, Austrian, and Belgian. She felt her heart falter, and then beat faster. Suppose—just suppose Michel was here? Or the horrible, pompous little Lieutenant d’Argent? Unconsciously she had stiffened, raising her head proudly. After all, why should she be afraid? It was Steve who had everything to fear, not herself.

She was relieved that as they moved through the crowd, Don Francisco and his sister stayed close. When Senora Armijo suggested that Ginny should give her her shawls and she would take them upstairs for her, Dona Maria left her brother’s side and tugged at Ginny’s arm.

“Come along, love—you can tear yourself away from Esteban for a few moments. Let me introduce you to some of the ladies who are among my oldest friends, they are all so anxious to meet you!”

All this time, she had felt as if she and Steve had moved and smiled and spoken like actors on a stage. He had said all the right things, his voice holding nothing but tender regard and pride. There were even times when she had imagined his hold on her arm tightened possessively; especially when some of the younger men, his friends, paid her elaborate compliments. But that was ridiculous! Steve was just a good actor, he enjoyed masquerades.

Dona Maria was leading Ginny with her now, her voice alternately explaining and scolding. Glancing back over her shoulder once, Ginny had seen Don Francisco put his hand on Steve’s arm—was she imagining that they were engaged in some kind of argument? But she had no time for more imaginings. Senora Ortega was explaining that the older people, the more staid and conventional families, preferred to stay indoors. Instead of dining al fresco style outdoors, Don José’s most honored guests and his closest friends would dine in the enormous main dining room of the house. They would dance later in the big sala to a more sedate band than the one playing outside in the patio.

“If Esteban has any sense at all he’ll steal outside with you,” Tia Maria commented. “I really don’t know what’s wrong with that young man this evening, his behavior goes from bad to worse I’m afraid! Perhaps you can change it—I’m sure you’ll be an excellent influence, dear.”

“Oh, yes, I hope so,” Ginny murmured dutifully. She hardly knew what she was saying. Even while she was being introduced to a bevy of dark-costumed older women who held court in one of the smaller drawing rooms, Ginny could feel her mind whirling, full of questions that had no answers.

That afternoon she had thrown herself on her bed, hoping to sleep, but rest was impossible. Then Carmencita, the more talkative of her two maids, had come sidling in with a cool drink for her, and had stayed to gossip, her eyes shining with excitement. She had seen Dona Genia’s ball gown, it was so lovely, all the servants were talking about its magnificence. She had commented that Don Esteban was in a bad mood—there had been an interview with el patrón behind closed doors…and she herself had heard from Juana that el patrón had been so angry he had struck his grandson with the whip he always carried…did Dona Genia know that her novio was not permitted to wear his guns any longer? And Jaime and Enrico followed him everywhere, now.

“He’s a wild one, that Don Esteban! We’ve heard that he’s killed many men with his guns. El patrón would not like that!”

Seeing Ginny’s expression Carmencita added pacifically that she was sure Dona Genia knew of all this already, she must forgive her for gossiping.

“Don’t stop, now you’ve started!” Ginny retorted, sitting bolt upright in bed. “Who is Juana, and how does she know so much?” She was too angry at the moment to care if she did sound jealous.

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….

Steve 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 Senora 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…”

“Esteban is the grandson of my brother, Don Francisco Alvarado. You have met him, I’m sure!” Tia Maria sounded pleased with herself; Ginny did not dare turn her head to watch Steve’s expression.

“Ah, yes, of course! Monsieur Alvarado—I wonder if you’ll allow me a dance with your charming fiancée? If she does not object, of course!”

“Nonsense, of course Esteban does not object! And I’m sure dear Genia will enjoy talking of mutual friends. You two will have the whole evening together, you mustn’t be selfish, you know!”

“My aunt has removed all objections, as you see, Colonel!” Steve’s voice held an undercurrent of teasing laughter, nothing else. “Go ahead and enjoy yourself, my love. Tia—” he bowed to his aunt, “you haven’t given me the pleasure of a dance with you all evening. May I have the honor?”

Feeling herself struck dumb, unable to think coherently, Ginny found her hand taken by Colonel Devereaux—he was leading her down the steps to the dance floor that had been erected on the patio. All she could pray for now was that the man Beal would not recognize her, that he and his friends had decided to stroll elsewhere. Certainly, she didn’t dare glance in the direction where she had seen him last.

She found herself hoping that Steve had been sensible enough and cautious enough to take his aunt indoors to dance. In spite of her exasperation with him, a surprising thought had wormed itself into her mind—she did not want Beal to see him—she did not want to see him shot and perhaps killed without a chance to defend himself!