Page 32 of Sweet Savage Love
32
T hey were married—the brief ceremony, conducted in hushed tones was over at last. When Steve bent over her his lips merely grazed Ginny’s in a cold and dutiful kiss—she felt as cold as ice, as if she were still in a trance.
How unreal it had all been, after all; she could hardly believe, so soon after, that it had happened at all! She was married, surrounded by strangers—even the man who had given her away, a seemingly colorless American friend of Diego’s, was a complete stranger. Ginny had found herself wondering vaguely whether he could possibly be mixed up with the Juarists too—even Father Benito was a revolutionary. An emaciated, stooped old man in a shabby cassock, he had been hiding out in Renaldo’s house for over a month because he had once led a small village in revolt against the Mexican Irregulars.
Against the light of the two flickering candles on the altar Father Benito’s thin, stooped figure had appeared mysterious and in some way frightening. In contrast with his appearance, his voice, though low, was sonorous—his Latin pure and unaccented. Ginny remembered afterwards that at some points in the ceremony Steve’s hand had held hers—how warm his fingers had been, how cold the feel of the ring he had slipped over her finger. She had not even asked him from where he had obtained it; certainly it was too small to be his…
In any case, she was married. She bore a name that was no longer her own but belonged to a man she still disliked and mistrusted. It was almost with relief that she lifted her face to accept the kisses of the other men. Diego, as irrepressible as ever, kissed her the longest, announcing that it was his privilege as the one who had rescued her. Renaldo’s kiss was somehow searching, almost sad. Afterwards he gripped her hands tightly and told her he would always be her friend—she could turn to him for anything, at any time.
When Renaldo had disappeared into the darkness with the priest, Ginny felt somehow forlorn. She followed him with her eyes, feeling that he was her only real friend in all the world, until Steve slipped an arm round her waist.
“I’m beginning to think you are in love with Renaldo!” he whispered to her a trifle sarcastically. “Just think, you might have married him instead. As it is,” he added, his tone still mocking, “you’ll have to settle for pot luck, I’m afraid. But don’t look so tragic my sweet—I’m not going to make any more impossible demands of you. I’m sure you’ll prefer being a wife to being my mistress.”
They began to walk back towards the house, with Diego and his American friend talking in low voices behind them. For once, Ginny did not feel inclined to embark on another battle of words with Steve—she felt so strange, so empty inside! She no longer even cared what would happen when they got back to the others, or what Steve planned to do.
In the moonlight, Steve’s face looked as if it was carved out of granite. His features wore the cold, implacable look that she had learned to recognize so well, but for once it did not frighten her. She wondered only how he was going to explain all this to Don Francisco—and how she could explain her willingness to go along with such a sudden, unplanned marriage. Why had she done it? Why had she let herself be manipulated? The thought suddenly struck her that as Steve’s wife, she could no longer give evidence against him. No doubt, that was why he has rushed things. How disappointing for poor Colonel Devereaux! And now she need not even telegraph her father, unless it was to announce that she was married.
“You’re very silent.” The words sounded harsh and grating, as if they had been forced out of him. Indeed, the sight of Ginny’s white, strained face in the ghostly light had given him a hateful, unfamiliar pang.
Really! One would think that she’d forgotten all her firm resolutions to marry him in order to punish him and make his life miserable. One would think it was the other way around, and that she was the one who was being tormented. He remembered that even when he’d attempted to make her lose her temper again, soon after the wedding, she’d refused to say a word. Now she looked like a tragedy queen! What was the matter with her?
Now she looked up and said, in a calm, oddly-withdrawn voice, “What is there to talk about? In any case, I’ve nothing to say.”
He had the angry, crazy impulse to stop dead in the middle of the path and shake her—to bruise her shoulders and send her hair spilling loose, flying around her face—to shatter her calm and hear her cry out with rage. How dare she act this way? After all, he was the one who had been forced into this peculiar arrangement in the beginning, and now she was playing martyr. What an unreasonable, impossible woman she was!
It was only the memory of Bishop’s unemotional voice, murmuring that he might need to take an enforced vacation—that women had a way of clouding a man’s judgment, occupying his mind when he most needed to think clearly, that prevented him from snatching her into his arms—wiping that cold and tragic expression from her face.
Controlling himself with difficulty, Steve dropped his arm from around Ginny’s waist and began to stride on ahead of her, his face dark with anger.
“If you have any regrets now, you’d best try to hide them,” he said, speaking over his shoulder. “It’s too late for qualms now, my pet, and you had better get used to the idea before we come face to face with my grandfather. I have the feeling he’s probably in one of his worse moods right now.”
Feeling suddenly deserted Ginny had almost to run a few steps forward to catch up with his long, pantherlike strides. She clutched at his arm, slowing him down.
“What on earth is the matter with you?” she demanded, panting, “What got into you suddenly? One moment you’re asking questions as if you were really concerned about my silence, and the next you become sarcastic and—and horrible! Don’t you want my protection when you face Don Francisco?” she went on, enraged by the look he gave her, just as if she was suddenly beneath contempt. “After all, he seems to be the only person you’re afraid of! And now, of course, you’ve made certain that I won’t be able to say anything about you—so you’re safe from Devereaux, at least. That ought to please you!”
She was amazed when he gave a sudden shout of laughter.
“So you’re back to normal again, aren’t you? It didn’t take you long!”
He caught her hand and swung it between them playfully, and she saw that the closed look had left his face, he was smiling down at her teasingly. Her surprise at the sudden change in his mood was too great for her to find an adequately cutting reply yet, and he forestalled it by remarking that he did indeed need to be protected from his grandfather’s wrath.
“But of course I’ll put all the blame on you—I shall tell him that you didn’t want any of the fuss connected with a big wedding—that you couldn’t wait to crawl into bed with me with the full blessing of the church—”
Ginny’s cheeks flushed scarlet when she heard a smothered laugh behind her, which Diego promptly turned into a cough.
“Steve Morgan,” she began in a furious whisper, “you are…” She broke off suddenly as they emerged from the shelter of the trees into a lighted area at the side of the sprawling house. Here too there was a wide, shaded verandah, with shallow steps leading down to a smaller, more private patio. There were chairs and a few tables scattered around here too, and in the shade of one of the big oak trees three mariachi players provided the music for a girl with swirling red skirts and an ivory comb in her hair. The small circle of men and women who surrounded her clapped their hands rhythmically in counterpoint to the incessant clicking of her castanets. She was beautiful, the red rose she wore over one ear emphasizing her jet black hair, and she danced with graceful, unstudied concentration. A man suddenly leaped into the circle to join her, his short black jacket open to reveal a dazzlingly white shirt—the silver ornamentation lining sleeves and lapels catching the flickering torchlight.
Ginny’s breath caught in her throat and she forgot what she had been going to say. Something about the primitive, earthy quality of this dance captured her whole attention. Here was passion without words, the age-old man/woman relationship; the barnyard sex and the romantic flirtation; retold in dance form.
“Her name is Concepción—she’s a gypsy. Dancing comes naturally to them—those are her brothers who play the guitar—it’s probably her lover who dances with her. The fierce-looking man over there, with the large mustachios is her father—he’s their leader. It’s said they’re Comancheros. ”
Diego and his friend had come up behind them, and his usually expressive voice sounded almost dreamy as he explained softly to Ginny. She had the feeling, without even turning, that his eyes were fixed hypnotically on the gypsy girl.
Since they were here, it would not be good manners to leave now—they must at least wait until the dance was over, Diego went on. With Steve fallen silent for a change, but still holding Ginny’s hand, they edged up to the outskirts of the circle of fascinated, admiring aficionados and stood watching.
After a while, Ginny felt Steve’s arm go around her shoulders, but he did it absentmindedly. When she glanced at him, he was gazing fixedly at the dancers, with a strange half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Oh, to be able to dance like that! The woman portrayed all women—alternately she teased and taunted, displayed passion and coldness; came so close to her partner that her breasts brushed his shirtfront, and then turned her back on him. She played with him, alternately leading him on and repulsing him. Sometimes she smiled, her teeth sparkling like pearls, and sometimes she assumed a haughty, touch-me-not air.
The dance leaped to a climax with a crescendo of chords, the guitars thrumming dissonantly. The woman leaned towards her lover, face upturned, her arms like white stalks twining around his neck. But only for an instant—in the next she had whirled away, repudiating him. He stepped backwards, melting into the circle of watchers and the girl danced alone again, her smile this time for every other man in the audience. The music became slower, more plaintive; she seemed to offer herself to every man there. The castanets were silent now and her body moved like a willow in the wind, this way and that. Her hands went up to her hair, held up in a shining mass by the comb, and suddenly it tumbled down her back, long and straight and gleaming—then whipped around her face as her head moved back and forth. She held the rose between her teeth, and as the dance ended abruptly, she plucked it out and threw it, straight and violently, at Steve’s face.
This is ridiculous, Ginny was thinking a few minutes later. How many women are there in his past? And how many more will there be in the future? her treacherous mind answered her. She didn’t know what to think, whether she was more amazed or angry.
After the gypsy girl had flung the rose she’d followed it herself, her stride as purposeful as any man’s, her hair swinging about her shoulders like a mane. There was a sudden silence and the crowd parted for her—for a moment Ginny had actually wondered if this crazy female was going to do something violent, and she had instinctively shrunk backwards. She had felt Steve’s arm drop from around her shoulders—somehow, he had caught the rose, and he was actually grinning. How well she knew that teasing, mocking note in his voice—she was inexplicably resentful that this time it was there for someone else.
“You dance as well as ever, Concepción. And you’re still a beauty. But where’s your husband?”
The girl’s eyes slitted like an angry cat’s, and she looked ready to claw as she stood before Steve with her bare feet.
“Hah! And you, my fine caballero! Since when have you let a little thing like a husband stop you from visiting old friends? Husband!” She put a wealth of contempt into the words, “You know very well I only marry him because I am so mad at you—you…” the girl broke into a string of obvious epithets in dialect that made Ginny’s ears burn, and caused Diego to burst out laughing. But surprisingly enough, even as she continued to berate him Concepción flung herself against Steve, her arms going upward, hands pulling his head greedily down to meet her mouth. And he kissed her back, very thoroughly too.
Seething with a fury she was barely able to contain, Ginny found her hands clenching into fists at her sides, she must have made some motion, or emitted some sound that warned Diego, for suddenly he was holding her by the elbow, whispering to her that she must understand that Esteban had known Concepción since childhood…they were merely old friends…
“Oh, yes,” she insisted, “I can see what kind of friends they are—he has been kissing her for over two minutes now, what kind of a stupid ninny do you take me for?” She turned on the hapless Diego with her green eyes slashing him like daggers. “And you, Senor —will you kindly stop defending that despicable man you call your friend? Let him defend himself for a change! Look at him, far from being embarrassed he’s enjoying it. Ooh!” She stopped to draw breath, and happened to notice the small, silent knot of men who were converging on Steve and the girl like a band of avenging angels. One of them, she saw with satisfaction, was the girl’s father—he of the large mustachios.
“Your friend is uh—rather irresponsible, is he not?” the quiet American murmured behind them. Ginny, in spite of her rage, was glad to note that his thin face looked disapproving. “Do they mean trouble?”
Diego had his hands full, holding firmly onto Ginny’s arm and trying to soothe her injured feelings at the same time.
He mumbled something that she couldn’t catch, his quick wits seeming to desert him for a moment.
“Oh—I’d like to see him defend himself from them!” Ginny muttered triumphantly. “They look villainous enough to take on an army alone!”
Her triumph was short-lived, lasting only long enough for the oldest of the men to bellow threateningly, “Concepción!”
Sullenly, his daughter disengaged herself from Steve’s arms, and Ginny could not prevent herself from putting a hand up before her mouth to stifle a cry as the men moved forward menacingly. What was the matter with Steve? Didn’t he have any senses left, or had that girl befuddled them completely? Why wasn’t he making an attempt to save himself?
No, instead he was smiling as he extended his arms.
“Sanchez, my old friend! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“So I could see!” the man growled dangerously. And then suddenly his face broke out in a wide smile as he laughed uproariously.
“You young rascal! Still up to your old tricks, eh? Come here and greet an old friend properly—I’ll disown you if you’ve adopted too many Americano ways!”
Disbelievingly, Ginny watched the two men exchange abrazos —and then the others had crowded round, Concepción’s guitar-playing brothers grinning from ear to ear as they in turn embraced Steve in bear hugs. Only the man who had been dancing with Concepción hung back rather sullenly, and then he too forced a smile and came forward.
As if he’d only just remembered her presence, Steve reached out suddenly, pulling Ginny into the group.
“I’m forgetting my manners. This is Ginny, my wife.”
How easily he said it, still smiling—just as if they’d been married for years and the marriage was already boring. And only a few minutes ago he had kissed the gypsy girl back with every evidence of enthusiasm, just as if he’d still been single; as if they, she and he, had not been married within the last hour! Well, even if that was his intention he would not succeed in humiliating her, as he’d find out!
A smile curving her lips, Ginny accepted their somewhat boisterous congratulations. Sanchez kissed her heartily on both cheeks, his mustachios tickling her. She had not missed the widening of Concepción’s eyes, the look of shock on the girl’s face that was almost immediately wiped away by a wide, slightly mocking smile.
“So wicked one, it’s happened to you too, has it? I would not have expected it—but you’re lucky, she is beautiful.” For an instant the girl’s cheek, warm, and slightly damp from the exertion of her dancing was pressed against Ginny’s. “Don’t mind the kiss,” Concepción whispered, “we have known each other since we were children, Esteban and I.” Her apparent composure was marred only by a wicked glint in her eyes as she shot a glance at Steve.
There were questions on every side. When had they been married? How long? But surely the invitations had said a week from now? When Steve admitted laughingly that they had actually been married this very evening, Sanchez gave a great shout.
“So—then we have a wedding celebration, before you rejoin your fine friends inside, sí? ”
Diego Sandoval gave a shrug and announced that he would see to it that there were drinks sent out here. He looked ardently at the lovely Concepción and begged her to save a dance for him. Laughing, she agreed. She seemed completely in command of herself now, only giving a smile and a slight shrug when Tomas, the man who had been dancing with her, kissed Ginny full on the lips by way of congratulation.
Ginny herself was at first taken by surprise, and then determined to let Steve see that she too could play at any game he could. The man kissed her fiercely and somehow despairingly—for the short moment that he held her in his arms she could feel the heat of his body and its slight trembling which he tried to hide by the unexpected fervor of his kiss. So we are both taking our revenge, Ginny thought. She hated Steve all over again—hated his easy assurance, the way he was smiling at Concepción, bending his head to whisper something to her even while his wife was being kissed by another man only a few feet away!
“You bastard!” Concepción was saying, her voice low, her eyes spitting fury. “Why did you do it? You’re not the marrying kind, any more than I am. What’s the matter with you?”
His raised eyebrow infuriated her, as he had known it would.
“ Chica, bitchiness doesn’t suit you. And don’t pretend you’re jealous, you married first, remember?”
“Pah!” Concepción stamped her foot, skirts flying. She was the type who didn’t care who saw her, or what she did. “You know as well as I do that I married that pig to make you mad—I got rid of him a long time ago—now I do just as I please. But you —”
“Don’t swear at me again. Such bad language, coming from such a lovely mouth—why is it that women always resort to swearing when they don’t have anything reasonable or logical to say? As for my wife…” Steve frowned almost imperceptibly when he saw that Ginny was being kissed by another man, a perfect stranger who had obviously seized the opportunity to kiss a pretty woman. So she was determined to get her own back, it seemed. With what abandon she threw herself into the kiss, her eyes closed, head back…he had the sudden and quite inexplicable urge to tear her away from the man and slap her face, hard.
“Are you jealous already, reasonable one?” Concepción’s biting tone did nothing to relieve his flare of temper. But Steve managed to smile at her amusedly.
“As I was saying, about my wife,” he continued smoothly, “it’s a marriage of convenience for us both. My grandfather’s idea, really, but it’s going to have certain advantages—the main one being that I can’t be trapped into marriage again!”
“Go and dance with her!” Concepción said abruptly, starting to move away from him. “After that is over, you can ask me to dance, and we’ll talk—I’d rather sink my claws into your flesh, you dog, but maybe I’ll save that for another time!”
The music had started up again, and just as Jaime Perez, his face glowering, walked down the steps from the house, Steve grabbed Ginny’s hands and pulled her into the circle that had been cleared for dancing.
The music was wild and pulsing, and after a while, as other couples joined them, she found that she did not have too much difficulty in following the steps. Perhaps her anger helped her throw herself into the primitive rhythm, the abandonment of the body to the music. Perhaps it was the wine that was being passed around, even to the dancers. In any case, Ginny found it easier to lose herself in the dancing than to talk.
“You should have been a gypsy yourself,” Steve murmured to her when the dance brought them together. She smiled at him a trifle dreamily, but there was a wicked, almost dangerous look in her narrowed green eyes. He reflected rather grimly that this promised to turn out to be quite an evening.
“I’ll show him—yes, I’ll show him!” Ginny kept thinking. Her body seemed to move by itself, her feet kept time to the wild, fast beat of the music, the deeply thrumming guitars. She had not eaten, and the wine they kept passing to her had gone to her head, she knew it and she didn’t care. She danced with a glass of wine in her hand, drained it and flung it over her shoulder, like the others were doing. “I’ll show him that I can do anything he does—I can turn men’s heads as easily as that woman can. She’s nothing more than an obvious flirt, of course, but men seem to lap that kind of thing up. I’m his wife now—no one feels anything more than pity for a betrayed woman, but a man who’s deceived by his wife is laughed at—we’ll see how he likes that!”
There were more and more people out here dancing now—perhaps the sensuous throbbing of the guitars, the cries and the clapping of dancers and bystanders alike drew more guests away from the more sedate melodies of the waltz. Ginny’s feet had found the rhythm of the corrido and wouldn’t lose it. She saw Concepción’s look of surprise as she danced past.
Ginny was dancing with Tomas. She had watched Concepción without the girl being aware of it, and now she moved her arms too, curling them upward, over her head, her body swaying teasingly, green eyes half-closed.
“ Dios mio! You dance like an angel!” Tomas muttered. His eyes had grown hotter, and darker, they moved slowly over her body and she laughed softly.
“I don’t dance as well as Concepción, of course,” she murmured.
“You were born to dance—are you sure you don’t have gypsy blood? Caramba, why is it you are married already?”
He had forgotten that she was a lady, one of the guests, while he was merely one of the entertainers. With her full, sensually smiling lips and the artlessly sexual movements of her body she had made him forget everything but the fact that she was a woman and he was a man. She was not like Concepción, whose tongue cut like a knife, taking a man’s manhood away from him, playing with him….
She danced in the very center of the crowd, and her hair and eyes would have made her stand out by themselves, if the attention of every man in the crowd, dancers and watchers alike, had not been drawn irresistibly by something else. Her body, the gleaming whiteness of her shoulders as they moved sinuously, her unconscious but complete abandonment to the dance; and above all the look on her face—eyes half closed, lips smiling, it was the face of a woman being possessed by a man—dreaming, languorous, at one moment, and then teasing, daring. There was not a man here who didn’t want her—who didn’t crave her body, naked and writhing, beneath his.
“You didn’t marry a lady!” Concepción snapped. She was dancing with Steve, but even she had not been able to keep her eyes off Ginny. “She—why she’s as much of a bitch as I am!” Her voice held a note of grudging admiration. “Are you going to put up with the way she’s behaving?”
Sanchez himself had shouldered Tomas aside and was whirling Ginny around, making her skirts fly. They were both laughing.
“Even my own father—the old goat, look at him! You ought to stop it, drag her away. What are all your fine friends going to think?”
“That I married quite a woman. And you’re right, chica, she is as much of a bitch as you are—I don’t think she’s forgiven us for that kiss.”
“So she’s trying to make you jealous? What a switch!” Concepción laughed angrily.
“Oh—Ginny’s full of tricks,” he responded a trifle dryly. “Most of them nasty. At the moment, we are in a state of war.”
“Then you must fight back, no?”
“Perhaps! But I’ve the feeling that right now I’m outnumbered.” His glance went meaningly to the glowering Jaime Perez who stood watching. Just behind him, the Senora Ortega and Dona Armijo had just emerged from the house and their faces were scandalized.
Following Steve’s glance, Concepción’s eyes widened.
“I think I understand. There is more trouble with your abielo, eh? Well—if you need an ally, there is always me to turn to—” She moved close to him, fingers snapping, face teasing. “Perhaps you will need consolation, sometime, if your redheaded tigress of a wife is too much for you to handle!”
“Bitch!” he commented softly, but his eyes were amused, and the word sounded like a caress. They were really much alike, he and Concepción—they understood each other.
Concepción smiled.
“You had better rescue her soon, I think,” she said softly. “She’s dancing with Tomas again, and he is a very passionate man, I know! I think she is only playing a game, playing at being like me, but she can’t handle a man—for if she could, hombre, you would not be looking at me in that way!”
Senora Armijo was clasping her hands tightly together to stop herself from wringing them. Her voice was a soft moan.
“Oh—if I had not seen this with my own eyes I would not have—what on earth has gotten into Genia? Such a quiet young woman, so much of a lady—and look, look at the way she is dancing! With those common vaqueros —and the way they are looking at her—”
Dona Maria’s face was red with annoyance, but she had crossed her hands over her plump bosom in a dignified manner, her eyes snapping.
“There’s no use wringing your hands and whining now. We cannot very well march down there and drag her away! And besides,” she added unexpectedly, “I think she is only trying to make Esteban jealous. I’ve noticed, if you haven’t, the way he’s been dancing with that Comanchero wench—isn’t that the same one he used to run away to visit when he was still a boy?”
The thin duenna remained distracted.
“He’s gone over to her now—if only he’d bring her away, it’s really too bad of him to allow this to happen! And I tremble when I think of what Don Francisco will say…”
The poor woman almost fainted dead away when she heard Don Francisco’s voice behind her. Even his sister jumped, and then exclaimed with annoyance.
“It seems that no one around here bothers to tell Don Francisco anything! I have to rely on my faithful Jaime—and I am, at this moment, extremely annoyed with him as well!”
“Really, Francisco, you might give people some warning of your approach! And you have been in a bad mood all evening—Senora Armijo and I had merely hoped to spare you further annoyance…”
“I see!” Don Francisco’s voice was dry. “How considerate of you, my dear Maria.” He added, almost to himself, his tone hardening, “That young pup! He’s incorrigible! He’s done everything in his power to anger me this evening, by showing his defiance. First he disappears, right under the foolish noses of my most trusted vaqueros, and then he has the impudence to show himself again—here, of all places!”
“Francisco!” Dona Maria sounded alarmed, “surely you wouldn’t…”
“I don’t intend to cause a scandal, you need have no fears of that, my dear sister. But I have several matters to discuss with that grandson of mine, whenever he can tear himself away from these rather primitive festivities!” His voice was grim, and his look became even more dour when Senora Armijo gave a startled wail.
“I don’t know what’s happening to Genia! Look at her now, she’s unpinning her hair—and it took so much time to arrange this evening!”
She was, indeed, doing just that, under Steve’s angry eyes and to the accompaniment of delighted clapping from the onlookers. They were dancing face to face, and a mischievous, somehow taunting smile curved Ginny’s lips as she slowly removed the pins from her elaborately curled hair style, tossing them aside carelessly, one by one. She had the dreamy, concentrated look of a woman undressing for her lover—only the smile gave her away, and anger fought with amusement in Steve’s face.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing? You’re making an exhibition of yourself!” He spoke in an undertone, through clenched teeth.
“Why darling, you’re making noises like a jealous husband! But I’m doing it for you—I thought you preferred my hair down.”
Concepción, with Tomas now, had planted herself next to Ginny, and she gave a smothered burst of laughter which was quelled by a glare in her direction from hard blue eyes.
The last pin fell, and Ginny shook her head as her hair came loose—a rippling, shining cloud that fell to her waist; and there was not a man there who did not want to bury his face in it.
“It’s like a pale fire,” Tomas whispered, his voice awed, and under the cover of the shouted “ olés ” that followed, Concepción brought her bare foot down as hard as she could over his instep.
“Bastard— hijo de puta! You’re dancing with me, remember?”
Laughing, Ginny whirled around. “I feel like kicking my shoes off too—” she murmured.
“Not yet—you damned little hellcat! That’s enough damage you’ve done to the hearts and nerves of all the men here for now. I ought to beat hell out of you!”
Ginny pouted deliberately, her eyes sparkling with spite. “Oh! Is that all you can think of? You disappoint me, Steve.”
The movements of the dance brought her close to him and she moved her body deliberately so that it almost brushed his. Her arms went upward in a slow and sinuous movement as she lifted the mass of her hair away from her neck, and then let it drop again.
“That does it!” His voice was threatening with anger. “If you want to seduce me, madam, I’d prefer you to choose a more private place for it. As it is, you’ve gone far enough.”
Before she could avoid it, he had grabbed her wrist, holding it so tightly and so painfully that she had to bite her lips to hold back a cry of protest.
Leaving her no choice in the matter Steve led her through the crowd of dancers, smiling occasionally to acknowledge comments and compliments thrown at them both. To her he said in a whisper, through his teeth, “You were putting on such a good act a few minutes ago—I wish you’d continue with it for the benefit of all our friends here.”
“I don’t—” she began hotly, but he cut her short.
“In this part of the world my love, wives are expected to be obedient, above all things. A quality in which you’re sadly lacking. In any case, it’s high time we mixed with the other guests here.”
By this time they were at the foot of the steps, and Ginny met Don Francisco’s rather quizzical look with a blush. She did not dare, as yet, look in the direction of her duenna, or Tia Maria, either, for that matter.
It was almost with relief that she heard Steve take charge, his voice smooth, veneered with a clever blend of amusement and apology.
“I’m afraid it was all my fault if we’ve worried you. I persuaded Ginny to slip away with me so that we could be alone in the moonlight for a few moments.” He gave a slight bow in the direction of his stupefied looking grandaunt. “Tia Maria, if you and the Senora Armijo would be so good as to escort Ginny upstairs so that she can pin up her hair again, I’ll join you in the patio later.”
Ginny felt her wrist released with a final, warning squeeze that made her want to strike out at him in rage. But he had already turned to his grandfather, with an engaging smile.
“Sir, I wonder if I may have a word with you in private? Diego has already told me we may use his father’s study.”
Ginny thought she heard Don Francisco mutter under his breath, a softly explosive sentence that began with “You insolent young pup…!” but she was already being hustled away by two outraged ladies, both scolding and questioning her alternately.
Deciding that to remain silent might be wiser, she rubbed at her aching wrist surreptitiously as she went upstairs. A hasty glance over her shoulder as they reached the landing showed her that neither Steve nor his grandfather were anywhere in sight. She could not help wondering, how would Don Francisco take the news?