Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  "Don't be ridiculous, honey! Juan will enjoy escorting both of us, and there will be no impropriety attached. Now then, do not argue with me, because you know how angry it makes me!" Stella finished with a teasing threat in her voice.

  And that, Elizabeth thought with amusement, was that!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At Stella's insistence, Elizabeth did not even return to her hotel that evening. Another note was quickly dispatched to the hotel and in a short while Mary Eames appeared at the house on Esplanade Avenue with the clothing and various articles that were needed.

  Dinner was more than pleasant, the rich spicy food of the Creole household tantalizing Elizabeth's palate. The main course, chicken duxelles —boned chicken breasts in a cream sauce with slivered toasted almonds—was the most delicious thing that Elizabeth had ever tasted, and she savored every bite. Dessert was a meltingly delicious orange creme brulee and light crepes filled with strawberry preserves that left her feeling as if she had just partaken of a meal prepared for the gods.

  Replete and completely relaxed, all sense of reserve banished by Stella's vivacious warmth and Juan's quiet, unobtrusive charm, Elizabeth was almost eagerly looking forward to what would be her first soiree.

  "Your first soiree!" Stella had exclaimed earlier when Elizabeth had confessed it before dinner, as they had sat in the main salon sipping a very dry sherry. "Well then, honey, we must hope that it is an evening that you will long remember. I'm certain that there are going to be several young men who remember you!'' she had finished laughingly. "You look like an angel."

  It was true. Mary Eames, instantly approving of the Rodriguezes and thinking it was time that her mistress made some friends of her own, had excelled herself in preparing Elizabeth for the ball tonight.

  Wearing an extremely fashionable gown of shot silk, the prismatic rose color interspersed with shades of

  bright lilac, Elizabeth did indeed resemble an angel. An earthly angel, perhaps, for there was something very w/zspiritual about the soft white shoulders above the rose lilac gown and the promising thrust of her small bosom rising temptingly from the lace-trimmed, low-cut bodice. Her slender waist was intensified by the clever fitting of the gown, and the sway of voluminous skirts whenever she moved was downright provocative. The silver-blond hair had been parted on the forehead and turned up behind, the ends forming a cluster of curls, revealing Elizabeth's slender neck and delicate shell-pink ears. Not quite satisfied with the effect, Mary had placed a band of woven gold thread set with small amethysts on the bright hair, and it was the crowning touch to the already flattering coiffure. But the maid had needed no skills at all to bring a sparkle to those incredible violet eyes, nor had she needed to darken the slender arching golden-brown brows or the thick gold-tipped lashes. Elizabeth definitely had little use for any but the lightest cosmetics tonight. Her cheeks were already blooming with a rosy blush and the full mouth needed no rouge to impart a ruby glow. She was almost scintillating with excitement, the wide eyes nearly purple with anticipation, the silken-snowy skin gleaming like warm alabaster.

  Like many another New Orleans family, guided by the lantern light of a servant they walked the few blocks to the Costa house. Elizabeth reveled in the soft, warm June night, her nostrils entranced by the faint scent of jasmine in the air.

  "Hmmm. This is lovely," she said. "Is it like this all the time?"

  ''Unfortunately, no," Juan replied with a smile. 'Too soon it will be the malaria season and most of the Creoles will desert the city for their country plantations. There are incessant rains in winter, but still there is something magical about New Orleans that makes one love her in spite of her faults."

  ''Do you come here often?"

  "Not as often as 1 would like!" Stella murmured with a teasing note in her voice.

  Juan shot her a quizzical glance. "You do not like Santa Fe?"

  "You know that isn't true! It's just that I wish we could visit New Orleans more often," she confessed.

  "Mmmm, I shall see what I can do about it," he said with mock thoughtfulness.

  "Don't be silly!" Stella protested. "I know, and so do you, that there is too much to be done on the rancho for us to be away too long or too often. I am just thankful that you decided personally to come to New Orleans this year to see your business agent."

  Her eyes round with amazement, Elizabeth breathed, "You came all the way from Santa Fe just to see a business agent?"

  "Not exactly," Juan explained seriously. "I felt that Stella should get away from Santa Fe for a while, and while I trust my agent implicitly, I feel it always wise to let the people that are working for me know that I do take an interest in what they are doing. A periodic visit to New Orleans assures me that my man of business is honest and competent."

  "I see," Elizabeth said doubtfully, and Juan laughed, pinching her gently under the chin. "No, you don't, but don't you worry that lovely head of yours about it. Leave business to your husband and, like my darling Stella, concern yourself only with the spending of the money he earns."

  At his words an indignant sound came from Stella and her dark eyes flashed with vexation. Smiling and apparently uncaring that they were on a public street, Juan put his arm around his wife and, pulling her to him, kissed her lightly on the temple. His voice teasing, he murmured, "How simple it is to arouse that temper of yours, querida. And you are so beautiful when you are angry that I cannot resist the temptation to tease you. Forgive me? You know that the rancho would not be quite so peaceful if it were not for your hand behind mine."

  Stella gave him an exasperated loving smile, her good humor instantly restored, and in quiet companionship the three finished their walk to the Costa house.

  The Costa home was ht with gas chandeliers in every room, and the floor matting put down for summer was crisp and cool-looking beneath their feet. Elizabeth found herself enchanted by the quiet and refined elegance of the interior of the house. It all spoke of long-established wealth—the dominating marble fireplace of the main parlor with its elaborately draped mantelpiece and the huge mirror framed in gold leaf hanging above it, as well as the imposing dimensions of the room, gave evidence of this. The furniture was of rosewood—delicate, comfortable pieces upholstered in silks and tapestries— on the walls were oil paintings of the various Costa ancestors, and in one corner ^as an extremely handsome etagere filled with beautiful china and bric-a-brac, revealing that this was a home in addition to being an elegant mansion.

  For the soiree, the folding doors dividing the two parlors had been thrown open to make a grand salon, but what fascinated Elizabeth was the way the Costas had turned part of their courtyard off' the grand salon into a ballroom. Walls had been set up, a canvas ceiling stretched, and flooring put down, all of which had then been painted and decorated so that it resembled part of the house. It had been so cleverly done that at first she hadn't even realized it, but Stella had pointed it out, explaining that this was common in New Orleans whenever the guest list proved too great for the confines of the house.

  Margarita Costa, a plump, black-eyed beauty with the Creole's creamy skin, was as amiable as Stella had said. Upon being introduced to Elizabeth she had warmly embraced her, exclaiming, "Ah, petite, at last I meet Stella's English amie! How happy I am that you are here. But tell me, where is your husband? Did he not come, too?"

  It was an awkward moment, but Stella and Juan quickly stepped into the uncomfortable silence that followed Margarita's very natural question. To a Creole woman her husband and family were everything, and despite the reasonable explanations, it was plain that Margarita did not approve of a husband's desertion so

  soon after the wedding. But the moment passed and Elizabeth rapidly recovered her earlier poise and excitement as she was introduced to more and more people. Even to herself it seemed there were quite a few young, dark-eyed gentlemen who begged for an introduction, and Stella's amused "See, you goose, I told you the gentlemen would think you an angeF' confirmed the fact that she was definitely
the belle of the ball.

  It was a heady sensation, for a shy, uncertain young girl making her first appearance at a society function. She was never without a partner for any of the various dances, and it seemed there was always an eager gentleman at her elbow offering lemonade or champagne or some other form of refreshment. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure and the wide eyes shining like violet stars, she eventually found her way to Stella's side, adamantly refusing the pleading offers of several gentlemen for the waltz that was forming. To Stella's amusement, with surprising savoir faire Elizabeth gently dismissed her most persistent followers, stating that she no longer wished to dance... at least at the moment.

  Watching the last dejected young man stride across the ballroom floor, Stella teased, 'Tou have broken his heart, querida! And I wonder how many duels you have inspired this evening. Young Etienne Dupre looked positively livid when you decided to share that last quadrille with Leon Marchand."

  ''Oh, no, Stella! They wouldn't fight a duel over something like that... would they?" Elizabeth asked with real distress.

  Stella laughed. "My dear, a Creole will fight a duel over the size of the Mississippi River, or just for the sheer enjoyment of it. Pay them no heed."

  For some minutes they stood talking, Elizabeth actually glad to escape from the rather overpowering masculine attention she had been receiving all evening. It was a pleasant interlude, for now she had a moment to catch her breath and to relax for the first time since they had arrived. She found it extremely pleasurable

  to be the recipient of so many compliments and to have several handsome gentlemen vying for her hand, but she had also found it somewhat of a strain. Unused to the gallantry and quick passions of the Creoles, she was more than happy to gam a brief respite from some of her more tenacious admirers.

  She and Stella talked quietly as they stood near one end of the specially erected ballroom, Stella pointing out this person or that and explaining some of the more amusing superstitions of the Creoles: If a housewife dropped a fork, a lady caller was coming; if she dropped a knife, it would be a man. Also, if one slept with the moonlight on his face, he would go mad, and the howling of a dog or the chirping of a cricket were both thought to foretell a death. Elizabeth smiled at such absurdities, though she thought them very endearing.

  Oblivious of her own startling fairness among so many dark beauties, Elizabeth stared with increasing admiration at the graceful manners and exquisite loveliness of the Creole women. Wistfully watching one vivacious dark-haired beauty, she unashamedly longed to be rid of her silvery-blond curls and violet eyes and to have instead liquid black eyes and hair like polished ebony.

  She was jerked from her absorption in the constantly shifting scene by Stella's sudden bone-splintering grip on her arm. Glancing with alarm at her friend, Elizabeth observed that Stella was staring with fierce concentration across the room.

  Her eyes unblinking on some object on the other side of the ballroom, Stella exclaimed, "jVdlgame, Dios! I wonder what he is doing here."

  "Who?" Elizabeth asked helplessly, slightly alarmed by Stella's tense manner.

  "Rafael Eustaquio Rey de Santana y Hawkins, thafs who!" Her lips quirking in an odd smile, Stella added, "More commonly known as Rafael Santana... or Renegade Santana, depending upon whom you are talking to."

  Not quite certain why this individual should have such a disturbing effect upon Stella, Elizabeth unobtrusively peered across the wide expanse of floor, look-

  ing for the object of Stella's comments. Seeing nothing unusual in the group of laughing men near the open door that led to the courtyard, she was about to turn back to Stella when her inquiring gaze was caught and held by the bold and arrogant stare of a tall man leaning negligently against the wall near the door.

  He was dressed in black—a black velvet coat that stretched snugly across the broad shoulders and back, skin-hugging pantaloons that almost indecently displayed the long length of his well-muscled legs. Easily the tallest man in the room, he was perhaps half a head taller than any of the slimmer, shorter Creoles who thronged about him. He appeared indifferent to the men nearby, and Elizabeth had the strange conviction that he would be indifferent to many things. She shivered. His hair was black, so black that the gaslight chandeliers caught blue shadows in its thickness, and his skin was dark—a golden-bronze shade darker than that of any man in the room, his snowy-white shirt intensifying the darkness. His face was lean, possessmg an oddly barbaric handsomeness— thick black eyebrows curved with an almost wicked slant over deepset eyes; a strong, proudly aquiline nose jutted arrogantly above a full-lipped mouth that bespoke both passion and cruelty. Again Elizabeth shivered, frightened and not knowing why. No man had ever stared at her the way this man did, hi§ eyes openly stripping her gown from her body, his mouth curving in a mocking smile as she blushed furiously under his deliberate look of appraisal.

  Quickly averting her eyes, Elizabeth stared determinedly at her satin slippers. She would not look at him again. She would not! Instead she blurted out to Stella, '1 wish he would stop staring so! It is very unnerving and not at all polite."

  Stella laughed grimly. "Being polite is not a manner of much importance to Rafael. He is the rudest, most arrogant and infuriating man I have ever known! And unfortunately I have known him a long time—what is more, he is a relative of sorts of Juan's."

  Elizabeth swallowed painfully. A slight note of con-^ 59

  strain! in her voice, she asked, "He...he won't want an introduction, will he?"

  "Knowing Rafael and seeing the way he is eating you with his eyes, I rather suspect he will, and as I don't want to see you devoured in front of me, 1 think it would be wise if we said good night to the Costas and went home."

  Disappointed and relieved at the same time, Elizabeth had just turned to walk from the room when Stella muttered warningly under her breath, "He is coming this way."

  Casting a brief, almost fearful glance over her shoulder, Elizabeth saw that it was true. Rafael Santana no longer leaned against the doorway. Instead, with all the lordly grace of a predatory animal he was stalking arrogantly across the room, his destination obvious, and Elizabeth felt her throat tighten uncomfortably and her heart begin to pound with a queer excitement.

  Knowing it was useless to try to escape, Stella stopped what would have been cowardly flight and, with an exasperated smile, waited for Rafael Santana to reach them.

  His eyes twinkling with cold amusement, well aware that they had been leaving to avoid him, Rafael walked languidly up to the two women. Gracefully, yet at the same time somehow conveying mockery, he bowed.

  "Ah, Stella, amiga, how pleasant to meet you here," he said lightly, his voice a warm, deep rough velvet, the slight hint of something other than a Spanish accent obvious.

  Stella, always forthright, wasted little time in polite banter. "Is it?" she returned with false sweetness. Not expecting an answer, she plunged on with "What brings you to New Orleans? I thought you were very busy with Mr. Houston's grand new Republic of Texas."

  Rafael smiled grimly. "But I am. Houston wants Texas to become one of the United States of America and he has sent several envoys to help lead that cause. I happen to be one of them."

  "You?"

  He gave a low laugh at her open skepticism. "Yes, 60

  little Stella, me. You forget that there are several very respectable members in my family. One of them happens to be an influential man in this fair city. He and I share some common ancestors a few generations back, and he is by way of being a... ah... cousin of mine. He is also acquainted rather well with President Jackson, and Houston thought it might be a good idea if I could convince my cousin that the addition of Texas to the Union would be beneficial to all concerned.''

  "And have you?" Stella asked curiously.

  Rafael returned a noncommittal answer and somewhat obviously changed the subject. "Is Juan with you? I have not seen him as yet."

  "Have you looked for him?" Stella answered tartly. "Or have you
been too busy making all the young women in the room blush and run for the protection of their mothers?"

  A teasing smile curved his mouth. "Perhaps a little of both. I knew you were in New Orleans, but I didn't know positively that you would be attending the soiree."

  Despite the polite conversation and even though he had not as yet looked directly at her, Elizabeth, standing mutely at Stella's side with downcast eyes, sensed that he was as conscious of her as she was of him. She could almost feel his intense awareness of her, and she had the odd conviction that he was deliberately willing her to look at him. It was a queer silent battle between them, and stubbornly, not wanting to even allow him a victory over such a small thing, she kept her eyes averted. Beast! she thought to herself as the murmur of their voices drifted about her, and with a coquetry foreign to her, she smiled blindingly at a young gentleman hovering nearby.

  It was a mistake. Uncannily guessing what she was about, Rafael suddenly and abruptly said to Stella, "Introduce us, please. You are very beautiful, but it is your friend who presently holds my attention."

  Astonished by such behavior, Elizabeth's eyes flew to his, and that was a mistake, because once her gaze met his she found she could not look away from the

  coldest eyes she had ever seen in her life. They were like flecks of silvery gray obsidian and just as hard. There was no emotion in those thick-lashed eyes that held hers Just a frightening emptiness that chilled her.