Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  “I’m not,” he said, his voice muffled against the front of her shirt as his arms tightened, drawing her closer against him.

  “Too bad,” she told him, her hands gripping his shoulders to hold herself away. “I’ve already had my bath, and the hair—”

  “We can take another one.”

  “We will be late for Uncle Billy’s levée. Besides, you’ll get hair in the bed.”

  Slipping the buttons out of their holes so that her shirt hung open, he asked, “Who said anything about the bed?”

  “You don’t mean—”

  “Don’t I? I seem to recall one of these rugs making you a fine pallet. The big one by the window, wasn’t it?”

  Scooping her into his arms, he kicked the rug nearer and lowered her upon it. His breath warm against her neck, he said, “It’s one of my favorite memories.”

  The soft strumming of a guitar drifted over the assemblage. It grew gradually louder as the player, an attractive young man with proud, laughing eyes and flashing teeth, strolled through the doors and into the long reception room of the Government House. In appreciation of the spattering of applause and murmur of delighted compliments, he inclined his head, then began to sing as he continued in his slow circuit of the room.

  He was good, very good. His guitar throbbed in perfect accompaniment to the love song he poured forth in a deep, caressing timbre. The fact that he was aware of his own excellence did not in any way detract from his raffish charm. The ladies looked at each other with small smiles. The gentlemen assumed expressions of boredom. Only Eleanora stood unmoved, as if turned to stone.

  The young man, a Spaniard, was so like Luis. The song he was singing, a lover’s serenade, was the same haunting madrigal that Luis had played for her once in private concert upon the galería. At least, she had thought it was private.

  A sibilant hiss of silk skirts behind her put Eleanora on her guard. Marshaling her defenses was effective, to a degree, in banishing remembrance, and it was with tolerable composure that she turned as Niña Maria stopped beside her.

  “How do you like our troubadour?” Walker’s mistress inquired archly. “I was assured by Major Crawford that you would find him quite — devastating.”

  “Major Crawford is too observant,” Eleanora replied after a moment, “and you are too kind.” The falsity of it made the last word hard to force from her throat. Abandoning pretense, she raised her green eyes, dark with pain, to Niña Maria’s coldly malicious face. “Why do you dislike me so? What have I ever done to you?”

  The woman unfolded a fan of flesh-colored silk decorated with line drawings of Rubensesque nudes. “The answer to that is simple. You have done nothing but cause difficulty and embarrassment for me since the day you arrived. You supplanted Juanita, spoiling plans that had taken months to bring to fruition. You wormed your way into my William’s affections so that he spoke of you with more genuine fondness in his voice than he has used with any woman, no doubt since that milk-and-water mademoiselle who captured his heart in New Orleans died.”

  “That can’t be so,” Eleanora protested, her brows knit in a frown of dismay. “There has never been the least indication—”

  “Well, no, not in the way you are thinking. But the contrast between his genial, gentlemanly attitude toward you and his manner with me was marked — until the episode with Luis. That served to convince him you were not the innocent you looked. Nonetheless, your mere presence has made my task more difficult than it need have been.”

  Eleanora glanced involuntarily at the general standing some distance away. There was no danger of him, or anyone else, hearing their conversation over the music, especially in the alcove filled with potted plants where Eleanora had stopped to rest. It was ridiculous of her to think there might be, Eleanora realized. Niña Maria would never take such a chance.

  “More than these things,” Niña Maria went on, “you brought the invincible Iron Warrior to his knees so that he mooned after you like the most fatuous of suitors. My friends had, at the time you came on the scene, been waiting with some amusement for me to pierce his armor as I had promised them I would. You made me look a fool. Under the circumstances, you can see that I have little reason to love you.”

  “You mean you intended to—?”

  “Seduce is the word you are searching for,” the woman supplied with a brittle laugh before Eleanora could complete her sentence. “Certainly. Who better than the intriguing Colonel Farrell?”

  “What of you and the general?”

  Niña Maria shrugged, an elaborate gesture which drew attention to the whiteness of her shoulders barely covered by her gown of maroon-and-black brocade. “The general is a man of power, and I find that exciting, but as you must have guessed by now, my association with him is a matter of politics, not choice. I see nothing wrong in entertaining myself elsewhere when he is not at hand, or is too busy to notice.” As she spoke she had been watching the strolling singer, her eyes narrowed and a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Now her smile widened and she turned to Eleanora. “Never mind that. A quarrel is meaningless between us as we are presently circumstanced. We are, I suppose, quits — as the Falangistas would say — since the Honduras episode. Let me congratulate you on your decision to join the party which will eventually rule in Nicaragua, and, incidentally, on your efforts in our behalf. It will interest you, I’m sure, to know that President Rivas escaped and is now in Chinandega, where he has set up an absentee government. He is in communication with the heads of state of San Salvador and Guatemala in an effort to gather aid in expelling the American invaders.”

  “So long as we are being honest,” Eleanora broke in, “let me tell you that I have no interest whatever in President Rivas.”

  “I see. You are happy, then, that the general has been elected?”

  Eleanora smiled. “That’s right.”

  “With such sincerity in your favor, it should not be difficult for you to discover the date set for the inauguration.”

  “Surely that can be no problem?” Eleanora asked, turning to stare at her. “It should be posted on every wall, and half the tree trunks, in the city within a day or two.”

  “You are mistaken,” Niña Maria said coolly. “There has been a threat on the general’s life. It was one of those silly notes thrown through a window that comes to most public figures, but he has chosen to take it seriously.”

  “He wouldn’t include you in his suspicions, I’m sure,” Eleanora said, lowering her lashes in a gesture that did not so much conceal the irony of her question as reveal it.

  Frowning, Niña Maria said, “Of course not! The general will trust no one except colonels Farrell and Henry with the information. I would have been included as a matter of course but for this stupid threat. William has not forgotten the cousin of my maid who entered our apartments unannounced. It was nothing more than a misunderstanding, but he refuses to believe it or to chance a repetition.”

  “Foolish of him,” Eleanora murmured.

  “We can defeat this man without resorting to cold-blooded murder,” the other woman said in the cold tones of offended pride. “My main concern with discovering the date is convenience; my own. I have a tremendous amount of work to do to get ready for the inauguration, and it would be helpful to know how many days I have in which to arrange for the ball. It would be nice to be certain the pyrotechnics I ordered will be here in time. If you are reluctant to find this out for me, you can, naturally, apply to Major Crawford. I believe you will find that he will request — no, compel — you to do as I ask.”

  “I am aware of the collaboration between you and Neville,” Eleanora said, “and so I am sure of it.”

  “Then, as you say, there can be no problem,” Niña Maria returned with finality.

  Eleanora ignored the dismissal. “Except that Grant may not feel compelled to tell me what you need to know.”

  “I’m sure you will find a way around that difficulty,” the woman said, turning away. Then, as if on impuls
e, she swung back. “That is a charming gown you are wearing. Most becoming, but then it could be nothing else. My seamstress always outdoes herself.”

  Her seamstress? Eleanora felt a smothering sensation in her chest. If Niña Maria had had a hand in choosing the gown she wore, she would never wear it again. She would like to tear it to shreds and throw it in Grant’s face. How dare he reveal the deficiencies of her wardrobe to that witch of a woman? How dare he expose her to Niña Maria’s pity and condescension?

  Her hands clasped tightly together before her, she searched the room with her eyes for Grant’s wide-shouldered figure. Her heart ached a little as she saw him bending to catch the words of some blond nonentity in pale pink satin, the daughter, she thought, of an undersecretary in the office of the American minister. The lamplight gleamed blue-black on the sculptured cap of his hair, and was caught shimmering in the gold fringe of his epaulettes. Despite her intimate knowledge of his body, he was, from this distance, no more than a barbarically handsome stranger, and she was struck anew by how little she knew of what he thought or felt.

  Glancing up, he saw her and smiled in reassurance. His attention was diverted at that moment by the Spanish guitarist just letting the last notes of his song die away. In the following burst of applause, he spoke what was apparently an excuse to the girl beside him, and began to make his way through the crowd toward her.

  Wanting to have him near her, Eleanora, perversely, did not want him to find her alone. When Major Neville Crawford passed near her, she beckoned to him with a surreptitious movement. Neville moved to her side with easy, big-boned grace, though he too watched Grant’s approach from the corner of his eye. Leaning close, he said, with more perspicacity than she had credited to him, “What are you playing at, dear Eleanora?”

  There was no time to answer. Grant, nodding coldly at Neville, stopped before them. “Ready to go?” he asked, placing a hand under her elbow.

  “Yes,” she answered with a show of readiness. “As soon as I give Major Crawford the waltz I promised him.”

  His grip tightened. “Another time,” he said evenly. “I’m sure Major Crawford will understand.”

  Neville stepped back at once, though his gaze, as it moved from Grant to Eleanora, held a tightly controlled envy.

  They made their adieus with the utmost grace and harmony, Grant good-humoredly refusing the offer from his fellow officers to extend the evening by going on to a cantina, accepting the sly innuendos directed after him without rancor.

  As they passed out the front doors, Grant returned the salute of the guards with mechanical precision. His voice was just as mechanical, just as precise, as he said to her, “You seem to have gotten very friendly with Crawford.”

  “He was kind to me in Honduras when I came out of prison, and we were together on the ship as I came home,” she answered coolly.

  “But you knew him before that?”

  She did not at all care for his manner. “We arrived here on the boat from New Orleans, if that is what you mean?”

  “You have been seen walking with him in town, both before you left, and since.”

  “Before I — left, as you call it, he was good enough to escort me to the hospital once or twice. We were usually in company with Mazie, since he is a friend of hers.”

  “Oh, yes, Mazie,” he said with a slow nod.

  Eleanora came to a halt at the turn into the Calle Santa Celia. “I must ask you not to speak of Mazie in that tone,” she told him, her voice trembling with the anger building inside her. “She has her faults, but she is a better person, kinder, less immoral, than many of your so-called friends.”

  “Such as?” he asked, his voice hard.

  “Such as Niña Maria,” she declared, and turned swiftly away, afraid she had said too much.

  He caught up with her in a single stride. “I suppose you mean something by that.”

  “Nothing I need explain to you,” she answered.

  “That’s what you think,” he grated, thrusting open the door of the palacio, slamming it behind them when they had passed through.

  Take care — a part of Eleanora’s mind whispered, but she did not heed it. “Your Niña Maria,” she said, her eyes glittering in the dimness of the patio, “was good enough to tell me this evening that until I arrived in Granada you were all set to succumb to her Spanish charms!”

  It was a pleasure, in her present frame of mind, to see him taken aback, but it seemed unwise to stay around to enjoy the spectacle. She was halfway up the stairs before he found his voice.

  “The hell she did! It’s a bare-faced lie! But even if it were so, what is it to you? You weren’t here.”

  There was no answer to that. She tried another tack. “And I suppose I am to overlook the fact that that woman is responsible for the gown I am wearing?”

  “That’s not so,” he said, following her into the bedchamber.

  “Deny, then,” she said, swinging on him, “that it was made by her seamstress! Hurried through for the sake of the patronage of the mistress of William Walker.”

  “I can’t deny that,” he told her, a black scowl drawing his brows together. “It was made by her seamstress because I had been there before with Walker, and she was the only one I knew. But I chose the goods, and I told the woman the style I wanted, and it was paid for with my money. The extra premium that got the thing rushed through so you could wear it when you needed it was paid for by me too. Niña Maria had nothing to do with it. How she found out about it, I couldn’t say, except she makes a point of knowing everybody’s business. She is a Nicaraguan bitch I would like to see kicked out of the Government House on her backside. She has led a fine man a merry dance, maybe even jeopardized what we have been trying to do here, but as long as she holds Uncle Billy in the palm of her hand, I have to put up with her.”

  His blue eyes, dark with anger, raked her face left pale by the receding of her rage. “Of course,” he said, taking a step toward her that had in its smooth strength a touch of menace, “if you don’t like the gown, you don’t have to wear it. You don’t have to wear anything at all!”

  Reaching out, he hooked his fingers into the low neckline.

  “No!” she cried, her hands closing over his as she realized his intention. “I do like it,” she went on contritely, her eyes searching his face as she felt the tension leaving him. “Really I do. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever owned.”

  For the space of several heartbeats they stared at each other. Slowly, the grip of Grant’s hands slackened. They slid over her shoulders and down her back, to clasp behind her waist. Eleanora made no attempt to draw away.

  “Would you like to swear,” Grant queried slowly, his gaze on the sensitive curves of her mouth, “that you weren’t a little jealous just now?”

  Though she tried, Eleanora could not raise her eyes above the level of the gold buttons on his tunic. “I might,” she answered, “if you will swear the same?”

  “Never a straight answer,” he said pensively. “I wonder who you are afraid of — me, or yourself?”

  Such insight could be dangerous. Throwing back her head, she asked, “Does it matter?”

  “No. Nothing matters as long as you are here, in my arms,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  21

  Eleanora hurried along the streets, her basket swinging empty on her arm. On the outward trip it had been filled with carbolic and ointments, baby napkins and shirts carefully hemmed by hand, plus candy and cakes provided by Señora Paredes. Mazie, in answer to a note from Eleanora, had suggested that she meet Neville on this occasion at the orphanage of the Church of Guadeloupe, and, on consideration, it had seemed like a good idea. An extra measure of care had appeared reasonable in view of the way her every action was reported to Grant. What could be more innocuous than visiting the children of the orphanage? At the same time she had had the pleasure of seeing to their inevitable small injuries, of adding to the supplies of the sisters in charge, and watching the pleasur
e of the dark-eyed children as they devoured the treats she had brought.

  There was, in her opinion, little other value to the journey. She had had absolutely no difficulty in learning the date of the inauguration. She had mentioned it to Grant in a casual manner at the breakfast table, and, just as casually, he had informed her it would be held on the tenth day of July, six days hence. Why Niña Maria had made such an issue of it, Eleanora could not imagine, though there was a vague suspicion in her mind that the woman had given her a fool’s errand merely to cause her agitation. Neville’s attitude on receiving the information had been noncommittal. She had not been able to tell if he had expected or even wanted it. He had asked for further details on when and where the ceremonies would beheld, but when she had been unable to tell him, he had not pressed her.

  As Eleanora neared the palacio, her footsteps slowed. There was an odd equipage standing before the building. It had the look, she thought in amazement, of a traveling carriage. Beneath the coating of dust, its body was painted a hard, shining black. Its fittings were of polished brass which gleamed like gold in the sun. On the side panel, in red and blue and gold, was emblazoned a crest. Under the haze of dust, she could not see the insignia with any clarity until she was opposite the carriage. Then she stopped, the flush of heat and hurrying draining from her face to leave it pale. The design on the panel was the same as that cut into the signet ring she wore on her finger, the arms of Luis’s family.

  Señora Paredes was waiting for her in the entrance hall. Her eyes glittered beneath her best lace cap and there was a hint of color in the waxen paleness of her cheeks. “You have a visitor,” she informed Eleanora in a voice which trembled with hushed excitement. “I gave him coffee and some of my cakes in the sala. He has been waiting this hour and is growing impatient, I’m sure.”

  The sala? The man must be a personage indeed. No one was allowed in this room except the most distinguished of visitors on the most stately of occasions. Of good family herself, it took someone extraordinary to impress the señora.