Ginny’s blush burned her face and neck. If she had not been so mortified she would have burst into angry tears. How dare he expose her this way? How dare he refer to her so lightly as his “friend”? A Frenchman would refer to his mistress as his “petite amie”—no doubt the phrase had its equivalent in Spanish! And so that was to be her role!
“You’ll join me for a drink later, then? I’ll expect you.” She could not help sensing the rather embarrassed look that Renaldo threw in her direction. No doubt the poor man was wondering whether he should address himself to her or not. But Steve gave him no chance to do so, for he was already walking with his long, easy strides along the side of the house, carrying her lightly in his arms as if he had not been wounded at all.
La Caseta, the little house. Later, by daylight, Ginny was to think how aptly it was named.
It stood some distance away from the larger estancia, nestled in a tiny clearing in the trees where one would not expect any house to be. A crazy-paved walkway connected the two dwellings, and in spite of the darkness, Steve was as surefooted as a cat.
The door stood open, with warm lamplight spilling out, and a fat, black-haired mestizo woman stood aside, smiling shyly as Steve carried Ginny inside, walking through the tiny, miniature living room, turning to the left, and bending his head under a low-arched doorway as they entered the bedroom.
The bed was enormous—probably, she thought, the biggest and most comfortable-looking bed she had ever seen. A brightly colored, handwoven spread had been turned back to show white linen sheets. Patterned curtains that matched the bedspread had been drawn to cover the window that seemed to run almost the length of one wall.
This room, of course, was the focal point of the whole house. It was much larger than the living room, the floor was entirely covered by a kind of soft matting that substituted for a carpet, and instead of doors the arched doorways were covered by heavy draperies.
Steve bent over to deposit her on the bed and suddenly, surprisingly, Ginny felt nervous. She actually did not want him to leave her yet!
“Wait,” she said when he turned to go, and there was a puzzled, almost startled look in his dark blue eyes as he turned back to her.
“Aren’t you anxious to be rid of me?” He started to smile, his eyes becoming lazy as they narrowed very slightly. “Ginny, can it be—”
“Stop playing games with me!” she snapped, and then, irrelevantly, “you’re bleeding again—you had better get that gash taken care of.”
Almost indifferently he put his hand up, grimacing as he touched the warm stickiness of blood where it seeped through the makeshift bandages.
“Oh, yes, I guess I am. Well, Renaldo will see to it. Was there anything you needed, love?”
“I’m hungry, and I’d like to wash, and I need some clothes.” She said it flatly, angry with herself now, and angrier with him.
“Rosa will get you anything you need. There’s a bathroom back there,” he nodded his head towards a curtained archway she had thought to be merely an alcove. “Tomorrow, you’ll be able to see the patio, and the rest of the house, if you’re interested.”
He hesitated, and then bowed to her politely, and ridiculously formally.
“Sleep well, Ginny.”
Rosa, when she bustled in, fussed over Ginny like a mother, her shy smiles hiding her normal curiosity. In spite of her rather unprepossessing appearance, and her inability to speak anything but Spanish, she also proved an excellent lady’s maid, and for the first time in months Ginny felt spoiled.
The bathroom had a sunken Roman bath that made Ginny open her eyes wide in surprise.
“It’s big enough for two—” Rosa said, and Ginny felt herself blush again. She had thought the same thing, and the unwanted thought embarrassed her. Rosa helped her bathe, rubbing her body with scented soap, washing out her hair and exclaiming at its coppery length and beauty. Afterwards, in the bedroom, Rosa massaged her aching, tired body very gently with cologne, and Ginny felt some of the weariness and stiffness leave her.
Her light supper, which she ate while wrapped like a Polynesian in a soft cotton blanket, was excellent—and accompanied by a light white wine which she found dry and delicious. For dessert there was fresh fruit, packed in ice, and Rosa hovered nearby, urging Ginny to eat more, clucking that she was too thin.
Afterwards, in the bedroom, Rosa brushed Ginny’s still damp hair in front of the full length mirror that hung there, exclaiming admiringly as she did.
“The Señorita is very beautiful—such hair, such pretty soft skin. Tomorrow I will bring some pretty clothes—the Señor will be pleased.”
The reference to Steve reminded Ginny vividly that after all, she was nothing but his prisoner and plaything. She could not help wondering where he was and what he was doing. Had he gone to see the mysterious grandfather to whom those vaqueros had alluded? And why was he so mysterious about all his relatives? She thought bitterly that they were probably all Juaristas—it was surprising that the French were so blind when it came to landowners. Perhaps Rosa would tell her more—all she wanted to know, in fact. But she’d have to be careful, letting the woman suspect nothing. She was far too tired tonight, though. Perhaps tomorrow morning. She did not even remember the exact moment she fell asleep—only half-recalled Rosa’s voice coming to her from a distance, asking if that would be all.
PART FOUR
Interlude
25
In the morning Ginny woke in an empty bed, blinking in the sudden sunlight that filled the room as Rosa pulled the draperies apart. She had hot chocolate and crisp rolls, sitting up in bed, and after she had washed the woman brought her an assortment of gowns, skirts and low-necked camisas to choose from.
“The Señor sent them,” the woman said in reply to Ginny’s unspoken question. She added quickly, “The Señor is on his way here now.”
“And where,” Ginny wanted to ask acidly, “did the Señor spend the night?” But she said nothing, and when Rosa had left she chose a simple white muslin gown to wear, wondering as she did so, with an indefinable feeling of distaste, where he had obtained clothes for her so quickly.
Ginny was pinning her hair up when Steve walked unceremoniously into the room to stand looking at her with his brows quirked.
“You look like a lamb led to the slaughter,” he commented dryly.
“Perhaps that is because you very often make me feel like one!” she retorted, and his eyes crinkled with amusement.
She turned to study him, her eyes widening in surprise. He looked very Spanish today, in a tight-fitting charro suit, with a short jacket, and he had trimmed his beard more closely than usual.
Catching her look, he grimaced.
“My grandfather is old-fashioned, and a stickler for convention. I’m dressed like a dandy to please him.”
“It surprises me that you’d put yourself out to please anyone,” Ginny stated coldly. She turned back to the dresser and began fiddling with her hair. “And how did you find your grandfather?”
In the mirror, she saw him shrug.
“My grandfather is, as usual, very angry with me. I had forgotten his birthday fiesta. But in the meantime…”
“Yes.” She swung around to face him again. “And in the meantime—what? What do you intend to do with me? I’m still a prisoner, I suppose.”
“By no means, love. This is your house for as long as you wish to stay here. As we say in Mexico, mi casa esta su casa. My house is yours. Will you let me show you the patio now? It’s cool there at this time of the day, you’ll enjoy it.”
“Don’t try to put me off with clever words, Steve Morgan. Or should I follow the custom of the country and call you Don Esteban?” Anger flared in Ginny’s eyes, making them look almost dark in the dimness of the room. Her hands clenched into fists at her side.
“I thought this was your cousin’s house,” she continued furiously. “How can you be so generous with it? And will you tell me what I’m supposed to do with myself while you ar
e in Mexico City, or wherever you intend to go next? Will you leave me to become your cousin’s plaything next, like—like the women who must have worn these clothes before me?”
“Goddammit, Ginny!” His mouth had thinned into an angry line, and she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. “You have an unfortunate knack for making me forget all my good resolutions. Come with me into the patio, now, and listen to what I have to say for a change.”
He had seized her wrist, and willy-nilly she went with him—through another arched doorway into a tiny, shaded patio with a small fountain at one end. There was a profusion of flowers everywhere; warm stones under her feet, bowers and jasmine and another, starlike blossom she did not recognize.
Two cane chairs and a rough wooden table stood here, and Steve pushed her into one of them, throwing himself into the other impatiently.
Ginny rubbed at her wrist and glared at him.
“Why are you always so rough with me? You push me here and you drag me there, and just because I’m not a man, and you’re physically stronger than I am…”
He cut her off abruptly, squinting his eyes against the sun as he leaned back in the chair.
“Oh, for God’s sake! When will you learn not to act so shrewishly? I didn’t come here to quarrel with you Ginny. In fact, I’d hoped to surprise you still in bed, and in a better mood than you were yesterday, when you stuck a knife in me.”
“I’m only sorry I didn’t kill you! Oh, if you only knew how much I…”
“Were you going to tell me again how much you hate me? Don’t bother, my sweet, I’ve heard you say it often enough to believe it. But—” he opened his eyes lazily at her and she shrank at the sudden flare of passion she recognized in them for just an instant “—I suppose that if you were always meek and eager for my embraces I’d soon be bored with you. As it is…” his eyes became opaque again and he changed the subject abruptly, as if he’d tired of it.
“I thought I’d introduce you to my cousin Renaldo. I think you’ll like him, he’s not at all like me. And perhaps I should mention that you need not fear that Renaldo will expect you to become his light of love when I’m not here. Women don’t seem to interest him, except as friends. He was trained for the priesthood, in fact. I’m surprised he didn’t become one in the end.”
“Perhaps the way you turned out disillusioned him,” Ginny countered.
“Perhaps so! But you’d find him a good friend, I think. Rosa’s bringing us some orange juice. Will you come with me to meet him after that?”
The fact that he’d asked her instead of ordering her surprised her into nodding, if a trifle sullenly.
It was peaceful out here, after all. And what was the point in quarrelling with Steve? He’d do just as he pleased, eventually, as always.
In the end, Ginny was to be glad of her friendship with Renaldo Ortega. She could sense, from the time of their very first meeting, a kind of quietness and inner strength about him. And above all, as she was to find, his manners were impeccable. Renaldo Ortega was a gentleman, in the old-fashioned sense, his courtesy and kindness towards her unfailing.
The first time they met—he was in the sala of his house, and he rose to his feet when Steve brought her in, waving aside the servant who would have announced them first in his usual careless way.
Renaldo Ortega was a tall man, only a hair shorter than Steve but slim hipped and just as wide shouldered. His dark hair was not overly long, and he wore it parted on the side, which gave him the look of an intellectual. Ginny thought, amazed, that with his light skin and amber-colored eyes he could easily have been a Frenchman or an Italian. Certainly he did not look like any Mexican she had seen before. Perhaps, then, he was a pure-blooded Spaniard, one of the criollas that Steve had mentioned so contemptuously.
She had been stiff, and more than a little apprehensive when Steve had brought her here, but now, meeting Renaldo’s eyes and seeing the warmth and understanding in them, she felt the rigidity leave her.
He bowed over her hand correctly, touching her fingers to his lips.
She heard again the same words that Steve had used so casually to her earlier, “mi casa esta su casa,” but in spite of their formality she had the impression that Renaldo Ortega meant them. And after that first greeting, he conversed with her in English, with only the barest trace of an accent.
Tactfully, he ignored the strangeness of her position here, treating her with the same respect he would have treated any lady who was an honored guest. Renaldo’s old-fashioned manners covered a warm heart and an intelligence that most people tended to underestimate. He was considered something of a hermit, preferring the books in his library to the usual sports of his young Spanish contemporaries.
Women had never interested him too deeply because he felt they were too shallow, too foolish—at least, all of the women his granduncle used to insist he meet, trying to find a suitable wife for him. It was not the fault of the women, of course—Renaldo was aware that from infancy they were brought up to think of themselves as being somehow inferior to men; taught to look forward only to marry, bear children, and handle the affairs of a household. Education was wasted on women, and a woman who thought for herself and questioned her destiny was not to be thought of as a bride. It was a system that Renaldo deplored, but tried to ignore by burying himself in literature and his writing. He was a paper revolutionary. He despised himself for it—but the thought of bloodshed revolted him even more. While he had always been a thinker, his cousin Esteban, now, had always been a doer, seeming to crave the danger of action, of adventure. Perhaps it was because by nature they were such opposites, that they had become close friends.
Renaldo was the only member of Steve’s family who knew what kind of profession his cousin really followed. He had envied his freedom in a way; although it was not the kind of freedom that he, Renaldo, would have chosen. Esteban was wild by nature, a reckless adventurer. He had always been wild, ever since Renaldo’s cousin Luisa, Steve’s mother, had brought him here as a child. From then on there had been constant battles, with Renaldo protecting his cousin as often as he could from his grandfather’s rigid, inflexible disciplining. His grandfather! When he thought about Don Francisco, Renaldo could not help sighing. What would he think of his grandson’s latest indiscretion? He had been angry enough when Steve had arrived late for the fiesta celebrations—thank God he had no idea that Steve’s being here at all was only accidental! But when he found out, as was almost inevitable, about the young lady…
For the first time in years, Renaldo was really angry with Steve, although, in Ginny’s presence, he did not show it.
They had had their argument last night, when Steve had come back to the house looking unwontedly pale under his tan, blood dripping from a knife wound in his side. Renaldo, who had studied as much as he could about medicine from his books, had attended to the wound himself.
“So—you’re in some trouble again.”
Deftly, his fingers had cleaned the wound as he talked, and he saw his cousin’s lips tighten against the sudden pain.
“Tangled with a wildcat. She’s all claws, especially when I least expect it.”
“Oh?” Renaldo’s brows shot upward. “It’s unusual, isn’t it, for you to have a mistress who’s unwilling? And come to think of it, it’s not like you to bring a woman here. You know that your grandfather…”
“I’m aware of the way he’d feel about the matter, if he knew. But I had no choice. You know I have to be in Mexico City soon, and I can’t take Ginny with me. Damn it, if I had only thought of the consequences! But I lost my temper.”
“That’s unlike you. But couldn’t you have left her wherever you took her from? Or have made some arrangements?”
But when Steve had grudgingly told him the whole story, Renaldo found himself at first astonished and then filled with anger.
“My God, Esteban!” he burst out, “this time, surely, you’ve gone too far. Even for you, this is too much! To kidnap a young woman of good birth and br
eeding and to treat her like a puta. What were you thinking of?”
They had argued until late into the night, but Renaldo found his cousin implacable. He swore the kidnapping had been unplanned, he agreed that his subsequent actions had been completely dishonorable and offered no excuses. But the fact remained that the girl was here. He wanted Renaldo’s assurance that she should remain here, under his protection, until he returned from Mexico City.
“And what then?” Renaldo questioned grimly. He paced the room, his face white with fury. “Don’t you realize the consequences to her? Don’t you care? How will she face the world, her parents, after this?”
“Damn it, I’ll think of something! She wants to go back to France—no one there need know what’s happened, and I’ll wager Senator Brandon won’t be in too much of a hurry to talk about it either. I’ll settle some money on her, make sure she has sufficient to keep her independent. That’s what she wants, anyhow! She hates my guts, she tells me she despises men, and would like to pick her own lovers.”
“And damn you, Esteban! What did you expect her to say? Thank you for ruining her life? I tell you, if you were not wounded I’d be tempted to call you out, even if you are a better shot than I! For God’s sake, why did you do it? How could you do it?”
“I’ll let you meet her tomorrow, perhaps you’ll understand better,” Steve said obliquely. And then, meeting Ginny Brandon the next day, Renaldo wondered if he did indeed understand.
She was beautiful. Beautiful, spirited, and a lady. How could Esteban, or any man, take this woman lightly? Or having taken her, how could any man bear to let her go? Renaldo was surprised at himself. It was very seldom a woman affected him. He had always respected women, found them pretty and ornamental. But this one was more—he could sense a kind of resilience in her, combined with pride and indomitable courage. If ever a woman were a match for Esteban, it was this one. Esteban, because of his handsome face and his casual, arrogant manners had always found women easy conquests. But here was a woman he’d obviously been unable to tame. Renaldo found himself wondering what the outcome would be, just as he knew, inside himself, that having met her he would accede to what Esteban had asked of him, but for her sake, and not his.
Sweet Savage Love Page 30