“Are you asking me to become your mistress, Mr. Julius?” Ginny asked him pointedly, her chin up, her green eyes shining dangerously.
“And if I were, would you agree? I’m not a rich man at this moment,” he went on, ignoring the angry tapping of her foot, “but then—I’m not a poor one either. I mean to make my fortune before too long.”
“For heaven’s sake! Of what interest is that to me? I assure you, Mr. Julius, I am not looking for a protector!”
She thought that her anger might drive him away, but it did not. His attentions, his smiling gallantry, were as assiduous as ever.
They played cards on some evenings, piquet and bezique, and once, even a game of poker, after Mrs. Baxter had retired early. The men were delighted to find that their charming companion could play as well as a man.
On some evenings, the men hired a ragged group of Mexican musicians to provide some music for them. The waltz, of course was beyond them, but they kept begging Ginny to dance, and she kept refusing, shaking her head angrily.
One Friday evening however, having just received the good news that the Yankee Belle would have a berth in the harbor early next week, Ginny finally gave in to their incessant pleadings. The night was unusually clear, with even a full moon that defied the tawdry orange glow of the torches. The musicians played “La Paloma” and some other melancholy pieces, and the wine, for a change, was actually slightly chilled. Ginny drank too much of it, trying to keep up her air of spurious gaiety. She kept thinking—Next week! I will be really leaving here next week—and suddenly Mexico seemed more like home to her than the distant California she hadn’t yet seen. I wonder if Salvador is looking after the little hacienda—my own, my very own home, she couldn’t help asking herself. I wonder how Marisa is—if she’s grown any fatter—her thoughts were suddenly insupportable.
“Ginette, won’t you please dance for us? We have only a few days left of our pleasant little gatherings here.” Bernard Bechaud’s humorous smile was unusually appealing.
“Please—it would be such an honor,” Frank Julius added, his hand surreptitiously touching hers.
Even Mrs. Baxter suddenly added her pleas.
“Indeed, you must oblige us all, my dear Ginny! You must dance divinely, if you’ve danced for an emperor! Please do!”
“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed, madame,” the brown-haired, open-faced Mr. Rutherford put in rather shyly. “See—we are almost the only people left out here.”
“It’s getting rather late,” Ginny said distractedly, but they began toasting her with their glasses of wine.
“If you won’t dance for us, why don’t you pretend you are dancing for a lover?” Frank Julius whispered in her ear, and she flushed with annoyance. His whisper had carried, and Mrs. Baxter was staring at him in a slightly disapproving fashion.
“Oh, very well!” she cried at last with exasperation in her voice. “At least, have them play something a little more lively?” Perhaps if she danced for them they would leave her in peace, and she wouldn’t have to listen to any more of Mr. Julius’ sugarcoated innuendos. She tossed off the whole of her glass of wine, ignoring their surprised and pleased looks, and kicked off her shoes. In a way, this would be her farewell to Mexico, with all its life and rich laughter, and all the memories it held for her!
The musicians, encouraged by the coins thrown at them began to play furiously—a fiddle and two guitars; not the Spanish fandango but the jarabe of the peasants and the gypsies.
Walking defiantly over to the small, tiled part of the patio where the musicians stood, and ignoring their looks of surprise, Ginny began to snap her fingers, and then as the rhythm began to flow into her body, loosening her muscles and sending the blood beating faster in her temples, she began to dance.
Even the waiters and the two maids came out to watch, but she ignored them just as she ignored the others at her table. She was dancing for herself, for Mexico, for her lost love. Attracted by the clapping and the olés, a few more people had begun to edge their way outdoors from the small sala of the posada. A gringa who danced like a Mexican gypsy? Incredible!
Her hair started to come loose and she let it—shaking its rippling waves free around her shoulders. She lifted her skirt, showing her ankles, and then let it drop, teasingly. Her eyes half-closed she danced first slowly and then faster, until her cheeks were flushed, her body beaded with perspiration. She danced as a woman dances for a man, her lips parting slightly as she panted to show a glimpse of small white teeth, her arms stretched imploringly, first above her head and then before her, entreatingly. And then she became a tease—a woman who half-promised, but would give nothing in the end.
“Who are you dancing for, green-eyes?”
The words had been spoken softly, but she heard them over the music, in spite of the thudding pulse in her temples. The bold words of an impudent stranger, but she knew that slightly mocking, slightly impatient voice; she would always hear it, no matter how softly he spoke.
Her half-closed eyes flew open, everything seemed to stop as she looked into his eyes.
“For you, only for you, Steve!” It was all she had time to whisper before she flew into his arms.
Epilogue
54
“Do you know, you impossible woman, that you dragged me away in the middle of the most important battle we have yet fought? I had the devil’s own time getting here! As it is—no more leave for me until the war’s ended.”
In spite of the pretended harshness of his voice, she was in his arms, Ginny thought, and that was all that mattered. He loved her, he had come back for her—she could stand anything now, even the separation he threatened her with again.
They were in her room—she could almost start giggling all over again when she remembered the startled, shocked, and then disbelieving looks on all their faces down there, to see her suddenly swept into the arms of a strange, travel-dusty, stubble bearded American who kissed her as if he would never stop. What a shriek of dismay Mrs. Baxter had given when she saw him lift Ginny in his arms and start to carry her off! Only pity for that poor lady’s sensibilities had made her call back over Steve’s shoulder,
“Please don’t worry, he’s my husband!”
He had only paused to ask her grimly where her room was.
“And don’t tell me it’s on the top floor; I’ve been travelling all day, and I’m damned tired!”
Then he had set her down on her bed, not taking his arms from around her, and started kissing her again.
In between kisses she tried to ask him questions.
“But—what are you doing here? How did you find me? The town is so crowded! Did you get my letter?” and then finally, in a choked voice, “Oh, Steve! I thought you wouldn’t come! I thought you didn’t want me.”
“What does a man have to do to convince you, you irritating, stubborn little bitch? Do you want me to go on my knees to you and beg you not to leave me?” He added in a changed voice, “My God, I believe I’d even do that! Do you see what you’ve brought me to? I ought to beat you for a runaway wife! That’s what you really deserve for going off and leaving only that ridiculous letter! I came straight to the hacienda after leaving that silver we went after at Díaz’s headquarters, and instead of you I found only Salvador. And then, madam, I had to turn around and go all the way back to our headquarters because they only gave me twenty-four hours leave! If I’d met you along the way I’d have broken your pretty neck!”
He was really angry with her, in spite of the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. He had ridden back to her as fast as he could, hardly stopping to change horses—only to find her gone. And it was then, when he stood there staring down at her letter, all smudged with tearstains, that he admitted his own final defeat. He loved her—he realized that if he lost her now he’d never have her again—and the thought was beyond bearing.
All the way down here he had kept praying—he, who never prayed, that the ship she planned to take had not lef
t yet. He had damned her, damned Bishop, damned his own pigheadedness and his temper. And then when he had finally found her, after visiting half the posadas in this pigpen of a town, she had been dancing! It was the first time, since their wedding night, that he had seen her dance—and if she had been only learning then, now she was magnificent! How could he bear to let a woman like that out of his sight?
She was yielding to him as she always did, her cheeks still flushed and wet with tears. She was soaked to the skin with perspiration, even her hair felt damp.
“Goddammit, Ginny! Why is it that the minute I see you I begin to desire you? Change your clothes—” He began to pull them off her himself, growling angrily that he had to be back near Puebla within the next twelve hours.
But when Ginny started to get up off the bed, he pushed her down again, leaning over her.
“Steve! You told me to change.”
“I didn’t mean this very minute, and you damn well know it!” He began to undress, throwing off his clothes and grinning at her. “I know I’m dirty and sweaty and haven’t bothered to shave, but you had better get used to that. We don’t always have time for the pleasant niceties in the army. And once we’ve taken Puebla it’ll be march, march, march again—this time to Mexico City. I hope your legs are still as strong as they used to be.”
She could hardly believe her ears—her eyes widened, shining in the semi-darkness like twin green flames.
“Do you really mean—oh, Steve! You’ll take me with you?”
“What do you think I’ve been talking about? Do you think I can trust you out of my sight?” He came to her and lay propped up on his elbows over her, staring down into her face. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you very much right now, sweetheart! Not until we’ve taken Mexico and Juarez comes driving into the city in his little black carriage. You’ll just have to be prepared to be my soldadera—you’ll have to cook and drive the baggage wagon, and wash clothes, and see to all my other needs as well!” He put his mouth close to her ear, biting it gently. “And let me warn you right now, if I ever catch you looking at another man I’ll beat the hell out of you! You’d better start remembering that you’re my wife, and you belong only to me!”
She clasped him closer, feeling their bodies join and become one. And now, at last, as he began to kiss her tenderly, he murmured all the words she had waited so long to hear.
“Ginny—my beautiful green-eyed vixen—you’ve driven me half-mad ever since I set eyes on you! Didn’t you sense, with your woman’s intuition that I loved you? That I always loved you?” He whispered to her in Spanish, wiping out all the other love words she had ever heard, “Ginny—mi alma, mi vida—amada mia…” and she knew that all her memories in the future would begin with this moment.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6428-4
SWEET SAVAGE LOVE
Copyright © 1974 by Rosemary Rogers.
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