`He is not so tall as Leandro, or so – so commanding, but he is very good-looking.' A flush stole under the soft and creamy skin of the Condesa' s ward, who had probably kept her feelings for Chano under lock and key in case it was arranged that she marry the Conde. Now those feelings could be released, and Lise had a sudden happy sense of something good coming of this false engagement. But she mustn't dwell on that! Her fingers tightened on the petals of the camellia and all at once they showered down on to her hair. As she brushed at them Ana gave a laugh.
'That is an omen that you will be married soon,' she said.
'Oh no.' The words were out before Lise could prevent them. mean, a couple can't rush into marriage so soon after the – the engagement. They must become more accustomed to each other—'
'But you have been the novia of Leandro for a year,' Ana protested. 'The Condesa will not permit her grandson to
wait very much longer before the wedding. She will insist — is probably insisting right this moment that he set the arrangements in motion.'
`He — he can't do that!' In a sudden panic Lise almost jumped to her feet and made a dash for the castle gates and freedom. What held her back was the sudden approach of a tall figure through the trees, clad right now in a light grey lounge suit which intensified his dark and striking Spanish looks. Lise was looking directly at him, and the panic was plain to see in her eyes. His eyes narrowed and his black brows contracted, but when he reached the table there was a nonchalant air about him and he made no comment on the sudden look of fright on Lise's face.
`You are making friends, no?' He seated himself on a waist-high wall nearby, which guarded the orange and lemon trees, the fruits hanging there in the sunlight like coloured globes. He directed a smile from Ana to Lise, and she thought how superbly sure of himself he looked and wished she might catch a little of that assurance and not feel that at any moment she was going to give herself away as a fraud. She had almost done so a moment ago, when Ana had said that his grandmother would expect his wedding plans to be put into activity as soon as possible.
`I hope your grandmother is feeling well,' she said to him.
`She is feeling wonderful,' he said with satisfaction. 'She desires to meet you at merienda this afternoon, when we will open a bottle of champagne and celebrate.'
Lise met his suave smile and she wished they were alone so she could insist that he didn't involve her in bogus wedding plans as well as a bogus engagement. 'I didn't know that Spanish people drank champagne,' she said. 'I thought you preferred your own wines.'
`We do, as a rule,' he agreed. But there are occasions
when the gold wine is appropriate, and Madrecita will expect it. She is looking forward to meeting you and I had better warn you in advance that she plans to give you a present.'
`But—'
He held up a restraining hand, and he shot a quizzical smile at Ana. 'The British are very independent, Ana. You would not believe the trouble I had to persuade this girl to become engaged to me. She had the mistaken idea that she would not be popular with my family. Was that not an absurd notion? She thought she would be found strange and unlike us – a white rose among the red.'
Ana smiled back at him, and Lise saw the shyness in her eyes. She supposed that most women, even those who knew him fairly well, would always find him rather intimidating, rather lordly, the natural Latin pride intensified in someone who was the titled master of a castle and the land that stretched to the sierras and the sea.
`Lise is very pretty,' said Ana. 'We all expected that she would be from the diminutive which you gave her when you first told us that you had met her in England. She is very
bonito.'
`There you are,' he said to Lise, a softly mocking note in his voice. 'I told you that you had nothing to fear from Ana or the Condesa. They are only too delighted that you are to be related to them.'
`Well,' she gave a forced laugh, 'nothing is settled for sure, is it, señor? You and I mightn't find ourselves compatible on Spanish soil together. In the event of this we should not go as far as – marriage, should we? I mean, marriage is such a commitment in the eyes of Spanish people,, and I hope you explained to the Condesa that we are not making any definite arrangements until – well, until we are sure of our – feelings.'
`The British are also rather cautious,' he informed Ana, a quirk to his eyebrow. 'Even when they fall in love at first sight they are inclined to tell themselves — at first — that they have a slight case of fever and the dizziness will soon wear off. Their women are so intriguing, for they are ice-maidens with souls of fire, and a man can never be sure when that coolness will become a passionate glow.'
This was said in such a nonchalant fashion that Lise decided not to take him seriously . . . until she caught his gaze upon her and saw how his eyes were glinting, as if his own words had taken on a sudden significance and could be put to the test. Her own gaze jerked away from his and fell to his lips . . . firmly bold lips, and yet with that disturbing hint of strong Latin passions.
Lise tried to thrust away from her the image of those lips on hers, warm and curved . . . demanding and a tiny bit cruel. She tried not to see his shoulders and how they would blot out the world when he bent over a woman She tried — angrily — not to imagine how warm and gold his skin would be to the touch of her hand.
Because she so wildly resented her own thoughts she looked at him with resentment. 'I — I don't wish anything definite to be arranged,' she said. 'We — must make sure of our feelings. After all, we have known each other such a short time.'
`A year is a short time?' Ana queried, looking from Leandro to Lise with amazed eyes.
`Lise means that we have not spent a year together,' he broke in smoothly. 'Come, amada, don't look so uneasy. I have not made plans to shut you in my Spanish tower.'
Although he smiled, quirking his eyebrow in that faintly mocking way of his, Lise did not smile with him. The more she saw of him, the more convinced she became that he would never really consider her feelings if this false be-
trothal got out of hand. It was the Condesa who must not be hurt .. . Lise Harding was young and resilient and could be expected to recover from whatever traumas she encountered here at El Serafin — even the trauma of finding her emotions stirred up and shaken for the first time in her life!
The look he gave Lise, passing his eyes over the dappled gold of her hair and the cool blue of her shirt, told her that he meant to have his way and could manage easily the rebellions of a mere girl.
I hope you have at least one dress you can wear this aftemoon,' he said. 'Otherwise Ana can lend you one of hers. Madrecita is old-fashioned and she associates trousers with the male sex, and as we know there was a fashion among young English boys recently for wearing the hair on the shoulders. I wish you to make an attractive impression, novia mia, if you will be so good.'
I take it you are giving me an order?' she rejoined.
'If you like, pequelia.' His gaze was so direct that it was almost a touch; his voice was so silky it was menacing.
'What if I don't like?' She tossed her chin, as if inviting him to cuff it.
'Do you really wish me to answer that question?' he drawled.
'It seems that my wishes are going to be disregarded anyway,' she said. 'But to set your mind at ease, señor, I do have a dress I can wear and I wouldn't dream of upsetting the Condesa by defying the conventions she lives by. I am sure she is a remarkable person and I am looking forward to meeting her.'
'You understand that she will wish to explore your personality.' His eyes narrowed, holding Lise's gaze like magnets. 'She will be most curious about you, and will wish
to probe in order to find the substance of you. I hope you will stand up to her.'
`I shall certainly do my best,' Lise said spiritedly. At once the sardonic smile line deepened in his cheek, and she swore to herself then and there to treat the whole thing in a carefree manner and to dismiss from her mind the vaguest suspicion that he
would embroil her any deeper. After all, she knew about Franquista,and he was most unlikely to allow the Condesa to make any arrangements that might upset his real plans for the future.
Having faced this small Armageddon, the day took on a gayer aspect for Lise, and she returned his mocking smile with a perky smile of her own.
`I am sure Ana has decided that we are a terribly quarrelsome pair, who will never make it to the altar anyway,' she said.
`Amada,' he drawled, extracting from the endearment a sort of relish, as if he well knew how much she disliked being his sham darling :Ana is well aware of the Latin liking for these verbal duels and she would be astounded if I did not indulge in them with my bride-to-be. What is a meal worth if it has no salt and pepper to give it flavour?'
`And what is a meal without a little sweet?' she flashed back at him.
`Ah, if it is a little sweet you are requiring, then I shall be only too happy to provide it.' He rose to his feet with a lithe movement of his lean and supple body and a single stride had brought him to the side of the table where Lise sat. He was bending as if to plant a kiss on her cheek when a sudden pattering of feet brought a flurried little lady into the courtyard, all rustling bombazine and waving hands and the gleam of tortoiseshell combs in a mass of grey hair piled above an anxious face.
`Senor Conde, you must come at once to the Condesa!
She has decided that she wishes right now to meet your novia and she is working herself into a state.'
But she was perfectly all right when I left her half an hour ago.' He stood there, tall and dark, frowning at the agitated companion. 'She was about to read a few letters and she appeared quite pleased and composed.'
I believe, señor,' an agitated glance was flung at Lise, 'I have a feeling it was something she read in one of her letters that brought on this insistence that she see you again, accompanied by the young lady.'
Still with brows drawn he fingered his chin. 'Very well, Manuela. The Señorita Harding and myself will come to speak with Madrecita. H'm, so she became discomposed after reading a letter ... was it one of those she received from Madrid, by any chance?'
`I believe so, Senor Conde. The contents seemed very much to upset her, and that was when she became insistent that I bring you to her room again, but not alone this time. I hope, senor, that you were not about to go anywhere? I don't like to disturb you, but—'
`I understand perfectly, Manuela.' He smiled down at the anxious little woman. 'Please not to look so distracted, and return calmly to tell the Condesa that we are on our way to see her.'
`You are good, senor.' The companion bustled away, a chain of beads clinking against the jet buttons fastening the bodice of her rather dated dress. Lise gazed after her and decided that she was a nice old thing, obviously devoted to the Condesa, to whom she had probably given the best years of her life. Perhaps she was an impoverished relative, for Lise understood that most Spanish duennas were of the poor branch of a family and glad to give their service and companionship in exchange for food and board. It was a way of life as mid-Victorian as Manuel's mode of dress . . . and
Lise couldn't help wondering if the Condesa's rules of conduct were equally old-fashioned.
`We had better go to her.' Leandro's shadow loomed over Lise once more, but now the mocking enjoyment was gone from his eyes and they were sombre, and shadowed by his lashes. He took Lise by the arm and drew her upright. 'You will be all right all alone, Ana?' he asked.
'I shall read my book, señor,' she replied, and at the same time she shot a look of friendly encouragement at Lise. `Ate a vista.'
Lise walked towards the castle with Leandro, and still his fingers were locked about her arm ... and when suddenly she felt a strange, electric thrill right through her body from his touch, she said breathlessly:
`Should I go and change into a dress, senor?'
`There is no time for that.' He spoke almost curtly. 'She will have to accept you as you are!'
Lise wanted to protest against this, to say that he must allow her to tidy her hair, make up her mouth, and not look as if he were dragging her to the slaughter. But the protesting movement of her arm made his fingers tighten, until she gave a little gasp and knew herself bruised.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE small salon of the Condesa's suite was so charming that for a few minutes it diverted Lise's thoughts from her actual meeting with the grandmother of the man who ushered her into the room. There were delightful corner cabinets with china and ornaments on display, a beautiful rose-pink carpet, tapestry furniture, and an immense ancestral painting surrounded by wonderful carvings of eagles and foliage and strange fruits.
Lise couldn't help staring at the portrait, for though she knew from the uniform the man was wearing that he could not be Leandro, the resemblance to the present Conde was startling. There was that same commanding lift to the head, that same dark line of brow above the haughty, handsome features.
'They called him El Conquistadore.' Leandro spoke suddenly above her head, startling her a little, so that she turned to look at him before realizing how the living eyes could shake her nerves far more than the painted ones. 'He went wherever there was glory to be found for Spain, and gold, of course.'
I have heard that the conquistadors were cruel,' she murmured, her fingers stealing to her upper arm, where she knew she would find bruises when she removed her shirt.
'It has always been a Spanish trait in some matters,' he admitted. 'But don't forget, señorita, that here in Spain we have no need for an authority to guard against cruelty to children. We love children and respect age and wisdom.'
'Then quite a bit of your cruelty must be directed against women,' she dared to say, her own fingers tightening on his
bruises, almost as if for a moment she needed to feel pain.
`Women,' he said, gazing down deliberately into her eyes, `are strangely enough not averse to a little cruelty . . . if they love the man.'
`That sounds a bit of a paradox,' she argued. 'Or a man's excuse for making use of his extra bit of physical strength. I — I don't think I should enjoy cruelty, even from someone I might love.'
`You speak from only innocent experience,' he said, soft-stroking her with his mockery. 'Love itself is an emotion close to masochism, not only in a physical sense but in a spiritual one. To love truly and with great depth one should be prepared to be martyred for the sake of the loved one. But no doubt your cool British soul shrinks from such an idea? Love for you would be the good companion, not the passionate captor.'
`What is wrong with good, kind companionship?' she asked. 'Better to be warm than always on fire.'
He laughed at her, then, and his laughter was like dark honey, pepper and rocks. 'How little you know,' he mocked, `how much you have to learn. I almost envy the man who must inevitably come along as your trainer.'
`I notice,' a pert note slipped into her voice, 'that you use the word in preference to teacher. I almost begin to believe, señor, that you regard women as wild cats who must be whipped into purring for you, and fawning over you.'
`What an intriguing imagination you have, Lise,' and into his eyes, in that instant, there leapt a tiny flame, a distinct glow, as if she had kindled in him a desire to probe her personality with his keen and worldly mind. The very thought of being probed by him was enough to tighten her nerves. There was no knowing what he might dig up for his delectation; what hidden secret he might uncover for his amusement.
Slim and tensed, she turned again to the vivid portrait. `Your conquering ancestor wears a magnificent uniform,' she said. 'And you are very like him to look at.'
`I am sure you mean that we resemble each other in ways as well,' he drawled. `Madrecita always says that she keeps the portrait in her apartment because I refuse to have a self-portrait executed for her; she says further that that is how I truly see myself. Perhaps she is correct, eh? I am certain you would agree with her.'
`I do agree,' Lise admitted. 'Is there not a belief that those alike
in body are alike in heart; that every now and again there is a reincarnation of a devil or a saint?'
`Demonio,' the word escaped him like the soft hiss of a whip, 'you are tempting me to retaliate. Is that what you want, even though you may not know it? Are you testing me to see how far I will go in taming a woman? I am no saint, admittedly, but I can be a devil when put to the test.'
`You will apply no such test to me!' Lise backed away from him and her fingers tensed as if she would claw him if he dared to touch her. His eyes mocked and gleamed and anything might have happened if at that moment the inner door hadn't opened to admit Manuela into the small salon. Lise's sigh of relief blended with the companion's cry of delight that they had arrived to see the Condesa.
Lise touched a hand to her hair and wished to goodness that he had allowed her to go and make herself a little more .presentable. One moment he had talked of the unsuitability of the trousers she was wearing, and the next he was saying that she must meet the Condesa clad in them. Lise took a deep breath of air, like a swimmer plunging into unknown depths, and walked with Leandro de Marcos Reyes to the door of his grandmother's bedroom. He gestured to Lise to precede him and she did so, feeling like a little automaton which had been wound up for this moment and would surely
break down after it.
She had expected regality and was not disappointed. She stared at the magnificent velvet hangings of the daised bed, with a crown-shaped canopy to hold the gleaming yards of lavender material. She saw the curving line of windows giving on to the romantic, fabled view of the castle turrets. In a great alabaster vase there were peonies of deep, glowing pink. And in the bed itself, looking splendidly arrogant, was a woman who had always been superbly beautiful. As a young woman her hair would have been as raven as Leandro's, but now it was a gleaming silver toque above a pair of demanding dark eyes, made all the more striking by the mascara and shadow which was applied to them. Rouge lay like peony petals over the high cheekbones, and the full lips were painted.
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