"That is different."
"How is it different?"
He smiled. "Don't bother. I know what you are trying to say. And, yes, I have insulted you. Forgive me?"
"I'm not sure. I don't know why you would think I would accept such a personal gift from a gentleman."
He arched a dark brow at her. "You are not going to tell me that men have never given you expensive baubles before. I am sure you have been showered with attention by men all over the world."
Valentina stood up and turned her back. "You are mistaken about me. I am not what you imply I am."
She felt him rise to stand behind her. "No, you are mistaken, Jordanna. I implied nothing but that I find you fascinating. Perhaps I am rushing you. Would you prefer that I leave now."
"I would prefer that you never come here again."
He turned her around slowly to face him. His shadow fell across her face and he could not see more than her outline. He was curious about her looks; he wondered what color her eyes were. Perhaps it was best not to know, he decided. Mystery was what had drawn him to her in the first place. He felt wildly alive with her. Jordanna drew many of the same emotions from him that Valentina Barrett had. Of course the dancer was not pure like his little Silver Eyes. But she could help ease the deep ache that Valentina had left inside him.
"Again I ask that you forgive my boldness. I started out all wrong. I can only say in my defense that I was overcome with admiration for you. Give me another chance, and you have my word that I will make it up to you.
His black lashes lowered to hide the dark eyes. "Allow me to be your friend, Jordanna."
"I . . . there are reasons why I cannot have you for a friend."
"Are you married?"
“No.”
"Would you tell me what your reasons are?" He looked about the dimly lit room and the truth hit him. "No, don't tell me. You don't want me to know who you are, do you?"
"I don't want my identity known to anyone."
Marquis savored the moment. Excitement throbbed through his body like wildfire. His whole being had been seduced by the dancer—seduced by the mystery of her! He had to see her again! He had to! "If I promise not to press the issue, will you allow me to visit you again?"
Valentina was experiencing the same emotions Marquis was feeling. Her stomach was knotting and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap for fear that she would give in to the impulse to reach out and touch him. There was a deep longing brewing, stirring, bursting forth within her. "I don't know ... I think it would not be proper," she stated, wanting desperately to say yes.
He laughed softly, exhilaration singing through his body. "You have my word that I will act with decorum at all times. Can I call on you at your home tomorrow night after your performance?"
"No. If you want to see me, it will have to be here in my dressing room."
He chuckled delightedly. "I will do as you say, but I still contend that you are hiding a husband somewhere. Why else would you go to the trouble of surrounding yourself with such secrecy?"
Valentina felt his hand brush against her arm. Her throat seemed to close off, and she wanted to melt against him. More than anything she wanted to put this farce aside and lift the veil of deception. She wanted to be held in his arms and kissed. It did not matter that he was betrothed to another and that he probably had dozens of mistresses. From the very beginning he had stirred something to life inside of her; now it had reached a boiling point.
"It is getting late. I think you should leave now," she managed to say, wishing she dared ask him to stay.
His hand slid up her veil and he brought her face close to his. Feeling her stiffen, he said, "Do not fear me, little dancer. I, like everyone else, am intrigued by your mystery. Until you give me permission, I will not lift your veil. Your secret is safe from me . . . and with me." His fingers trailed seductively along her cheek. "I will leave for now, but I will be back tomorrow night, Jordanna. Know that I will be in torment until I see you again."
Valentina felt as if she had fallen into a deep abyss as his lips brushed hers through the veil. Before she could react, he moved across the room and was out the door. Sinking onto the settee, she wondered if those who dared to play with fire really did get burned.
Marquis had been coming to every performance for over three weeks. Afterward he would come backstage to Valentina's dressing room. He was always the perfect gentleman, saying and doing everything correctly. Even so, the tension between the two of them mounted each time they were together.
To Valentina's surprise, Salamar had made no objection when she learned of Marquis's visits. She was always careful to leave before Marquis came, knowing he would realize who Valentina was if he saw her.
The first few times Marquis visited her, Valentina had been nervous and uneasy about being alone with him. She found that when he was not with her, she dreamed about him, awake or asleep. Soon she began to question why he did not try to kiss her. What was wrong with her? Didn't he like her? Night after night the strain between them was building. Valentina knew it was but a matter of time before everything came to a head.
Marquis had not gone back to Paraiso del Norte since he had met Jordanna. He knew he was neglecting his duty, but he could not seem to leave her. She was a fever in his brain as well as in his body. He had to have her. He did not delude himself into thinking he loved the dancer, but he desired her with a seething passion.
As the curtain rose there was no sound other than the music—exotic music that could have come straight from ancient Egypt.
Marquis caught his breath as Jordanna appeared on the stage draped in a shimmering silver veil. With a high leap she rushed across the stage, holding the veil so it billowed out in front of her. The audience gasped as she allowed the veil to mold to her, outlining her beautiful body. Jordanna swirled and turned, soft and alluring, feminine and seductive.
As always, she held the audience in the palm of her hand. The Crystal Palace was so crowded it could not have accommodated another person.
Marquis looked at some of the faces of the men as they watched Jordanna dance. He was annoyed at the way they worshiped her. He wanted her to himself. He did not like the idea of sharing her with anyone. As he studied the faces, he wondered if any of the men had been Jordanna's lovers.
Tonight he would have a serious talk with her. He would offer to make her his mistress. He would set her up in a fine house on the hill and staff it with servants. She would want for nothing, and she would dance only for him.
Another gasp could be heard as Jordanna dropped the veil to the floor. She stood still as the silken material settled about her feet. She was dressed as Cleopatra, the queen of the Nile. A thin silver veil covered the lower half of her face. A shoulder-length black wig framed her head and silver slippers adorned her feet. The sparkling material crossed over her breasts, revealing a creamy white shoulder. The gown was molded to her body like a second skin.
Her hips started moving, and the audience adored her with their eyes. The music became louder and louder, the tempo faster and faster. She whirled and danced, carrying the heart of every man across the stage with her. The audience belonged to her—she held them enraptured. There wasn't a man who wouldn't have died for her at that moment.
The tempo slowed and Jordanna blew a kiss and ran off the stage, disappearing behind the curtains. The noise was deafening as the men jumped to their feet crying for more.
Tyree Garth watched Marquis make his way through the crowd, annoyed that he was going to Valentina's dressing room. Tyree foresaw heartbreak ahead for his little dancer. He wished he had the means to protect her. Marquis was his best friend, but he could be cruel and unfeeling where women s hearts were concerned.
Tossing his cigar on the floor, Tyree ground it beneath his boot. Why should he care what happened to Valentina? he asked himself. She was nothing to him— she worked for him like all the other women he'd hired. No, she wasn't like the others. For some reason unknown to him, he ca
red very much what happened to her.
Marquis tossed his hat on a vacant chair and propped his booted foot on the rung while his dark eyes surveyed Jordanna. As usual, there was a single candle burning, and it gave off very little light. Jordanna's face was still hidden by a thin veil that fit over the lower half of her face. Her hair was covered with a green turban so it was impossible to determine its color.
"Do you still insist on remaining my mysterious little dancer?" Marquis asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "Do you not know by now you can trust me to keep a secret, Jordanna?"
Sitting before the mirror, her back to Marquis, Valentina pulled the light green brocaded robe about her neck, all the while drawing away from the light. "You gave your word you wouldn't question me about my identity."
His laughter was warm. "Never fear, I am a man of my word. I find you very intriguing. Perhaps if I knew who you were, I would lose some of the fascination I feel for you.
Valentina could not help but smile at his observation. She was excited by his mere presence. A warmth spread through her body every time he was near. She had the advantage of knowing what it was like to be kissed by him. But the kisses he had given Valentina had been chaste and sweet; she wondered what his kiss for Jordanna would be like.
"What if you were to learn I am nothing more than a respectable matron, with a husband and six children waiting for me at home," she teased.
He walked slowly toward her, and his hands landed heavily on her shoulders. Through the mirror they stared at each other. Marquis's eyes searched the shadows of her face, seeking her eyes. As always, her features were cleverly disguised. "Jordanna, I do not care who you are when you walk out that door. While you are in this room, you are exciting and intriguing. I should not have to tell you that I"—he paused for effect—"enjoy being with you. I look forward to getting to know you better . . . much better."
She dropped her head to avoid his eyes. "I don't know what you mean."
He moved so he was facing her. His hand touched her cheek, and he tilted her face up to him. "Yes, you do. Do not play coy with me. A woman does not reach your position without having her share of lovers. I know you must feel something for me or you wouldn't allow me access to your dressing room. I am in a position to know you have turned all other men away. I want to make love to you and you know it, Jordanna. Why do you turn me inside out? But I suppose you have taken lessons on how to torture men and make them want you."
Valentina felt her face burn with shame and indignation. How could Marquis believe such a thing of her? Before she could voice her anger, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her forehead.
"I want you, Jordanna. You know it, and I know it. I believe we both also know I will have you before too much time has passed." He spoke without arrogance, as if merely stating a fact.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her. "Shh. Don't say anything, Jordanna. I know I am a beast. I sometimes speak too bluntly, but I like to lay my cards on the table. If I have offended . . . will you forgive me?"
She did not hesitate. "Yes."
He toyed with the fringe on her turban. "Perhaps I have been pushing you too hard. I have decided to give you some breathing space so you can consider what I have said to you. I am going to be away for awhile. When I return, I want to have a serious talk about you and me."
"You are going away?" Her heart sank.
"Yes. Nothing but duty could keep me away from you. I should be back within a week."
"Where are you going?" she queried, unable to keep herself from asking.
"I have a favor to perform for a friend." His smile was infectious, and Valentina felt a smile tugging at her lips. "I will be bored the whole time I am away. Will you manage to miss me?"
Valentina pushed his hand away and stared at him once more through the mirror. "I shall be too busy to think of anything but my dancing."
He chuckled and walked to the door. "You are not entirely truthful. I know you will think of me."
Before Valentina could reply, Marquis had disappeared out the door. Yes, she would miss him. He had told her he had a boring task. She wondered what it was.
14
Prudence Lawton rapped on the cabin door and waited for it to open. She had been dying of curiosity ever since she had seen the workmen leaving the day before. She had listened to the hammering and sawing with anticipation. Valentina had asked permission to make a few improvements in the cabin, and Prudence had gladly agreed, knowing any repairs would be beneficial to her and her brother.
Prudence drew back as the foreign-looking woman stood in the open doorway staring at her with cold eyes. "I want to see your mistress," Prudence declared, pushing past Salamar and giving her no chance to object.
Prudence stopped short, gawking at the luxury of the cabin interior. Brightly colored yellow and blue rugs lay on the polished wooden floor. The cracks in the rough log walls had been filled in and whitewashed. Fragile porcelain figurines decorated the mantel above the fireplace. Copper pots and pans glistened on the wall above the table. Her eyes fell on the frail woman sitting on the lounge, amid satin covers.
"I do declare, Miss Barrett," Prudence stated, "this is far nicer than my house. Where did the money come from to fix this place up so grand?" Envy burned in the woman's eyes. "I can see we don't charge you enough rent. I'm sure my brother will correct that little matter as soon as he returns from the mountains."
Evonne took a deep breath. Now that she was feeling better, she was ready to tilt with her landlord's sister. "Can I offer you tea, Miss Lawton?" she asked, more out of politeness than any need to be social.
Prudence dragged over a chair beside the lounge and plopped down on it. "I don't mind if I do. If that's stew cooking in the pot, I wouldn't say no to a bowl full of it." She looked at Salamar suspiciously. "Your woman there wouldn't put anything unseemly in the pot, would she? I've heard it said that those heathen women sometimes cook dogs, lizards, and other unmentionables."
Evonne had always had a sense of humor, and now she found that humor rising to the surface, egged on by a streak of mischief. "I didn't know that, Miss Lawton. Could that be the reason the stew has had a peculiar taste to it lately?"
Prudence's eyes seemed to bulge out of her head. "On second thought, I don't think I'll have anything. I had lunch just a while ago." Her eyes fastened on the lacy blue shawl that was draped across Evonne's shoulders. She had always been partial to that color blue. Greed and envy caused her voice to rise to a high-pitched tone. "You never did say where the money came from that paid for all this. I know it wasn't long ago that you and your daughter was without means, and she came to my brother asking for help."
"I wasn't aware that my daughter asked your brother for help," Evonne said, glancing at Salamar for denial, but Salamar seemed not to be listening to the conversation.
"Well, she did. My brother felt so sorry about your plight that he even offered to marry her, thinking it was the Christian thing to do."
Evonne's eyes blazed as she thought of the poison that escaped this woman's lips in the name of Christianity. "My daughter will never have to marry anyone because he feels pity for her. As to where our money comes from, you should know. After all, it was you who helped Valentina get the position with Mrs. Windom. The woman is very wealthy and pays my daughter quite well."
Prudence leaned toward Evonne and lowered her voice. "I know of no one in this town who would pay the kind of money it would take to fix this place up so grandly." Prudence's colorless eyes seemed to take on a glow. "If I was you, I'd get to the bottom of this. Your daughter is making money all right, but I doubt she gets it from that sick old woman."
Salamar saw Evonne's face whiten, and she quickly picked up a tray she had been preparing and approached Prudence Lawton. "I have your lunch, madame," she said, smiling. "The meat is a bit tough, but I hope you will find it tasty. I prepared it like we do in my country. I added some special ingredients ... I hope you will find it to your liking."
Prudence jumped immediately to her feet and headed toward the door. "I can't stay. I just remembered something that I have to do," she called over her shoulder.
Salamar caught Evonne's eye, and they both burst into laughter. "I'll take my food now, Salamar," Evonne said at last, holding out her hand. "I thought you always used my mother-in-law's recipe when you made stew."
Salamar sat down in the chair just vacated by Miss Lawton. "So I lied when I said it was a recipe from my homeland. What can you expect from a heathen?"
Evonne's eyes were dancing with mirth. "Loyalty and friendship," she said, taking a bite of Salamar's delicious stew. "I don't find it tough, but it needs more salt."
Again the cabin rang with laughter, and Salamar was able to make Evonne forget all about Prudence Lawton's visit for the time being.
When Valentina came in later, she was glad to find her mother in such good spirits. She asked the reason for it and was surprised to hear that the cause of her mother's gay mood was none other than Reverend Lawton's sister.
It was a mild Sunday afternoon, and Valentina stood brushing her mother's hair away from her face, then fastened it behind her ear with ivory combs. Evonne laid back against the pillow and smiled at her daughter.
"I am feeling stronger each day, dear. My spirits have been lifted since you and Salamar arrived. You have made this dreary cabin into a warm and cheerful home and given purpose to my life."
"I'm afraid that Salamar deserves most of the credit. She is the one who turned this drab place into a home."
"What would we do without her, Valentina?"
"I hope we never have to find out. She is as much a part of this family as any of us."
"Yes, she was always a part of your life. When you were born, she became devoted to you." Evonne's eyes moved over the room. "Where is Salamar?"
Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) Page 17