Читать книгу Wicked Loving Lies - Rosemary Rogers, Rosemary Rogers - Страница 11

There was the moonlight and the firelight and the torches that flickered like live tongues; and Marisa was no longer herself but someone else. A bold-eyed, bold-tongued creature like Blanca who was afraid of nothing and no one. She had tied a brightly colored scarf over her head again; but it did not disguise the gold hair that rippled almost to her waist.

“If you are innocent still, then prove it!” Mario had hissed. “If he has not had you yet then he will be eager for you, sí? Lead him away from the others; flirt with him if you must. No more than that—I will see to the rest!”

Mario had made it sound so easy! But here he was offering to protect her when not too long ago she had felt she needed protection from him.

What did it matter? She knew Mario and felt sure of her power over him. The other man was a different proposition. Far too insolent, far too sure of himself—and her. The last man on earth she wished to marry, if he was the one.

Facing him again was harder than she had thought it might be, even though he was alone at the moment. He had been lifting a wineskin to his mouth, and when he lowered it and saw her, one black eyebrow shot up in mock surprise.

“Oh, so you’re back. I must say you put a high price on yourself, yellow-eyes. Are you worth it?”

She saw no sign of Blanca. Had she told him, or had he discovered his loss for himself?

Still acting the way Blanca would, Marisa lifted her shoulders.

“Why not find out? I wanted you to notice me for myself. I do not like crowds. They make me feel stifled, and—and trapped. And I do not like being made fun of, either.”

“Should I apologize for my friends and myself?” He swept her a mocking bow, offering her the half-empty wineskin. “Here, now that we are alone, shall we drink to an understanding? I didn’t expect to see you back of your own accord, but here you are, which proves that I am as ignorant as the next man when it comes to understanding the whims of women.” His strangely light eyes crinkled at the corners, catching her attention in spite of herself. What a time to start wondering about him—what kind of man was he?

She shook her head, refusing the wine. “No, I am not used to drinking, señor.”

“But an expert at picking pockets? You continue to surprise me, little gypsy.”

Marisa felt the hot blood rush into her face, but she refused to give ground. “Yes, certainly. But isn’t that only what you would expect from a gypsy wench? The very worst. You made that clear, all of you, when you kept talking of me as if I had no ears.”

A sudden brightness leaped into his eyes, stabbing into hers like a flash of lightning. “Olé!” He said it softly, tilting the wineskin to his lips again and then lowering it slowly. “So you are a creature of emotion after all. You breathe, you feel, and you even think, it seems. Good. We have established that much, at least. Also your price—which is high. I warn you, I shall expect a great deal in return….”

Without warning, Marisa found her waist encircled by a steely arm again. Before she could protest, she was drawn against him tasting, unwillingly, the wine on his breath as he forced her head back with his brutal kiss.

Instinctively, she struggled against him, hands pushing futilely against his shoulders. Horrible! To be kissed like any common slut, without consideration of her feelings. First he insulted her and then he kissed her.

Marisa kept her teeth tightly clenched together and kept twisting her head from side to side, trying to avoid the bruising pressure of his mouth on hers. In spite of her frantic struggles she felt herself drawn against his body. His cloak was open down the front, and she felt stifled in its folds; she was terrified by the pressure of his lean, masculine body all the way down hers. Her neck would surely break in another minute, and she could not breathe. There was a buzzing in her ears and she was no longer capable of the effort of resisting him, even when some faraway part of her mind realized that he had slipped her thin blouse off one shoulder and was fondling her breasts. Her body lay limply against his, still shivering with revulsion; and when she opened her mouth to gasp for breath his tongue forced its way between her lips, bringing a renewal of her feeble attempts to turn her face away.

Did he actually intend to force himself on her here, with everyone looking on? What a callous, unfeeling brute this man was to use her this way as if she had been some whore he had picked up for the night.

Just when she felt that she was about to faint, he lifted his head slightly, and Marisa saw that his eyes looked like silver now, like polished mirrors in which she could see her own flushed, terrified reflection. Remembering old stories about the devil coming to earth in human disguise in order to seduce women, she felt an overwhelming desire to cross herself.

She half gasped and half moaned and saw the cynical, almost sneering smile that flickered across his cleanshaven face.

“Be assured, little picarona, that you need not play the innocent virgin for my benefit. Tonight I do not feel inclined for the usual tussle—nor for the usual preliminaries. Come along now, and let’s have no more games, eh?” Her knees were so weak with shock and terror that she would have fallen if he had not seized her by the wrist. He was taking her back to his friends, and she would never escape if she did not use her wits as she had meant to do in the beginning.

“No!” She pulled back, not having to feign the breathlessness of her tone. “Please, señor, not back to those friends of yours who laugh and make fun of me because I’m only a poor gypsy girl. My wagon is not far away, and it is empty—”

“What a changeable, surprising creature you are,” he said softly, slipping his arm about her waist again. “One moment you act as if my kisses disgust you, and the next—you are as hot as fire!”

She said quickly, “Gypsy women are very independent. We like to choose our own lovers.” She prayed that her voice sounded flirtatious enough as she allowed herself to sway against him. “At least, you are not a brightly dressed parrot like the other men in your party.”

She dared not look into his eyes again as they strolled towards the outskirts of the crowd and now pressed more and more closely about the whirling dancers.

“Please—act casual. I do not want my novio to notice,” she murmured. The conceited boor! He actually believed himself irresistible. How easy it had been to trick him after all! Viciously, Marisa hoped that Mario and his friends would teach this particular caballero a lesson he would never forget.

They were being jostled by people who were eager to see what was going on. The rumors had already begun to fly around that the queen herself was here in disguise, along with the notorious duchess of Alba, who was fond of masquerading as a maja in order to pick up commoner-lovers.

Marisa’s lips felt bruised and swollen, and her breasts seemed to burn from the casual, all-too-knowing caresses she had been forced to endure. It was all she could do to lean docilely in this man’s hard embrace and pretend that he had subdued her spirit. Angry thoughts whirled around in her brain. Where was Mario? Pray God he’d rescue her soon.

No one took any notice of them, not even when Mario himself, as if conjured up by her thoughts, appeared suddenly to bar their way. His dark features were suffused with fury, and his hand lay threateningly on the dagger in his waistband. Behind him, Marisa noticed two of his cronies, carrying heavy cudgels.

“So! This is what you’ve been doing behind my back! I should not have expected a woman like you to be satisfied with just one lover. Or was it his money and fine clothes that attracted you? Bitch. I saw you kissing him as if you could not bear to tear yourself away. And as for you, señor, I think that after tonight you’ll think twice before you attempt to meddle with one of our gypsy women….”

His tirade and his rage seemed all too real, and Marisa could not help shrinking involuntarily. Through widening eyes she saw the other two men move silently to either side of Mario as he drew his dagger.

“I think I will mark up your face first,” he snarled, “before I allow my friends to beat you within an inch of your life. You aristocrats should learn to stick to your own kind!”

“I wondered when you would appear on the scene.” Marisa heard the drawling, drily sarcastic voice and tried to tear herself away, but with a quick jerk of his arm he held her before him, and she felt something cold against her side. She thought she heard a clicking sound. She saw the gypsies freeze as the drawling voice continued in a conversational manner, “This pistol is made to fire two shots without reloading—which one of you wants to get it first? And of course there’s always the chance that your little friend here might get nicked in the process. Well?”

Marisa felt the hair at the back of her neck prickle, and she stood rigidly, hardly daring to breathe. He meant it! There had been a steely undertone to his voice that made her certain he would have no compunction about shooting, as he had promised.

“You had no right to walk off with my woman,” Mario blustered uneasily, his eyes darting this way and that; and at almost the same moment a voice behind them made him jump.

“What is going on there?” Two uniformed guardsmen had come up, their sternly frowning faces taking in the whole picture. “Were these gypsy devils attempting to rob you, señor? A good thing Don Manuel ordered us to keep an eye on this little wench here. It’s a favorite trick among these people—”

“But one I had half-expected already. No, I don’t think there’s any need to arrest them. I don’t think they’ll be in a hurry to pull this kind of stunt again.”

“Get going, you three! And if you’re still around when the sun comes up, we’ll find a nice cold cell to throw you in!”

Mario’s friends had already taken to their heels, and now, with a last, frustrated backward glance, the young man himself disappeared into the crowd.

With a desperation born of sheer terror, Marisa tried to twist away.

“Let me go! You have no right to keep me here!” She raised imploring eyes to the suddenly impassive faces of the two guardsmen. “Please, señores! They were only trying to save me from the unwelcome advances of this—this lecher! And he threatened to shoot me with his pistol if I did not go with him!”

“What an accomplished little liar she is! Listen, young woman, picking pockets could get you in a lot of trouble! A public flogging, and all your pretty long hair cut off. We’ve been watching you.”

“Here—and you’d better keep a closer eye on her this time. I’ve no mind to spend the rest of the evening dodging her jealous lovers—and her nimble fingers.” Marisa felt herself shoved forward, only to have her arms grasped roughly and twisted behind her.

“Better search her for a knife, too—she threatened once to stick me with it.”

“Shall we bring her along to the boat?”

Straightening out his clothes, the gentleman shrugged, but his silver-grey eyes had gone narrow.

“Why not? I hate being made to pay in advance for favors I haven’t received yet. Maybe she’ll be more tractable in a few hours’ time.”

With a dazed feeling of disbelief, Marisa watched him walk away leaving her to these rough men, to be treated like a common prisoner. No, it could not be happening, not to her! Perhaps if she closed her eyes she would wake to find herself in her little grey cell in the convent, safe behind its strong, wide walls.

As she felt one of the men adroitly tie her wrists behind her, she began to sob helplessly.

The voice that spoke to her wasn’t too unkind. “Now, now! There’s no point in shedding tears at this point, you know! Count yourself lucky you aren’t to be marched right off to jail. You might spend the next few years of your life picking hemp, and what a waste that would be! A pity you weren’t given a different sort of upbringing—all you gypsies are thieves and sluts. I suppose it’s in your blood and you can’t help it! But if you behave yourself and do as you’re told, you might come out the richer for this evening. Now—where’s that knife hidden? Better tell us, or we’ll have to strip you.”

She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out with revulsion when a rough hand groped up her thigh.

“What a dangerous little weapon! You could kill someone with this, and then you’d hang. You ever seen a hanging? Come along now. A good thing you have enough sense not to scream, or we’d have to gag you. That’s right. And just think, you’ll have a nice boat ride—it’s a perfect night for it, too.”

The lopsided moon dropped lower and lower and the rocking motion of the pleasure barge made her feel sick. Almost as sick as the conversation of her captors, as they discussed the rest of the night that lay ahead.

“They’re really having fun this evening. It was all the duchess’s idea, you know. A pity we’re on duty, eh, Jorge?”

“Ah well, you know they’re generous with the spoils after they’ve tired of their sport. We’ll get our share later.” One of the men gave a ribald chuckle and when Marisa shuddered, he flung a blanket over her shoulders. “Here. It wouldn’t do to have you catch a chill. And you might as well stretch out against those cushions and get comfortable while you’re at it. You’ll have plenty of exercise later on.”

She closed her eyes against the cold silver stars. Their brilliance reminded her of cruel, mocking eyes. ‘Delphine!’ she thought suddenly. But Delphine was gone a long time ago, offering herself to that pack of raving beasts to save her—and for what? ‘I’ve sinned,’ she thought dully. ‘I’ve sinned, and this is my punishment. Mother Angelina was right. She used to tell me I was wayward and headstrong and that I lacked the proper humility to become a nun. If only I’d paid attention, if only…’

She had found her own personal hell—flickering torchlights and gay, wine-slurred voices, the sound of oars swishing through moving water, the sour-sweet taste of wine forced between her lips, and the devil’s eyes which were not as red as coals after all but like silvered glass.

Her limbs were numb and aching and her wrists and arms had no more feeling than her horror-soaked mind.

‘If I stood up now and shouted who I was, they wouldn’t believe me,’ she thought, ‘or they’d think it was very funny. Oh God, help me!’

Marisa hardly heard the voices that continued to discuss her as if she weren’t present.

“The foolish little creature! What did she hope to gain?”

The sulky voice that she now knew belonged to the queen of Spain said sharply, “I can’t understand why you bothered with her! After all, one gypsy wench is very much like another, and if this little wretch is a thief into the bargain—”

“Ah, but she isn’t quite like the others. Her father must have been a Castilian—look at that hair! And she’s obviously still quite young.”

“What difference does that make? Her kind are all quite hardened by the time they are fourteen or so!”

“At any rate, our guest seems to find her intriguing, and something of a challenge, is not that so, señor? Since we’re all paired off, it’s only fair to provide him with a wench of his own choosing.”

“I would think you’d have had your fill of her kind in the New World,” Maria Luisa snapped. “Or is it the pirate in you that always looks for a capture instead of a prize that’s willingly given?”

“Alas, I’m nothing so romantic as a pirate! Merely an honest privateer—and I know better than to sail too close to an impregnable, jeweled citadel. No, I’ve learned to be satisfied with more modest prizes.”

“Like that English ship you took on your way here? I declare, captain, it is you who are too modest!” But the queen had begun to smile again. Marisa wondered dazedly what they were talking about and whether that man was really some kind of pirate.

She could believe it. He had cast aside his heavy dark cloak and unbuttoned his jacket to reveal a ruffled white shirt front. More plainly dressed than the rest of the men present, his clothes were nevertheless well-cut and form fitting. When he crossed his long legs, Marisa could see the shine of Hessian boots.

He hadn’t touched her since he had climbed easily into the boat to sit beside her, but she was all too aware of his closeness and the warmth of his body. What did he intend to do with her? No, she mustn’t think about it—not yet. She found herself wishing that the boat would somehow spring a leak and sink, drowning them all. Such an end would be infinitely preferable to what might lie ahead.

More wine was being passed around, this time in jewel-encrusted glasses, each one tinted a different color. Rather than have it forced down her throat, Marisa sipped obediently, sitting huddled in her corner. The wine made her dizzy at first and then tremendously drowsy. Her hands had been untied, and she kept chafing her sore wrists with icy-cold fingers. She had the feeling that something terrible was about to happen, but at the moment she was too tired and too overwrought to think. Like a child worn out by tears and emotion, she curled her bare feet under her and fell asleep, only half-waking when a warm cloak was wrapped around her and she was lifted up in strong arms that held her far too closely in spite of her drowsy protests.