The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (10 page)

“Not at all. I value my rest too much to join you. I will naturally not go, but I am not so old that I have forgotten what it is like to be young with the night before me.”

Esteban slanted a look at Ramón, his shoulders heaving in a resigned sigh. “We seem to be outnumbered.”

“Except that we have not heard from Anne,” Ramón agreed. “What do you say, querida? Do you wish to go?”

She did, very much. It seemed such an anticlimax to have the evening end after so short a time. There should be something more to do justice to the fineness of the dress she was wearing and the haunting sense of anticipation she felt. Still she hesitated, by no means certain that Ramón really wanted to know her wishes. It was possible, since hers would be the deciding vote, that he was waiting for her to decline.

She lifted her gaze to his, a small, perplexed frown between her eyes. As if sensing her dilemma, he moved to her side and, taking her hand, carried it to his lips. “It shall be as you say, my love,” he said.

The grip of his fingers was firm and reassuring, the tone of his voice caressing. In his eyes was an expression she had not seen before, a soft gleam that, regardless of her understanding of the role he was playing, brought a hint of color to her cheeks. She must be careful, she told herself, then forgot the warning a moment later as her fingers curled around those of the man beside her of their own accord.

“I would like to go, if you would,” she replied, her mouth curving into a smile.

The lounge was plush, with velvet-covered seats in circular booths about small tables. The dim light of candles in red globes on each table was the only illumination. The band, in sequined jackets that winked in the semidarkness, was spotlighted on a raised dais with a small dance floor of smoked copper tiles surrounded by gold and red and black carpet directly in front of them. As Estela had promised, they were good, shifting effortlessly from one piece of music to the next, blending a half-dozen different types of music, from modern rock to Latin. The amplified sound was a little loud, but as the deferential waiter, with a greeting for Ramón, led them to a table near the wall some distance away, that did not trouble them.

Drinks were ordered and they sat for a time over them in desultory conversation, with Estela pointing out various people, government officials, artists, and a number of acquaintances, to Anne. Several people stopped by their table and were introduced, though after a time Anne gave up even trying to remember their names. There were too many, the names were too unfamiliar, and it seemed unlikely she would ever meet them again.

When a slow dreamy song began, Ramón turned to Anne. “Well, querida?” he said, holding out his hand.

Anne got to her feet reluctantly. It had been ages since she had danced, not since she had left the children’s home. The kind of men she had met had not been able to afford much more than a movie and a hamburger, in the way of a date. At the home there had been lessons given by the older boys and girls to the younger ones and the occasional Saturday-night dance party, nothing to give her confidence to move onto the floor with a man like Don Ramón Castillo. Still, she could hardly object without revealing to the others that they had never danced together.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to dance,” she warned him as his arms closed around her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his mouth against the silkiness of her hair. “Just relax and leave it to me.”

It was good advice, but hard to accept. She was too aware of the touch of his fingers on her back through the thin silk of her dress, of the brush of his thighs against hers, and the tantalizingly masculine smell of the aftershave he had used. It was strangely comforting to be held close, to feel the strength of his shoulder beneath her hand, and yet she longed for the music to come to an end. Under the circumstances, dancing was not a pleasure but a refined torment.

Ramón bent his head and for a moment Anne thought he intended to press a kiss into the curve of her neck. Instead, he whispered, “You might at least try to look as if you are enjoying it.”

Startled, she missed a step. “I’m sorry,” she said automatically.

“Don’t be,” he said, drawing back to look down at her. “I’m not going to eat you. But if you don’t smile, I’m going to kiss you right here.”

At the unlikelihood of his carrying out the threat, the smile he had requested appeared. “You wouldn’t,” she said with conviction.

A glint of amusement in his eyes, he answered, “So you think, but you’re taking no chances, are you? Ah, that’s it. A look of positive affection. Hold it, please, because we are being watched by my darling cousin, Irene.”

He covered her instant start of confusion with an expert gliding step. Her smile slipped, but she did not quite lose it. “I suppose we should not have come,” she said, voicing the first thought that came into her head in order to regain her equilibrium.

“It doesn’t matter, we had to meet her sometime,” he reassured her. “I would have preferred to wait until later, but perhaps it’s best this way. Don’t be surprised if she and her escort manage to run into us as we leave the floor.”

The music was slowing. As it stopped and they began to make their way with the other couples back to their table, Ramón kept her hand firmly clasped in his. They had not gone more than a few steps before Irene, with her escort in tow, barred their way.

“Cousin Ramón,” she drawled, “and his little—”

“Good evening, cousin,” Ramón said, overriding her strident tones without apparent effort. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“No, I imagine not,” Irene agreed, her gaze moving with studied insolence over Anne. Abruptly her eyes fastened on the pendant lying warm and glowing just above the soft curves of her breasts. The blood draining from her face, she gasped, “That necklace, she’s wearing Tía Isabel’s turquoise.”

Anyone listening would have thought she had stolen it, Anne thought in rising irritation at being passed over as if she were incapable of hearing or speaking.

“A gift,” Ramón answered stiffly.

“But it was to be mine,” Irene said. “Tía Isabel always said she was saving it for—”

“For the woman I was to marry,” he finished for her.

Irene took a deep, trembling breath. The action swelled the bodice of her tightly fitting dress of some heavy green material with a metallic sheen in its folds, and caused the long earrings of green and yellow feathers she was wearing to flutter against her neck. Suddenly Anne was reminded of a picture she had seen just that morning representing Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent of the Aztecs. At the ridiculousness of the idea, she was released from the paralyzing self-consciousness that had held her stiff at Ramón’s side. Now, turning to him, she placed her left hand with its sparkling diamond ring on the dark sleeve of his arm.

“Ramón, darling,” she said softly, “I don’t believe I have been officially introduced to your cousin.”

“Forgive me,” he said, covering her fingers with his own at once. “Anne, allow me to present to you my cousin Irene. Irene, my fiancée, Anne Matthews.”

“How do you do,” Anne said, holding out her free hand to the other woman with a smile that was perfectly cool and friendly. “I hope you will think of me as a cousin also, since we are all to be of the same family.”

Shock turned the woman’s face to wax. The fingers she placed in Anne’s hand were nerveless and cold. Glancing at her in concern, her escort introduced himself with a few phrases, then began to make their excuses. Irene allowed herself to be led away, but the look she cast over her shoulder at Anne held the glitter of sheer malevolence made all the more potent for being mute.

As they returned to the table Estela scanned their faces, an anxious look in her eyes. When Anne was seated, she leaned forward. “I saw you stop to speak to Irene just now. I hope she was not — that she did not say anything unpleasant?”

“Not really,” Anne answered, smiling again with lips that now felt stiff with the effort she had made to appear at ease.

Ramón, throwing a glance at Anne that was approving and yet faintly enigmatic, said, “I believe you could say that we held our own.”

“I am sorry that you had to meet this soon, for I would not like you to judge all of Ramón’s family by this cousin,” Estela said earnestly.

Touched by the other girl’s concern, Anne could only shake her head. It was Ramón who answered for her.

“How could she judge only by Irene when she has also met Abuelita — and you?” he asked, the lift of an eyebrow taking the sting from that barbed compliment.

In the general laughter the tension eased. Esteban ordered another round of drinks, though Anne refused hers. A small throb of pain had begun again in her temple. It grew more noticeable as she listened to the amplified voice of the singer Estela had recommended. He was Latin, with a caressing and hypnotic timbre in his voice, but she was glad when he was done. Not long afterward Ramón, watching her rubbing her temple through narrowed eyes, suggested that they leave.

Estaban and Estela did not come into the house when they reached home. After an exchange of good nights they got into their low sports car sitting on the drive and drove away. Ramón left his car for the chauffeur to put away and followed Anne into the house.

Inside the entrance hall he touched her arm, turning her to face him. “It’s your head, isn’t it?”

She nodded, then winced. The pain had grown gradually worse on the drive home and even that small movement set off an alarming reaction.

“I should not have let you go,” he said, frowning. “I would not have, except you looked so much like an orphan child on Christmas morning after your one gift is opened, wondering if that is to be all.”

At the sudden stricken look in her eyes, he cursed under his breath and stepped closer to take her in his arms. “That was stupid. Forgive me, Anne. For a moment I forgot—”

His sympathy combined with the nerve-racking events of the past few days was almost too much. As she felt the hurtful rise of tears against her throat, she broke free of the arm holding her.

“That’s all right,” she said on a quick indrawn breath without looking at him. “You don’t have to apologize. I — I enjoyed the evening.”

Blindly she turned toward the stairs. Her foot was on the bottom step when he called after her.

“You have something for your headache?”

“Yes, the doctor left a few capsules,” she managed, and then because her voice was treacherously near to breaking, she fled.

In her room, she took off the turquoise and laid it carefully on the dressing table, removed her dress and hung it away, then slipped into her gown. She removed the light makeup she had applied, brushed her hair, and swallowed one of the capsules left on the table beside her bed before sliding between the covers. Only then did she allow the threatening tears to trickle from her eyes. They slid hot and salty into her hairline. But before the first had dried, she was asleep.

On Ramón’s orders, breakfast was brought to her in bed. The tray was set with a delicate china patterned with small pink roses which she had not seen before, and adorned with a single pink rosebud in a crystal vase. Two notes lay folded on a tiny silver salver. The first, from Ramón, contained only the suggestion that she spend the morning in bed and the offer of books and magazines from his study to entertain her. The second in the spidery handwriting of Doña Isabel held out the inducement of luncheon in town and an afternoon of shopping. Listless from a night of overheavy slumber, it seemed too much trouble to do anything other than fall in with their wishes. She had the nagging feeling that she should be doing something constructive to earn her salary, but as she had no idea what the duties of a fiancée consisted of, she could not bring herself to move.

Thinking of the salary reminded her that Ramón had not mentioned the amount she was to be paid for this unusual employment. She must remember to tell him to deduct the amount of the clothing he had supplied from the total, though she had the melancholy suspicion that if she was to be paid an amount equal to two week’s salary at Metcalf’s there would be nothing left when the price of the dresses was subtracted. No matter. She could not and would not accept them from him, especially after last night. An orphan she might be; still, she had no need of his charity.

Her suspicions were amply proved that afternoon. As she followed Doña lsabel in and out of the smart shops of the “pink zone,” the most cosmopolitan area in the city bounded by Avenida Insurgentes, Avenida Chapultepec, Florencia Street, and the Paseo de la Reforma, she grew more and more certain that she had been wrong to accept so much from Ramón. Even after she had mentally translated pesos into dollars, nothing was cheap. Further along some of the streets she saw the signs of smaller, less-expensive-looking boutiques that looked as if she might have been able to afford their wares, but Doña Isabel had no interest in such places. She unerringly chose the most exclusive establishments and marched in, her bearing so regal that she commanded instant service. In one or two of the shops she was recognized by the more mature salesladies and greeted like a long-lost friend. Each time this happened, she introduced Anne as her future granddaughter-in-law, with the subtle insinuation that it would be well to treat her with the deference due a prospective customer. If the proper show of interest was forthcoming, the old lady allowed herself to be persuaded to recount the story, slightly altered to fit the circumstances, of how her grandson, an impetuous lover unable to face the thought of leaving his new fiancée behind in Dallas, had practically kidnapped her. According to Doña Isabel, he had swept her off her feet and carried her on board his plane in the most romantic abduction ever dreamed of by woman. Being a man, he had counted as unimportant the fact that Anne had no clothing or personal effects, not even a lipstick. When Anne tried to protest that Ramón had seen to her more pressing needs, it only appeared that she was trying to defend him, at which the older women had exchanged knowing smiles. After that it did no good for her to insist she needed nothing. Doña Isabel, ignoring her objections, ordered sets of casual clothes in delicious shades of green and pink and sherbet orange. It had to be admitted, however, that these appeared as insignificant as Doña Isabel pretended beside the dozens of suits, dresses, and evening gowns she pointed out to be delivered to the house for herself.