Indiscretion Read online

  Doña Isabel. Alexandra knew she’d heard that name before: maybe in the prattled gossip of the woman on the train. She studied her curiously. A mask of white satin and lace concealed the young woman’s face so well that it was impossible to distinguish her features. However, something in the way she carried herself, throwing her head back every time she laughed, reminded Alexandra of something, which at that moment escaped her. She could not explain her sense of déjà-vu and dismissed it as ridiculous. There was nowhere she could have met the Marquesa before this evening.

  Doña Isabel Herrera was wearing the costume of a noblewoman of the sixteenth-century Spanish court. The full crinoline dress in topaz blue, drawn in at the waist, emphasized her slim figure, while her slender neck was set off by a stiff ruff in pleated lawn. She wore her flame-red hair coiled on the top of her head and held in place by a crown encrusted with precious stones. Two magnificent peacock feathers were set into the top, sweeping above her white satiny-lace mask, which put the finishing touch to her splendidly regal disguise.

  The young man accompanying her was also dressed in the fashion of that haughty and stately court, with knitted silk stockings, short cape and long sword. He was tall and fair-haired, like the Spaniards from the North, and wore a mask of blood-red velvet.

  ‘Don Felipe, the elder brother of Doña Isabel. A good match for any woman, no doubt, as far as most are concerned,’ Ramón offered wryly as he noticed Alexandra’s interest in the newcomer, who was surveying the room silently. ‘Though he’s as handsome as a Greek god and as rich as Croesus himself, he’s also a crafty fox. He has a sixth sense for the kind of bait young ladies and their mothers set for him. He has more than one trick up his sleeve when it comes to avoiding the hook, and can boast many a broken heart.’

  Alexandra laughed wholeheartedly — her cousin’s good humour was catching. ‘Ramón, you’re incorrigible. I don’t know of a man more fond of tittle-tattle than you. You’re never short of scandal to entertain me.’

  ‘The things I do to bring a smile to your pretty lips,’ he replied, winked at her affectionately and then paused, looking at her askance. ‘I suppose you’d like to meet him?’

  ‘Maybe it would be nice later in the evening, but not now.’

  ‘Good, can’t say I’m disappointed, mi primita. Come, in that case, I’d like to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Sergio Valentini. He’s an Italian artist who specializes in portraits. He saw you with me in Jerez the other day and is dying to meet you.’ Ramón began to steer her back through the crowds, away from the dancefloor, towards the dining room. ‘Don’t be surprised if he speaks to you in French, by the way. His French accent is quite abominable but he seems to think it makes him sound more sophisticated.’

  Alexandra spent the next half hour being charmed by Valentini, a pedantic little man with a corkscrew moustache who constantly referred to her profile as ‘quello di una dea, that of a goddess’. She was mildly amused by the pantomime of his good-natured flirtation and entered into the spirit of the game, though always slightly distracted. As they talked, other people joined them for a while, entertained by their lively conversation. Ramón introduced them to her, but Alexandra’s eyes frequently moved away, skimming over the crowds impatiently, not knowing how or when the Conde would make himself known to her. She became aware of Valentini waiting for a response from her and hastily switched her attention back to the diminutive artist, who was smiling at her expectantly.

  ‘I’m sorry? Yes, yes, of course. I’d be delighted for you to paint my portrait, Monsieur Valentini.’

  ‘Mais c’est merveilleux!’ he exclaimed. ‘When do we start?’

  She laughed, and arched her brow. ‘Not so quickly, Monsieur.’ At the request of Aunt Geraldine she’d already sat for her portrait once before and was in no great hurry to repeat the experience.

  ‘Mon ami,’ said Valentini, turning to Ramón with feigned vehemence. ‘You’ve heard? She accepts and then when I ask her for a rendezvous, she backs down. Ah, cruel Titania, I can see you’re going to break my heart.’

  ‘Well, let her break it over dinner, amigo. They’re just announcing it now and I, for one, could eat a horse,’ said Ramón jovially, slapping his friend on the back and offering his arm to Alexandra, who was gazing absent-mindedly in the other direction.‘Come, oh preoccupied Titania,’ he grinned, moving her into the tide of other guests heading off the dancefloor.

  Dinner was held in the vast, austere dining room. For the event, it had been brightened up with ten or so small dining tables, spread with white tablecloths and decorated with carnations and coloured candles. Tall silver candelabra also lit up the room, their flickering light throwing gigantic shadows on the high, bare walls.

  Four long sideboards, arranged along one wall, were set with delicate and delicious dishes: Iberian cured ham and chorizos, huge terrines of gazpacho decorated with cherry tomatoes, calamares and smoked fish, overflowing plates of wild mushrooms and peppers, jamon croqetas with manchego cheese, and mouthwatering paellas.

  Sergio Valentini turned out to be a brilliant storyteller, the lively raconteur par excellence. They sat down at one of the tables and were soon joined by the fabled French milkmaid Pérette in her skirt of white-and-green striped cotton and a white bonnet edged with lace. A ravishing brunette joined them too, wearing the national costume of the women of Montehermoso, with its ten richly coloured petticoats that she raised every time she sat down.

  The Italian painter revelled in the opportunity to entertain three glamorous ladies and Alexandra was still laughing when she returned to the ballroom.

  As the evening progressed and there was still no sign of the mysterious Conde, Alexandra was forced to admit that she must have been the victim of a practical joke. It was gone eleven o’clock, surely he would have shown up by now if he was going to? Putting aside her disappointment, she told herself it had all been merely a captivating puzzle, one that had fired her romantic imagination and aroused her yearning for adventure, nothing more. At least she had some ideas for her new hero, she reminded herself, and decided to enter fully into the festive spirit, now that she had given up on her elusive stranger.

  She didn’t notice the oriental prince, wearing a costume similar in style and colour to her own, observing her quizzically from a far-off corner of the room.

  A pierrot in a black-and-white silk suit with a collar of pleated tulle and a bonnet decorated with black pompons asked Alexandra for a dance. She allowed him to move her around the dancefloor, with only half an ear on the eager conversation he was making as she took in the sea of colourful guests. It was almost midnight. Don Felipe was paying court to a shepherdess in a crinoline gown. Further along the room Mercedes, disguised as a bluebell, wearing a crown of tiny blue flowers and a dress with a bodice of green velvet and an organdie skirt, with petals of periwinkle blue, was squabbling with Electra, who was sulking in a corner. Isis and Osiris were discussing something with a pretty redhead in Savoy costume.

  Ondine, Goddess of the Northern Seas, was there again. Her elegant back and pale golden mane were just visible as she stood alone, looking out of the French doors as if searching for something. She turned her head. Despite the emerald mask covering her face, that graceful movement and champagne-coloured hair was unmistakeable: it was Esmeralda. Her cousin seemed to gaze at her for a moment before looking away and then disappearing quickly into the garden.

  Alexandra was once again aware of the pierrot, who drew her closer to him. ‘Soon it will be midnight,’ he whispered into her ear, ‘and the lights will go out—’

  ‘Excuse me señor, I’ve come to collect my wife,’ interrupted a deep, warm voice. Alexandra smothered a gasp. Her heart gave such a jolt she thought it might leap out of her mouth.

  The first notes of a Strauss waltz began. Before she could recover, the stranger swung Alexandra into his arms, holding her so tightly to him she was unable to lift her head to see his face. The blood pounded in her veins. She was conscious of his stro
ng, sinuous length against her and the turmoil of her own body as his warmth soaked into her, adding to the heat welling up inside her like a furnace. Her temple brushed against his jaw; his skin was smooth. He smelled of soap, mint and tobacco, indefinably masculine. As they twirled around the dancefloor, Alexandra was carried away by an overpowering tide that left her light-headed, almost breathless. It was as though she were under a spell, a bewitching charm of the mind and senses that had no place in the dictionary of her experience.

  Eventually, the giddy whirlwind ended and they found themselves on the terrace. In contrast to the brightly lit ballroom they had left, it was bathed in an almost unreal, diaphanous light from the moon and the glowing lanterns in the trees. They waltzed in silence for a few more minutes, taking in the melancholy softness of the night.

  ‘I owe you an apology for stepping in just now but I could see no other way of tearing you away from the arms of your too-forward partner,’ he said, in those same ardent, deep tones that had so haunted Alexandra over the past few days.

  She caught her breath, unable to reply immediately and all the while hoping he wasn’t aware of the urgent beating of her heart. He still held on to her firmly and she could only look up at him with a smile. The moon disappeared behind a cloud, shadowing his features.

  The stranger was almost a head taller than Alexandra. Under his light cloak she could see that his costume was very much like hers. It was in a similar cloth of pure, ivory-coloured silk, yet less decorated. His head was clad in a plain turban, which entirely concealed his hair. In the wide faja, the silk band that clasped his waist, he had placed a navaja, much like the ones Alexandra had noticed at the station in Puerto de Santa María on the day of her arrival, the difference being his was set with genuine precious stones. His shoulders were broad; his embrace firm and close.

  As a shaft of moonlight fell briefly on his face, Alexandra’s heart missed a beat. In spite of the half-shadow and the narrow mask shielding his tanned features, she recognized the stranger she had seen on the seafront and then in the Church of Santa María: the man on the prayer stool who had so deeply disturbed her. So it was the same man after all. One man who now made something inside her thrill deliciously at his nearness.

  Somewhere far off, a clock struck midnight. An owl hooted, as if in response. The air was fragrant with the sweet smell of jasmine and orange blossom. Masks fell and shouts of joy burst from all sides under a shower of confetti.

  The oriental prince leaned his head forward towards his sultana.

  ‘Will you allow me, señorita?’ he whispered, his lean fingers with infinite gentleness removing her velvet mask. His gaze delved deeply into her large, glowing green irises, reading the emotion in her upturned face as her body yielded helplessly to his touch. A rush of blood coursed wildly through Alexandra’s veins as his hand once more slipped about her waist, pausing before pulling her against him.

  Softly, his mouth barely brushed her lips, hesitant and yet longing, parting them tenderly and taking in her sweet breath; his hands on her felt so warm, so male. Alexandra closed her eyes, waiting for something more, though she knew she should not. The smiling moon sailed out from behind a tree and lit up their faces, caught in that lingering anticipation of a kiss. The night was perfectly still. They remained thus, locked in each other’s arms, bathed in silvery moonlight on the deserted terrace. Time was immaterial; there was neither past nor future. Nothing mattered, only the present and the fire that had broken out between them.

  Alexandra was the first to come back to earth, slightly dazed. She drew away from him reluctantly, trembling inwardly, and her face was flushed. A strange emotion overwhelmed her. Never in her life had a single touch enflamed her so; only the slightest gesture … the feathery brushing of her lips … but she knew in an instant that the sweetness and euphoria that filled her as she had been held in this stranger’s arms would never be equalled by another.

  They were now leaning against the marble balustrade that ran along the vast paved terrace. He had not yet removed the velvet mask covering his brow and his stunning grey eyes surveyed her enigmatically with slight amusement.

  Her heart pounded rapidly; her thoughts swirled haphazardly in a hazy mind. His nearness was still drugging her senses. The outrageous romance of it all had seduced her. She should not be alone with this man … this ‘Count’ who had so arrogantly assumed that she would play along with his charade … that in hiding behind a mask he could take advantage of being alone with her and confuse her in this way.

  She gazed up into his face, her head slightly thrown back, almost defiantly.

  ‘Aren’t you going to take off your mask?’ she asked, fighting hopelessly against the mischievous urge to pull it off.

  ‘My identity, Doña Alexandra, will be revealed to you all too soon.’ There was an edge to his voice but then he laughed softly and moved his mouth closer to murmur in her ear. ‘Tonight, let’s forget who we are and simply be a prince and a princess from a faraway time, brought back to life for a fleeting moment by mischievous djinns.’ He looked up and gestured with his head. ‘Listen, and you will hear them dancing to the devilish rhythm of an imaginary tune.’

  ‘How do you know my name?’ Alexandra asked, her curiosity growing.

  The stranger’s mouth quirked. ‘What an impatient girl you are,’ he said, this time laughing outright, deep in his throat.‘Why does it matter what our names are now? I promise that sooner or later you will have the answer to all the questions milling around in your pretty head.’

  Alexandra’s spine stiffened. She was having none of it. Being at a disadvantage was not to her liking and the stranger’s patronizing tone annoyed her. ‘You must have heard me talking to the shopkeeper at Masquarades,’ she persisted.

  The stranger smiled faintly. ‘If I tell you that I’ve been dreaming of this evening since the moment I first laid eyes on you, would you believe me?’ he asked earnestly, his steely irises peering at her through the narrow slits of his black mask.

  ‘But how could you know that day at the Church of Santa María that I would be at the ball?’

  ‘Perhaps I saw you in my dreams well before I saw you there. Perhaps the Fairy Queen granted me one wish and I asked her to lend me these few hours to live a fairytale. Do you believe in fairytales, Alexandra?’ he asked softly, the bright pewter of his eyes suddenly softening and changing, becoming deep blue pools anxiously searching her face for a secret answer she did not hold.

  Common sense told Alexandra not to leave herself defenceless against the steady gaze of those sensuous smoky-indigo irises that reflected such wondrous unspoken promises, but she felt her resistance weaken. Desire burned in his eyes, struggling with some other feeling or thought that she longed to discover. She lifted her face to him, her mind in turmoil, emotions confused; the whole of her being exposed and vulnerable. His gaze never left her face as a lengthy silence enveloped them. Then he drew her slowly towards him.

  She knew she had to move away, say something that would break the spell, but all reason was thrown to the wind. She stood there helpless, hypnotized by the intensity of the caressing, deep sapphire-grey scrutiny so near her own. All she wanted at that moment was to get closer to him, to have his powerful arms imprison her in their strong embrace, his fiery mouth to claim hers. The intoxication of being alone with this man, succumbing to the strange new emotions he had awoken in her, was overwhelming. Already she had allowed too much. Who was the man behind this mask? What dangerous game was she getting herself into?

  His response to her mute request was to cup her chin in one hand and lift her mesmerized face up to his. As he started to bring his mouth down towards hers, a rustle of leaves behind them, followed by a swish, startled them. A black cat leapt out of nowhere on to the balustrade, making them break apart. Alexandra recognized it as Marujita’s. The creature stood still for a moment, considering the couple with its elongated eyes that shone like neon lights in the dark. It yawned, stretched itself, mewed and jumped
off the railing into the garden. The stranger flinched and Alexandra felt him shudder almost imperceptibly.

  She was both relieved and frustrated at the interruption. However much she wanted to remain in her handsome stranger’s arms, she knew perfectly well she was playing with fire and now she must control the rush of unruly hormones that had assailed her in a most unexpected and unfamiliar way. She walked a few steps along the terrace. The stranger followed her. For a while they remained silent, lost in their own thoughts, savouring the sweetness of the moment and of the night.

  ‘Thank you for allowing me to wear such a magnificent costume this evening,’ Alexandra said after a time, forcing her tone to become detached. ‘I’m afraid I can’t accept such a costly present from a stranger. How can I return it to you?’

  ‘Keep it as a token of my admiration for your beauty.’ He lifted a finger, trailed it gently down her cheek, and sighed. Those eyes fixed on her again. ‘Pity, my innocent dove, that it’s too late for us.’ His voice was barely audible, and then his mood once more seemed to change. He shot her a taunting smile. ‘The jewels you’re wearing are uncommonly beautiful and also immensely valuable. Her Grace the Duquesa must think highly of you to have entrusted them to you. Try not to lose them, they’re very dear to her.’

  Alexandra was cut to the quick. ‘What do you know about my grandmother’s jewels?’ This strange man was decidedly not lacking in audacity. ‘You yourself are wearing a navaja, which seems to me just as valuable,’ she retorted. ‘Just slipped into your waistband like that, it seems to be running a greater risk of getting lost than my jewellery, which is perfectly well secured.’ She stopped, suddenly aware of how pompous she sounded.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, taking the dagger in his strong, powerful hands, which moments earlier had been around her waist, drawing her passionately to him. He turned it over and then held it out to her. ‘It belonged to my grandfather and it means a lot to me,’ he said slowly. ‘I would be deeply sad to lose it.’