Masquerade (15 page)

But then he was back, standing on the opposite side of the room, the familiar amused smile hovering around his lips while he chatted with the beautiful blonde fairy. Standing there, he could have been Leandro, she thought with a sudden pang of confusion; but he was so different, so poised and sophisticated, with nothing of the untamed spirit of the young
gitano
. The first trumpeted notes of the popular song ‘Granada’ rang out and Andrés’ partner dragged him on to the dancefloor. Then they were off, jostling other couples as they went. He was moving deliberately and steadily towards Luz, who held her breath, rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from him. They passed her and there was no mistaking the expression of curiosity in his velvet-black eyes as they locked with hers, or the whimsical smile he slanted at her as everything else, in the flash of a second, spun away into the background. He was introducing a new game of cat and mouse, provoking her with his evasions, and once again she was playing straight into his hands.

Luz took a deep breath and decided to ignore him for the rest of the evening; she would concentrate on having a good time. After all, she told herself, why was she getting so annoyed? If that was what he wanted, so be it: that was what he would get! There were enough handsome and interesting men here tonight to keep her amused, she concluded, as she flipped from the arms of one eager dancing partner to another.

The music played on and occasionally their paths crossed on the dancefloor, neither making the slightest attempt at eye contact. The masks of shepherds and shepherdesses, Romans and Vikings, cats and witches all floated round the enormous ballroom beneath the gilded ceiling. Time went by …

The setting for dinner had been designed to make the guests feel as if they were living in a beautiful dream. After all, this was El Pavón’s traditional annual ball, one of the biggest events in the social calendar, a time for partying, a time to let go and reach for the stars. In the big, airy dining room, with its floor-to-ceiling French windows that opened on to lawns and beds of sweet-smelling shrubs, tables were laid for a banquet. The effect was an impressive spectacle of ornate gilt, with mounds of colourful luscious fruits and bright displays of exotic f lowers. The f lickering candles in tall candelabra, which stood on the tables, threw long shadows on to the pale walls and softened the contours of faces under a clement semi-darkness that made everybody look their best. In this subtle romantic light, delicate off-white lace tablecloths laden with glittering crystal, silver and fine china gave the setting a magical fairy-tale appearance and every guest seemed to wear the same bemused air on contemplating this Shangri-La. Once again, the ball at El Pavón would be the talk of the town for weeks to come.

This year, Alexandra and Salvador had decided to have a sit-down dinner instead of the usual buffet. It meant that more thought had to be given to the menu, but also to the seating of guests. In the past everyone had chosen where they wanted to sit and more often than not, the seat coveted would be already taken, if you were not quick enough. Besides, every now and again newcomers would find themselves left out on a limb, which to Alexandra seemed unfriendly and inhospitable. So on this occasion the hosts had allotted places to their guests, who mingled in front of the seating plan at the entrance to the dining room, excited and curious to see where they had been placed.

As Luz located her seat, she noted that Andrés was settled a couple of tables along from hers with his back to her. She had not been involved in the seating plan, so was not surprised that he had not been allocated a place at her table. Was she relieved or frustrated? He had got under her skin once again that evening and a momentary irritation prickled away at her. She watched him lean forward and clink glasses with a woman dressed as the Roman goddess Ceres in a revealing off-the-shoulder white toga. Luz bit her lip and sat down, smiling graciously at the guests who came to sit beside her.

As she unfolded her napkin, a note fell out. She picked it up, glanced at it and put it aside, her heart hammering against her ribcage: ‘Meet me at the lake at midnight.’ It was left unsigned, but she had no doubt as to the identity of the author. Her cheeks felt warm and it was nothing to do with the wine she had been sipping. She was thankful that Andrés was unable to witness her reaction – she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing her loss of composure. In a different situation she might have found it romantic, but given the present infuriating circumstances … Anyhow, she was not yet sure whether she would run to his cavalier summons, but would she be able to resist such an intriguing invitation? Perhaps it would be just the excuse she needed to put Andrés de Calderón in his place for his general rudeness and childish behaviour.

Luz barely ate or spoke at dinner, too preoccupied with the message to engage in the revelry around her table; she merely smiled and nodded in all the right places in the conversation, her eyes every now and then flicking to the table opposite. She did not need to turn to see Andrés; his back was in full view. By the look of it, he was being entertained by Ceres and a maharani in a rather garish sari, each seated on either side of him, openly vying for his attention. There was no evidence that he knew he was being watched furtively by Luz; not once did he cast a glance behind him to acknowledge her presence.

There were many courses and the meal was a slow process. A bewildering number of waiting staff came and went, fluttering
around the tables like moths, lavishing their attentions on guests. Luz had longed with scarcely concealed impatience for the meal to end and now, at last, it was over. After dinner, coffee and sherry were brought round. She glanced surreptitiously at her watch. Soon it would be midnight and everybody would line up in the ballroom for the moment of truth, when masks and headdresses would be removed and identities revealed. She was waiting to see how Andrés would extricate himself to go down to the lake. It seemed his dining partners had no intention of letting him out of their sight.

Eleven forty-five; guests were getting up. Some were shown to cloakrooms while others were ushered into the brightly lit ballroom. Luz saw Andrés making his way through the throng towards the ballroom. She lost him for a moment but he soon emerged again in the company of his blonde fairy companion. If he wanted to get down to the lake before midnight, he’d better get going, she thought. She felt someone brush against her back and turned: it was the Cossack.

‘Beautiful Sultana, I’m curious to know your real identity,’ he whispered, catching hold of her arm and grinning down at her, hot breath against her ear. ‘Will you do me the honour of standing with me when the masks are lowered?’

Desperation tinted her smile as she tried to disengage herself from his predatory grip. She knew that he was perfectly aware of her identity and did not care much for this sort of lame duplicity. These society beaus with their small talk bored her to tears and, besides, she had other business to attend to.

‘Let me relieve you from the suspense,
señor
,’ she said, lifting her mask a little and turning innocent blue eyes on him. ‘As you can see, I am your hostess, Doña Luz. And now, if you will excuse me, I must take care of the allocation of prizes for the winners.’ Before the Cossack could protest, she swept off into the crowd.

A rapid look around the room assured her that Andrés was no longer there. He was almost certainly already down at the lake. It was no use pretending now. All evening she had been on
tenterhooks; she might as well admit to herself that she was going to meet him, though she was at a loss to know why her reactions to him were so volatile. She had made her point by turning him down once; it was no use persisting down that road. Besides, there was not much to gain from rubbing him up the wrong way. She had agreed to work with him on his uncle’s biography so she might as well clear the air between them and start afresh. Was that not what he was trying to do in raising the white flag and asking her to meet him at midnight, even if his message read more like a summons than an invitation?

It was five minutes to midnight. Luz moved swiftly to the veranda and, from there, down the steps into the garden. She was aware of exotic scents emanating from the sleeping flowers and of the unruly beating of her heart that thumped so hard that she thought it might break like glass. It was cooler now and the breeze caused the leaves to rustle in the trees, making her think of smothered footfalls.

Luz didn’t notice the pair of eyes watching her from behind dark branches as she wandered silently along the path like a spirit of this enchanting night. Her observer glanced furtively over his shoulder to make sure no one was following her or watching him. But all was still in romantic silence. His lips curled in a satisfied smile. He moved quietly and just as rapidly, keeping up with her on a parallel footway screened by a tall hedge of oleanders.

The lake lay dark, except for a wide golden path reflecting an expansive arc of moon hanging among myriad blinking stars in the inky sky. A stone plinth bench was tucked behind a lilac tree further up from the water, conspicuously empty. Luz looked around her. With a sickening lurch of her heart, she noted Gemini was not there. Indeed the place was deserted. An owl hooted, making her jump, and a branch cracked behind her. She turned sharply.

‘Is someone there? Andrés, is that you?’ she called out uncertainly, slightly unnerved by the silence and darkness.

There was a rustling in the coppice. Her eyes widened in alarm as a man wearing a Tuareg costume suddenly materialized in the
shadows from behind a bush. He was clad in a long, loose-fitting dark robe, a turban and a veil that covered his entire face except for his eyes. He took a few steps forward. Luz froze and felt the colour drain from her face.

‘Stop right there,’ she ordered, battling to control the tremor in her voice. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ Her heart was pounding wildly against her ribcage. At all costs she must retain a semblance of calm. The man did not stop, nor did he answer, but continued to move purposefully towards her.

In the distance the church clock boomed the first slow, sonorous strokes of midnight. As the vibrations died away upon the air and once more silence reigned, the scarf covering the stranger’s face fell.

Luz breathed in sharply and now her pulse had a new reason to hammer violently as she met Leandro’s green eyes and recognized the glitter of raw desire that mirrored her own.

The next moment the gypsy drew her strongly into the circle of his arms. His head came down and, like a bird of prey, he claimed her mouth with a passion that took her breath away. She did not struggle; it would have been useless for he was stronger than her. Besides it was what she wanted.

All evening Luz had ridden a wave of exhilaration, tension and frustration, and now her warring emotions blazed in her blood. Her lips parted under the skilful persuasion of his kisses and the expert wandering of his hands over her young curves as their softness brushed up against his hard thighs. His tongue coaxed hers more urgently as one of his hands came up to tangle in her hair. She pressed closer and closer against him, her nipples hardening, her body responding and promising as the floodgates opened still further and all the suppressed need that had haunted her for weeks surfaced in a rush.

Through the open French windows, spasmodic clapping broke out into the night as masks fell and prizes were announced, bringing Luz reluctantly back to earth. She drew away, her heart pounding, though her body was yearning for more. As she stared at the man
standing before her, confusion and doubt shadowed her eyes. The breath caught once more in her throat as she looked at him. Faced with his sexual magnetism, her head was swimming … she felt weak … but characteristically, something stronger and proud stepped up in her defence.

‘How dare you! What are you doing here? How did you get in?’ she demanded, staring at him in disbelief, still incredulous at his presence at El Pavón and at the situation she found herself in.

He did not answer, but simply gave her one of his slow, lazy smiles. A shaft of moonlight touched his face. Once again Luz was reminded of how devastatingly attractive she found him. He was a restless creature with eyes as secretive and deep as the ocean, reflecting the fire that burned silently within him. It was definitely those eyes that revealed Leandro’s gypsy blood: wild, flashing, magnificent. Still, as she looked deeper into them for the first time, Luz was aware of a trace of dreamy softness concealed behind his devil-may-care attitude.

‘What do you want?’ she went on.

He stared into her dark-blue eyes without comment and was silent for so long that she began to wonder if he intended to say anything at all.

He moved away a little and, taking out a packet of thin paper and a small box of tobacco, proceeded to roll a cigarette. Once he had lit it, he inhaled deeply, leaned against a nearby tree and surveyed her idly. ‘I want to make love to you,’ he said coolly.

Luz blinked and looked away from him so he couldn’t see the effect of aching tension his boldness had produced in her. Hopefully, the semi-darkness would hide the flame sweeping her cheeks. She could still feel his passionate embrace, his feverish kisses burning her lips, and the tautness of his arousal that had made her innermost parts pulsate with a desire of which she had never thought herself capable. Still, she remembered how easily he had dismissed her at the fair when the redheaded gypsy girl, Rosa, had appeared on the scene and she searched for a cutting response.

‘Don’t you think you’re being a little brazen?’ was the only phrase she could come up with, making her inwardly wince.

Leandro favoured her with a long, speculative look through the smoke of his cigarette. He laughed deep in his throat. ‘No, I do not. There’s no shield from the forces of destiny. I think you want it as much as I do – it was there from the first moment we laid eyes on each other. When two consenting adults are in agreement, where is the problem?’ His gypsy intonation had a questioning lift as he voiced his forthright challenge, but his eyes were watching her steadily.