Captive Heart (14 page)

JoNell had no answer for that, for in her heart she knew Consuelo spoke the truth.

"Jorge and I grew up side by side, both from the same kind of families, both with the same background. How long have you known him? What do you have in common with him?"

JoNell saw Consuelo twist slender fingers tightly around the stem of the goblet she was holding. The air had grown oppressive. JoNell felt as if a tight corset were squeezing the breath out of her.

"Hello, seňor Hernandez." Consuelo said sweetly to a tall man who walked by. But her smile faded as seňor Hernandez melted into the crowd, and her eyes grew cold again.

"You're nothing but a gold digger," Consuelo went on. "When you look at Del Toro, you have dollar signs in your eyes."

"How dare you!" JoNell gasped.

"I dare because Jorge belongs to me. You may have him now, seňora, but I assure you it will be only a temporary condition. You have nothing that could have forced Jorge to marry you except for one thing—Jorge married you for your United States citizenship."

JoNell's breath caught in her throat. An icy hand squeezed her stomach. How could Consuelo possibly know about her business arrangement with Del Toro? Her startled mind felt like a computer gone berserk with all its lights flashing and cards shooting out wildly in all directions. This was the one thing Del Toro feared. Under no circumstances, he had warned JoNell. was she to reveal their secret—not even to her family.

And yet Consuelo knew. Or made a lucky guess.

There was another explanation, JoNell realized. Del Toro might have taken Consuelo into his confidence. He loved this woman and he wanted her to know his marriage was only temporary. After all, she was the one person he could trust. Her love for him would guarantee her silence.

But the thought of Del Toro being married to JoNell, even if only for a business arrangement, had obviously been too much torture for Consuelo. She had to have the satisfaction of telling JoNell she knew their secret. and to remind her that Jorge Del Toro was still Consuelo's property.

The evening's tension together with the ugly scene with Consuelo was too much for JoNell. She was beginning to feel ill. Her stomach had tightened into a knot, making her weak and breathless. She felt clammy, as if her blood had been drained from her body.

She moved away from Consuelo on shaky legs that threatened any moment to give way. For once, she was glad to catch sight of Del Toro. He was standing, drink in hand, with a group of men. But when he saw her, he put his drink down and walked swiftly to her side. "Are you all right?" he asked gruffly. "You look pale."

"I'm not feeling well," she confessed. "I think I need to lie down."

Without a word, Del Toro took her arm and led her out of the ballroom into the hallway. "The party has been a strain—"

She nodded numbly. He half carried her up the stairs and to her room. She sank gratefully on the edge of her bed.

"Lie down," he commanded.

She felt her cheeks burn scarlet, thinking of the implication of this bed and their wedding night.

"Lie down, I said," he ordered sternly.

Meekly, she lay back against the pillow.

"Let me loosen that for you," he said, reaching for the buttons on her lace bodice.

"No," she said quickly, using the small reserve of strength remaining in her. "I can manage."

"How do you feel? Shall I call a doctor?"

"No, I'll be fine. Just too much excitement and too much champagne," she lied.

He nodded. "I'll have the maid bring you some hot tea."

He started to the door. Suddenly, JoNell blurted out, "Consuelo told me she knows that you married me just because of my United States citizenship."

He turned slowly, his face darkened with a frown.

"I assume you told her," JoNell said.

He was silent for a moment, studying her face. His eyes were shadowed. She could not see if they were angry or puzzled. Finally, he murmured, "Why would I do that?"

"Obviously to reassure her, so she'll be waiting for you when the year is up." Then JoNell shrugged. "It doesn't make any difference to me, except that you were so explicit about not telling anyone. Of course, what you tell Consuelo is your business."

"There is bound to be some gossip, some speculation. How do you know Consuelo wasn't just making a lucky guess?"

"Because of your relationship with her. It didn't sound like a lucky guess to me. It sounded like she had inside information."

"And that angers you?"

"Of course not," she snapped back. But then she amended, "Well, in a way it does. You want to be so all-fired secretive about the arrangement, then you go running to tell your girl friend."

"You resent Consuelo being my 'girl friend' as you put it?"

"It's a bit infuriating having her hovering around like a vulture counting the days until you discard me."

There was something else that she would never in a million years admit to him. It was the memory of the intimacy they had shared on this bed just a week ago, a memory that made her heart pound and her cheeks burn. A woman could not have reached such heights of physical passion with a man and not afterward feel some degree of possessiveness toward him, even if she did not love him.

There was a long moment's silence. Then Del Toro said, "I will make your excuses to the guests, and I will send the maid up with the tea."

He closed the bedroom door quietly as he left.

She wondered if he would now spend the remainder of the party in the company of the lovely Consuelo, and if later they would seek the seclusion of the garden together. And she wondered why that thought brought stinging tears to her eyes.

"A woman named Margarita will keep track of who gives you what," Del Toro said, giving JoNell last minute instructions as he helped her out of the Rolls Royce. "She's been here for a couple of hours, overseeing arrangements with the gifts. I want you to act as if you're having a good time."

"Yes, seňor," JoNell said with mock obedience.

"It's your wedding shower. You'd be a fool not to enjoy it," he pointed out, as if logic were an antidote for her troubled feelings.

"And what am I supposed to do with all my gifts a year from now?"

She tried to avoid giving him her hand as she got out of the back seat. But he took it with an obvious air of authority, so she had no choice but to let him help her.

"Keep them. These people can well afford everything they give you and then some."

"That's not the point," JoNell countered. "I don't like accepting gifts under false pretenses."

He walked her to the door of the country club. "If it makes you feel any better, think of it as an excuse for the seňoras to have a party. They love their hen parties, and then you've more than earned your presents by providing them with a new topic for gossip."

"You're despicable," she shot back.

He merely chuckled and opened the massive dark oak door for her with an exaggerated bow.

JoNell stepped inside, a shameful feeling permeating her bones. She watched through a window as Miguel whisked Del Toro off to a business meeting. She felt utterly alone.

JoNell walked reluctantly through the foyer and into the main dining room. A crystal chandelier spread its soft glow over gold velvet wall covering. The soles of her black pumps sank into elegant carpeting. Her brown eyes darted anxiously around the crowd. Dark heads of classically styled hair bobbed all around the room, but one particular head of dark hair was visibly absent.

"I simply won't go if Consuelo is there!" JoNell had issued the ultimatum to Del Toro when he informed her of the wedding shower. "I can't take another round of her insults."

Del Toro had smiled as if amused by her discomfort. But he had assured her that Consuelo would not attend the shower.

"Seňora Del Toro," said a voice as thin as a silken thread. "Welcome!"

JoNell was greeted by a young, bird-like woman with a long neck and a body as slender as a fashion model. She had piles of golden curls atop her head which made her appear quite out of place among the dark-haired Peruvians.

"My name is Margarita Sanchez. How nice to have another blonde among us."

"Thank you," JoNell said stiffly. She appreciated the woman trying to make her feel comfortable, but JoNell certainly did not feel "among" them. The word implied acceptance into their social group, but she knew she would never fit. It would take more than her designer dress of pearl-studded blue chiffon to transform her into a Peruvian socialite.

"We will have our tea first, and then you can open your presents," said Margarita. "If that is all right with you."

"Certainly."

The plum rose taffeta skirt swished in front of JoNell as she followed Margarita to a long table covered with an ecru colored table cloth. Each place setting contained a linen napkin in a silver napkin holder, silver service, and a Crystal goblet of water.

"I think you know most of the ladies here," Margarita piped in her high register, "from your husband's party."

"Yes."

"My, I must say we were all quite surprised by Jorge's sudden marriage. Everyone's dying to get to know you—to find out what you have that we don't have."

JoNell felt her cheeks grow warm. Of course, some of the women at this wedding shower would probably at some time in the past have been romantically linked with Del Toro. It made sense. These were the women in his stratum of society. Not all of them were married. Some were daughters or sisters of business associates. She sank into her chair feeling even more self-conscious and ill at ease than before.

"Are you all right, seňora Del Toro?" Margarita asked, fluttering around her like a bird.

"Yes, I'm fine," JoNell managed to say. "I—I just felt a little weak for a moment."

Margarita looked at her closely. "Perhaps you are going to enlarge the Del Toro clan before too long?"

"No, it's definitely not that!" JoNell protested, her cheeks growing even hotter. "May I meet the rest of the ladies?" she asked, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"Of course."

Margarita clapped her hands for attention and introduced JoNell to the group of about fifty women.

In this ambience of elegant attire and cosmopolitan conversation, JoNell decided that the best way to avoid being conspicuous and calling attention to her lack of sophistication was to say as little as possible.

The preliminaries took about an hour. First the women were served steaming tea in individual silver pots. Then the waiters brought a crisp pastry filled with whipped cream. Finally, each guest received a small plate of assorted sliced fruits: chirimoya, banana and grapes. The women ate each delicate course languidly, their high-pitched chatter rising and falling, punctuated with peals of laughter.

JoNell was immensely relieved when the final plate had been cleared from the table, and Margarita announced it was time to retire to the lounge area.

The guests rose and moved past the sliding partitions that separated the dining room from the equally plush lounge area. Stacked in one corner was an embarrassingly large mound of gifts. JoNell had trouble swallowing.

"This is the place of honor," said Margarita, and guided JoNell to a green brocade upholstered chair. JoNell wondered if she detected a subtle note of sarcasm in Margarita's overly solicitous voice.