The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (17 page)

Anne drew in her breath. “I think I see why you and Ramón were so upset.”

“Yes,” Estela said, her lips twisting in a hard smile. “It leaps to the eye also then the reason why the dress was sent. Someone wanted to remind Ramón that you are of the same nationality as his mother, and perhaps of the same disposition. Who else could that someone be except Irene?”

Irene, not Doña Isabel, had sent the dress. Yes, it made sense that she would do such a thing. And because of the way Anne and Ramón had met, the plan was more effective than Irene could have imagined. It was a pity, then, that the Mexican girl had not known there was no need for such drastic measures.

“I am glad you told me,” Anne said simply.

“So am I,” Estela replied, smiling as she touched Anne’s hand lightly.

Returning the smile a little wearily, Anne turned to the mirror of the dressing table, checking to see that she had not disarranged her hair. She was pale, too pale; the cherry lip gloss she had applied earlier to suit the maroon costume standing out like blood on her lips.

With hands that trembled slightly she picked up the heart-shaped turquoise pendant that lay on the polished surface of the table. She placed it over her head so that it hung, a cold, lifeless weight, between her breasts. But it was no more lifeless than the heart that beat beneath it.

“I suppose I should do something about my makeup,” she said in a voice as normal as she could make it.

Estela hesitated a moment, a thoughtful look in her bright eyes, before moving to the door.

“I will wait for you downstairs then,” she replied. Flashing a smile that was meant to be encouraging, she slipped out of the room.

Anne was grateful for the other girl’s support, but she also appreciated her tact in leaving her alone for a few minutes. She needed some time to herself. Time to come to grips with what she had learned.

To discover that another person, someone she hardly knew, someone she had not personally harmed, wished to humiliate and hurt her was a shock. There were, however, worse things. For instance, the discovery that somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind she had cherished the small, secret hope that this mock engagement might eventually become real.

It was foolish but nonetheless true.

How she had come to allow such a slim hope to take root she could not imagine, still she must face the fact that it could never be. Ramón Castillo might have felt some brief, easily controlled attraction to her once or twice, but he had made how he felt about the kind of woman he considered her to be very plain. His prejudice against her was no millionaire’s whim, no mere aversion to being pursued. To him she represented everything he despised. She was fair; she had, or so he thought, forced herself on him; and finally she, like his mother, had worn the dress of the poblana, mocking the traditions of his country.

No, it was too much to believe that he could overcome so strong a prejudice for her sake. It was even more ridiculous to think that he might wish to try.

With fingers that trembled, she took up a tissue and wiped the color from her mouth. Steadying her hand, she applied a film of pale-pink gloss. With bleak eyes, she studied the effect, her mind far from what she was doing.

Soon, too soon, her days in Mexico would be over. She would go home, back to the apartment she shared with Judy, back to Joe and Iva, and to Metcalf’s. Not so long ago, the prospect had seemed all she could wish. It had represented everything dear and familiar and secure. Now this room, this house, the color and the flowers the radiant sun and pure light of Mexico, seemed a part of her, a link to the dark, enigmatic man she had come to love. The prospect of leaving, returning to Dallas and all she had left, had the feeling of dreary exile.

Eight

The ride to the hotel where the charity gala was to be held was the longest Anne had ever endured. She and Ramón had not spoken, though he had given a short nod of approval of her appearance when she rejoined them before setting out. Estela and Esteban had gone on ahead. They could have fitted with ease into the chauffeur-driven limousine, but Estela declared she intended to leave early even if she had to plead the responsibilities of motherhood as an excuse.

Ramón’s sister appeared to have thrown off her agitation and concern for a lighter mood. Ramón had not. He sat in the corner, one elbow on the armrest, pulling at his lower lip, as was his habit while thinking. He stared broodingly out the window, his face lit by the intermittent glow of passing streetlights.

Anne unconsciously copied his attitude. Her attention was caught by a flash of what she thought was lightning over the mountains. The night lights of the city, the enclosing buildings, made it difficult to be certain, but she thought it was darker than was usual at this altitude, and there was a sultry feeling of an impending storm in the air.

The glass separating them from their driver was up. Leaning forward, Ramón pressed the button for the intercom system and gave an order. The chauffeur immediately pulled over to the curb. Anne glanced at Ramón in surprise. They were near the heart of the city, but the building they had come to a halt in front of was not the hotel Irene had named in her invitation.

“Why are we stopping?” Anne asked.

He did not give a direct answer. “Estela tells me the dress you were wearing tonight was delivered to your room. According to the servants, it arrived by special messenger late this afternoon. The box in which it was packed Estela recognized as coming from Irene’s favorite dress shop.”

Estela had not mentioned the dress box to her, but Anne was glad of that small bit of corroborating evidence. She nodded.

His voice tight with suppressed anger, he went on. “I should have recognized her fine hand in the choice. I acted without thought. My apologies to you for the embarrassment I caused you.”

“That’s all right,” Anne managed to answer. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

He flicked a hard glance in her direction, but did not comment. He said instead, “The question now is, what are we going to do about it?”

“I — What do you mean?”

“Are we going to allow Irene the satisfaction of thinking that her little stratagem was successful? I find that thought hard to bear.”

Anne could easily see his point. “What are you suggesting?”

“Irene hoped to cause a rift between us. She hoped to see you wear the gown in defiance, as my mother would have done, possibly to see me grim and silent, a man whose eyes had been opened. Failing that, she will expect that we will at least be at odds with each other over the question of what you are wearing. I propose only to disappoint her.”

“In what way?” Anne asked, though she thought she could guess.

“By acting the exact opposite of what she expects, of course. Need I spell it out?”

“I’m — no, I suppose not.”

“Well, then? Are we agreed?”

Could she bear to smile and laugh, to dance and feel his arms around her, to return his possessive and intimate glances? She must, whatever the cost.

Perhaps it might be endurable if she could pretend it was a game, a sporting contest between rivals. She against Irene — though there would be no prize awarded.

“Agreed,” she said, her voice husky as she gave him her hand.

The first test of their pact came the moment they stepped into the ballroom of the hotel. Irene, scintillating in a long dress of black covered with gold sequins and a headdress topped by a feather plume to match, hurried forward to greet them.

“Ramón,” she exclaimed, her voice pitched so high with excitement that heads turned in their direction from all around. “I’m so glad you could come, but you haven’t worn a costume, you devil, you or your charming fiancée. I suppose I must forgive you, however. When could I ever do otherwise?”

She clutched Ramón’s arm, an arch look in her eyes. She drank in his calm greeting before turning her bright, malicious gaze on Anne.

“My dear Miss ... Matthews ... was it not? You look darling in your little turquoise number, but then, you always do.”

The sly reference to the fact that Irene had seen her wearing the turquoise gown before was not lost on Anne.

“Why, thank you,” she said, smiling. Complacently, almost possessively, she placed her left hand over her right where it was tucked into the crook of Ramón’s other arm. “I love wearing it because Ramón bought it for me. I had nothing with me on this visit to use as a costume, but I thought this dress might pass muster since Ramón told me once that in it I reminded him of the Aztec rain goddess, Our Lady of the Turquoise Skirt.”

The gasp Irene gave was plainly audible. In the sudden silence could be heard a titter of laughter at the woman’s expense, quickly stilled. Anne was aware of the tightening of the muscles of Ramón’s arm, a small signal of approval and congratulations.

His manner perfectly easy, he filled the awkward moment with a few words of commendation to Irene for her charity work and the splendor of the decorations for the occasion. Detaching himself from her nerveless grasp, he declined to be so selfish as to keep her from her other guests. Before she could recover they made their escape.

Shortly afterward, they were joined by Estela and Esteban, and the four of them found a table far enough from the musicians for comfortable conversation. Several couples stopped by to greet them and were introduced. Their attitude was cordial, faintly tinged with curiosity.

Anne and Ramón danced a number of times. Once Anne felt his lips brush her hair and another time the skin of her neck below her ear, but when she drew back to look at him, he merely returned her gaze with the lift of an eyebrow as though it had been no more than a part of the act. They varied this performance by conducting conversations of absorbing interest concerning the different people in the room who were Ramón’s friends and acquaintances and by smiling with apparent delight in each other’s company.

Once or twice they changed partners with Estela and Esteban. Anne found she liked Estela’s quiet, bearded husband more each time they met. Whether he had been primed by his wife on the way to the hotel, or from an innate politeness, he asked no awkward questions. He talked to her of her home state, Texas, of the worthiness of the charity the gala honored, and when the subject turned to the weather, he gave it as his grave and most considered opinion that a storm was due to break over the city before morning. The rainy season was not due for some months yet, but the weather had held too good for too long.

The night wore on. The heaviness in the air seemed to increase, though it was impossible for them to hear the sound of thunder over the beat of the music or the laughter and chatter of the crowd.

A champagne supper served from long tables decorated with ice sculptures presented another opportunity for Anne and Ramón to display their solidarity. They made a great show of serving each other’s plates and recommending the delicacies they had sampled to each other. Still, keeping up such a pretense at lightheartedness proved an effort for Anne. The glass of champagne she drank did nothing to ease the pressure gradually gathering behind her eyes, caused by strain and the sullen atmosphere. If anything, it made it worse.

Supper had not been long over when Estela and Esteban deserted them, leaving the party. Soon afterward Irene approached their table with a rather embarrassed-looking young man in tow. It became obvious that he had been commandeered for the express purpose of asking Anne to dance, leaving Ramón free to partner Irene.

Short of actual rudeness, there seemed no way to refuse.

The young man, as if determined to make his sacrifice complete, kept up a barrage of questions: How did she like Mexico? Would she be staying long? What had she seen? Which did she like best? It might have been more flattering if he had not kept glancing around, trying to keep an eye on Irene as she danced with Ramón. Anne thought he was relieved when she pleaded a headache and asked him to get her something to drink.

Anne found that she herself derived no pleasure from watching Ramón with the Mexican woman. As soon as her own dancing partner was out of sight, she slipped away, going in search of the quiet of the ladies’ powder room and lounge.

The headache was not a fiction. By now it was only too real. She was able to get a pain tablet and a paper cup full of water from the maid on duty in the powder room. Swallowing it, she retreated to a small brocaded settee in the lounge. For the moment she had the room to herself and she leaned back, closing her eyes, trying to relax.