The Flesh and the Devil (8 page)

         
'I shall not thank you, senor, if that is why you linger.
The greatest favour you can do me is to let go my hand.'

         
He did not release her. 'I have not yet given you all the
message.'

         
As she tensed to pull away he dropped easily to one knee at
her feet, and his red head bowed over her imprisoned hand. Her fingers were
turned irresistibly, and she felt his scarred mouth brief and hard against her
palm before she managed to tear her hand away.

         
'How dare you? I shall have you — '

         
'That was the message.' The answer was very dry. 'You hold
that until you hold his heart — the twist of his lips mocked her— ' in your
hands instead.'

         
She rubbed her hands together uncontrollably, then realized
that she was trying to erase the touch of his mouth from her skin. It lingered
in a way that made her whole body burn, and suddenly she knew a fierce desire
to hurt the man who could disturb her so.

         
'A fair message, but the messenger is foul.' Her voice was
harsh, half - breathless. 'Bid your master send someone who will please my eyes
better another time.'

         
He rose to his feet, watching her, with a curious whiteness
accentuating the scar on his cheek. 'Will you heed my advice?' There was a
strange, impersonal hardness in his eyes as he spoke, and he continued before
she could speak, 'Do not flaunt your hatreds too openly. It could breed danger
for you.'

         
Her head lifted quickly, her expression hunted and wary;
she was unsure of his meaning, but his tone was as subtly warning as the chill
of a blade laid on her flesh Shaking with anger, she retorted, 'I shall not
dissemble, senor — my father may have the disposing of my hand, but my loves
and hates are mine to give where I please!'

         
He nodded, as though he were bearing with an impertinent
child. 'Truth is not always wisdom, madam. You are right, but you will do well
to curb your tongue in this. Take my counsel: marry peaceably as you are
bidden, it will be for your good. Then, if you should chance to take a friend
—' the slightly cynical note made his meaning crystal clear — ' you may do it
without suspicion.'

         
Juana's eyes blazed. 'Is that the custom among great
people, to marry without love and then commit adultery? I thank you for your counsel,
senor, but it is wasted. I would rather die unmarried than live so.'

         
The look in the slanting eyes was suddenly intent as the
man stared down at her, but she was gazing in repelled fascination at his
scarred cheek. The wound was an old one she found herself thinking; it must
have been inflicted years ago: a single wicked slash that must have torn one
side of his face to bloody ribbons. He was lucky not to have been blinded. . .
.

         
'Have you no questions about my master?' he enquired evenly
when she did not speak again. 'It is rare to find a woman who is not curious
about her husband.'

         
Her cheeks flamed. 'What need of questions? Doubtless your
master is all I could desire, if I were to believe the serfs he keeps to
flatter him!'

         
'You miscall me.' There was a glint of pure ice between the
thick gold lashes. 'I pledged myself to the Duque's service from choice, and I
am a mercenary, not a serf; he has bought neither my thoughts nor my tongue.

         
'I crave your pardon, then, senor!' Head high, Juana made a
little parody of a curtsy, staring at him with open loathing. 'I had not
understood that you were great enough to act according to your own will —
greater than — '

         
She had been about to say that he was more privileged than
she was, or any woman despatched into marriage against her will, but he
interrupted her, sarcasm curling his level tone like a flick of a whip.

         
'My choice is the same as yours has been — plenty instead
of pride, and a full purse rather than empty ideals. I am fed and clothed and
maintained at the Duque's charge, and well-salaried for enduring his presence;
there is little choice between us.'

         
He glanced round at the opulent chamber, then allowed his
gaze to travel significantly back to Juana's furious face. For an instant anger
made her blind and deaf, and then she heard her own voice saying what she had
never dreamed she could utter. They were the instincts of which she had been so
ashamed that she had not acknowledged them fully even to herself.

         
'Do you think I would have come here if I had had any
choice? I am sick of hearing how honoured I must be that your master deigns to
offer for me in marriage, when I would loathe him for what he has done to me if
he were the King himself! If he had not asked for me I might have married where
I loved. It was his title that made my father ambitious, but not me! And as for
his fortune, I was willing to run away — to live like a peasant, if need be —
as long as I could be with Jaime.' Angry tears were welling in her eyes now.
'And if it were not for your master, I should never have known that the man I
loved was too much of a coward to take me when I begged him to!'

         
Felipe Tristán's expression had not altered apart from a
faint, quizzical lifting of his brows, and when she finished, breathless and
flushed, he only said,

         
'You mistake, madam. I rather applaud your wisdom than
upbraid you for too much worldliness. But this high tone will not answer when
you are the Duquesa de Valenzuela.' His tone hardened slightly. 'You must learn
the wisdom of silence. It pays better, I can vouch for that.'

         
'I shall speak as I please — '

         
He shrugged his shoulders, his face impassive. He had been
standing motionless, arms folded and long legs easily astride, and she realized
that he did it to diminish his impossible height, to lessen the unease of the
little people he talked to. But even as she thought it, he straightened; before
she could retreat his hands were heavy and overpowering on her shoulders, and
his tall, powerful bulk was breathtakingly close. She heard him say above her
head, 'Then you must be taught discretion,' and then one arm closed round her,
his free hand gripping her jaw as if she were a recalcitrant mare. His long fingers
splayed across her cheek in an outrageous caress, and then her head was jerked
back and his mouth claimed hers before she could utter a word.

         
She felt the ridge of his scar like a brand against her
lips, lifting their softness, but after the first moment individual sensations
were lost in an overwhelming tide. Juana could not remember being so close to
another human being in her life — she could sense the hardness of bone and
muscle against her, the heat of flesh, the bruising pressure of buttons and
buckles through the silk of her robe. The strength of his arms threatened to
crush her bones, and she was choking with fright and desperation as he lifted
his head.

         
For the merest instant his eyes probed her face, then he
murmured, 'That for the Duque — this for me,' and gathered her still closer
against him.

         
The quality of his hold had altered; what had been an act
of aggression, all the more brutal for its cold-blooded calm, had become an
unhurried, sensuous invasion that took her response with leisurely skill. His
fingers twined in her hair, holding her mouth against his, while his lips
lingered on hers subtly and tantalizingly, coaxing and yet commanding.

         
For what seemed an eternity Juana was powerless in his
arms, and when at last he released her she swayed, gazing disbelievingly at the
hands that had lifted as if to encircle his neck. Her breathing ragged in her
own ears, she said in a voice that was close to breaking, 'If you do not go I
shall have you flogged!'

         
'Who will you command to do it? Your loving betrothed?'

         
There was a strange note in the level voice, but she did
not heed it; she was looking anywhere but at him and closed her eyes as she
glimpsed his towering reflection in the long glass, so close to her own frozen
image. Drawing a long breath, she said in a gasp, 'For God's sake leave me
before I sicken! You have delivered your message.' She added stiltedly, 'I had
rather have a toad near me.'

         
For a long moment Tristán stood still, looking down at her
with a sort of cold fascination in his eyes; an intent, almost scientific look,
as though the very force of his will could compel her to look up at him again.
He had caught his breath, and a muscle moved in his scarred cheek before he
bowed punctiliously, said, 'Your servant, madam,' and left her.

         
When Michaela came back a few minutes later she found her
mistress still clinging to the back of a chair, her black head drooping like a
fallen flower; there was such despair in her attitude that the Moorish girl
suffered something very like a twinge of conscience before she realized that
Juana was trembling as much with fury as with grief.