Wicked Loving Lies. Rosemary Rogers
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nothing had ever happened between them! If only…
Her preoccupation with her own problems led Marisa, who was usually sensitive to the moods of those about her, to be impervious to the subtle difference in the atmosphere since they had left the theater. She was not to know that Napoleon had had a quarrel with his latest mistress, the actress in the play they had seen, and that when he had returned to their box in a rage, he had suddenly noticed her, as if for the first time.
It took her some time to realize that she was being singled out—and even that realization came only when the dark-visaged Lucien Bonaparte, the one brother-in-law whom Josephine disliked excessively, had drawn her away from under the very nose of the Russian prince who had paid her so much attention at Malmaison.
“The Russians are our allies for the moment, but there’s no reason why they should be allowed to get too friendly! Do you regret losing such a determined admirer, mademoiselle?”
Both relieved and puzzled at the same time, Marisa held herself stiffly in his arms, finding herself unable to either trust or like him. However, she shook her head as she answered mechanically, “No. As a matter of fact I don’t like the prince at all. He’s far too bold.”
“And you don’t like boldness in a man?”
While she sought for a light answer to his forward question, she wondered why he suddenly spoke to her so familiarly.
“I don’t like men who presume too much on the strength of a slight acquaintance. I suppose I am not worldly enough by your standards!”
He gave her a rather cynical smile. “Why, my standards are broad enough to embrace the whole world, mademoiselle ! However, my brother is surprisingly old-fashioned, and—shall we say conventional? Especially when it comes to women—of late, that is.”
‘What is he talking about?’ Marisa wondered, while at the same time she decided she did not blame her godmother for disliking this particular Bonaparte.
She was even more confused when after a few turns across the crowded ballroom floor, Lucien brought her to a halt before his brother, who had been engaged in a low-voiced conversation with Tsar Alexander.
Not knowing what to do or how to act, Marisa dropped into a low curtsy, hoping that the embarrassed flush that had spread across her face would go unnoticed. She kept her head bent, wishing that she did not have to rise, and it was Napoleon whose extended hand helped her erect again.
“And this is my charming little guest, the Señorita de Castellanos, who is goddaughter to my wife. You see, she is still young enough not to have forgotten how to blush!”
Finding herself presented to the tsar, Marisa’s tongue stumbled over her words, but he seemed flattered at her obvious confusion and gave her a gracious smile. She was all too conscious of Lucien Bonaparte’s dark, enigmatic presence at her side, and the fact that the eyes of all the gathering must be fixed on her at this moment. What did it all mean? Why had Lucien suddenly asked her to dance with him and then brought her here?
Napoleon Bonaparte’s blue, deep-set eyes seemed to hold her gaze against her will as he said softly in his accented French, “You are looking exceptionally lovely tonight, señorita.” Did she only imagine that his hand squeezed her nerveless fingers slightly before he released them? In his resplendent white full-dress uniform, laced with gold and decorated with glittering decorations, he seemed so imposing and quite frightening as well! It was hard to believe he was the same man who at Malmaison, would join the younger set in their games and had treated her as if he were a fond, but absentminded uncle. Why was he looking at her so strangely and consideringly tonight?
“You little innocent!” the countess of Landrey scolded Marisa some twenty minutes later when they had retired to one of the smaller salons leading out into the magnificent gardens. “Don’t you understand that he’s quite taken with you? Chérie, you are a success! And even more so than I had hoped. And now, you understand, you must be very discreet—never more than two dances with the same man. And do not flirt too obviously, he can be jealous once he’s fixed his interest on a particular woman. We must—”
“Stop, please! I do not understand.” Marisa pressed her fingers to her temples, staring at her aunt as if she had taken leave of her senses. She said, “What are you trying to say? That General Bonaparte—that he—but no, you are mistaken. You know he’s always been kind to me and my godmother….”
Edmée sighed, one small silk-sandaled foot tapping impatiently on the carpet. Why must Marisa be so deliberately obtuse? After all, for all her youth and rather touching naivete, the child had been through certain experiences that should have made a woman of her. And, as a result, she had made sure with the broths and bitter tisanes her niece had swallowed so obediently that there were to be no unpleasant reminders of the past. And she had hoped—but this was even more fortunate, if only Marisa could be made to see reason and to think practically.
She said, in a coaxing voice, “Haven’t you seen for yourself that Josephine is used to his occasional straying? She understands him—and besides, she’s had lovers of her own; there almost was a terrible scandal over that young Lieutenant Denis, not too many months ago! She won’t blame you, you may be sure of that. Just as long as you are discreet—and of course, you mustn’t give in too easily, either! All you have to do is blush the way you are doing now and open those innocent eyes very wide as if you don’t quite understand….”
Edmée went on talking quickly and excitedly, giving her bewildered niece no more chances to protest. It was high time the girl awakened to the realities of life as she herself had been forced to do at about the same age. Usually marriage came first and then lovers, discreetly taken. But in this case—why, there was talk that Bonaparte would soon make himself an emperor! And it was well known, besides, that he always provided generously for his mistresses, usually marrying them off to his generals or newly created nobility. Marisa must be made to see how foolish she was being, and what advantages there were to be had for all of them.
“Surely, darling, you don’t want to be packed off to the wilds of New Spain, to your papa who might be extremely angry with you? And this Pedro Arteaga from whom you ran away—he’d hardly want to marry you now, you know! Nor, I’m afraid and I hate to be so blunt, would any other Spaniard offer you marriage; you know how stuffy and conventional they are! You could be rich and independent—how I envy you! And when you do marry…. You know that I am speaking so sternly to you for your own good, don’t you, petite? I only want your happiness, as your dear maman would have wanted if she had lived. Come,” Edmée continued with an appealing smile, “don’t look so wan-faced! You are a woman now, and you must learn to act like one instead of a frightened child who can only think of running away and hiding. Pinch your cheeks, love, you need some color in them. And now we must return to the dancing and all your eager partners before he starts to wonder where you are!”
Unbelievable. As she followed her aunt, Marisa’s head was whirling with thoughts she did not want to face. She felt like a snared rabbit awaiting the hunter. She might not be worldly wise, but she was not stupid, and her innocence, if such a thing really existed, had been taken away from her by a steely-eyed corsair. She was just as helpless and just as much a pawn now as she had been then. And now that she had been catapulted into the limelight, there could be no escape for her unless…. She thought suddenly of Philip, and resolve stiffened her spine. If only Philip would understand and help her again! Somehow she must contrive to meet him.
The rest of the night passed in a kind of haze as Marisa danced and smiled and even managed to respond intelligently to the brilliant conversation that swirled about her. She knew now why she had suddenly become so popular and sought after, and she was all too aware of how often the first consul’s eyes rested on her, although he did not ask her to dance. Now that she understood, there was surely something she could do. But there was no point in worrying about it tonight.
Marisa was fortunately too tired to think by the time she had stumbled upstairs to her room, allowing her maid to undress her as if she had been a doll. She slept heavily and woke late to find that breakfast was to be served to her in bed since she had a busy afternoon ahead of her.
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