Emerald Ecstasy (28 page)

Soon the silver coach turned onto the Calle del Aguila, one of the finest streets in Mexico City. Brick roofs, ornamented with flowering shrubs, covered the columns and arches of stone-trimmed
galerias,
which graced the fronts of many of the houses. Raoul explained that the Calle de Aguila housed many gentlemen of note.

The coach stopped in front of a two-story house where the doorway was carved from grayish pink stone. The house was a warm pink in color and contrasted with the cool, deep shadows of the galeria. Raoul helped her from the coach.

“Where does your wife reside?” Lianne asked.

“Not far away. This house is one of many which I own, but please no more questions about Elena.”

Lianne practically rushed into the foyer, eager to get away from the prying eyes she felt sure must watch her from shuttered windows.

The coolness of the interior compensated for the heat of the afternoon. The high white ceilings were graced with shell white chandeliers throughout the dining room and out into the
sala
, or living room, which overlooked the patio. The walls in the sala were also white and supported an arched ceiling, the color of salmon pink.

Outside, large earthenware jars were filled to overflowing with pink gladiolas and red geraniums. A brick walkway led to a small cupola at the end of the garden where philodendron leaves wandered through the lattice and gave an air of tranquility to the setting.

Lianne was speechless. She had thought the hacienda was lovely, but this was more beautiful than she could have imagined.

“I see by the light in your eyes that you approve of my little home for you.”

She turned to Raoul, nearly forgetting his presence beside her. “I didn't expect anything so lush in the city.”

His appreciative eye traveled across her body. “Mexico City is filled with beauty, but also with such extreme poverty I can't explain to you. Never venture outside alone. I tell you this for your own safety.”

“Really, Raoul, that's a pitiful explanation. You wish only to make a prisoner of me here, also.”

He frowned, his brows drew upward. “Believe me, I don't wish harm to come to you, Lianne. There are subversive groups, people who will like nothing better than to see the wealthy dead. Also, there are the
leperos
, the beggars of the street who spread vermin and disease. Of these you must beware. They think nothing of life and will slit your throat for a hair ribbon. Promise me you shall never leave the house unescorted.”

“I promise,” she said, not truly believing him.

Raoul nodded and summoned a servant to bring him a brandy. “Are you tired,
querida
?”

“Yes, I am.”

“A pity.” He sighed. “I hoped you'd wish to attend the opera tonight and the party afterward at the palace.”

Lianne's eyes widened. “The opera? You'd take me to the opera?”

She looked and sounded so full of disbelief that Raoul laughed. “
Sí
. I wish only for your happiness.”

“Then let me return to Green Meadows and my daughter.”

“And Daniel? Never, but that is off the subject.” He stood up. “I have a maid for you who waits upstairs to dress you like a queen. We haven't much time before the opera begins, so I beg you to hurry.” He kissed her cheek. “You see, Lianne, that I'm not the monster you think.” With that he left her.

To Lianne's surprise, she discovered Raoul had hired a middle-aged French woman as her maid. The woman's name was Josephine, and as she helped Lianne after a soothing bath, she chatted about the famous Josephine, wife of Napoleon Bonaparte, whom she claimed to have worked for in Martinique before the family moved to France.

“Mademoiselle Josephine was a beauty, even as a child,” she said, and her eyes filled with pride. “I'm so pleased to work for a French lady again.” She looked at Lianne and smiled. “My husband was Mexican. Most of the ladies I've worked for have been Spanish, but I miss speaking French.”

Lianne detected a suspiciousness in the woman's attitude and didn't entirely trust her. “I'm rather surprised Don Raoul hired me for this position,” Josephine continued. “But he insisted on a French maid for his lady during my interview with him. He cares for you very much, mademoiselle.”

Josephine helped her step into a shimmering gown of green and silver which was so transparent that Lianne gasped. “I can't wear this. I feel I should sleep in it, not wear it in public.”

Josephine laughed. “The Directoire style is all the rage in Paris, I am told.”

Lianne stood transfixed as Josephine tied the dark green sash beneath her full breasts. She couldn't believe decent women wore such clothes in public, but she admitted to herself that the color suited her hair and eyes and saw how the small puffed sleeves and low neckline showed off the porcelain beauty of her skin. With her auburn curls pulled atop her head and held in place by a silver band, Lianne resembled a Grecian goddess.

Desire flared in Raoul's eyes when she floated down the staircase, but he said nothing about how her beauty affected him. He had ordered the gown especially for her. He wanted the first time he presented Lianne to Mexican society to be memorable and thought how envious his friends would be. As he entered the opera house with the dazzling creature on his arm, all eyes turned upon them. The men were blatantly envious, the women definitely jealous and disapproving.

Lianne found herself clinging to his arm for support. She heard whispers of “de Lovis's mistress. Poor Elena,” rising around her. After he escorted her to his private box and she took her seat, she glanced up at him through teary eyes. “Why do you choose to humiliate me like this?” she asked.

He smiled wickedly. “I want all of Mexico City to envy me my French treasure and to know you belong to me. As of this night, men shall want you but none shall dare approach you. My mark is upon you, Lianne.”

How well she knew that. She wondered at the wisdom of leaving the hacienda. There, only a few people were aware of her shame. Here, everyone would regard her as the mistress of the Mexican silver king.

Raoul had just seated himself when a slight disturbance behind them caused Lianne to turn and see the pale round face of a woman with a young girl beside her. The woman stood inside the doorway of the opera box, apparently uncertain what to do. Her dark eyes wandered quickly over Lianne then stopped on Raoul. She snapped shut her fan, and the dark mantilla on her head fell slightly forward with the motion.

Raoul glanced up and saw her. He rose and placed a kiss on her plump cheek. “Elena, my dear, what a nice surprise. And you've brought Carmen with you.” He kissed the frozen girl's cheek, also.

“And who might this person be?” Elena de Lovis's eyes raked over Lianne.

“May I present Lianne Marchand, the wife of my late nephew Philippe. You remember Philippe, don't you?” He took Lianne's hand and forced her to rise to greet Elena who was much shorter and certainly more dowdy in a simple black gown, devoid of decoration. She looked more like the widow than the wife of Raoul de Lovis.

“How nice to meet you,” Lianne mouthed, feeling as if she were about to faint.

“And this is my daughter, Carmen,” Raoul continued, giving Elena no time to say anything. He dragged the young girl around, and Lianne saw she was a near duplicate of her mother except not as round. Carmen barely mouthed a response, and she looked as if she were about to cry.

“Such a happy group we are,” Raoul said. “Will you and Carmen join Lianne and me for the opera?”

Elena's eyes narrowed but moved to the audience beneath them and was aware that everyone watched them. She smiled. “May the devil take you, Raoul de Lovis.” She grabbed Carmen by the hand and turned toward the doorway. Instead of slamming shut, the door was softly closed behind her.

“Always the lady,” Raoul commented and sat down.

“And I suppose I'm to be the whore.” Lianne sank deeper into the seat, feeling less than a worm under everyone's perusal. She trembled so badly that Raoul reached out and clasped her arm.

“Calm yourself,
querida
. Smile brightly for your audience.”

“No.”

“Do it!”

She managed a fake smile which pleased him. “You must learn as Elena has that I am the master and you are the puppet.”

“I hate you,” she ground out and this time gave him a broad smile.

“I know.” He dropped his hand and turned his attention to the stage as the lights dimmed and the opera began.

For a short while Lianne was so engrossed in the Spanish
zarzuela
called
El Laurel de Apolo,
that she forgot Raoul's presence beside her. The music, the costumes transported her to another world where she was happy, and more than once Daniel's face filled her mind, but she felt no sadness, just a bittersweet loss. When the curtain descended, her spirit plummeted to earth with a thud.

Raoul guided her out of the private box, through the throng of people, many of them acquaintances. The men bowed as he pushed past, lust clearly on many of their faces; the women ignored her or gazed at her with such coldness she shivered. Her reaction amused Raoul.

“Don't take it so personally,” he informed her. “Think of yourself as a new toy which shall soon wear thin when the novelty has worn away. And it will,
querida
. Soon no one will care that you sleep with me. But I'll never tire of you.”

She found no comfort in his reassurance and wished, how she wished, he'd tire of her and find another woman who appealed to him, a woman who'd be eager and grateful to share the bed of one of Mexico's richest men. It seemed that he wanted her and didn't care if she hated him.

They went on to the Palace of Viceroys where she feared the same treatment awaited her, however, once inside the ornate building, she recognized many of the same men she had seen at the opera and with them were younger, more beautiful women. Different women than the ones who sat next to them at the opera.

“Their mistresses,” Raoul explained at her look of disbelief.

“Then I shall fit in here quite well,” Lianne snapped.

Raoul appeared nonplused by her observation and introduced her to Miguel Jose de Azanza, the viceroy, and if Raoul hadn't been beside her she feared the man would have carried her off to a private room. Clearly he didn't believe in disguising his lust. Raoul only shrugged when she mentioned this later.

“I can't fault the man for his taste in women,
querida
.”

Lianne wanted to leave, but Raoul seemed quite content to smoke his cheroots with the other men and ogle each one's mistress or talk dull business. It was at this point that she wandered around the room and stopped on the fringes of a group of chattering women who were dressed in bright clothes with much décolletage, not unlike herself. She paid little attention until one of the women said in a high breathy voice, “Daniel Flanders was the best lover I ever had. And what an artist. The things he couldn't do with his hands!” She laughed and the others all joined in.

Lianne drew closer to the group to get a better glimpse of this woman who declared Daniel had been her lover. The woman was dark-haired and wore a red mantilla which fell onto her nearly bare bosom. The gown she wore was red also and emphasized her pale complexion and ripe beauty. Diamonds glittered at her ears and flashed their fire on her neck and fingers.

“You better be quiet, Isabelle, or Diego may overhear and become very jealous,” one of the women cautioned her.

Isabelle snapped her fingers. “Who cares? I have all the money. My late husband Franco left me very wealthy. I don't need Diego except for one thing. And even that he can't do well.” The women tittered and moved away.

Lianne stood fixed to the spot. Every part of her ached, and she wished to scream. The past swept over her like the lava from a volcano. The woman's comment had made her feel miserable just when she was beginning not to ache with longing for Daniel, their child, and the life that could have been. Damn Raoul de Lovis!

She felt Raoul beside her. He placed a hand on her elbow and when he glanced at her face, he saw the fire in her green eyes, the hatred which she couldn't disguise.

“Who is the woman in the red dress?” she asked.

He scanned the room until he found the woman in question. “Ah, Isabelle Hidalgo. I haven't seen her since Spain. I understand her old, ailing husband died and left her a wealthy widow. Why does she interest you? Do you wish to meet her? I think you both may have something in common.”

“So, you know she slept with Daniel.”

“Practically all of Madrid did, except for her stupid fool of a husband who was blinded to her many and varied charms. Daniel painted her portrait.”

“He did more than paint her!” The jealousy stained her cheeks a bright red. Raoul's grip tightened on her arm.

“If only you could be this jealous over me, Lianne, instead of Daniel. Daniel never deserved you.”

“I love him! You can't make me forget him.”