Stronger Than Passion (6 page)

“Christina! How wonderful you look, Niña.”

“You have neglected us for too long, too long.”

The glad cries came at her from all sides, accompanied by hugs and kisses from ladies whom she barely remembered, and speculative salutations from gentlemen who regard her somewhat differently than they had while Felipé was still alive. Or, was that her imagination? Yet this all seemed bewildering somehow, and stifling. Hadn’t she wanted this, though? This attention, the conversation . . .

“Christina, querida, you honor us - it is good to see you out.”

She tilted her head up sharply, recognizing the deep masculine voice that murmured in her ear.

“Luis!” Her forced smile widened to become genuine, pleasure making her eyes glow to a gold-dotted green. “I thought you were still off at your mines.”

“Me? Trade this - ” one hand gestured grandly, “impressive gathering - for a few pesos of silver? Surely you know me better.”

Luis’s smile was mocking, but his deceptively lazy gaze held only warmth as he shook his elegant head in respect. “At least you must be aware of my intense devotion - to you. Not to this.” At her laugh, he added seriously, “I knew you’d be here.” He took her arm and gradually eased her away from the eager group that surrounded her.

Christina smiled to herself, pleased to be rescued, and happy that her rescuer was this man in particular, despite the Condé’s ridiculous words about him earlier. Luis Arredondo, Marquès de Lara y Briheuga, a widower himself, had been her friend since her beginnings here. They moved outside, onto a gallery. She leaned against a vine-clad pillar, head thrown back, white throat exposed to the night air. “I haven’t been in such a crush since Felipé’s funeral procession.”

“Do not bring him up tonight.”

“You never liked him, Luis. Don’t forget you admitted it once.”

“Yes - and he died a week later. Then you refused to speak to me for months. Your feelings of guilt began then and have trapped you for two years.”

Christina’s head snapped up and she pushed away from the pillar. “I will not quarrel with you.”

“By all means don’t. I’ve no intentions of quarreling. I simply want to point out that the spoiled boy you were married to does not deserve the sainthood with which you’ve endowed his memory.”

“I have not!”

“Querida, Felipé ignored you completely! One of his fighting cocks would have made you a better husband.” Luis took her hand in both of his, rubbing at the coldness of her palm. “It is tragic that he died so young, I agree. But his own stupidity killed him. And I will be so crass as to say that you are better off now.” She tried to pull away, but he gripped her hand tighter. She glared at him with stricken eyes. He finally sighed, and released her.

“Forgive me. I won’t speak of him anymore.”

In the pause that followed, Luis scrutinized Christina and she allowed him to do so while she recovered her sense of equanimity. After a few moments, she looked up at his lean face and murmured, “I must go inside now, I haven’t yet spoken to our host.”

“Santa Anna can wait a little longer. I want to tell you how beautiful you are, as I meant to when I brought you out here. When did I see you last? Six months ago?”

She smiled. “Yes. You visited without my permission.”

“But you were glad to see me, weren’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“You are lovelier now, I believe, since you have decided to come out into the world. Even in that dark dress!”

“It is the pearls.” She wore the entire collection of Rivera pearls, consisting of six gradually lengthening ropes, two cuff bracelets, earrings and a headdress that was wound up in her dark hair, and took the place of the traditional high comb and mantilla. The pearls were worth a fortune and had once belonged to a Moorish princess. She had adorned herself with them tonight to please her father-in-law; and to enliven her simple lavender silk gown, which was the newest evening dress she possessed, but not very grand. This impromptu fiesta had caught her unprepared; it was fortunate she had recourse to magnificent jewelry.

“As you say - perhaps.” Luis grinned down at her. “I’ll take you back inside now, if you will permit me to make one last statement.”

At her amused and wary nod, he said softly, “I want you to enjoy yourself tonight and break as many hearts as you wish, including Santa Anna’s.
But please be considerate of mine. It is yours, you know, and has been for years.”

“Oh, come, Luis.”

“Let’s not argue now, we can do that later in the evening when you are in more of a mood to listen to me. And you will listen.”

“Will I?”

“Oh, yes! I have important things to say to you, things which should have been said two years ago. They will amuse you, if nothing else.”

“We’ll see, I suppose,” she murmured. Had Don Ignacio been correct? Did Luis intend to propose marriage?

They had no further talk for the time being. As soon as they reentered the main Sala, which was converted into a ballroom, they emerged into a noisy crowd determined to divide them.

Someone handed Christina a glass of iced champagne and she sipped it gratefully, responding to various introductions and re-introductions and wondering where she could find her host - and hostess, of course.

Then a man bowed before her whom she recognized with faint dislike. Colonel Angel Manzanal; Santa Anna’s aide, and his posturing ape in everything, including an amorous interest in her. She had been forced to rebuff the colonel on two prior occasions when his attentions had become annoying.

“The General has sent me to find you, Señora. He languishes for your company.”

In this throng? She doubted it. But all she said was, “Then perhaps you should take me to him, Señor.”

She excused herself from the nearest guests. The Colonel took her arm, which was disturbing enough; but as they made their way towards the rear of the Sala, Manzanal’s black eyes persisted in glancing down at her, while he paid her thoroughly outrageous compliments. Really, she would have to speak to Santa Anna about him.

They reached the outskirts of a select grouping of more distinguished company, and Christina knew that Santa Anna sat at its heart. She bowed to several rich hacendadoes, a few wealthy merchants and industrialists, a former President and several others whom she believed were members of Congress. She passed through a knot of uniformed minor generals, all talking furiously. Finally she reached Santa Anna - seated, due to the loss of one of his legs in battle, on a throne-like chair nestled in a setting of potted palms and other assorted greenery.

He caught sight of her and broke off his conversation with a man who wasn’t in the least familiar.

“Christina!”

He rose laboriously, his wooden leg keeping him erect as he stood and extended his hands. “My dear cousin, welcome to El Encero! Gentlemen, this is my cousin the Señora de Sainz, who has neglected to visit me since my return, until tonight.”

Santa Anna’s normally melancholy countenance now exuded gallantry and roguish charm. Christina curtsied, and then extended her own gloved hands, which he took and kissed, one after the other.

“How terrible you are, my dear, to deprive me of your lovely self until now.”

“Am I to understand that you have been unoccupied this last week?”

“I am never too busy for my favorite cousin. And I expect you to visit me again, soon, before I leave for the capital, so that I may speak with you in private about certain things.”

Many of the surrounding listeners smiled at that. A few turned their backs discreetly, knowing the general’s reputation with the ladies. But several gentlemen remained in a semi-circle around Santa Anna and Christina, observing them unashamedly. One of them, the smiling thin-faced man whom Santa Anna had been originally talking with, even interjected himself into their conversation.

“I believe, Señora, that the general covets your silver,” he said in lazy, British-accented Spanish.

Santa Anna’s smile froze. His black eyes slanted toward the Englishman. “Señor, you must not anticipate me.”

“But I have no silver, Señor,” Christina said, hoping to avert Santa Anna’s predictable anger at the interruption. “My husband’s lone mine was used up years ago.”

“Oh? That’s not what I had understood, but then I may of course be mistaken.”

Santa Anna spoke rather coldly. “I believe I see the British Ambassador just arriving, Señor. You must take him my felicitations.”

Once he was gone, Santa Anna’s sullen expression brightened. “Diplomats!” He waved a hand insouciantly in the air. “Of course, we hope to have England on our side in the coming conflict.”

That statement brought forth clamorous questions from nearby listeners about the war with America, which led Santa Anna to assume a posture of extreme dignity - possible as much through his impressive braid-laden military costume as well as his solemn expression - and reply, “My friends, my friends! Be assured that the Yanqui invaders will be swiftly and brutally driven from the hallowed soil of Mexico!”

“Viva Mexico!” someone shouted.

“Viva Santa Anna!”

But one of the other generals came forward and asked, frowning, “How will you accomplish such a feat, Señor, when there is not money for war? How will you arm the troops and feed them?”

Santa Anna stiffened. “Who needs money when the very heart of the Mexican is pure gold? We are rich, amigos, rich in spirit in loyalty, in hearts filled with patriotism. Will any true Mexican stand idly by and allow his country to be overrun by savage Norté Americanos? No! Never! We will fight, fight to the death. We will die to the last man rather than become the slaves of the enemy!”

Some cheers greeted this speech, yet the response was mixed, for this was no audience of simple-minded peasants, to be swayed by oratory. But a mainstream feeling of optimism seemed to brighten the atmosphere, expanding throughout the house as Santa Anna’s words were circulated and passed on. Everyone present knew that despite the general’s propensity for grandiosity, his specialty was in performing the feat of raising and equipping soldiers on nothing but his own will. He had done it before; he would do it again!

Then came a quiet British-accented voice from somewhere behind Christina. “Is it true that the Norté Americanos allowed you through the blockade on some secret promise?”

Santa Anna scowled, and just as swiftly smiled again. “That is a terrible rumor, no doubt begun by them.” He was obviously attempting to spot the man who had spoken. “The Yanquis respect me completely and are fully aware of the consequences to be expected on my return. In fact,” he improvised, still unable to discover the man, “I recently uncovered the truth to a plot contrived by Gringo fanatics to assassinate me in Havana.”

“How fortunate that you were permitted to leave,” Christina murmured. “How fortunate for Mexico.”

His glance turned to her. “You are quite right, cousin. It seems the Yanquis are convinced that only I, as Commander-in-Chief of our armies, can foil their conquering plans. Would that my countrymen believed the same!”

Various soothing affirmations of support came from several gentlemen present. Santa Anna’s calculating gaze gave up the search for his unknown critic and, for the moment, forsook his audience to return fully to Christina.

“Now tell me, my dear, how you go on. Your letters were too brief. And is there any truth to the wild rumors my servants tell me about a captured Yanqui in your house?”

Nervously, Christina prepared to answer him, when the crowd parted to allow the presence of Santa Anna’s young, bejeweled wife, Doña Maria Dolores.

Santa Anna immediately lost his train of thought as he re-introduced his wife to Christina; and she was thankful of it. She did not want to speak of Jim Malone tonight, or ever! The entire episode was an annoying and deeply embarrassing memory which she hoped one day to forget.

Unfortunately, forgetting Malone was not to prove so easy, even in the midst of a large party.

Christina left the Santa Annas and moved off to find another cool drink. Aggravatingly, Colonel Manzanal followed her, offering his assistance in procuring some refreshments. She cast her gaze around the room, searching the crowd for Luis, or Don Ignacio, or anyone else she knew who could intimidate Manzanal away . . .

And then she saw him. But it could not possibly be him. It didn’t really look like him, and yet . . .

“Who is that gentleman?” she demanded.

“Your pardon, Señora?”

‘That gentleman over there - talking with Don Gutierrez. The man in gray. I wish to know who he is.”

Manzanal squinted in the direction she pointed out. “He is an Englishman, I believe. He arrived with the Ambassador’s party. His name is Lord Michael Brett.”

“Present me to him.”

Without bothering to notice whether Manzanal followed, Christina wove her way over to where the Englishman stood.

She inserted herself into the low conversation between the Don and the Englishman.

Pardon, Señor Gutierrez, but may I congratulate you on your daughter’s novitiate? My father-in-law, the Conde de Castillo, has just informed me of the happy event. She has entered the Convent of the Magdalenes, has she not?”