The Infamous Miss Rodriguez: A Ciudad Real Novella (3 page)

Vicente knew plenty of ways to keep a woman satisfied and only one of them involved grasping her by that stubborn chin and plying her lips with kisses. It was obvious from watching her that she was in serious want of affection, but perhaps part of her unhappiness stemmed from the lack of something to turn that sharp mind to—an occupation of sorts, though he knew it was unseemly for women of her station to work. To feel like her thoughts were being heard, her ideas taken into consideration…the very thing he himself lacked and was trying desperately to get.

Though after seeing how dismissive Medina was with his own fiancee, Vicente hadn’t much hope for his chances to convince the man he was worth listening to.

Turning to his side, Vicente closed his eyes and saw her again. Graciela Rodriguez was a mystery he wouldn’t mind solving and if Medina didn’t feel the same way, then more fool he.

I
f she wasn’t certain
her aunt would find a way to drag her back, Graciela would have run away. She would buy passage on one of the fashionable steamers that stopped on the northern coast of the island and head for New York, where her dark skin and accented English would make her the darling of the crowds as she sang the songs of her homeland from a darkened stage. Her voice, plaintive and melodious, would curl into the silence and ensnare the hearts and minds of everyone in the audience.

The fantasy lasted only as long as darkness did. Graciela couldn’t sing if her life depended on it and, having no money of her own to speak of as her inheritance could not be claimed until after her marriage, neither could she run away.

The sun was shining through the louvered shutters when she went down to breakfast and saw Alvaro, sitting at Aunt Elba right hand with a cup of coffee and a folded newspaper in front of him, for all as if he already lived there. Something cold slithered over Graciela—dread. She might not have been well versed in the intricacies of romance but surely a girl shouldn’t feel dread when facing her betrothed?

“I’ll look over the papers with my man of business,” he was saying, “but I don’t know if I can do much until after the wedding. Mother’s sparing no expense on the festivities— she’ll drive me to ruin if I’m not careful.”

Alvaro and Aunt Elba chuckled. As far as Graciela knew, Alvaro’s family’s fortune was so large that the thought of a single person driving him to ruin was as ridiculous as it was impossible.

Otherwise, she might have tried her hand at it.

“I’m grateful to your mother for taking on the responsibility,” Aunt Elba said. “Putting together a wedding in three weeks is certainly beyond
my
capabilities.”

Graciela hated the obsequious tone in Aunt Elba’s voice. She had been running Graciela’s grandfather’s factory for almost eight years—that took more
capabilities
than arranging for flowers and musicians. She knew it, and Aunt Elba knew it, but Alvaro nodded along as if agreeing. “She’s happy to, but I shouldn’t like her to overextend herself. I was hoping to persuade you to host the dinner party for the Board.”

“I’d be happy to, Alvaro. It’s the least I could do after all the trouble your mother’s going to. I’m sure Graciela would enjoy helping me with the details. That would allow me to carve out some time to take a meeting with your man and clarify some of the points of my proposal—”

“Next month, perhaps,” Alvaro said, and the casual dismissal made Graciela’s hand curl into a first. She glanced at Aunt Elba, but if she shared Graciela’s anger, she did not show it as she sipped her
cafe con leche
.

Graciela felt a grim sort of satisfaction to see her aunt’s efforts thwarted, even though it only meant that she would be even more insistent that Graciela go through with the wedding. Graciela was planning to thwart
that
effort as well.

Silently, Graciela slid into her seat at the table. Alvaro turned to her, apparently finished with the conversation.

“Have you many things to do today, darling?” Alvaro said, with an indulgent smile that made Graciela’s fingers tighten around her porcelain cup.

“To the shoemaker’s, to have him change the strap on my new shoes. I sent my maid last week but she got it all wrong and now it’ll have to be redone.”

Alvaro frowned and looked at Aunt Elba. “Don’t let her go until I’ve a moment to accompany her.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” Graciela began to protest, but Alvaro interrupted her.

“I’d rather you don’t call on tradespeople on your own.”

Graciela felt her face growing hotter and her breath coming faster, as it tended to when in her betrothed’s company. In a minute, she’d be panting like a charging bull. “If this is about what happened last month at the butcher’s, I can assure you—”

“Not at all,” Alvaro said, exchanging another glance with Aunt Elba. It was the same look that had gone between them when they’d heard that Graciela had threatened the butcher’s brother with dismemberment because he’d shortchanged her on pork chops.

She hadn’t, actually, but she
had
been sharp with the man. He’d been filling in for his brother, who’d gone out of town to his wife’s mother’s funeral, and though he may have been a perfectly competent temporary butcher, he was not a nice man. First he’d overcharged her, then he’d implied she could pay for the order with something other than money. In his defense, he’d been quite drunk, and in Graciela’s defense, she hadn’t struck him upside the head with her parasol like she’d wanted to.

A friend of Alvaro’s mother had come inside just as Graciela was telling the butcher’s brother to stuff his pork chops someplace no pork chops should ever be stuffed and in recounting what had happened, had embroidered the story somewhat until it seemed like Graciela might as well have dragged the man into an alley and chopped bits off him to put into the stew.

The story hadn’t reached Mrs. Ferrer or the other members of the Board, more was the pity, and what was worse, ever since then, Alvaro and Aunt Elba had treated Graciela like a teakettle that might explode any moment. Thought they hadn’t said anything outright, Graciela could tell they didn’t trust her to do anything as simple as run an errand without proper supervision.

“I don’t need to be escorted to the shoemaker’s. By you, or anyone else,” she added, glaring at Aunt Elba, who matched her look with one of her own.

“Don’t sulk,” Alvaro said, reaching over to chuck her under the chin. “You’ll have your shoes soon enough. As a matter of fact, you may go to the department store and charge a new pair to my account. Charge half a dozen of them if you like.”

She’d charge every single pair in
La Parisienne
if she thought it would make him reconsider his engagement. But as she’d thought before—it would be devilishly hard to for a single person to make any sort of dent in his family’s fortune. That was the main reason Aunt Elba had championed the engagement.

Graciela put down her cup, misery threatening to engulf her.

She banished it instantly. There
was
a way to get out of the engagement, and she was going to find it. Hopefully sooner, rather than later.

Smoothing the linen napkin she had crumpled into a tight ball on her lap, Graciela raised it to her lips and laid it beside her plate as she forced herself to smile. “That’s all right. I might call on Beatriz instead. She has a new hat she wants me to see.”

Satisfied with this apparent show of docility, Alvaro rose from his seat. “I’ll see if I can make some time to take you to the shoemaker’s later this week.” He paused at the doorway. “Walk me to the door, my dear.”

Graciela followed Alvaro into the foyer, where one of the housemaids was waiting with his hat and silver-topped walking stick.

“I’ll take you dancing next week,” he said, ignoring the maid and grasping Graciela by the elbows. “So get yourself the prettiest pair of dancing slippers you can find.”

“I don’t want slippers.” Graciela looked into Alvaro’s dark, gleaming eyes and said, “I don’t want anything except my freedom from you.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Alvaro said, laughing as he dropped a kiss onto her lips. “I promise I’ll make the time to take you to the shoemaker’s sometime this week.”

He left, and Graciela didn’t bother returning to the dining room. Telling the maid to call for the motorcar, she took her parasol from the stand in the corner and slammed out of the house.

The ride to Beatriz’s house did nothing to quell her anger. She was almost fuming when she entered the drawing room in which Beatriz was embroidering. From the great quantities of red thread that had been used on it, Graciela guessed her friend was working on another gory battle scene.

“I hate him,” Graciela said as she flung herself into a chair. “I hate
them
. They treat me like a child—they won’t even let me go to the shoemaker’s on my own.”

She’d tried to, but either Alvaro or her aunt had given the chauffeur strict instructions to take her only to Beatriz’s house. She would have jumped out of the motorcar and gone on foot, just to prove she could, but it had rained the night before and she was wearing her new shoes with the little cuban heel and the suede would spoil if it got wet.

She could see her future stretching out in this manner: Alvaro instructing the cook to make only the food he thought she ought to eat, the
modiste
to make only the gowns he approved of…

It was enough to make Graciela want to scream but Beatriz was looking more amused than anything. “I heard Mrs. Imbert tell Alberto Moya that you attacked the butcher with a smoked ham.”

“The reports of the incident were greatly exaggerated,” Graciela said with what dignity she could muster. “Not that it’s done me any good. Not a single member of the Board has heard a word of it, not even Mrs. Ferrer—she must have taken up residence under a rock. I might have to make an appointment to see her and tell her of it myself.”

“I doubt she’d care,” Beatriz said, reaching for the pincushion on the small round table beside her. She snipped off the thread that connected the needle to a depiction of a dismembered body and stabbed the needle into the cheerful felt tomato. “Mama says she makes sport of haranguing the help in every store she goes to.”

“How very aristocratic,” Graciela said, and even she could hear the bleakness in her voice.

The amusement in Beatriz’s face softened into sympathy. “Surely there’s no need to go to such lengths just to break an engagement. Have you tried talking to Alvaro?”

“It’s no use,” Graciela said. “He doesn’t take me seriously. I doubt he ever will.”

“If you do marry him, it would mean freedom from your aunt. Just think of all the things you can do as a married woman that you wouldn’t be able to do otherwise.”

Graciela shook her head. “It would mean exchanging one kind of captivity for another.”

Beatriz leaned forward as far as her corset allowed her. “Graciela…I don’t mean to sound harsh but I have to know if you’ve thought about the consequences of what you’re doing. If you’re successful—if you manage to do something so scandalous that Alvaro’s forced to cancel your engagement—it won’t only be his family who will snub you. Your name would be on everyone’s lips and if I know Montsant society, not a kind word will be spoken on your behalf. There’ll be no invitations to dances or garden parties. You’ll be alone. Forever.”

“I know,” Graciela said in a low voice.

“And you don’t care?”

The touch of incredulity in Beatriz’s voice made Graciela look up and say, almost grimly, “I do care. You’ve no idea how much I care. It’s not only my place in society I’ll lose. I won’t have a hope of making any sort of match—not even with the butcher’s brother,” she added, hoping to tease a smile out of Beatriz.

It didn’t work. Her friend was fixing her with a gaze so piercing, it almost seemed as if her brown eyes could see right into Graciela. “And you’re willing to lose it all just to rid yourself of Alvaro.”

“That and much else besides.”

She might come to regret it, but Graciela knew she would regret marrying Alvaro even more.

Graciela felt a soft touch on her arm and looked down to see Beatriz’s small hand curling around her own.

She would lose plenty, it was true—but maybe not all.

“Then I’ll help you,” Beatriz said, giving Graciela’s hand a squeeze. She sat back in her chair, asking briskly as she began to thread a fresh needle with a deep violet, presumably to fill in the penciled-in viscera scattered among the human remains, “Well, let’s have it—what will you do next?”

Some of the men in Alvaro’s set were planning a high-stakes game of cards for the end of the week— Graciela had overheard them making plans at Mrs. Gonzalez’s supper. No women had been invited—no respectable woman would want to be—but Graciela planned on attending anyway. It would be the perfect opportunity to embarrass Alvaro, and to lose some of Aunt Elba’s money besides.

The Board would certainly frown on their Chairman marrying a gambling woman, especially one who lost vast amounts of money in a single night. All Graciela had to do was make sure they heard about it.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Graciela gave her friend a smile. It was not altogether steady, but something in it eased some of the worry in Beatriz’s expression. “But I’m sure I’ll manage to work something out. I don’t know if you heard, but I’ve quite a knack for getting into trouble.”

S
ave
for her stint at the bawdy theater, Graciela had never spent any amount of time in a place as deliciously dissolute as the gambling hall where Alvaro and his friends were holding the card game. She’d had to hire a taxi, as she’d never be able to persuade either her aunt’s driver or even Beatriz’s to take her to such a place, and, though she would confess it to no one, she had quailed a little when the motorcar had rattled away and she’d found herself alone on the waterfront.

In addition to the pungent aroma wafting from the docks through the high, barred windows, the room—or, rather, its ratty rugs and luridly-patterned curtains— was impregnated with scent of rum and cigar smoke and a cheap, pervasive scent that made Graciela wonder who made it and if they dared call it perfume.

Though Graciela had dressed in one of her most daringly cut dresses, it possessed more than a quarter yard of fabric and was thus positively frumpy beside those of the scantily clad girls that were scampering around the room, jumping from lap to lap and generally making sport of the men sitting at the tables.

Graciela was looking interestedly at one woman’s ensemble, which seemed to consist of nothing more than a scrap of lace and a handful of beads, when the crowd parted and Alvaro emerged, looking so worried that Graciela felt a pang of guilt.

“Graciela, is it really you?” he asked. “Is something the matter? Has your aunt taken ill? You should have sent someone for me, not come yourself.”

“Why, nothing’s wrong,” she said, tossing her head to make her earrings sparkle festively. “Except that you forgot to invite me to your game.”

Daniel Ortiz, one of Alvaro’s friends, elbowed his way to where they stood in time to hear her.

“Do you play cards, Miss Rodriguez?” he asked, looking amused.

“I’ve never had a chance to learn but perhaps you’d like to teach me. It can’t be all that difficult if
you
can do it,” she added with a flirtatious smile. More and more curious glances were coming her way and now that she had an audience, Graciela made ready to play the part of coquette for all she was worth.

Laughter came from everyone but Alvaro, who was looking more thunderous by the moment. “This is no place for a woman. Frias!”

Alvaro’s chauffeur appeared by his elbow. “Take Miss Rodriguez home,” Alvaro told him.

“Oh, but I did have my heart set on doing a little gambling tonight. I even brought all my allowance. What do you say, Mr. Ortiz? Would you dare take me on?”

“That’s enough, Graciela. You’re embarrassing yourself, and you’re embarrassing me.” Alvaro took hold of Graciela’s arm, just above the elbow, and lowered his voice. “I brought the Germans here for a bit of fun and I will not have this getting back to the Board. Is this display of grievous judgement a way of punishing me for not letting you go to the grocer’s by yourself?”

“It was the shoemaker’s. And it isn’t, not a bit,” Graciela said, lifting her chin even though her arm was beginning to hurt. “It’s about my wanting to be free of you.”

Alvaro gave a dismissive wave with his free hand. “I only mean to protect you from vulgar gossip. You’ll be a Medina soon, and I won’t have you talked about. You are not the sort of person who cultivates scandal and it does not suit you to act like one.”

Graciela had done nothing but cultivate scandal for months. She opened her mouth to say so, but Alvaro spoke first. “It’s my own fault, I’ll admit it. I have been far too indulgent with you, and so has Elba. But that will end soon enough.”

Graciela tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp. “I won’t marry you, Alvaro. You may have bought Aunt Elba but you haven’t bought
me
.”

“Really, Graciela, of all the ridiculous things to say. I haven’t bought anyone and I would appreciate it if you’d stop making a fool of yourself. Everyone’s looking.”

“Let them look.” His fingers were digging into her skin and even though she knew he didn’t mean to cause her any harm, her arm was beginning to hurt. “Maybe they’ll be so kind as to make sketches or even take a photograph and pass it around.”

Sadly, no one obliged, not even Ortiz. Instead of rushing off to spread what was probably the best scandal of the year, the men and women in the crowd remained clustered around them, gawking. All save for one. He’d pushed his way to the front of the crowd and was now stepping forward, saying, in a voice loud enough to be heard over the whispers, “Let go of the lady.”

Graciela had often been accused of being contrary but Alvaro tightened his grip on her arm at the command.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, and Graciela wondered the same thing before she realized she’d seen the man before.

It was Mr. Aguirre, the man she’d met at Mrs. Gonzalez’s dinner. “Let go of the lady,” he said again, not bothering to introduce himself. He wasn’t in evening dress and in his rough work clothes and cloth cap, he could have been any one of the men clustered around them, obviously eager to see a fight.

But no blows landed between the two men. Alvaro, having looked over Mr. Aguirre and realized he’d be at a disadvantage, raised an eyebrow instead of a fist. “The lady,” he said, his tone faintly mocking, “is free to do whatever she wishes. Including getting the hell out of here,” he added, looking down at her.

“I’m to take her home,” Aguirre said. “Her aunt sent me.”

“Then take her, by all means. And tell her aunt to make sure she doesn’t go wandering again. Gambling halls aren’t suitable places for gently-bred ladies.” His voice caressed that last word again, making sure it sounded as though he believed Graciela was anything but.

Transferred from the grip of one man to another’s as easily as if she were a sack of sugar, her arm and dignity bruised, Graciela didn’t feel particularly ladylike. She shook off Mr. Aguirre and flew at Alvaro.

She would have landed a nice blow, but Alvaro easily pushed her away, with a little more force, perhaps, than he meant to use. Graciela’s bottom struck the filthy floor with a muffled
thump
and the sound of rending cloth and she had a moment to see the surprise in Alvaro’s face before Mr. Aguirre stepped into her line of sight and smashed Alvaro in the face with a powerful fist.

* * *

A
s his fist
connected with Alvaro Medina’s nose, Vicente saw his plans crumble before his very eyes. He’d known it would happen from the moment he’d gone inside the gambling hall but what else could he have done?

Grimly, he led Miss Rodriguez out of the hall. She was shaken, and would have followed him without a word, but Vicente wasn’t taking any chances. He took her—gently— by the elbow, the satiny fabric of her glove slippery against his palm.

The stench of brine and rotting fish of the docks was as familiar to him as the alleys winding from the waterfront. Revolting as it was, it was a marked improvement from the overpowering smell of drink and cheap perfume that had filled the gambling hall. A handful of whores stood among the barrels and crates, gazing at him and Miss Rodriguez with unveiled curiosity. Miss Rodriguez gazed back and Vicente prayed silently she wasn’t getting any new ideas.

He released her the moment they arrived at the Rodriguez’s motorcar.

“That’s my aunt’s Packard,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Did she really send you?”

“Yes,” he replied curtly, waiting for her to arrange her skirts before slamming the door and going around to the other side. Though he ought to have sat in front beside the driver, visions of her popping open the door and disappearing into the night made him slide into the rear-facing seat.

Miss Rodriguez sat across from him, her dress torn, her white gloves smudged, and her hair falling out of its pins, frowning as she examined a stain on the palm of her glove. After attempting to remove the skin-tight garment herself, she stretched a hand toward him. “Would you help me? They’re devilishly tight and sticky with—I’d rather not contemplate with what, exactly. Tell me, Mr. Aguirre, do you think they’ll be talking of this tomorrow? Daniel Ortiz saw everything and he’s
such
a gossip—he and all four of his sisters.”

He ignored the fingers that were waving in front of his face. “Have you no idea of the kind of trouble you could get into in places like that?” he said furiously. “The kind of men who visit gambling halls—your betrothed and his fine rich friends included—would think nothing of engaging an innocent girl like you in a game of cards and cheat just in order to put you more and more in their debt. And then,’ he said, leaning forward so as to give his words a maximum impact, “they would claim it.”

Though he’d hoped that his words would make her quail in her little heeled slippers, Miss Rodriguez looked unconcerned at the thought of having her virtue gambled away. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Here,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “Just give it a good tug and it’ll come right off.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying? Coming to these sort of places would put your virtue—your life, even—at risk.”

“I’m not innocent,” she replied. “And I didn’t need to be rescued. I had a
plan
, which you ruined, so you might as well be helpful now and help me with my gloves.”

“For heaven’s sake, Miss Rodriguez. You might not care if half the world sees you dancing in your drawers but at least have a care for your safety.”

He was so angry that at first he didn’t notice the way she stiffened. She’d drawn her hand back into her lap and her gloved fingers were clenched tightly. After the way she’d flown at Medina, Vicente might have found it prudent to put some kind of shield between himself and that small hand, but she didn’t close the distance between them.

“How do you know about that?” she asked sharply. “Have you been following me? Did my
aunt
hire you to follow me?”

“Your aunt,” he said, “asked me to make sure that you—and your reputation—came to no harm. And you are not making it easy.”

“I know,” she said, and tossed her head. “And I don’t plan to stop. What arrangement has she made with you? Am I to be followed everywhere, as if I were a common criminal?”

“Until you stop behaving like one, yes.”

“I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“You stole a shawl from the department store last month.
That
was not legal.”

That made her pause. “I returned it when they didn’t notice I’d taken it—a pity, really. Having the papers run stories on the Thieving Heiress would have been very helpful. For how long have you been following me around, without my having noticed?”

“Three months, more or less,” Vicente said.

“Then you know about—”

“Everything.” He leaned back and watched her. Light and dark fell over her face as the motorcar rolled through the narrow streets, letting him see that far from looking embarrassed, Miss Rodriguez looked intrigued. A part of him—a
large
and growing-more-prominent part of him—wanted to pull her onto his lap so he could examine her expression more closely. Well. That, and other things. He had counted himself among the rogues who’d like nothing better than to have his way with her, if it wouldn’t have resulted in the loss of everything he’d worked for.

Trying not to think of the fact that he
had
probably just lost everything he’d worked for, Vicente said, “I know about everything you’ve done.”

“Are you an investigator? You said you were an industrial engineer,” she said accusingly.

He shrugged. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you worked for my aunt?” she asked.

“Because I don’t.” Not anymore, not since he’d walked off the loading docks at the factory and told her what her he’d be willing to look after her niece—for a price. “I’m lending her my services in a temporary capacity.”

“Lending her your services? You can’t expect me to believe you’re doing
this
,” she said, waving a hand, encompassing the motorcar, her torn dress and his bruised knuckles in a single gesture, “out of the kindness of your heart.”

“I didn’t say that, now did I?”

A horrified expression dawned on her face. “You’re not her
lover
, are you?”

He let out a surprised laugh, to which she responded with a glare. “You needn’t be so amused. It was an honest question.”

Vicente swallowed back his laughter. “Your aunt and me? I’d be terrified.”

“Why are you helping her, then?”

“That’s for me to know,” he said.

She would have likely continued to question him but they had already crossed the bridge and were speeding along
Paseo de los Flamboyanes
, which was only a couple of streets away from her aunt’s townhouse. She sat back against the leather upholstery, eyeing him thoughtfully, no doubt wishing her reputation could be compromised by being seen riding alone with a man, like in the olden days.

But at that hour of night there were precious few people to see her as she alighted from the motorcar the moment it came to a stop in front of her aunt’s house, without waiting for Vicente or the driver to let her out. She paused at the front door and raised an eyebrow at Vicente as he followed her into the street. Under the light of the street lamp, the beads in her dress glimmered like sunlight on water.