Valaquez Bride (14 page)

"So you want to take me because I won't object to leaving
early?" Juliet ascertained, aware of the slight sense of disappointment
nagging at her. "Why don't you just go alone then?"

"No," Raul replied curtly, his expression darkening. "I
don't want to go alone to this party, especially, and since you did
volunteer to help me with my work, I'm taking you. Be ready at nine,
please. We'll arrive late and leave early to make up for it. Agreed?"

"Well, I…"

"Agreed," he pronounced, the look in his eyes brooking no
argument as he strode back to his office without another word.

After watching him close the door, Juliet lifted her
shoulders in a slight shrug and did the only thing she could do under
the circumstances. She went up to her room to decide what would be
appropriate to wear that evening.

Seeing Raul, so darkly attractive in a cream-colored
casual suit and tobacco brown shirt open at the collar, Juliet was glad
she had chosen to wear something simple. Actually, she had to admit to
herself that she had chosen the forest green floor-length jersey mainly
because it was the same color as Raul's eyes but the choice had been
appropriate anyway. With a scooped neckline and cap sleeves, the dress
was neither too plain nor too fancy and it accented her softly
curvaceous body enough to make her feel decidedly feminine while at
the same time demure. And as she walked down the curving marble
staircase, to join Raul in the vast hall, he too seemed quite aware of
her femininity. Bold green eyes swept over her as he held out his hand
when she reached the next to last step.

"
Preciosa
," he murmured, holding her
gaze as she blushed slightly at the word that needed no translation.
Then he led her out through the courtyard into the star-studded night.
A black Mercedes gleamed in the light of a full cream-colored moon.
After he had opened the passenger door for her, then came around to
slide his long legs beneath the steering column, Juliet surrendered to
aroused curiosity. "Isn't this your grandmother's car? Where is yours?"

"In the garage for a tune-up." Raul smiled mischievously.
"Abuela begrudingly consented to let me borrow hers tonight, a rare
honor, I assure you. She doesn't like for anyone else to drive it."

"I noticed her driving away the other day and was a little
surprised that she doesn't have a chauffeur."

"She enjoys driving too much to let anyone do it for her."
Raul laughed softly. "She is something of a… What is it they
say in America? A speed devil?"

"Almost. A speed demon," Juliet supplied the correct
terminology, then shook her head musingly. "It's hard for me to imagine
your grandmother tearing along the road in her car, though. She's
so—so sedate."

"Oh, but she's not quite as stiff-laced as she sometimes
seems."

"Obviously not," Juliet said wryly. "And I guess I did get
a glimpse of her warmer side this afternoon. She actually played cards
with Uncle Will and me. And he teased her quite a bit, almost
flirted, and I think she really enjoyed it."

Raul nodded. "I'm not surprised. Abuela can be quite the
coqueta
."
Looking away from the straight ribbon of road that stretched out before
them, he eyed Juliet speculatively. "If she was willing to play cards
with you, she must not disapprove of you as much as you thought she
did."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Juliet murmured,
then hastily changed the subject. "I've been meaning to ask you: what's
your full name? I mean, Spaniards always have a long string of them but
I've never known what all yours are. Do you mind telling me?"

"Why should I mind?" Raul answered, turning his attention
back to the road with a rather bored shrug. "If you're really
interested, my name is Raul Esteban Rodrigo Valaquez Madrigal, Madrigal
being my mother's maiden name which is always added at the end, an old
custom of respect."

"Well, that's some name, quite a mouthful," Juliet said
teasingly, then added, "I just wondered if I should start calling you
Don Raul. The servants do."

Raul glanced at her again, his eyes narrowing. Then a
slight, suggestive smile curved his lips. "I think we can dispense with
such formalities, don't you, Juliet, considering some of the moments
we've shared?" When she tensed and swiftly looked away to stare out her
window, he laughed softly, almost triumphantly. "Now, since you didn't
succeed in changing the subject, why don't you answer my question? Are
you finding my grandmother less disapproving of you than you thought
she would be?"

"Not really," Juliet murmured honestly, twisting her
hands together in her lap. "She did express some surprise that I'm fond
of Uncle Will; she even went so far as to say my affection for him is
commendable. But, she still obviously thinks I played fast and loose
with Pablo." Biting back a sigh, when no response from Raul was
forthcoming, she had to assume that he agreed with his grandmother. For
a moment she was tempted to try to defend herself again, but finally,
she decided she would be wasting her time. Raul had made up his mind
about her and nothing she could say would change it. Subsiding against
the armrest on her door, she stared morosely out at the blocks of
modern apartments that heralded the suburbs of Granada.

A minute or so later, Raul swung the Mercedes off the road
into a circular drive before a gleaming high-rise building. As he
lifted himself out of the car, a boy with a friendly beaming smile
loped over to take the keys and stand patiently by the open door while
a doorman, resplendent in an ivory and black uniform, helped Juliet out
on the passenger side.

Inside the building, as Juliet and Raul crossed the
luxuriously appointed, gold-carpeted lobby toward a bank of elevators,
she looked around curiously then lifted her eyebrows as he guided her
to the open elevator set a little apart from the rest. As Raul pushed
one of the control buttons, the doors glided closed noiselessly then
they were whisked upward to the opulent entrance foyer of the
penthouse. A white-jacketed manservant, apparently there to intercept
possible gatecrashers, bowed stiffly and murmured a welcome as they
stepped off the elevator. Then he moved swiftly to open double doors
behind which could be heard the muffled chink of innumerable glasses
and the buzz of many voices talking at once.

"I guess art patrons do have to be wealthy," Juliet
remarked innocently, then wondered if she had said the wrong thing as
Raul's strong jaw and his hand cupping her elbow tightened
simultaneously as he replied, "Our hostess, Janine Elcano, is a very
wealthy widow and it is of course very chic to become a patron of the
arts."

Juliet detected what she imagined was a slight hint of
sarcasm in his tone but she couldn't be sure and didn't dare question
him as they proceeded into a vast room filled with small groups and
milling people. A squeal of delight accompanied their entrance and in
half a second Raul was being embraced by a tall svelte woman in her
thirties with natural platinum blond hair and expertly made up baby
blue eyes. She
was
chic in a slinky black silk
dress supported by narrow rhinestoned straps. Long crimson-tipped
fingers spread across Raul's shoulders as she leaned back after kissing
him to smile beckoningly.

"Darling, you're late," she cooed, pursing her crimson
glossed lips into a little pout that detracted not at all from her
natural beauty yet nonetheless made her look rather silly. "I was
beginning to think you weren't going to come. I know you don't care for
these parties of mine, but I did promise you we could be alone after
the masses had departed. I'm so glad you decided to come."

Something almost perverse made Juliet cough softly and as
the woman, obviously Janine Elcano, turned her baby blues in her
direction, she smiled then glanced at Raul.

"Janine, this is Señorita Juliet McKay," he said with
something like relief as he extricated himself from the woman's
clinging hands. "Juliet, our hostess, Señora Janine Elcano."

"Señorita," the older woman said stiffly without even a
forced smile. "Welcome to my home."

Though the welcome was blatantly insincere, Juliet
pretended not to notice and only smiled. The hostess, however, was not
to be outdone. Glancing across the crowded room with a slight frown,
she at last gained the attention of a young man and when she beckoned
imperiously, he trotted over to her.

"Rex, darling, would you entertain this young lady while I
talk to Raul a moment," she asked, her voice nearly dripping with
saccharine sweetness as she looked at Juliet. "Rex is my cousin,
visiting from the States so the two of you should have a great deal in
common." Then with a considerably more enthusiastic smile for Raul, she
attached her hands around his arm as if he were a lifeline and started
to move away.

"Excuse me, Juliet, but Janine knows I wish to speak to
Luis Diego," he said softly. And as he walked away with his possessive
hostess, he added, "Don't you, Janine?"

After seeing Janine gaze up at him with another pout,
Juliet turned to smile at Rex. He smiled back then looked her over and
obviously after finding her attractive enough, took her hand between
both of his and began stroking it too familiarly. "How'd you get hooked
up with Raul Valaquez?" he asked nosily. "You're a little young for
him, aren't you?"

"How long have you been in Spain?" Juliet evaded his
question, squelching the desire to snatch her hand away. Instead, she
merely slipped it slowly from his grasp. There was something about Rex
she didn't find at all appealing. Though he was handsome enough, tall
with dark brown hair and his cousin's baby blue eyes, there was little
sign of intelligence in his features. And he looked at her with one of
those half-sneering smiles that seemed to say she should be falling at
his feet in adoration. Deciding she could do without his dubious
attention, she commenced a chatter that was certain to send him on his
way. "Don't you just love Spain?" she enthused. "I do. There's such a
timelessness about it, don't you think? And I'm just fascinated by the
Moorish influence on the country's history. Aren't you?"

"Uh, well, I guess so," Rex muttered, shuffling his feet
uncomfortably as he looked around. Then he snapped his fingers and
stepped away from her. "You won't mind if I leave you for a minute,
will you?" he asked hopefully. "I just spied a friend of mine I haven't
seen for a while. Be right back."

Smiling to herself as he scurried away, Juliet looked
around the room. A thick white carpet cushioned her feet and there was
a preponderance of chrome and glass tables and white upholstered
furniture, with color accents provided by canvases on the walls that
were splashed with bold reds, greens and blues. She glanced around and
after seeing Raul talking to a young man with a clipped black
moustache, she headed down the steps into the sunken conversation pit.
Sections of a white velvet sofa surrounded a glass and chrome table.
The three men and two women who were sitting there were engaged in
conversation and didn't even glance in her direction as she sat down.
Despite Janine's
haute couture
black silk dress,
Juliet didn't feel she had come too casual. Other guests had taken much
less care with their appearances than she had. Some of the men were in
jeans and flowing shirts and a few of the women wore baggy trousers and
flowing shirts they might well have borrowed from the men.

On the table before Juliet sat a modern sculpture. A
circle of plaster with a hole in the center, it seemed to be a fairly
good representation of an upright doughnut and after she lost interest
in trying to find a deeper meaning in it, she began to people-watch.

An hour and a half later, she was becoming very bored. All
these people seemed the same and from the snatches of conversation she
had heard made by the guests who were English or American, they all
seemed to have a very high regard for their intelligence, a sort of
superiority complex that suggested that they thought they were a step
above the common man. During the time she had sat on the sofa, only one
person had spoken to her, an Englishwoman all in black. "Do you sculpt
or paint?" she had asked. When Juliet had said that she did neither,
the woman had responded with an "Oh,
really
!"
that sounded as if she had never met such an untalented creature. Then
she had quickly departed. Not that Juliet much cared. All in all, this
gathering reminded her of a snobbish college clique and she could
certainly understand why Raul didn't adore these parties. She herself
would rather have been with Rosita, who was real and had common sense
to complement an innate intelligence.

Unfortunately, Rosita wasn't at the party and since Raul
was still talking to the moustachioed man, Juliet settled more
comfortably on the sofa, only to become the unwilling witness to an
argument. The Englishwoman in the black caftan, her graying brown hair
bunched in a topknot on her crown was sitting on the sofa opposite
Juliet. And she was visibly bristling, her dangling copper earrings
dancing as she shook her head at the man seated beside her.

"Really, Devery, you're becoming more and more like those
bloody American critics who go into a swoon every time a realist comes
along," she was saying crossly. "What is so bloody fabulous about this
Diego chap? Simply because he paints old decrepit sheep sheds and
baskets of olives sitting on stone steps doesn't mean he's God's latest gift to the art world."

"Perhaps you don't really understand realistic painting,
Margaret," Devery countered blandly, his own accent distinctly British.
"There was an excellent program on the telly the other night about the
impact of realism in art. Of course it was narrated in Spanish but you
know the language well. Did you happen to see it?"