dainty
taste.
Before she could retort, Juana heard the Duque's voice. He
had been looking from one to the other with a gradually deepening frown, as
though he felt himself excluded, and now burst out, 'It is not private while
F-Felipe is here, and I order him to stay! Felipe, do you hear me?' His voice
rose to a shout, and Tristán bowed impassively.
De Castaneda turned to Juana with outspread hands. 'There,
senorita! Your modesty does you credit, but you need not scruple to stay here!
The good Felipe will wait within earshot, and if you grow uneasy you have only
to call him and he will protect you, mmn?'
And who, Juana wondered, flinching from the lash of memory,
would protect her from the good Felipe? In a voice of ice she said aloud, 'I do
not want the surveillance of a manservant, Senor de Castaneda. You know as well
as I do that our code requires that I should have female company for such an
interview, and I will not forgo it.'
'Tut, tut!' De Castaneda's lips pursed in mock reproof.
'You presume upon my kindness, senorita. Be content, and remember that petty
rules are made for greater men to break — are they not, nephew?' He looked
towards the Duque, who was still staring avidly at Juana without hearing him,
and the silence grew painful before he continued. 'Bartolomé wishes only to be
closer acquainted with you before you plight your troth. Was not that what you
yourself wanted, when you were so hot to come to him?'
She gazed back at him wordlessly, the recollection of her
own eagerness like bile in the back of her throat, and saw a glint of pleasure
in his bright, narrowed eyes before he bowed. Then with a nod to his nephew he
went strutting back the way he had come, and she turned as the doors closed
behind him to find herself confronting the creature who was to be her husband.
His mouth was hanging open as he stared at her, and the
slight, spontaneous twitching of his hands made her want to avert her eyes. In
that moment she was ready to call for help, to seek protection even from the
man she loathed, but the Duque spoke before she could find her voice.
'Sen-senorita,' the words were jerky with excitement, 'My
uncle says I can marry you, if I des-desire it.'
She tried to free her hand, still held in his sweating
fist, but it was unavailing. But you need not, Your Grace,' she returned as
calmly as she could. 'If you do not like me, you need not marry me.'
'N-not? But my uncle promised!' Bartolomé scowled. 'It is
my birthday, and he said I should have a wife on my f-feast day. Why not have
you? I have paid your f-father money.'
Suddenly Juana wanted to laugh. Of course, all this Duque's
wealth would not suffice to buy him a bride of his own rank, so a proud father
had been found who would give anything to have his daughter a Duquesa. And a
settlement on top of the honour would quell any lingering doubts. . . .
She said unevenly, 'Your Grace could choose another wife
instead. ..‘
He shook his head vehemently, tugging at her arm to swing
her round like a doll. His grip was stronger than she would have thought
possible of the rigid shoulders and sticklike limbs.
‗No, for you are pretty. Pretty hair, pretty face..
..' His free hand came out to touch
taste.
Before she could retort, Juana heard the Duque's voice. He
had been looking from one to the other with a gradually deepening frown, as
though he felt himself excluded, and now burst out, 'It is not private while
F-Felipe is here, and I order him to stay! Felipe, do you hear me?' His voice
rose to a shout, and Tristán bowed impassively.
De Castaneda turned to Juana with outspread hands. 'There,
senorita! Your modesty does you credit, but you need not scruple to stay here!
The good Felipe will wait within earshot, and if you grow uneasy you have only
to call him and he will protect you, mmn?'
And who, Juana wondered, flinching from the lash of memory,
would protect her from the good Felipe? In a voice of ice she said aloud, 'I do
not want the surveillance of a manservant, Senor de Castaneda. You know as well
as I do that our code requires that I should have female company for such an
interview, and I will not forgo it.'
'Tut, tut!' De Castaneda's lips pursed in mock reproof.
'You presume upon my kindness, senorita. Be content, and remember that petty
rules are made for greater men to break — are they not, nephew?' He looked
towards the Duque, who was still staring avidly at Juana without hearing him,
and the silence grew painful before he continued. 'Bartolomé wishes only to be
closer acquainted with you before you plight your troth. Was not that what you
yourself wanted, when you were so hot to come to him?'
She gazed back at him wordlessly, the recollection of her
own eagerness like bile in the back of her throat, and saw a glint of pleasure
in his bright, narrowed eyes before he bowed. Then with a nod to his nephew he
went strutting back the way he had come, and she turned as the doors closed
behind him to find herself confronting the creature who was to be her husband.
His mouth was hanging open as he stared at her, and the
slight, spontaneous twitching of his hands made her want to avert her eyes. In
that moment she was ready to call for help, to seek protection even from the
man she loathed, but the Duque spoke before she could find her voice.
'Sen-senorita,' the words were jerky with excitement, 'My
uncle says I can marry you, if I des-desire it.'
She tried to free her hand, still held in his sweating
fist, but it was unavailing. But you need not, Your Grace,' she returned as
calmly as she could. 'If you do not like me, you need not marry me.'
'N-not? But my uncle promised!' Bartolomé scowled. 'It is
my birthday, and he said I should have a wife on my f-feast day. Why not have
you? I have paid your f-father money.'
Suddenly Juana wanted to laugh. Of course, all this Duque's
wealth would not suffice to buy him a bride of his own rank, so a proud father
had been found who would give anything to have his daughter a Duquesa. And a
settlement on top of the honour would quell any lingering doubts. . . .
She said unevenly, 'Your Grace could choose another wife
instead. ..‘
He shook his head vehemently, tugging at her arm to swing
her round like a doll. His grip was stronger than she would have thought
possible of the rigid shoulders and sticklike limbs.
‗No, for you are pretty. Pretty hair, pretty face..
..' His free hand came out to touch
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