Wicked Loving Lies. Rosemary RogersЧитать онлайн книгу.
his loss for himself?
Still acting the way Blanca would, Marisa lifted her shoulders.
“Why not find out? I wanted you to notice me for myself. I do not like crowds. They make me feel stifled, and—and trapped. And I do not like being made fun of, either.”
“Should I apologize for my friends and myself?” He swept her a mocking bow, offering her the half-empty wineskin. “Here, now that we are alone, shall we drink to an understanding? I didn’t expect to see you back of your own accord, but here you are, which proves that I am as ignorant as the next man when it comes to understanding the whims of women.” His strangely light eyes crinkled at the corners, catching her attention in spite of herself. What a time to start wondering about him—what kind of man was he?
She shook her head, refusing the wine. “No, I am not used to drinking, señor.”
“But an expert at picking pockets? You continue to surprise me, little gypsy.”
Marisa felt the hot blood rush into her face, but she refused to give ground. “Yes, certainly. But isn’t that only what you would expect from a gypsy wench? The very worst. You made that clear, all of you, when you kept talking of me as if I had no ears.”
A sudden brightness leaped into his eyes, stabbing into hers like a flash of lightning. “Olé!” He said it softly, tilting the wineskin to his lips again and then lowering it slowly. “So you are a creature of emotion after all. You breathe, you feel, and you even think, it seems. Good. We have established that much, at least. Also your price—which is high. I warn you, I shall expect a great deal in return….”
Without warning, Marisa found her waist encircled by a steely arm again. Before she could protest, she was drawn against him tasting, unwillingly, the wine on his breath as he forced her head back with his brutal kiss.
Instinctively, she struggled against him, hands pushing futilely against his shoulders. Horrible! To be kissed like any common slut, without consideration of her feelings. First he insulted her and then he kissed her.
Marisa kept her teeth tightly clenched together and kept twisting her head from side to side, trying to avoid the bruising pressure of his mouth on hers. In spite of her frantic struggles she felt herself drawn against his body. His cloak was open down the front, and she felt stifled in its folds; she was terrified by the pressure of his lean, masculine body all the way down hers. Her neck would surely break in another minute, and she could not breathe. There was a buzzing in her ears and she was no longer capable of the effort of resisting him, even when some faraway part of her mind realized that he had slipped her thin blouse off one shoulder and was fondling her breasts. Her body lay limply against his, still shivering with revulsion; and when she opened her mouth to gasp for breath his tongue forced its way between her lips, bringing a renewal of her feeble attempts to turn her face away.
Did he actually intend to force himself on her here, with everyone looking on? What a callous, unfeeling brute this man was to use her this way as if she had been some whore he had picked up for the night.
Just when she felt that she was about to faint, he lifted his head slightly, and Marisa saw that his eyes looked like silver now, like polished mirrors in which she could see her own flushed, terrified reflection. Remembering old stories about the devil coming to earth in human disguise in order to seduce women, she felt an overwhelming desire to cross herself.
She half gasped and half moaned and saw the cynical, almost sneering smile that flickered across his cleanshaven face.
“Be assured, little picarona, that you need not play the innocent virgin for my benefit. Tonight I do not feel inclined for the usual tussle—nor for the usual preliminaries. Come along now, and let’s have no more games, eh?” Her knees were so weak with shock and terror that she would have fallen if he had not seized her by the wrist. He was taking her back to his friends, and she would never escape if she did not use her wits as she had meant to do in the beginning.
“No!” She pulled back, not having to feign the breathlessness of her tone. “Please, señor, not back to those friends of yours who laugh and make fun of me because I’m only a poor gypsy girl. My wagon is not far away, and it is empty—”
“What a changeable, surprising creature you are,” he said softly, slipping his arm about her waist again. “One moment you act as if my kisses disgust you, and the next—you are as hot as fire!”
She said quickly, “Gypsy women are very independent. We like to choose our own lovers.” She prayed that her voice sounded flirtatious enough as she allowed herself to sway against him. “At least, you are not a brightly dressed parrot like the other men in your party.”
She dared not look into his eyes again as they strolled towards the outskirts of the crowd and now pressed more and more closely about the whirling dancers.
“Please—act casual. I do not want my novio to notice,” she murmured. The conceited boor! He actually believed himself irresistible. How easy it had been to trick him after all! Viciously, Marisa hoped that Mario and his friends would teach this particular caballero a lesson he would never forget.
They were being jostled by people who were eager to see what was going on. The rumors had already begun to fly around that the queen herself was here in disguise, along with the notorious duchess of Alba, who was fond of masquerading as a maja in order to pick up commoner-lovers.
Marisa’s lips felt bruised and swollen, and her breasts seemed to burn from the casual, all-too-knowing caresses she had been forced to endure. It was all she could do to lean docilely in this man’s hard embrace and pretend that he had subdued her spirit. Angry thoughts whirled around in her brain. Where was Mario? Pray God he’d rescue her soon.
No one took any notice of them, not even when Mario himself, as if conjured up by her thoughts, appeared suddenly to bar their way. His dark features were suffused with fury, and his hand lay threateningly on the dagger in his waistband. Behind him, Marisa noticed two of his cronies, carrying heavy cudgels.
“So! This is what you’ve been doing behind my back! I should not have expected a woman like you to be satisfied with just one lover. Or was it his money and fine clothes that attracted you? Bitch. I saw you kissing him as if you could not bear to tear yourself away. And as for you, señor, I think that after tonight you’ll think twice before you attempt to meddle with one of our gypsy women….”
His tirade and his rage seemed all too real, and Marisa could not help shrinking involuntarily. Through widening eyes she saw the other two men move silently to either side of Mario as he drew his dagger.
“I think I will mark up your face first,” he snarled, “before I allow my friends to beat you within an inch of your life. You aristocrats should learn to stick to your own kind!”
“I wondered when you would appear on the scene.” Marisa heard the drawling, drily sarcastic voice and tried to tear herself away, but with a quick jerk of his arm he held her before him, and she felt something cold against her side. She thought she heard a clicking sound. She saw the gypsies freeze as the drawling voice continued in a conversational manner, “This pistol is made to fire two shots without reloading—which one of you wants to get it first? And of course there’s always the chance that your little friend here might get nicked in the process. Well?”
Marisa felt the hair at the back of her neck prickle, and she stood rigidly, hardly daring to breathe. He meant it! There had been a steely undertone to his voice that made her certain he would have no compunction about shooting, as he had promised.
“You had no right to walk off with my woman,” Mario blustered uneasily, his eyes darting this way and that; and at almost the same moment a voice behind them made him jump.
“What is going on there?” Two uniformed guardsmen had come up, their sternly frowning faces taking in the whole picture. “Were these gypsy devils attempting to rob you, señor? A good thing Don Manuel ordered us to keep an eye on this little wench here. It’s a favorite trick among these people—”
“But one I had half-expected already.