Page 27 of Midnight Rider
He looked shocked. It went without saying that she was picturing a mariachi band and flamenco dancers. “My dear lady,” he said with faint hauteur, “Lupe is a highborn Spanish noblewoman who only recently organized the marriage of the king’s niece.”
The woman was all but stuttering. Her opinion of Latin people was so evident as to be embarrassing, but it changed again, immediately. “The king...of Spain?”
“Of course.”
“Then certainly she must know...must be quite adept...at such matters. You will excuse me? There is an old friend I must greet. Congratulations to you both!”
She was red-faced and all but running to escape putting her foot any farther into her mouth.
Eduardo watched her go with an elegantly raised eyebrow.
Bernadette’s fingers nipped the back of his hand.
He chuckled as he grasped them tightly in his own. “Already you think to correct my bad behavior, wife-to-be?”
“She isn’t as bad as I’ve made her out to be,” she murmured with a grin.
He couldn’t quite accept the change in Bernadette. They’d been adversaries for a long time, until just recently. Now she was so different that he wondered how they’d ever disagreed. She was poised and elegant and she looked lovely in the low-cut gown. He found himself remembering the softness of her breasts under his mouth, and he looked at them with pure pleasure. He hadn’t yet tasted her soft skin. He wanted to. Badly.
She saw where his eyes were trained and brought up an elegant silk fan in a small gloved hand to block his gaze.
“Shame on you,” she whispered.
He grinned. “Were you remembering, as well?” he taunted softly.
She colored and looked quickly around to see if anyone had overheard.
“Don’t you want to rap my fingers again?” he invited.
“You are going to make a very difficult husband,” she said.
“Only from time to time. And never at night.” He held up a hand when she looked near to an explosion. “There, there, I’ll reform.” He glanced around them. “Why were you the object of so much speculation when I arrived?”
“One of thevaquerosoverheard us talking to my father this morning and told that we’d been out together all night. That dear soul told another,” she said sarcastically. “Then another and another until, apparently, someone felt obliged to inform the rest of our visitors.”
“Tell me the man’s name and I’ll have a little talk with him,” he said, glancing around with danger in his eyes.
“I certainly won’t,” she replied, fanning herself. “You can’t go around shooting people.”
“Bernadette, you wound me!” He put his hand over his heart. “Would I be so uncivilized?”
“Of course you would,” she replied without hesitation, snapping her fan shut to punctuate her words. “And my father would be horrified.”
“I suppose he would.” He caught her hand in his and drew her toward the dance floor. “I think they’re all waiting for us to begin the waltz,” he pointed out. He stopped in the middle of the ballroom and smiled down at her as his gloved hand insinuated itself around her small waist. “Are you up to this?” he asked gently. “Lungs not bothering you yet?”
She shook her head. “I suppose they should be, after the cold last night and all this perfume we’re surrounded by. But I feel quite well.” She smiled at him. “In fact, I feel as if I could float up to the ceiling.”
He drew her just a little closer and as the band began to play a Strauss waltz, he pulled her into the first wide steps with expertise.
“We’ve never danced together,” she said.
“I know. There never really was an opportunity. You dance very well.”
“I was taught at finishing school. You dance well yourself.” She let her feet carry her along to the rousing strains of the music, laughing softly with pleasure as they turned and floated together gracefully around the ballroom. “I suppose you learned as a boy,” she said.
He nodded. “It was expected. All the social graces, languages, fencing.”
“Can you really fence?” she asked, fascinated. “Could you teach me?”