Bride of Fortune (41 page)

      
“That is why the emperor dispatched the prince on this journey. We will see what must be done to eliminate the republican menace and we will deal with them,” von Scheeling interjected crisply.

      
“That might be easier said than done.” Nicholas’ tone was mildly irritated. “The Juaristas have the advantage of fighting on home ground. They use hit-and-run tactics that are almost impossible for regular troops to combat.”

      
Von Scheeling's face reddened. “You mean that they won't stand and fight like soldiers—they run and hide like thieves.”

      
Nicholas shrugged. “A most effective way to wear down the enemy.”

      
“And you are, of course, an expert on these guerrillas?” There was an unmistakable hint of insult in the question.

      
Prince Salm-Salm quickly gave von Scheeling a stern look, saying, “Don Lucero has spent many years fighting the rebels. He is more than qualified to speak on the subject.”

      
The junior officer's expression was mutinous but he immediately subsided.

      
To smooth over the awkward moment, Fortune said, “I've fought the Juaristas years as a counter-insurgent. When you go up against them one on one, you learn to respect their abilities...or you end up dead.”

      
In Europe rabble such as this would never have been able to challenge proper authority,” von Scheeling replied.

      
“This isn't Europe,” was Fortune's silky reply.
Pompous young ass.
Von Scheeling had never fought in a guerrilla war. The Prussian may once have been a soldier, but now had become a court fop in a starched uniform, the sort he had always scorned.

      
So, obviously, did the prince. “The situation here is vastly different than General von Schlieffen's campaigns,” he said dryly, observing the dangerous-looking Mexican's disdain for the brash young officer. He had always disliked von Scheeling, and of late, the fool was becoming burdensome. Perhaps Alvarado was just the man to relieve him of that burden.

      
“Von Schlieffen possesses a brilliant military mind. He would cut a wide swath through Juarez's so-called army,” the lieutenant replied. “Are you perhaps familiar with his tactical genius?”

      
Fortune was. “The general has been your Minister Otto von Bismarck's tool to gobble up increasingly larger portions of German-speaking Europe. I believe he'll eventually tackle the French emperor.” He ignored von Scheeling dismissively and asked, “What do you think, your highness?”

      
Mercedes heard bits and snatches of their conversation and realized her husband was discussing European diplomacy and politics like a seasoned statesman. Lucero had boasted about never having read so much as a single book on history. She toyed nervously with the elegant orange liqueur dessert soufflé on her plate, too filled with apprehensions and unspoken fears about her love to want to consider this new inconsistency. Then, as faint music from the orchestra began to drift into the dining room from Don Encarnación's enormous ballroom, Lieutenant von Scheeling interrupted her troubling thoughts with an invitation to dance.

      
Guests were already filtering out of the dining room and down the hall, drawn gaily toward the sounds of a soaring waltz. Although she disliked the patronizing young officer, Mercedes felt an overpowering urge to get away from her husband at that moment, away from him and his witty, brilliant conversation with the prince. Smiling and taking her leave of the princess, she accepted the offer.

      
Nicholas watched as von Scheeling assisted Mercedes from her chair and solicitously took her arm, heading to the ballroom. He suddenly felt the insane urge to slap the lieutenant's hands off his wife's soft golden flesh. Jealousy, bald-faced and totally irrational, confronted him head-on, all the more absurd since he was certain that Mercedes detested the pompous Prussian officer as much as he did.

      
Prince Salm-Salm smiled shrewdly. “Perhaps we should not neglect the ladies or bore them with politics any longer, but adjourn to dancing. As an old soldier who has a right leg filled with grapeshot, I make an insufferable partner for such a superb dancer as my wife.”

      
“What Salmi is none too subtly hinting at is for you to partner me in that delicious waltz,” Agnes interjected with a merry laugh.

      
“It would be my great honor, your highness,” Nicholas said, rising and bowing with a courtly flourish. The prince's American wife was a born flirt, but charming and amusing nonetheless.

      
While they made their way down the hall, she whispered conspiratorially to him, “As you no doubt have heard, my accomplished dancing skills come as a result of my professional training. I was a circus acrobat who danced atop bouncing horses when Salmi met me.”

      
Nicholas threw back his head and laughed. “Let us hope I will prove a smoother dance partner than a circus horse, although I make few promises beyond that. It's been some years since I waltzed with a beautiful lady and never before with a princess.”

      
She tilted her auburn head, smiling at the compliment as they entered the ballroom. A breathtaking expanse of polished hardwood floor was filled with couples dancing beneath the glittering lights cast by two immense crystal chandeliers, each lit with hundreds of candles. A champagne fountain bubbled at one end of the room and an orchestra worthy of the imperial court played at the other.

      
“I certainly didn't expect to see this sort of a display so far away from the capital,” Agnes confessed.

      
“Most
hacendados
do not fare so well as Don Encarnación,” Nicholas replied. “He can stave off marauding soldiers with his own private army, an army he's kept for the past thirty years to ensure that his silver shipments reach the American border.”

      
The princess nodded in understanding. “And what of you, Don Lucero? How does your
hacienda
fare in these troubled times?”

      
“Now that I'm home, we'll manage. Mercedes did a splendid job while I was away. It was hard on her, not to mention dangerous; but she held two armies at bay and kept our people fed and sheltered, no mean feat in wartime.” His eyes swept the floor automatically, searching for his wife's golden head amid so many dark ones.

      
Agnes fondly watched the way he looked at his wife. Young love was marvelous. Hell, love at any age was marvelous. “Perhaps it's time you rescued her from Arnoldt's clutches. He fancies himself a ladies' man, but in fact, he's a frightful bore.”

      
“Ah, but first I must waltz with a princess. It may be my only chance,” he replied with a smile as they swept onto the crowded floor.

      
“You haven't had much time together, have you?” she asked shrewdly.

      
“The war has separated many families, even the emperor and empress, as I heard you remark earlier.”

      
“I don't think they were ever quite the love match you and Doña Mercedes are,” the princess said dryly. “Max is true to his Bonaparte forebears, a born philanderer. You did know he was Napoleon's grandson, didn't you?”

      
Fortune had heard the rumor about Maximilian of Hapsburg's mother having an affair with the son of the first French emperor. “He would seem more Bonaparte in his grandiose schemes,” Nicholas conceded, then grinned. “I've also heard he pursues every beautiful woman at court. How does the prince keep you safe?”

      
“La, you are a flatterer. I am utterly devoted to Max and he to me, but not in that way. He's really rather like the charming but scandalous younger brother I never had.”

      
Fortune arched an eyebrow dubiously. “Somehow I find it difficult to imagine you in the role of a stern elder sister.”

      
Now it was she who threw back her head and laughed heartily. “Elder sister, yes, but stern, never. I find myself quite indulgent of his foibles.” Her expression sobered as she added softly, “I only pray his grand adventure doesn't end badly for him.”

      
From across the room Ursula Terraza de Vargas watched the exchange between the dangerous-looking young
hacendado
and the princess. How mysterious and heart-stoppingly handsome he was, with that aura of leashed violence always lurking just beneath his flashing smile. Don Lucero was completely unlike her own bland and stolid Mariano, who was as passionless as a monk, a man who never showed any real interest in his beautiful young wife unless it was to upbraid her for some foolish breach of social decorum.

      
After nearly a year of trying to gain his attention, she had resorted to taking lovers in secret, her only means of rebelling against his indifference and his father's social strictures. But she would not think of Mariano or Don Encarnación tonight.

      
No, not now when that vulgar American circus performer was making Don Lucero laugh in his wickedly sensuous way. No, indeed. Licking her lips in anticipation, she began to scheme.

      
Outside on the terrace, Mercedes breathed deeply of the cool, fresh night air, redolent with the perfume from frangipani trees in Don Encarnación's gardens. She walked quickly behind a copse of poinsettia and hugged herself, shivering. This was totally stupid, irrational. She had faced down Juarista bandits and fended off the advances of lecherous politicians, even held a French captain at gunpoint and made him back down.

      
“Why does von Scheeling terrify me so?” she murmured to herself. He had done nothing worse than pay her flowery compliments in awkward French and even more clumsy Spanish, and perhaps hold her a bit too closely while they waltzed.

      
It was those eyes, merciless and flat, like granite. She felt foolish for having made up a headache and excusing herself in the middle of the waltz like some flighty virgin, but she had to escape that dreadful sense of menace.

      
Lieutenant Arnoldt von Scheeling was a man who gave off the scent of death. Lucero had already had words with him and she did not want to be the cause of a scene between the two volatile, dangerous men. Far better to let her husband continue laughing and dancing, surrounded by female adulation.

      
The jealous turn of her thoughts was absurd, of course. Agnes du Salm was devoted to her prince, but that little cat Ursula seemed far more interested in Lucero than in her own husband. From her vantage point in the garden Mercedes could see in the open floor-length doors of the ballroom to where Lucero's tall elegant frame stood out half a head taller than any other man in the room. Right now he was bending low to hear Ursula whisper some flirtatious nonsense.

      
“I have no reason to be jealous,” she repeated to herself like a litany, as she watched him dancing with the voluptuous raven-haired beauty. But what of when his wife grew fat and shapeless as she began to increase? She could not shake this nagging fear. Was Lucero really such a changed man after all?

      
“I've brought champagne to soothe your headache, Liebchen,” von Scheeling purred in her ear.

      
She turned to face the Prussian officer with a startled gasp.

      
Inside, Nicholas whirled Mariano's spoiled young wife around the dance floor, his mind only half on her vapid conversation as he considered how to excuse himself so he could go in search of Mercedes. “You were saying, Doña?”

      
She pouted prettily. “You haven't heard a word I've said. Soon I shall think I'm losing my beauty.”

      
“Never that. Don Mariano is the luckiest of men to have such a lovely wife,” Nicholas placated.

      
“Him,” she replied petulantly. “He ignores me as if I were invisible. I used to believe he had a mistress. Perhaps he does, but she is not a woman.”

      
A premonition washed over Fortune as he inclined his head to hers. “Really? What then, Doña?”

      
“It is boring old politics, just as it is with his father. He is just as secretive, involved in some silly plot.”

      
“Somehow I have never thought your husband and his father much alike,” he prompted. “What makes you think your husband is plotting something?” All his senses were at full alert now.

      
“Hah! I followed him one night,” she replied with an eerie glitter in her violet eyes. “For months now, every Saturday he rides away just after midnight. I was certain he was meeting a woman.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “But it was only another man, some rough-looking gunman. I sneaked behind a bush and listened to them discuss something about that Indian who still claims to be president,” she said scornfully.

      
“Really. Surely you must be mistaken. What could a pistolero know of Juarez?” Nicholas asked, even as he calculated. Tomorrow night was Saturday. Would Vargas hold his assignation when the house was filled with guests?