Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 (31 page)

After a long, tense moment of silence, Sebastian gave a grim nod. He slowly lowered her to her feet. ‘I'm afraid I deserve that. But I assure you, Miss Manning, you have nothing to fear from me now.'

‘Nothing?' Mary almost laughed. Surely she had more to fear of him than she ever had of anything else. With him, she had to fear herself, her own wild feelings, as she never had to before. Not only did she have the memory of how she had once kissed him, how he had once turned her away, but also she had to be careful of his real intentions there in Brazil. She had long ago learned that every person in a diplomatic delegation, especially men who were sent in the midst of delicate negotiations, often had their own, secret plans.

‘I know you will not believe me, but I only want to keep you safe,' he said.

To her shock, Mary found that she
wanted
to believe him. ‘Do you think I haven't learned how to keep myself safe, Lord Sebastian? That my family and friends cannot help me?'

‘Miss Manning—Mary,' he said, in a quiet, strangely urgent tone that captured her attention fully. ‘There are things happening here in Brazil—things you cannot know. You must be wary.'

‘What do you mean?' she said, startled.

The crowd surged around them again, pushing her close against him. His arm came around her to hold her steady. ‘Come with me,' he said close to her ear. His hand slid tight around hers and he pulled her with him against the wave of the crowd towards the edge of the square. His tall, lean body sheltered her from the cheering mass of people.

She went with him, unable to resist, to run away. She was far too curious to know what his words meant. Brazil was such a strange place, so full of light and heat, that she hadn't felt like herself ever since she glimpsed its shore. Being close to Sebastian now only made her feel even more the strange, heady glow of it all. Made her feel like a different person entirely.

He drew her into the shelter of a narrow walkway that ran between two of the whitewashed buildings. The overhanging balconies blocked out the bright sunlight, casting strange shadows on the cobblestones below. The sound of the crowds, mere steps away, seemed muted and echoing there.

Mary looked up into Sebastian's face, searching his expression for some hint of what was happening. The shadows flickered over his sculpted face, casting his eyes into darkness.

She thought of her own strange feelings there in Rio, her father's distraction. Could something dangerous, even more dangerous than what was left behind in Lisbon, be happening? She reached out and gently touched his arm, half-afraid the feel of him would give her a lightning shock. But his hard, muscled strength seemed to give her something to hold on to for a moment in that shifting, tilting world.

‘Please, Sebastian,' she said softly, not looking away from him. She saw something glimmer in his eyes at the sound of his name. ‘What is happening? Is there something dangerous happening here in Rio? Something that could affect my father?'

Sebastian reached up and covered her hand with his, his skin warm against hers. ‘Mary, I fear I cannot talk about my work. But you surely know how much is at stake here. Just because the Braganzas are out of the paths of Napoleon and under British protection for now, it doesn't mean everyone is content with matters as they are. Everyone has their own ideas of the world as it should be.'

Mary's mind raced, whirling around all the dangers that lurked behind them in Europe. ‘Do you mean the Prince Regent's position? If he really preferred the French alliance and he was forced to leave...'

‘Perhaps not Dom Joao. He did seem to come around truly to the importance of the English alliance. But there are others, many others, who may still prefer France.' To her shock, he took both her hands in his and held them close. ‘Mary, you have lived this life of diplomacy for a long time. I know you realise that things are seldom as they appear. But I also know that your kind heart thinks ill of no one—except dastards like me who deserve it.'

A dastard? It was true she had once thought that, but now she was not so sure. Mary's head was spinning. ‘Who should I think ill of? My father confides little in me of his work; I know he doesn't want to worry me. But I do hear whispers, see things...'

‘And you want to protect your family, as I do. I have come to see the real importance of family, Mary, whether you believe me now or not. I want to help you, if I can.'

‘Please, Sebastian!' she cried. ‘Tell me what is happening.'

He glanced over her shoulder, to the doorway where their quiet little sanctuary spilled out to the noisy square, and his expression hardened. As she watched, it went in an instant from urgent to cold as ice. Even though he still stood close to her, holding on to her hands, he seemed to have flown away from her.

She tried to tug her hands away, but he held on to her. He looked down at her again, his eyes dark.

‘You are friends with the Fernandes siblings, yes?' he said, his voice quiet, chilly. ‘Dom Luis and his sister?'

Mary was confused. ‘Teresa? Yes, we became friends when I arrived in Lisbon and spent much time together on the voyage. She is lady-in-waiting to Doña Carlota...' Doña Carlota—who was famously discontented with the voyage to Brazil, with losing her Iberian power base. ‘Are you saying that Teresa is helping Doña Carlota in her communications with her family in Spain, or something of that nature? I am sure that can't be true. Teresa thinks of little but fun, but she and her brother are loyal to their Queen and Regent.'

But was that really true? Mary remembered how Sebastian said her ‘kind heart' wouldn't suspect a friend and she bit her lip. She did not want him to think her naïve, but neither could she imagine Teresa was a conspirator. Perhaps Sebastian was the one with darker motives, trying to plant doubts in her mind? How well did she know him, really?

‘I fear I have no time to talk now, Mary,' he said quickly. ‘And I know you do not, cannot, trust me again. Just please—be careful of all that happens around you.'

‘I always do that. Sebastian, please, tell me what you mean!'

He raised one of her hands to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to her wrist. His lips were warm through the thin silk of her glove. ‘Will you be at the royal court? There is to be an official reception at the palace in two days.'

‘Of course. Should I beware of something there? Really, Sebastian—I feel I am in a Gothic play of some sort.' And of course, she was. She had come with an entire royal court across an ocean to escape invasion and war; she was in the middle of hundreds of people, all with their own desires and agendas. It could be nothing but Byzantine.

He gave her a reluctant-looking smile. ‘It is not, I promise. All too mundane in these times, I fear. I will find you at the reception and will tell you more if I can. Just promise me you will be careful.'

Mary stared up into his eyes. His hand on hers felt warm, safe, and she found that in that moment she did something she thought she never would—she trusted him. ‘I will be careful.'

‘Then let me help you find your father now.'

She nodded, knowing they could not stay there hidden much longer, that she couldn't yet force him to tell her what was in his mind. She followed him to the end of their walkway and they were plunged back into the chaos of the square. The royal family was processing from the cathedral to their makeshift palace, amid a shower of flower petals.

With every step, she was intensely aware of Sebastian pressed close to her in the crowd, his tall body sheltering her, his warning words ringing in her mind.

She would go along now. What choice did she have? She could not force him to tell her; indeed she was sure he was a man who could not be
made
to do anything. But she no longer would leave herself vulnerable, either.

‘Mary! Mary, over here,' she heard Teresa call over the music and the cheers.

Mary glanced over her shoulder to find Teresa hurrying towards her, with Luis close behind her, both of them blindingly beautiful in their fine court clothes. Her white-lace mantilla fluttered in the breeze, studded with tiny, flashing crystal beads. Mary waved back to them.

When she turned back to Sebastian, she found he was gone, melted away into the crowd as if he had never been there with her at all.

Teresa grabbed Mary's hand and drew her into the merriment of the square. The royal family had vanished into the palace, but the party still swirled on. Mary glimpsed her father talking to some of his colleagues on the cathedral steps, then he was gone as well, but not before she glimpsed the frown on his face.

‘Mary, it is the most wonderful thing! There is to be a masked ball tomorrow night, here in this very square,' Teresa cried. ‘Doesn't that sound like marvellous fun? We have to find a dressmaker immediately, to make up glorious gowns before anyone else can hire them.'

Mary laughed at her friend's enthusiasm, despite Sebastian's labyrinthine warnings about the Fernandes siblings. Surely he had to be wrong. Teresa was always so full of laughter, lightness, despite the loss of her home city. ‘A marvellous gown in only a day?'

‘I am sure it can be done. Come, we must start right away,' Teresa said, tugging Mary away down one of the crowded streets.

‘And perhaps you would save me a dance, Senhorita Manning?' Luis said, smiling down at Mary. He was certainly very handsome, almost as handsome as Sebastian in his dark, alluring way, and she tried to read his dark eyes, to see if he hid any secrets there. But there was nothing but laughter. ‘A
carricola
? I could teach you.'

Before Mary could answer, Teresa rushed forward, drawing them both behind her. Mary laughed, letting herself be lost in the heady swirl of the moment, yet she did not forget her resolve to find out exactly what secrets Sebastian held.

Chapter Thirteen

M
ary surveyed the drawing room, set up with tea for Teresa's visit with the dressmaker they had somehow bribed to make their costumes for that night's masked ball. All seemed to be in readiness, as elegant as she could make it in such a short time. The room was small, but pretty, with her mother's finely embroidered tablecloths and silver ornaments on every surface. The china tea service was laid out, along with an array of delicacies she had managed to communicate with the cook on making. Large arrangements of tropical flowers, bright pink and red and yellow, splashed their vivid colours over the pale walls.

From beyond the louvred doors of the dining room, which her father had set up as his makeshift library, she could hear him rustling papers and moving books about. He had been quiet over breakfast, smiling as she told him about the arrangements for the masked ball, but also distracted. She hoped she would not be in his way.

She moved a vase of flowers from one table to another, wondering why she felt so restless. Was it the sun, so golden-hot behind the shutters? The strangeness of the new place? The ball? She couldn't fathom it at all.

She just hoped it was not because of Sebastian. Surely that was not it!

Her whirling thoughts were interrupted when Teresa arrived, amid flurries of bonnet ribbons and feathers, exclamations of the loveliness of the room, the excitement of the ball. She was soon followed by the dressmaker and there was very serious work to commence.

Before long, the sitting room was scattered with lengths of bright silks and velvets, sheer muslins, spools of ribbon and lace, as fine as any that could have been found in Europe. Mary sipped at her tea and watched as the dressmaker finished with the hem of Teresa's costume, a frothy confection of white cotton and lace with delicate, silvery angel's wings.

The warmth of the sun flowing from the windows, the shadows that lurked in the corners, gave it all such a wondrous dreamlike feeling. She almost felt as if she was dreaming, watching the scene through a lacy veil. She remembered what her father had said about Sebastian and wondered if he would be at the masquerade. Would he tell her then what he had warned her about? Or would he evade her again?

He was so very maddening.

‘What do you think, Mary?' Teresa asked, pulling Mary away from her thoughts of Sebastian. Teresa spun around, her sheer sleeves fluttering in the sunlight. ‘Does it need more ribbons? More lace here?'

‘I am afraid those are all the ribbons I have,
senhorita
,' the dressmaker said with a fierce scowl. ‘Since the royal family has arrived, every scrap of silk and lace has been sold five times over! No one wanted such things before; almost no merchants would import them. Now they are all anyone asks for! How am I to run my business?'

‘It doesn't need anything at all, Teresa,' Mary assured her. ‘You will surely be the prettiest, most stylish lady at the party.'

Teresa laughed. ‘I don't think there is much competition! Doña Carlota and her ladies, with their enormous turbans...' She snatched up a length of bright red-and-white-striped satin and wove it around her head in a towering arc. ‘Dashing, yes?'

Mary had to laugh at the incongruous sight of the elaborate swath of fabric against the plain white walls, the warm sunshine. ‘Very dashing indeed.'

‘And what will you wear, Mary?' Teresa asked.

‘I hardly know,' Mary said. ‘Whatever is left, I suppose.'

‘Ah, no,
senhorita
!' the dressmaker cried. ‘I have brought one of my finest creations for you to try on. Something to go with your friend's angel gown.' She snapped her fingers and her assistant hurried forward with a muslin-wrapped parcel over her arms. They drew it back to reveal a gown and Mary gasped, for it was not what she would have expected.

It was made of glossy black satin, as lustrous as a starry night, with a simple skirt draped from a high waist which was bound with red ribbons. Black lace, delicate as cobwebs, fell from the square neckline. It made her think of the evenings aboard the ship during the voyage, the many shades of black in the sky that stretched endlessly over the ship; it was a gown for a queen of the night.

‘Oh, Mary!' Teresa cried, hurrying over to carefully touch one of the black-lace ruffles. ‘It's amazing.'

‘Indeed it is,' Mary said, sitting up straight in her chair. ‘But is it too—bold?'

‘Not at all,
senhorita
!' the dressmaker protested. ‘It will suit you most well. Shall you try it on now? There is much to be done if it's to be ready for tonight.'

‘Yes, do, Mary,' Teresa urged. ‘It will look beautiful. Every man there will want to dance with you, especially my brother.'

Mary laughed. Suddenly, she
did
feel bold. Luis Fernandes was very well known at the royal court as a flirt and great lover of ladies. She could not take him seriously, though he had asked her to dance; perhaps others would as well? And perhaps she
would
dance, safe behind her mask.

Safe from Sebastian.

She quickly slipped behind a screen set up in the corner of the room and quickly slipped out of her simple muslin morning dress into the basted-together gown the assistant handed her.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a gilt-framed mirror on the wall and was startled. She'd been so careful for so long, so respectable and proper. Ever since she had let her emotions take hold of her so foolishly in London, she had held herself in so closely. Now—now she wanted to fly, just a little bit. Was it this place? The sun and heat, the brilliant flowers and strange people?

Or was it—could it be—Sebastian again? His handsome face, his mysterious words. The way he looked at her, as if he saw her as no one else ever had.

She stepped out from behind the screen and the dressmaker rushed over with her pins and thread, clucking over the long, sheer sleeves, the unfinished hem. ‘What do you think,
senhorita
?'

‘It is beautiful, of course,' Mary said. ‘Your skills would not be out of place in London or Lisbon, I'm sure.'

The dressmaker smiled smugly. ‘I was told this style would suit you above all others,
senhorita
.'

Mary was startled. ‘Told by who? My father?'

The dressmaker shook her head. ‘Oh, no. Senhor Manning did indeed send for me, but a younger gentleman visited my shop only this morning. He had seen this satin in my window and wanted me to save it for you especially. He was most—persuasive.'

The assistant giggled.

‘Who was this man?' Mary demanded.

The dressmaker shrugged. ‘He was young, and quite handsome. You must have a secret admirer.'

‘Oh, Mary!' Teresa cried. ‘Could it be Luis? I did not know he had such romance in him.'

Mary stared at herself in the mirror, wondering about this ‘secret admirer', her curiosity dangerously stirred. In the black-and-red gown, the mysterious veil of lace and silk, she would surely melt into the tropical night itself, searching its shadows for this admirer. Nothing could hide from her then.

Not even Sebastian Barrett.