Wicked Loving Lies - Rosemary Rogers MIRA

Скачать книгу

have been taking lessons,” she said demurely, enjoying the slight trembling of the arms that held her. Oh, yes, he wanted her—and she was surprised at herself for thinking in such a fashion.

      The rest of the evening seemed to pass far too quickly. She drank more champagne, and it seemed to impart a golden glow to everything.

      Marisa had chosen to forget her aunt’s warnings of the afternoon; she was a night-blooming flower, coming into her own in the glow of the chandeliers and the flame in Philip’s eyes. Duty and obligation were words tossed in the teeth of the wind, to be blown away like all her old fears and self-doubts. Tonight she was beautiful and just as sure of herself as any of the other lovely, bejeweled women who flirted behind their ivory fans.

      Philip was falling in love with her; she knew it, sensed it, and hugged the thought to her as a talisman against the past. There was nothing violent about him, nothing fierce or savage that would turn on her to use her and hurt her. Tonight she found it easy to banish the memory of storm-grey eyes alternately mocking and angry, bending her to their will in spite of herself.

      The first subtle beginnings of dawn had begun to silver the sky before Marisa found herself in her bedroom again, hardly able to stand for weariness. Her maid, grumbling her disapproval all the while, helped her undress. Her last conscious thought before she slept was of Philip—his golden hair shining in the lantern light as he bent his head to kiss her very gently and tenderly on the lips….

      She was far too tired to dream, and waking was an effort for she had an unpleasant throbbing in her temples.

      “Come on, sleepy head! This is no time to lie abed dreaming of your handsome Englishman! Wake up. Arlene is already packing for you, and we are to leave for Paris this very afternoon!” Edmée’s voice held soft gurgles of amusement as she watched Marisa struggle to sit upright, pressing her fingers against her forehead as she did.

      “That’s better! There’s a lot to be done, you know. Some coffee with your breakfast will send away the headache. You drank far too much champagne, petite, but you will have to get accustomed to it, if you are to be introduced to society. And you shall be. Even he was impressed by the way our little sparrow has turned into a bird of paradise. So you are to go to Paris with us and meet everybody. But only if you hurry up and are ready in time!”

      Like everything that had happened to her since she had arrived here at Malmaison to be enfolded in affectionate, warmly comforting arms, this, too, seemed like a dream, a rainbow-colored, fragile bubble that might burst at any time, dragging her back to reality. But here was Aunt Edmée reminding her that it was actually happening after all and that she would be staying at the palace of the Tuileries, former home of the kings of France and now the official state apartments of the first consul of France.

      Marisa was far too dazed to question anything, and even the wan-faced Hortense smiled to see her pent-up excitement.

      She whispered when they were finally in one of the carriages together, “I’m sure you’ll see your Englishman again. Do you think you really love him? He did not look at any other woman all evening. Perhaps, oh, perhaps you’ll be allowed to be happy and choose for yourself!”

      Remembering her companion’s own forced marriage, Marisa felt almost guilty at her own feeling of happiness, which threatened to overwhelm her. She gave Hortense’s cold hand a little squeeze.

      “Of course I will be! After all, I am no one important, so they won’t care!”

      And at that moment, with the past behind her and the future stretching out ahead, she believed her own confident words.

      11

      Paris—the new side of Paris that she was seeing now was everything she had once dreamed it would be. Escorted by magnificently uniformed hussars, the entourage of carriages with gold-crested doors swept through the broad avenues, while people thronged the streets to stare and cheer.

      Marisa became aware of the power that Napoleon Bonaparte wielded, and his tremendous popularity with the people. She almost felt herself part of a royal party, and her feeling was heightened when she noticed the obsequious ceremony with which they were greeted when they arrived at the palace.

      Uniformed footmen took care of everything, and rooms had already been prepared with fires burning and fresh-cut flowers to perfume them. There was nothing to do except rest and recover from the effects of their journey here, and Marisa did so obediently for that very evening they were to visit the theater—the famous Comédie Française. And after that there was to be a late supper at the hotel of the Russian ambassador. She would just have to get used to late nights, that was all! She fell unexpectedly asleep then, while thinking blissfully of the crowded days and nights that lay so excitingly ahead.

      “Tomorrow, we’ll have Leroy, the great couturier, come by and measure you for all the new gowns you’ll be needing,” the Countess Landrey announced when she swept into Marisa’s room later that evening. She added, with a twinkle, “And there’s no need to look so worried, love! You are my niece—and Landrey gives me an enormous allowance that I may do with as I wish. Later on, after we have written to your papa and he has forgiven you, and I am positive he will when he understands everything—don’t look afraid—well, then you will have your own pin money. But for tonight, you will wear one of my gowns. See. It is what they call here à l’anglais, very plain but cut by an expert, and it is the color that is everything. It was always a trifle too tight on me, but I have had Arlene alter it for you. Do put it on quickly; I feel sure it will suit you.”

      Still protesting weakly, Marisa allowed herself to be dressed and turned this way and that as if she were a doll. She was still drowsy and far too dazed to do more than gasp when she saw herself reflected in the mirror.

      Cut very low, and tightly banded beneath her breasts, the shimmering thin silk seemed to cling like a second skin as it fell in artful folds to her ankles. She looked like a golden statue, from her flat-heeled gold slippers to the crown of her high-piled hair.

      Crimson rose petals, ruthlessly rubbed on her cheekbones and lips gave her pointed face the color it needed; and at last her aunt stepped back with a sigh of satisfaction.

      “There! And now you will catch all the eyes tonight. They will all be asking who you are, and there will be many handsome young men begging for the honor of an introduction. And you must try and remember, petite, not to show a decided preference for any one of them. All men like the excitement of the chase—la poursuit, tu comprends?”

      She was talking of Philip, of course. Had he thought her too forward, her feelings far too transparent?

      ‘But I don’t care—and Philip is not at all like that!’ Marisa thought mutinously. And once they had arrived at the theater and were seated in their magnificent box, she could not help letting her eyes wander over the throng in search of him.

      She sat back almost immediately, realizing with an uncomfortable feeling that she was being stared at. Ever since the first consul had made his entrance, seating himself to the front of the box next to a magnificently attired Josephine, there had been more eyes on them than on the stage.

      The play was an ancient Greek comedy by Aristophanes, one of those she had dutifully read during the past few weeks, but Marisa found it hard to concentrate. Wait until the intermission, she told herself. Surely if he’s here he’s seen us and will come to our box then. She noticed almost absently that her aunt, too, seemed restless, playing with her fan and letting her attention wander from the stage far too often. So she, too, was looking for someone. A new lover? Marisa’s mind went back to the teasing conversation she had overheard the night of the ball at Malmaison, and she wondered casually who her aunt’s latest lover was. Poor, lovely, gay Aunt Edmée—married so young to a man so much older than she was! In an age where marriages were arranged with no thought for the feelings of the woman involved, Marisa suddenly realized how lucky she was to have escaped such a fate. No matter what it had cost….

      She had been dreaming, paying scarcely any attention to the play they had come to watch. Suddenly

Скачать книгу