Rosemary Rogers - Surrender To Love

“But all we did was talk! About California and what life is like there!”

“Huh! I know very well that that was the excuse he offered—with that twist of his lips that’s supposed to pass for a smile and that irritatingly sardonic look on his face that seemed almost to challenge me to make an obvious fuss. But I’ll have you understand, miss, that I don’t accept excuses, as you should know very well. And even though I might have found this Señor de la Guerra quite an interesting conversationalist, you might recall that we conversed here, in public, and not alone with the night and the stars.” Harriet had snorted again before adding: “And you can spare me that look of injured innocence too, my girl, for I’ve known you too long for you to fool me. I was young and foolish myself once, believe it or not! The man’s far too old for you in any case, and far too…Well, never mind. I am sure you know exactly what I am driving at.”

Stubbornly, Alexa had managed to keep to her story, staring angrily down at her clenched hands while she wished she could let her temper explode along with the resentment and positive hatred she felt towards Nicholas de la Guerra, who was the cause of her aunt’s wrath. It really wasn’t fair or just that she should be the only one to shoulder all the blame, and to be punished by being marched upstairs to bed by her aunt after being allowed only two more dances (“only in order to squelch any gossip!” she had been reminded), just as if she had still been a child.

In the end it had been Sir John who had persuaded Harriet to relent. Alexa never learned just how he had managed to convince her aunt that she deserved another chance (just as if she had been a criminal, she fumed inwardly), but at least she had been allowed to stay behind in Colombo—after all sorts of solemn promises had been extracted from her first. Not fair, when it hadn’t been her fault at all; and in any case, why was it that her every action and her life should be controlled by a nebulous “they” who had made up all the rules that were supposed to govern what everybody could or could not do? And what made “them” qualified to decide what constituted “sin”? It wasn’t considered a sin if an angry planter beat one of his coolies to death for what he thought of as insolence; but to lie naked with a man or to allow him to kiss you or touch you in certain ways was the unforgivable sin! Hypocrisy. That was one of the things that he had spoken of, of course; but obviously it had been only in order to gain his own ends, Alexa thought darkly. Part of the insidious poison he had tried to feed her—as dangerous as the sudden rush of unwanted memory-pictures flashing through her mind.

Annoyed at the wayward direction her thoughts had begun to take, Alexa scowled at her reflection in the mirror and snatched up her hat, adjusting it at a jaunty angle on her head so that the feather that adorned it curled enticingly about the brim before it swooped down to almost brush her cheek. She could only hope, of course, that Lord Charles, who was doubtless used to moving in much more sophisticated circles than this, would not find her too unstylish; and if he did not it was again due to her dearest and most understanding Uncle John, who had, like a benevolent magician or fairy godfather, arranged for both the new riding habit and the hat as well.

“Oh, Alexa!” Alexa swung around angrily with her straight dark brows drawn together; but Charlotte Langford never seemed to realize that she was intruding when she burst unannounced into Alexa’s room without so much as a perfunctory knock. “He’s here! The Viscount Deering, I mean. And on such a magnificent horse, too! Don’t you think it so exciting that it is us he has chosen to honor with his attention? How envious every other female in Colombo will be, to be sure!”

“Oh? Do you think so?” Alexa managed to respond coolly enough as she turned back to the mirror to make sure her hat was pinned securely on her coiled up hair, stepping back to study the effect of her whole outfit taken together.

“Oh, but of course we will be envied and thought lucky. I suppose, living upcountry you could have no idea how people gossip in a city like Colombo. A Viscount—asking us to go riding with him in public, just as if we had a Rotten Row here in Colombo! And especially after all the marked attention we’ve been paid during the past few days—his calls…”

How was it that Charlotte always sounded so breathless while she rained spun-sugar inanities on her unfortunate victims? On the verge of gritting her teeth Alexa surprised herself by managing to say in quite a civilized voice, “And I suppose that since Lord Charles has been so kind and attentive it is the least we can do not to keep him waiting, don’t you think?”

From Charlotte’s giggles and pink cheeks it might seem as if it were really Charlotte Langford that Lord Charles had called upon almost daily and not Miss Howard. There had, as a matter of fact, not been a single minute when Alexa had been left alone with the Viscount, for Charlotte’s redoubtable mama had always made sure that Charlotte sat with them in the parlor or out on the verandah; ensuring that all their conversation remained stilted and formal. And it had been difficult indeed to carry on any kind of intelligent conversation at all when Miss Langford, who lacked both tact and sensitivity, might interrupt during any slight pause to comment on the continuing good weather or the bazaar her mama had recently organized to raise money for Christian orphans. There had been moments when Alexa’s unruly tongue and temper had almost burst out of control, and she found herself grinding her teeth together much more often than usual. But at least she had earned herself the right to enjoy this particular outing, which she’d looked forward to almost greedily for the past few days.

As she leaned down to pat the arched neck of her horse, Alexa realized how much she’d missed her daily rides on horseback. Her favorite out of all the horses in Sir John’s stable, the high-spirited chestnut mare she rode had been foaled at his horse farm in the hill country, where Alexa had already ridden her several times before. Although, she could not help thinking almost painfully now, it had been so different there! Cold, dew-pearled mornings with the smell of woodsmoke in the air and the excited yelping of hounds waiting to be let out for their morning run. She could ride comfortably astride, and without a hat; her carelessly finger-combed mane of hair tied back with a ribbon and the weight of a pistol at her side to remind her of the dangers she might encounter at any time. A poisonous snake, an enraged wild boar…

But not here, in Colombo, on such a very decorous outing as this one had turned out to be, Alexa thought with mounting indignation as she listened to Charlotte Langford’s high-pitched voice chatter on and on between giggles and pronounced sighs and could not help wishing that she had brought a pistol with her after all. Not only had Charlotte been inflicted upon her but two other men of Mrs. Langford’s choosing as well—a middle-aged and terribly boring major who was a friend of Colonel Langford’s and Mr. Sutherland, the pompous young man who had bored her with his solemn relation of all the duties of an aide to the Governor and the importance of such a position. The two native grooms trailing behind their party made them seem an entourage, and it had not been meant to be like this! Lord Charles had asked her to ride with him, without making mention of anyone else, and his surprise had showed in his eyes for an instant or two before he had masked it with his usual polite manners.

Manners! Alexa thought rebelliously as she toyed with the wicked idea of pretending her mount was running away with her, just in order to enjoy a real gallop instead of being forced to conform to a sedate trot for Charlotte Langford’s sake. Why is it considered good manners to be sickly sweet to a person you really despise and dislike? Why are people never supposed to be completely honest and truthful with each other? Stripping away dishonesty and lies like so many unnecessary layers of clothing and being able to face together the naked reality of truth? I shall never understand—and least of all why I must let myself conform and pretend and be all those things that I despise the most. It was not fair that now, too suddenly, she was expected to make her real self disappear behind a decorous social mask. To act instead of reacting. Not fair!