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Maurine looked up at me sharply, her face oddly pale. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
I gave a laugh. “Is the sun getting to you, Maurine?”
“I’m an old woman. I get confused.” Her blue eyes suddenly wouldn’t meet mine. “But you’re right. I think I’ve been in the sun too long.”
She rose to her feet, still holding Miguel, who looked happy to be moving at last after so long sitting still. “I’m a little tired. I’ll have the staff bring you some lemonade. And maybe look for Alejandro’s hairbrush. Yes, his hairbrush...”
She left the rose garden without waiting for a reply. I stared after her, frowning. What did lemonade have to do with Alejandro’s hairbrush?
“I thought she would never leave.”
With a gasp, I whirled around. The paintbrush fell from my limp hand, landing with a soft thud into the grass.
Edward St. Cyr stood in the rose garden, near the thick hedge on the edge of the forest. Brambles had ripped the sleeves of his dark tailored jacket.
“Edward,” I breathed. “What are you doing here?”
He stopped five feet in front of me, looking down at me. His eyes were stark against his tanned face as he gazed at me hungrily. “You have no idea how I’ve wanted to see your face.”
He reached out a hand, but I stumbled backward, my long skirt dragging against the grass. Holding my floppy pink hat against my head, I glanced uneasily to the left and right.
Having him here, in Maurine’s rose garden—in Alejandro’s castle—felt all kinds of wrong. Like finding a deadly snake amid the lush flowers. “How did you get in here?”
His lips twisted. “It wasn’t easy.”
“I told you I never wanted to see you again!” I narrowed my eyes. “You must get out of here! Alejandro will kill you if he finds you here!”
“Ah, but he’s gone, isn’t he?”
I sucked in my breath.
“And as for your precious duke...” A low, guttural curse came from Edward’s lips. “I know you don’t want him.” He looked contemptuously around the lush, sunlit garden, to the stone walls of the castle just beyond the perfectly trimmed green hedges. “I’ve come to save you from this...prison.”
“It’s not a prison,” I retorted. “It’s my home! And Alejandro is no jailer. I...” I licked my lips, then whispered aloud, “I love him.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted downward, giving him an expression that was hard, even cruel.
“He seduced you, didn’t he?” He took another step toward me, and I again backed away, knocking over the easel behind me. I gulped as Edward slowly looked me over, from my hat to my long cotton skirt covered with an artist’s long smock. “He’s got to you.” He straightened, and this time his contemptuous glance was just for me, all for me. “You fell for his lines again.”
I took a deep breath.
“I love him,” I said quietly. “In a way I never loved you—and I never will.”
His hands tightened at his sides.
“The charming Duque de Alzacar. Beloved by all.” His lip curled. “Of course you’re faithful to him. But is he faithful to you?”
I drew myself up coldly. “Of course.”
“Are you sure?” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You know, you must know, about the woman he visits in Granada?”
My lips parted. “Woman?”
“Ah,” Edward said, smiling. “You didn’t know. They have dinner together. Often. He bought her a tavern in the Albaicín district. Sometimes he even plays his guitar there. Singing old Spanish love songs. In front of everyone.”
My mouth went dry.
Alejandro hadn’t played his guitar for me. Not once.
Licking my lips, I croaked, “There are all kinds of reasons for...”
Edward moved in for the kill. “Sometimes he stays the night in the residence above her tavern. But sometimes,” he said softly, “he just goes for a quick visit. For the day.” His lips curled. “A bit of love in the afternoon.”
The chill turned to ice. I desperately tried to think of a reasonable explanation for why Alejandro hadn’t wanted me to come with him today.
