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The gangwas an array of women artists from the Americas living in Paris who gathered monthly at Frede and Cassie’s for the evening. Cora cherished those dinners and had never taken anyone along.
To her horror, the idea of bringing Manuela didn’t seem off putting. This was all wrong.All wrong.Manuela Caceres Galvan was a means to an end. Certainly no one Cora could plunge into her private affairs.
“I have to consider how I will do things with Miss Caceres Galvan. She is—” She broke off, refusing to voice the words floating around her head.
Radiant, lush, much too tempting for her own good.
“She is a problem I mean to solve as far away from my personal life as possible.”
Seven
“Thatis the old battle-ax?” Aurora inquired loudly, a finger directed at the Duchess and Duke of Sundridge who were at that very moment making their way down the marbled staircase of the Mexican pavilion. It took Manuela a second to react to her friend’s astonished question, due to her own surprise.
“Good grief, Aurora, don’t point!” Manuela whispered, as she pulled down her friend’s finger and pressed one of her own to her lips.
“How is it that in the past five hours you’ve failed to inform us that the old biddy is very much not old? The woman looks like an Amazon!” She ignored Aurora’s outburst, wincing internally at the thought of just how much she’d failed to share with her friends about her luncheon with the duchess.
She should’ve known she’d be here tonight. All evening the ushers had been announcing aristocrats from every corner of Europe. The Mexican delegation’s soiree turned out to be a gathering of the highest echelons of Latin American society attending the Exposition Universelle. Not even her parents, who despite their financial troubles still had connections, could secure an invitation for her. But Aurora’s family—one of the richest in Mexico—had made a hefty contribution to the construction of the pavilion the country built for the exposition, which made Manuela and friends guests of honor that evening. Not that one would think it by the way Aurora was dressed.
“Is that mud on your hem?” Manuela asked, truly horrified. Aurora waved her away and kept her gaze on the Duchess of Sundridge and her companion, the duke—her son according to Antonio—who were now doing a circuit around the room. It had not occurred to Manuela until she’d heard the duchess’s title called in conjunction with the younger man’s that there might have been a spouse and children. It could be quite a scandal to take up with this woman.
“Don’t change the subject, Manuela.” Aurora waved her off, her mouth set in a way that forecasted one of her lectures. Manuela was decidedly not in the mood for one of those, not when the duchess was in the room. Had she gotten even more beautiful in the hours since they’d parted?
She was dressed in a dark purple dress, almost black. Like the morning suit she’d had on earlier, it was very simple in its design and yet she still managed to stand out. There wasn’t an eye in the room that didn’t turn when she glided past. Her statuesque form commanded attention, which she disregarded in turn. The Duchess of Sundridge was the embodiment of aloof disinterest, but Manuela knew the storm hiding behind that mask. She ached to be consumed by it again.
Even in the midst of her lustful musings, Manuela could not help but admire the large room. The Mexican pavilion, or Aztec Palace, as it was named by the delegation, was built in a pre-Colombian style inspired by the Pirámide del Sol in Teotihuacán. The facade of the building resembled the stone walls of the ancient monument, with its twelve bronze bas-relief figures of Aztec kings and deities, which made for quite an impressive sight. The inside was just as magnificently decorated, illuminated by fully electrified chandeliers made of copper and adorned with Mexican green onyx. The balustrade the duchess’s hand slid down as she entered the room was carved out of the famous zapote wood, which had an almost orange color. There was what seemed an army of servants walking around with trays laden with French champagne and Oaxacan mezcal. It was a lavish affair, even by Parisian standards.
“Manuela,” Aurora cried, making her jump.
“Dios mio, Aurora!” she exclaimed, clutching her chest. “I didn’t have time to tell you,” Manuela demurred, even as she averted her eyes from her friend.
“You had time to pick up that...dress,” Aurora observed, her eyes narrowing on Manuela’s latest acquisition from Jeanne Paquin.
Manuela had been so unsteady after the very unexpected meeting with the duchess—and her own outrageous proposition—that she’d soothed herself by opting to wear the most outrageous of the dresses she’d ordered from Madame Paquin. The fabric of the skirts were a gauzy swirl of bright blue and yellows which gave it the appearance of two puddles of paint someone had swirled together with their fingers. The bodice was blue and adorned with shiny yellow beads along the sleeves and décolletage. It was certainly not the kind of gown one was meant to blend in with, but there had always been something reassuring to her about attracting the wrong kind of attention. She found a sort of comfort in seeing certain people react as badly to her presence as she expected them to, and the tongues were already wagging accordingly this evening.
A pair of young women in identical dresses done in complementary shades of pale green and pink walked by them, their heads together and mouths hidden behind their fans. Aurora hissed at them loudly, and they responded with satisfying squeals of horror before scurrying off.
“Really, Aurora, how unladylike.” Her friends were true gems, even when Manuela wanted to throttle them.
“I hate these cabrones,” Luz Alana lamented as she joined them again, her pretty face tight with frustration.
“No luck with the shippers?” Aurora asked, momentarily distracted from interrogating Manuela.
Luz huffed out a frustrated breath and snatched a glass of champagne from one of the servers. “No.”
Before Manuela could even open her mouth, Aurora held up a hand. “This one is in the process of reporting about her luncheon with the duchess.”
“I’m not sure why you are so preoccupied with what’s happening with me, Aurora, when Luz Alana is the one who needs assistance.” Manuela attempted to deflect, but her friend was not budging.
“Luz Alana is absolutely fine. That big Scot is besotted with her. I’d be surprised if the man doesn’t buy all her rum before the week is out, just to get in her good graces.” Despite herself, Manuela grinned at Aurora’s bafflement at what had been unfolding between their friend and the Scottish distiller. She was much too independent, and contrary, to find a man’s interference in her affairs—even if it was with the best intentions—as appealing as Luz Alana seemed to find the attention of Evanston Sinclair, who, they’d just learned, was also the Earl of Darnick.
“That may be the case, but I don’t understand why you’re harassingme.” It was futile to delay the unavoidable, but she might as well enjoy herself by yanking Aurora’s chain.
Manuela jutted her chin in the direction of the crowded dance floor. “Wasn’t that Colombian heir sniffing around, after you danced with him?”
Aurora’s eyes became slits of absolute loathing at the mention of the very handsome—and arrogant—gentleman who’d taken her out on the floor for one of the danzas. “That comemierda, he’s lucky Amaranta made me take that scalpel out of my bag, or I would’ve done him some violence.”
“Manuela, picking fights with Aurora will delay this only so far,” Luz Alana chided. “Tell us what happened.” Manuela knew her friends would not be happy that she’d done the exact opposite of what she’d promised. But that wasn’t the reason she was stalling. She was usually more than happy to scandalize her loved ones with her antics. She didn’t want to hear she’d made a grave mistake.
