Forbidden Flame

‘You didn’t tell him,’ Emilia went on insistently. ‘You didn’t tell Don Esteban what I said. Why not?’

‘What you said?’ Caroline frowned, as if she couldn’t remember the child’s words in intimate detail. ‘What did you say?’

Emilia sighed. ‘You know! About your not liking it here. About the spiders and the vampires!’

‘Oh, I see.’ Caroline shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I’d forgotten. Besides, of what interest would that be to your father?’

‘Don’t call him that!’ exclaimed Emilia fiercely. ‘He’s not my father! I hate him!’

‘Emilia!’ Caroline had to protest now. ‘He is your father, and you shouldn’t say such things about him. It—well, it’s rude, and ignorant.’

Emilia straightened. ‘Tio Vincente is my father,’ she declared, causing Caroline’s lips to part in stunned disbelief. Was there no end to the revelations she was to be subjected to? ‘Tio Vincente loved my mother. That’s why Don Esteban hates me.’

‘Oh, don’t be so silly, Emilia.’ Caroline had had enough for one day. ‘Look, I’m not here to discuss who might or might not have loved your mother. I’m sure your father cared for her very deeply, and just because you’re disobedient, and your father punishes you, there’s no reason for you to go spreading malicious tales that have no basis in fact. You’re your father’s daughter—it’s obvious! Now, sit down, and stop behaving like a melodramatic two-year-old.’

Emilia pursed her lips. ‘You don’t know anything.’

‘Nor do I want to,’ retorted Caroline shortly, uncomfortably aware that her motives for feeling that way were not entirely disinterested. She couldn’t help remembering Luis’s reticence when she had asked about Emilia’s mother’s death, and his reluctance to discuss his brother’s reaction. But, as she had continually to keep telling herself, the personal affairs of the Montejos were nothing to do with her, and she determinedly began to ask Emilia questions, in an attempt to assess the child’s capabilities.

In fact, the morning passed quite quickly. Once she became interested in proving what a bright and intelligent pupil she was, Emilia lost that air of antagonistic aggression, and showed an entirely more sympathetic side to her nature. She was sharp and intelligent, and although Luis had told her that Miss Thackeray had died last year, her education was far in advance of most children of that age. She read well, and with expression, and her mental arithmetic was good. If she had a failing, it was that she was sometimes too quick with her answers, and in consequence made careless mistakes that given a little more time, she would have avoided. She had obviously enjoyed her lessons with Miss Thackeray, and whatever the old lady’s failings, so far as Emilia’s education was concerned, she had done a good job.

Emilia told her that lunch was usually served at one o’clock, so at half past twelve Caroline dismissed her pupil. She had decided to return to her room and do some of her unpacking, as well as attending to her appearance. But when she opened the door to her apartments, she found that someone had forestalled her, and her clothes had all been hung away and her cases stowed in the closet. Unused to such assiduous attention, Caroline felt somewhat disconcerted, but a swift examination of the drawers and wardrobe assured her that her belongings had been handled with the utmost care and consideration.

Examining her reflection in the dressing table mirror, she noted the faint flush that still lingered in her cheeks, a reminder of the disturbing morning she had spent, she brushed a pale powder compound across the revealing colour in an attempt to disguise her agitation, then reapplied the lip-gloss to her mouth. In truth, she did feel a little hungry now, having refused a cup of chocolate mid-morning, but the prospect of seeing Luis again, after his brother’s revelations, tightened the muscles of her throat.

She traversed the length of the corridor again, and descended the stairs at ten minutes to one, only to encounter the subject of her nervous speculations in the hall. Luis had evidently just come in from riding, for he was wearing black leather gaucho pants and an open-necked black shirt, and the scent of horseflesh was unmistakable as he moved to pass her and climb the stairs.