Surrender To Love. Rosemary Rogers

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      9

      Nicholas de la Guerra was a base, despicable libertine of the worst kind and had almost succeeded in spoiling for her the whole exciting occasion of her eighteenth birthday ball. Thank goodness he had decided to make himself scarce following the scathing setdown she had given him after he had dared to force himself on her, Alexa thought. She would dearly have loved to have said even more—to have told him in the most cutting tones exactly how much she disliked and despised him and how much the very memory of his insolent boldness in taking advantage of her embarrassment and fear of scandal disgusted her. But of course he was hardly worth thinking of, and since it was fortunately not likely that she would ever set eyes on him again she must really learn to put him firmly out of her mind like any other unpleasant or irksome thought that only served to disturb her. Some things were best left in the past where they belonged, and she should remember only that what was done could not be undone—although she had certainly learned a lesson that should serve her well in the future.

      Her color high, Alexa tried to force herself into concentrating only on studying herself critically in the mirror. Her new riding habit, just made up for her, was a dark forest green. Not a color she particularly cared for, but Uncle John, who had helped her pick out the material and style, had told her emphatically that it was flattering to her and set off her hair to perfection. And after all, it was Uncle John who had paid for it, the darling. Turning around to view herself from every angle, Alexa thought that the tailor had done very well considering the short notice he’d been given. Of course he’d been paid double his normal charge, but that was still less than a tenth of what one would have had to pay one of the fashionable modistes in London or Paris.

      Am I becoming as worldly and blasé as Aunt Harriet feared I might? Alexa wondered as she tried to perfect a bored expression before she started to smile irrepressibly at her own silliness. But she had promised her aunt that she would not let herself become too spoiled during her stay in Colombo with her indulgent Uncle John; and in fact she had even promised recklessly that she would at all times be unfailingly polite and respectful to the ferret-faced Mrs. Langford, who for her part couldn’t quite manage to disguise the fact that she disliked Alexa and would dearly love to find as many faults and flaws in her as she could to relate to her cronies. As if that promise wasn’t hard enough to keep, she had even had to give her word that she would try very hard to make friends with that silly ninny Charlotte Langford and would include the girl in as many excursions as possible; even when she was invited to go riding with Lord Charles. Hemmed about…! Alexa began to scowl at her reflection that scowled back. That was how she had begun to feel, surrounded by Langfords! And it was all the fault of that certain vile, inconsiderate wretch who had kept her out on the gallery with him for far too long a time, and against her wishes too. Otherwise she need never have been forced into making so many promises to Aunt Harriet, who would otherwise have continued to insist that since Alexa had proved how irresponsible she was and how easily she let herself forget everything she had been taught about decorum and what was proper and what wasn’t, they would both return home the very next day.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ