Free The Sometime Bride by Blair Bancroft Page B

twenty-two the young man’s ability to write earned him a post as Napoleon Bonaparte’s first aide-de-camp. The young Junot, who had an eye for the finer things of life, amply demonstrated this by his marriage to a woman of taste and intelligence and a lively interest in French politics. Now, after his quiet conquest of Lisbon, Marshal Junot chose as his residence the shell pink Queluz Palace, one of the finest and most livable palaces on the European continent.
     
    “ Maravilloso !” Catarina gasped as her image—sometimes complete, sometimes fragmented into a hundred sparkling slivers of light—leaped at her from every angle. The swirling colorful costumes of the ball guests had turned the mirrored throne room of the Queluz Palace into a kaleidoscope of shimmering brilliance. Oddly angled portions of her white diamanté gown, half a pale face, a flash of upswept red-gold hair reflected back to her from one of the octagonal mirrored columns. Cat closed her eyes and clutched Blas’s arm more tightly, fixing her wide green eyes on the solid reassuring black of his jacket.
    “ Just keep your eyes on the dancers,” he advised. “Remember what happened to Narcissus.” Cat wrinkled her nose at him before swirling about to drink in the marvels of her very first ball.
    Shortly after Christmas, Marshal Junot had deigned to visit the gaming rooms of the Casa Audley, where he immediately expressed his enchantment with la petite anglaise , whose presence did not seem to offend him in the least. He had, in fact, complimented Don Alexis on the fine bargain he had made and on his ability to recognize a good thing when he saw it. Catarina, not at all insulted by the Marshal’s words, was in alt when a card of invitation was delivered for a ball at the Palace. Since Major Martineau was still showing considerable interest in the residents of the Casa Audley, the patronage of a Marshal of France was a precious favor to be courted at all costs.
    Almost all.
    A costly new dress for Cat, eveningwear even more elegant than Don Alejo’s usual style, a fresh coat of paint for the Audley carriage, and the young couple set out with an impressive array of outriders to drive the nine miles northwest of Lisbon to the Queluz Palace. Once there, however, Blas discovered there was a limit to his accommodation. With no attempt to hide his scowling face, he guided Catarina out of the glare of the ballroom into a small ante-chamber.
    “ Now,” he said sternly, “what did Junot say to you in the reception line?” Bloody hell, the man had bent his lips almost to Cat’s shell pink ear, whispering something no one else could hear.
    Cat carefully studied the diamanté trim on one silver kid slipper that peeped out from under her gown. “He is making sketches for an addition to the gardens.”
    “ Sketches?” Blas’s dark brows rose to meet the black waves tumbling onto his forehead.
    “ The gardens are famous,” Cat replied primly. “They were designed by a French sculptor nearly fifty years ago. Marshal Junot wishes to make another French contribution by expanding them.” She shrugged her small, bare shoulders. Men could be so difficult at times. “Truly, mi Alejo , that is all there is to it.”
    “ He said all this to you in the reception line.” A lightning flash of Blas’s amber eyes accompanied his ominous tone.
    “ Estúpido! Of course not. We talked of the gardens when he came to the Casa. Tonight he merely said he wished to meet me in his office at half after midnight so that he could show me the sketches.”
    Sketches, by God . Blas gulped back an urge to shout at his young bride. “You made an assignation with Junot!”
    “ How could I say no?” A devastatingly simple reply to which he had no response.
    “ My God, Cat.” Blas did a turn around the small room, hands raking through his already fashionably disheveled hair.
    “ I thought you would be glad I would see his office,” she said in a small voice. “Perhaps I