And, humiliatingly, he tied her to the four posts of the bed, using silken drapery cords to bind her wrists and ankles, leaving her spread-eagled on the mattress.
Vulnerable, exposed to his lewd gaze, she lay helpless and waited for the inevitable. In a way, it was much worse than anything she had endured before, this waiting and knowing what was to come. She had seen men at their worst, and knew that Luna had waited too long for this moment.
Rafael Luna came to stand beside the bed, smiling down at her. “You are even more lovely than I had hoped. Such soft white skin…. I will make you ready, make you want me as I want you.”
“You will never make me want you!”
“Little liar, I will soon prove to you the foolishness of your thinking. You will be surprised, I think, to find that your body responds to me whether you wish it to or not.”
Straining futilely against her bonds, Ginny shuddered as his eyes narrowed at her, his expression intent as she raged at him.
“You’ll never keep me! When Steve learns of this, you will wish you had not been so foolish.”
“Pah! I have taken care of your estimable husband, and he will not be learning of this unless I tell him! Perhaps I will take you with me when I visit him, and he can watch while I take you. It would only be fair, as he once took a lady from me. Do you not think so, chica? He thought nothing of that, but I was in love with her. I swore vengeance upon Steve Morgan then, but I did not know it would be so sweet!”
“Is that all this is? Vengeance?” She tried to turn her head to look at him, but he moved to stand slightly behind the bed, tightening her bonds. Silken cords dug painfully into the flesh of her wrists and ankles. “Then you have risked much for vengeance, because Steve will kill you for this one day.”
“He will have to save himself first, and I do not think he will be able to do that.” The palm of his hand came down in a caress, making her wince. “But while he languishes in a dark prison, I will keep you with me. When we go to the palace to meet with el presidente tonight, you will be with me. All in Mexico City will know you are mine now….”
“I belong to myself, not to you, not even to my husband. You may use my body, but you cannot own my soul.”
Viciously, swearing at her, he loomed over her, but if he thought to break her, he was disappointed. Not even the humiliation of being at his mercy could do that.
She had endured worse than this before, and she would survive Rafael Luna as well.
30
Night fell at last, the time of the president’s ball near. “Get up,” Rafael told her harshly, and pulled her from the bed. “And get ready to present yourself to President Díaz. I will choose your gown. And if you should think to tell him that I am holding you against your will, you might recall that I am the only man who knows what happened to your husband. It would be such a pity for you if he were to languish forever in a dark prison cell, would it not? Or perhaps it would not be so terrible after all, for you could then be free to have many lovers.”
Prison! Ginny stood silently as he untied the silken cords around her wrists, freeing her at last. She gasped as blood rushed back into abused flesh. Luna smiled cruelly.
“It will be said throughout Mexico City that you are my mistress. Do not disappoint those who want to see the famous Madame du Plessis, once a famous cortesana who has become an ambassador’s wife—and who now belongs to me.”
He made her wear a daring gown; the bodice was cut far too low, the boned corset pushing up her breasts to reveal the edges of her nipples.
“If it is your intention to have a prostitute on your arm today, you have succeeded admirably,” Ginny said with angry dismay when she saw her reflection, “for I resemble nothing so much as a street whore!”
The gown, a copper silk shot with gold that turned different colors in the light, could have been beautiful, but it showed far too much of her, cut low in the back as well as the front, and worn off the shoulders. The skirts were slit, with gauzy petticoats beneath that were nearly transparent so that when she walked, the outline of her legs was clearly visible.
And instead of being coiled neatly atop her head, her hair was loose, a coppery cloud around her face, held back on the crown by exquisite Spanish combs. Only her jewelry was modest, a topaz necklace and matching earrings.
“I do not think President Díaz will appreciate my appearance at his palace,” she murmured, and ignored him when Luna only laughed.
“Do not be so modest, chica. Every man there will notice you, and every man there will want you. Perhaps I will allow you to choose a lover to bring home with us tonight when the ball is over. Have you ever been with two men at the same time? Would you like that?”
“I would like to put a knife into your heart,” she replied coolly, and reached for a silk shawl to pull around her shoulders. It was the only concession to modesty she was being allowed to take with her, and that only because the nights were chilly and they would not be back until
