Louisa Rawlings by Stolen Spring

He was already bewildered by her behavior these past two days. She had steadfastly refused to disclose the source of the money to pay for her beautiful new gown; the more he had pressed her, the more she’d evaded his questions. And the matter of her cheating for him at cards: she’d already refused him twice, with excuses that seemed false even to her ears. How could she keep turning him aside? But Torcy had insisted there was to be no more dishonesty. She sighed. The sooner she did what she had to for Torcy—including taking the impression of Don Lopes’s key this evening—the sooner she could turn her attention to marrying Arsène and being quit of this whole sorry business. God knows she wasn’t cut out to be a spy!  
    She half closed her pale gray eyes and looked with fervor at Don Lopes. There was no point in being subtle— she’d be here all night! “I know that you’ve guessed what my eyes say, Don Lopes. That I long to be alone with you. You did guess that, did you not? A man as wise as you are…”  
    “Alone with me?” he stammered, then smiled as the realization hit him. “Why, yes. Yes, señorita. I guessed it, of course. Though I never dared to hope…” He stared at her bosom, his corpulent body beginning to quiver in anticipation.  
    On the whole, Rouge thought that she preferred Don Lopes’s blank incomprehension to the lecherous sparkle that now appeared in his eyes. It might be wise to dim his wits a little. She leaned forward and whispered, one conspirator to another, “It’s nearly time for the illuminations. Soon the king will lead all the court out of doors to watch the fireworks. If you and I are a trifle slow in joining the others, well…who knows?” She tapped the corner of her mouth with the tip of her fan, an invitation that Don Lopes clearly understood.  
    “How clever you are, querida mía . At least for a few stolen moments, your king will not miss us.”  
    She put a gentle hand on his arm. “Of course you’re right. With all the etiquette of the proper seating, the duchesses on their tabourets— theirthree-legged stools—the princesses with their armless chairs, and the never-ending battle of who is entitled to an armchair, the king will not miss us for a little while.”  
    It would really work out quite well, she thought, feeling the small case of wax in her pocket. As soon as she had the impression of the key safely recorded, and the key itself returned to Don Lopes, it would be a simple matter to drag him back into the gardens. She could say that she wished to see the rest of the illuminations, or that the king would surely miss one so important as Don Lopes, or even that the Spanish ambassador might come looking for his secretary and disturb their revels.  
    But first, to addle his brains. “While we’re waiting,” she said, “I’m perishing of thirst! And the king, in Monseigneur’s honor, is presenting the finest wine I’ve tasted in many a day.”  
    His eyes shone with a thirst that had nothing to do with the wine. “Ah, si , my lovely one. I should be happy to share with you a cup of wine.” By the time the illuminations were announced, they had shared several cups, although each time Rouge had only pretended to take a healthy swallow before passing on the nearly full cup to Don Lopes. As the court moved through the Hall of Mirrors to the terrace beyond, Rouge pulled at Don Lopes’s sleeve, leading him to a small antechamber that adjoined. She was pleased to see that he was no longer quite steady on his feet.  
    He closed the door of the small room and lunged for her. “Mi amor!”  
    She laughed coquettishly and ducked his embrace. What cursed luck! she thought. He was wearing a heavy, brocaded coat, wrapped with a sash of red silk. And Torcy had told her that he kept the key to the dispatch box in a pocket of his waistcoat. She smiled—a cat’s smile—and put her hand to the decorative bit of lace that veiled the swell of her bosom.