Louisa Rawlings by Stolen Spring Page A

“’Tis very warm in here. I intend to make myself more comfortable. Why don’t you do the same?”  
    His eyes had become positively piggish, small black buttons that glittered with lust and guile. “I’ll match you piece for piece, señorita.” He unbuckled his decorative sword and dropped it to the carpet. “Now it’s your turn, mía dulce flor .”  
    Rouge glanced uneasily about the room. Several benches and console tables lined the walls: scant protection from the assault he obviously intended. And if she started with her tucker, he’d expect her gown, and then her stomacher, to follow. Oh, no! Not yet, my fine fellow! she thought, her mind racing. She smiled slyly and kicked off her embroidered shoes. “One for one, señor.”  
    He blew her a kiss and unwrapped his sash.  
    She countered by pulling off her engageantes , the lacy frills at her sleeves.  
    “You give me trifles,” he growled. He plucked the ribbon cocarde from his shoulder and flung it petulantly to the carpet. His eyes raked her bosom, seeming to penetrate the lace that covered it.  
    She shrugged in helpless innocence; it wouldn’t do to anger him. She removed her tucker. Her rounded breasts peeped enticingly above her low-cut gown. His eyes widened at the sight. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to leave things to chance, she thought. She might be half undressed before she could get to the key! “I call for your coat now, señor.”  
    “Fair enough.” His good humor restored, he laughed and stripped off the garment, as she requested. She was glad to see that his waistcoat had only two pockets. It shouldn’t be too difficult to locate the key. He leered. “But in exchange I call for your gown, señorita!”  
    She smiled, her hands going to the hooks at her bodice. Then, with a sudden lunge, as though she’d changed her mind, she attacked him, tickling the fleshy expanse of belly that bulged against the buttons of his waistcoat. Surprised, and then delighted, he began to tickle her in return, his fat fingers lingering at her bosom. “ Ciel , Don Lopes! You’re a devil!” she laughed, wriggling at his onslaught. And all the while her searching fingers worked their way into his pockets. Thanks be to God! Her nails struck something hard and metallic. At the same moment she secured the key between her thumb and forefinger, she broke away from him, giggling and panting. “No more, señor! I beg you! You have quite defeated me!”  
    He held out his arms. “I claim a kiss as my prize. To the victor, the spoils.”  
    She had the key firmly tucked in the palm of her hand, hidden from his view. But how was she to make the impression? She pouted. “I want my shoes first. I should not like to be found shoeless, if we were to be discovered.”  
    “ Por Dios , but you’re a difficult woman!”  
    She stamped her stockinged foot. “Would you insult me? Well then, you must prove your worthiness before I grant you your kiss!” She kicked at her shoes, sending them scudding across the carpet to a corner of the room. “When you have fetched my shoes, and put them on me in the most gracious manner, perhaps I shall permit you your kiss.” While he scurried away, crawling on his hands and knees to retrieve her shoes from under a bench, she pulled out the box of wax that Torcy had sent to her, and pressed the key into its soft surface. She had time to make several impressions (in case one should prove faulty), and return the box to her pocket, before Don Lopes, now red in the face, had brought the shoes back to her. Beyond him, through the high windows, she could see that the fireworks had already begun, lighting the night sky with brilliant color. Good! A few more minutes. She’d return the key to his pocket, and then she’d be safely out of here. She started to move toward one of the benches, meaning to sit down for her shoes, but Don Lopes grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to the floor, kneeling quickly beside her.  
    “Sit