Iron Lace by Lorena Dureau Page A

blame the padre for staring at so
delightful a picture, yet there was something in those deep-socketed
eyes that made him uneasy. Even as he made his way angrily toward his
capricious little ward, Vidal found himself fleetingly thinking how
strange it was that this somber monk so often seemed to be around
wherever his cousin Monique happened to be.

Chapter Seven

    "I'm
so glad you understood my signal to come outside," Monique
was commending the freckle-faced young man standing tall and gangly
before her in his Sunday finery. He held his high-crowned felt hat
respectfully in his hand as he gaped adoringly at her.
    "You know I'm always at your beck and call," he assured
her. "I've been desolate all this past week, now that you can no longer
come out of your house at will."
    "I know. I feel like a prisoner these days."
    "I'd like to visit you, but frankly, my dear, your
guardian doesn't strike me as the type of person who will welcome many
callers. I don't know what to do."
    "He's promised to allow my friends to come to the house,
but I'm sure he'll only frighten most of them away," lamented Monique,
tragedy written across her dimpled face.
    "Perhaps you could sneak out as you used to do?"
    "No, that's impossible now. Celeste and I are going to
have a new governess beginning tomorrow."
    "Is he abusive? I mean, he hasn't tried to strike you or
anything, has he?"
    "Oh, no, he's never done anything like that. To the
contrary, sometimes I've had the impression that he goes out of his way
not to touch me."
    "Well, after all, he is a man, and there are no real blood
ties between you."
    Monique was thoughtful for a moment. The fact that Miguel
Vidal was a man had also occurred to her, and it was rather
disquieting. Actually, it often aroused strange, confusing feelings
within her. Celeste was always saying how handsome he was, and Monique
had to admit that, even if he was a Spaniard, he could hold his own
with any of her French beaux, perhaps even surpass them.
    It was true about his never touching her, and his seeming
hesitancy to do so only made her wonder all the more how it might feel
if he ever did. She had never before thought about any man the way she
did about Miguel Vidal.
    At that moment the object of her curious musings came
marching over to them and, with no preamble, proceeded directly to the
point.
    "I thought I'd made myself clear yesterday afternoon,
Senor Foucher, yet here I find you sneaking behind my back again,
trying to see my ward."
    Before the startled Maurice could reply, however, Monique
sprang to his defense. "Please, Cousin Miguel, it's my fault. He came
out because he saw me leave the church and was afraid I was ill."
    Her guardian cast a skeptical look at both of them.
"Indeed? Don't tell me!" he quipped. "Well, I'm not interested in
arguing the point. The important thing is I want these impromptu
meetings of yours to stop. You're not to see my cousin again for any
reason, senor, without my permission. Is that understood?"
    Maurice had regained his composure now, and, pulling
himself up to his full height, he met Vidal's dark, penetrating gaze
with his own unflinching blue one.
    "Yes, Don Miguel, I understand perfectly," he replied
calmly, "And since you say I cannot see your cousin without your
permission, I am requesting that permission here and now. Tell me a
time when I may call on Mlle. Monique that will meet with your
approval, and I'll be there."
    "Frankly, senor, it's not that simple," retorted Vidal,
although he liked the boy better now for this new stand he was taking.
"You see, I'd prefer that my cousin have no young men calling on her at
the moment. Believe me, there's nothing personal when I say I'd like
you to wait at least a few months before asking for permission to visit
her. It's simply that I'd like to be certain first that my ward is
mature enough to be receiving calls from members of the opposite sex.
Actually, much will depend on her deportment in the future."
    Monique was fuming. "I