Iron Lace by Lorena Dureau Page B

told you, Maurice. I may as well be
in a convent!" she murmured between clenched teeth.
    "Not at all," Vidal assured her. "The only thing I'm
asking is that you wait a little until you're more accustomed to your
new mode of life and have demonstrated that you're a well-disciplined
young lady instead of just an irresponsible child."
    The final blessing of the church service was just
beginning, and Padre Sebastian, abandoning his post in the doorway
where he had been watching their discussion, made his way toward them.
His eyes were fixed on Monique as he spoke. "I see you flee from the
sermon, my child," he said, a recriminating tone in his dry, cracked
voice. "It's a pity, for one should never turn a deaf ear to the word
of the Lord."
    Monique's rosy cheeks flushed to a deeper shade as she
lowered her gold-tipped lashes and acknowledged her guilt.
    "Forgive me, Padre," she replied meekly. "I meant no
disrespect. It's just that I… I felt faint from the
closeness of the room and came out for a breath of air."
    The monk gave a smile that bordered on a sneer. "Don't add
lying to your list of sins, Monique Chausson, for the Lord is looking
down on us and can see all."
    Vidal suddenly felt sorry for his poor ward as she stood
there so obviously uncomfortable beneath the monk's accusing gaze.
    "Don't worry, Padre. I'll get to the bottom of this," he
quickly assured the friar. "After all, Monique is still quite young and
unfortunately has been without much discipline until now. But things
will soon be different. I've finally found another governess for the
girls—a fine Christian woman, fluent in both French and
Spanish, who will start with us tomorrow. My ward is not really a bad
girl, Padre. She may be a little too frisky sometimes, but she's really
good at heart, I assure you."
    "Don't be too certain of that," snapped Fray Sebastian,
still not taking his dark, accusing eyes from the girl's highly colored
face. "A pretty girl is always easy prey for the devil. She makes a
handy instrument for Satan."
    He turned suddenly to Maurice, who was standing back
abashed now, not knowing quite what to say. "And you, young man," the
monk added stonily. "If you value your immortal soul, stop letting
pretty young girls distract you from the word of the Lord."
    The congregation was beginning to pour out of the building
now, so Vidal welcomed the excuse to be free of the monk's disturbing
presence. Celeste came anxiously toward them, carefully leading her
grandmother by the arm, while the latter blinked dazedly in the bright
sunlight.
    Just as Miguel was trying to think of some way to break
away from the overzealous friar, the latter suddenly murmured a quick
blessing and walked abruptly off, losing himself in the tide of
dispersing townsfolk.
    Miguel paused only long enough to catch the eye of Celeste
and her grandmother. Monique felt his hand tighten on her arm, and the
strength she sensed behind it awed her. So he was touching her at last,
but in anger. For some inexplicable reason, her legs seemed to be
buckling beneath her. She stumbled in momentary confusion as he pulled
her in the direction of Rue Roy ale.
    Vidal looked down questioningly at her. Perhaps the girl
really didn't feel well, after all. "Are you all right?" he asked, his
voice suddenly less stern.
    She nodded her head feebly, unable to find enough voice to
reply at that moment. The spot where his hand circled her arm seemed to
be on fire.
    "Then come along," he urged. "When we get home, we'll talk
further." He didn't want to say anything more for fear of upsetting
Grandmother Chausson, who fortunately seemed unaware of anything having
been amiss.
    As they walked back to the town house Miguel kept a firm
grip on Monique's arm, as though half afraid she might try to slip away
from him even then. By the time they had reached the town house,
however, the annoyance he had felt earlier had subsided somewhat. After
all, it was true what he had said to Padre Sebastian in the