The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(56)

The walk to the cenote was slow and pleasant. Once they were following that familiar path, the failure of her morning pursuits and the sensation that something was amiss faded. She took a step and thought to turn back, bidding Eduardo goodbye, for she’d said she’d walk him part of the way there, but then she took another step because the day was lovely.

They reached the cenote together and sat next to it, under the shadow of the trees. They couldn’t go swimming, for that would mean undressing in front of each other. Although she longed to feel the water against her skin, the light filtering through the branches and peaceful beauty of the oasis were enough for her.

The air was thick with the scent of red and white frangipani. She closed her eyes.

“What are you thinking?” Eduardo asked.

“I’m not thinking, I’m listening,” she said. “I feel that if I close my eyes and pay attention I might hear the fish in the water.”

The previous night her hearing had been terribly sharp. Ramona told her once that everything is alive, and everything speaks. Even stones have a language. She also said people who were sick with consumption were sharp of hearing. That might explain it, even if Carlota was not consumptive.

“You have such an imagination.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Is that bad?”

“Not at all. It’s part of your charm.”

“Montgomery says I daydream too often. And that my head is full from the plots of books.”

And that I am in love with love, she thought.

They were sitting side by side but kept a modest distance. However, when he spoke, Eduardo extended a hand and touched her arm. It was a slight touch, as if he were trying to secure her attention.

“Mr. Laughton has a big mouth. I’ll have him fired.”

“You mustn’t,” she said quickly.

“Why not? He does nothing but act impertinently.”

“He belongs at Yaxaktun.”

“That fellow belongs back in the gutter where my father found him.”

“Don’t say that. It’s cruel. Promise you won’t be cruel to him. He’s alone in the world.”

Eduardo had snagged a lock of her hair, rolling it slowly around his finger. He frowned. “I’ll grow jealous if you mention him again.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“He looks at you.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, he does it without any decorum whatsoever. It worries me.”

Carlota had indeed caught Montgomery looking at her with that steady, cool gaze of his a few times, but she hadn’t realized this constituted impudence. Montgomery seemed always a little lost. She wouldn’t imagine him capable of any harm to her, despite their verbal sparring.

“I’ve known Montgomery for ages,” she protested.

Eduardo drew his hand away, frowning. “Perhaps you prefer him.”

“Prefer him? How?”

“Come now,” he said, lowering his voice, the implication obvious.

“Please don’t mistake my affection for an old friend for something…oh, something…”

Something lewd, she thought. She couldn’t say it. It was wrong to weave such fiction when Montgomery never spoke to her with any amorous affection, when he never touched her. Although, now that she thought about it, perhaps he wasn’t indifferent to her after all. He’d seemed, for the span of a few minutes in the library, possessed of an eagerness that struck her as something close to passion. The thought made her want to hide her face.

“Montgomery is our mayordomo,” she said, bunching her hands on the muslin of her skirt. “He is my father’s confidant.”

“Your confidant, too?”

He is jealous, she thought and looked at him in surprise.

“I said he is a friend. What else do you wish me to tell you?”

“Simply say that you prefer me,” Eduardo told her, like a challenge, his tone petulant. “That if you had your choice, you’d share your bed with me.”

She let go of her skirt and wondered how she was supposed to answer him. Montgomery said all she understood were the adventures on the printed page and that everything could not be learned from books. Maybe he was correct, and she did want to know everything, after all, curious to understand the many facts that escaped her. Yet it seemed improper to reply to Eduardo with an affirmative, but if she didn’t reply he might think her foolish, a simpleton who couldn’t match him in wit.

A painful silence stretched between them.

“What? You won’t say it?”

He looked annoyed. She feared she was supposed to tease him, to reply with a pun. Her head was blank.

“There are so many things I want to tell you. I simply don’t know how,” she replied gently. “When I’m with you the world doesn’t make sense. I am too nervous.”

His face softened. “Are you?”

Eduardo drifted closer to Carlota, his fingers dancing over her wrists before he lifted her hand and planted a kiss on it. She drew her breath in. She wanted to lean into his touch, to press her face against his chest. She turned her head and pulled her hand away.

“You shouldn’t,” she whispered.

He seemed to consider something and grew serious. “What if I ask for your hand in marriage?”