“Be still, or I shall give you to them now, chica. Are you tired of waiting? Shall I let them have you? Look at them, so eager to stroke your soft flesh…. Yes, you may have her later. She is most impatient for you.”

Nothing could erase the shame she felt at being so exposed. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to remain still when all her instincts urged rebellion and flight.

One of the men laughed. “Ay di mi! she is a hot one, this! She will be mine first, for I won the toss. And I shall use her well, the famous Madame du Plessis! She is not so noble now, eh? Yes, I used to see her ride by with Colonel Lopez, her skin so white and pure, but her eyes! Ay! I knew she was only a puta.”

“And tonight,” Luna promised, “she will be yours. He will be coming after her, so prepare for him. You have your orders. Remember the prize that waits for you.”

Reluctantly, the men retreated as he took her back inside and shut the door. When he released her, she stood trembling until he put his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face to his.

“Are you afraid? But it will not be the first time you have been shared with so many. Yes, I know it all, as I told you. I have my methods of gaining information, and you would be most surprised by the things I know. Your father is an interesting subject as well, and your stepmother—She was once your husband’s mistress, but you know that.”

Ginny closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of his leering face. He continued to taunt her, telling her things about her past that she had tried to forget, about Ivan, and even Andre Delery.

“I would think you would be relieved to have your husband meet his fate at last, chica. He has been most cruel to you.”

“Please…” she heard herself whimper in a desperate plea. “Please…no…I’ll stay with you if you let Steve go….”

She stood panting, wracked with fear for herself and for Steve, her hair a wild tumble about her face and shoulders. A damp sheen misted her bare arms and legs, gleaming in the light of the lanterns as Luna moved to the table to pour more wine in a cup. Then he came back to stand before her. His breath was ripe with the smell of the red wine he’d been drinking.

“Little puta,” he said softly, “do you want me?”

“No…no!” It was a breathless moan, ripped from her throat despite her efforts. She wanted to scream at him, to strike out, but knew it would be futile. She had to remain calm; how else could she warn Steve?

Revulsion rippled through her when he dragged his hand across her face, moving lower, fingers grazing her throat in silent intimidation.