Lola Montez and the Poisoned Nom de Plume Read Online Free PDF Page A

hair, your deep blue eyes and kissable lips. And so they are.” Still smiling, he looked up and all about to see whether we were quite alone. Sadly, we were not—several people from the waiting room had followed us out into the garden and had their eyes fixed upon us. He lowered his voice. “So, I have called upon you, as you requested. My suggestion now is that I hail a cab this very moment, and that you come with me. I hope I haven’t shocked you.”
    I shook my head, no. “I’ll come, yes. This very moment.”
    We walked the pebble path around the side of the hotel and out towards the street. The others from the waiting room were following, and as Liszt hailed a cab, flinging out his long arm to do so, one of the women plucked up her courage and rushed over. “Please,” she begged. “Please sign my book, Herr Liszt?” as she thrust it out and into his face. “I love your music, you are so wonderful! I’ve been reading about you for years, and always hoped you would come to our small city. I was there last night at the concert and—” She burbled on and on while Liszt signed her little book, then passed it back. She hugged it to her bosom and turned bright red. The cab was waiting, and Liszt now turned to help me inside. As he bent to climb in, the woman grabbed at his coat-tails. He reached behind to whisk them out of her grasp, then closed the carriage door. Nodding out the window, “Fräulein,” he banged the ceiling of the carriage with his walking stick and the driver took us away.
    “Does that happen often?” I asked.
    “Oh, yes, far too often. And worse.”
    His hotel was not far off. I sat trembling with… Not fear exactly. I was far too experienced for that. It was anticipation, of course, and excitement—I hadn’t been with a man that I cared about in ever so long. Did I care about him, already? I can’t say that with certainty; it was too soon. But, undeniably, there was something about the smell of fame that was making me absolutely wet with desire. Bad, isn’t it, to admit such a thing?
    We gained entry to his hotel with no one remarking upon it, then ascended to the third floor, all very calmly and modestly. He unlocked the door, we stepped inside, and he locked us in. I stood there, wondering what would happen next, whether I should dare to take the initiative.
    “Lola,” he said quietly. “That’s a pretty name. A Spanish name.”
    I nodded; my palms were wet now, as well as other parts.
    “What is your artistic path, that I should unite with it?”
    Oh, my, he certainly cut to the chase.
    “I am a dancer, from Seville—” I began.
    “The one who slashes Prussian officers.”
    I gasped, and at that, he laughed out loud, a good laugh because it came from the belly and was full of genuine mirth. He’d obviously seen the infamous cartoon of me—me, Lola Montez!—slashing a Prussian gendarme across the cheek, and sending legions of mounted gendarmes fleeing from my wrath.
    “I hope you haven’t brought your riding crop with you,” he added. “That it’s not hidden in those lovely skirts. May I check?” And his arms were around my waist, his long hands running up and down my thighs. “No whip, but something even better,” he breathed in my ear, bending his head, with his golden hair falling forward. “A pair of strong and no doubt lovely legs. I love the forwardness of your words, my dear Lola, and the boldness of your eyes. You made me skip three notes last night, and I could not retrieve them. That happens—never.”
    I tipped my face up to his at this and kissed him. I liked it, so I reached up and held his smoothly shaven cheeks between my hands, kissing and tasting his lips and his tongue. He was interesting; he turned it into an exploratory kiss, not full of haste and a rush to pull off our clothing. That’s unusual, for a first time, surely? I was more full of haste than he—and then it occurred to me that maybe he’d stop, think better of what he was doing,