Now that the crisis was upon her, she would have evaded it if she could. Her long lashes fluttered to the hot cheeks.
"He is my cousin and my friend—the best friend I have," she answered in a low voice.
"No more than that?"
"No more." She lifted her eyes and tried to meet his boldly. "And now I really think you've been impudent enough, don't you?"
He imprisoned her hands in his. "If it isn't Don Manuel who is it?"
She knew her eyes had failed her, that they had told him too much. An agony of shyness drenched her from head to foot, but there was no escape from his masterful insistence.
"Will you let me go ... please?"
"No—not till you tell me that you love me, Valencia, not till you've made me the happiest man alive."
"But ..."
He plunged forward, an insurgent hope shaking his imperturbability.