At the Spanish Duke's Command (5 page)

Juan looked at her, eyes arrested. “You mean
you
wouldn't tolerate it?” he asked, suddenly curious.

“No. Of course I damn well wouldn't. I think it's appalling.”

“What does a child like you know of marriage?” he said with a bitter laugh. “It is not a passion we're talking about, but a contract.”

“Is that how you think of marriage? As a contract?”

“Yes. That is how it should be, and how it will be with Leticia and myself. That is what our place in society demands.”

“Then you're welcome to it,” Georgiana threw back. “I think you're the biggest hypocrite on earth, Juan Monsanto. May you enjoy your loveless marriage and long may it last.”

With that she spun on her heel and, head high, closed the door behind her with a bang, leaving Juan swearing aimlessly before the fire, unable to do more than wish his life was not such a damn mess.

“J
UAN
,
you're not concentrating on your game,” Leticia rebuked affectionately as Juan's golfball disappeared into a neighbouring bunker. “I've never seen you play so badly. Where's that one-digit handicap disappeared to?” Her forehead creased as she looked at him enquiringly. “Is something the matter?” she asked solicitously, brushing back her chestnut hair and observing him closely. He'd looked strangely drawn these past few days. She wondered if he had a business problem.

“Damn,” Juan muttered, following the ball's unfortunate trajectory.

“If you like we can call it a day,” Leticia offered reasonably. “After all, we've played nine holes and we should be getting back for lunch. I have a memo to prepare this afternoon.”

“What, on a Sunday?” Juan asked, distracted.

“Yes. I'm afraid I have so much on my plate at the moment. Pablito Sanchez is up to his eyeballs at the university, and I promised I'd help out. It's the conference on abused women. You know—the one I told you about?”

“Yes. But surely you can take one whole day off a week?”

“I would if I could,” Leticia said regretfully. “But seeing as I have to squeeze in the engagement party, and give my mother a minimal amount of time to make the arrange
ments for this wretched wed—” She blushed suddenly, realising her words were none too flattering.

“I didn't realise you considered our wedding a disagreeable obligation,” Juan replied stiffly, slipping his clubs back into his golf bag and preparing to walk to the bunker where his ball was lodged.

“That wasn't what I meant,” Leticia countered, her face flushed. “It's just that Mother expects me to be interested in every tiny detail. I'm afraid I'm just not that kind of person, Juan. Of course I'm looking forward to our wedding.”

“Good, because I was about to suggest we bring the date forward,” he said, eyeing her closely. When she paled visibly he experienced a rush of irritation.

“Advance the date? But—”

“Is the thought of being married to me so very terrible, Leticia? If that is the case, then now is the time to speak up.” He leaned against the golf cart and eyed her carefully.

“No. Of course not.” She laughed off his words with a wave of her hand. “That's ridiculous. It's just getting everything planned. I'm afraid I'm not as good at social organisation as I am at legal briefs. But,” she said with a bright smile, “you're right. I need to become more interested in such matters. After all, we will be leading an intense social life. Your business commitments require it.”

“Only if you want to,” he said slowly, ignoring the wave of disappointment that swept over him. He'd given her an opportunity to get out of marrying him. She hadn't taken it. Smothering a sigh, Juan made light of the situation. “Come on, Letti. Let's go and find out what happened to that damn ball of mine. The sooner you marry me, the better. Right now my life is all over the place.”

“Is it?” Leticia raised a brow and her intelligent eyes scanned his face. But she said no more, merely accompa
nied him to the bunker. Both laughed out loud when they realised the ball was stuck on a slope in the sand.

 

“I don't know why Juan is absent so much these days,” the Condessa said with a sigh several days later as she and Georgiana drank coffee in the small salon. “When I quiz him about it, he says he has so much work that he stays until late in the office. But I wonder. I would hate to think he was conducting an affair at this stage, so close to the wedding—” She cut herself off, realising who she was talking to. “But let's forget Juan. Leticia is dropping by in about ten minutes to bring me a list of the wedding guests. I need to get our side of the family sorted out so that she can send out the invitations. Juan mentioned advancing the date, but I think Letti is wise to stick to what was planned. May is a lovely month in which to be wed, don't you think?”

“Yes. I suppose it is,” Georgiana murmured dully, finishing her coffee in one gulp. “I'd better be off,” she said suddenly, “I forgot I have a lecture this afternoon.”

“But won't you wait and see Leticia? She'll be most disappointed. She mentioned to me only the other day how charming she found you. In fact—” the Condessa leaned forward and her expression turned confidential “—I think she plans to ask you to be one of her bridesmaids.”

“Oh, no!” Despite every attempt to stay calm Georgiana paled and sat down again with a thud. This was turning into a cruel farce.

“I think you should stay and receive her,” the Condessa remarked. “It's probably too late for your lecture anyway.”

Realising there was no escape, Georgiana smiled weakly and agreed. Five minutes later the doorbell rang and her pulse quickened. How could she face Leticia, knowing that
she'd spent the most glorious moments of her life in the woman's future husband's arms? It didn't bear thinking of.

Seconds later Leticia entered the room.

“Hola, Tia,”
she said, kissing the Condessa on both cheeks. “And Georgiana. What a delightful surprise. How lovely to find you here. I've a question to ask you.” Georgiana smiled nervously as Leticia sat down next to her on the couch, all natural friendliness. “I would like to know if you would do me the honour of being one of my bridesmaids,” she said, smiling.

“That's very k-kind of you,” Georgiana stammered, “but don't you want to keep it in your family?”

“Not at all. It would be a pleasure to have you. After all, Juan has very few young cousins, and you were his mother's goddaughter. I'm sure nothing could be more suitable. Don't you agree,
Tia
?” She turned to the Condessa for approval.

“But of course you must take part in the bridal party,” the Condessa agreed complicitly. “Just think how beautiful she'll look, Letti. Have you decided on the colour of the bridesmaids' dresses yet,
querida
?”

“Mama thinks we should do a replica of Velazquez's painting
Las Meninas
—which, as you know, hangs in the Prado.”

“But what a brilliant idea. I can see your mother plans to make it the wedding of the year,” the Condessa added, flicking her bejewelled fingers over the waves of silver hair. “I can't tell you how pleased we all are that you and Juan are about to wed.”

“Thank you,” Leticia murmured. “So I can count on you?” she enquired, turning to Georgiana.

“I—yes, of course. It would be a pleasure,” Georgiana murmured, smothering a sigh and hoping the flush she sensed mounting in her cheeks wasn't as obvious as it felt.

There was simply no getting out of it.

A
FTER
several unsuccessful attempts at trying to persuade her mother that she simply must move out of Juan's apartment, Georgiana gave up. But knowing that Juan might walk through the door at any moment, that she might be obliged to see him and have to pretend complete disregard for the man she was fast believing she'd fallen in love with, left her restless and nervous. She ate little and lost weight. This did not go unnoticed by the Condessa.

“Georgiana, what is wrong? You look thin and peaky, my dear. Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing at all,” she answered quickly, hastily buttering a piece of toast she had no desire to eat.

“Then you are studying too hard.”

“I assure you, Condessa, I'm fine,” Georgiana said quickly. Then to her horror the door opened and Juan walked in.

He wore grey trousers, a well-cut blazer, a white shirt and an aqua Hermès tie. Georgiana's fingers trembled and some coffee spilled in her saucer. Mercifully the Condessa was too busy greeting her relative to notice. Georgiana's eyes flew to Fernando, standing near the door, praying he hadn't picked up the tell-tale signs. But as usual the butler looked blank. She sighed, wished her heart would stop beating so fast, and prepared to greet Juan in a conventional manner.

“Hello, Georgiana,” he murmured. “Everything going all right?”

“Fine, thank you,” she said brightly.

“Good. I'm afraid I can't stay long,
Tia
. I have to be at a meeting in under an hour.”

“Always on the run,” the Condessa sighed, leaning back in the dining room chair. “Let us hope that once you have children of your own you'll calm down and give sufficient attention to your family.”

Georgiana swallowed twice. She noted a dull flush rising above the pristine white of Juan's collar. For a moment their eyes met.

She couldn't bear it. His eyes, so bright and dark, immediately brought back images of their encounter in the study. She stared at her plate and wished time would go by as quickly as possible. Couldn't he have chosen to visit the house when he knew she wouldn't be in?

Then, to her horror, he turned towards her. “Georgiana, I have something I need to speak to you about in private,” he said, his voice turning severe, as though he planned to reprimand her.

“I can't think what we could have to talk about that can't be said before the Condessa,” she countered quickly, determined not to be alone with him ever again, unsure of the extent of her will-power should he— She stifled the thought and stared up at him belligerently.

“That,” he said in a measured tone, “is for me to decide.”

“Really? Well, I have nothing to say to you—now or ever.” Her chair scraped the parquet floor as she rose abruptly.

“But, Georgiana,” the Condessa murmured, “surely you can spare Juan a few moments?” She frowned. “After all, he is your host.”

Grudgingly Georgiana realised she was not going to be let off the hook. A blush reached her cheeks. “Very well,” she muttered in a tight voice. “But I have to be at the university in an hour.”

“That is not a problem. I will drop you off there myself.”

“But Jacobo is waiting. He—”

“I have already dismissed him.” Juan's tone was autocratic. It was obvious he wouldn't take no for an answer. “If you will be so kind?” He opened the door and ushered her out.

Georgiana walked across the hall. She felt like a young queen going to her execution. What could Juan possibly want to say that could not be said in public? Surely he must realise that the less time they spent in each other's company the better it would be for both of them.

Or perhaps that was where she'd got it wrong.

All at once Georgiana stopped and spun round, eyes narrowed. Was it possible that for him she'd just been an amusement? That he'd found it titillating to be the first man to touch her intimately, to bring her to orgasm? A raw, angry rage stirred and she marched into the study fuming.

“How dare you?” she spat as soon as the door was closed. “How dare you?”

“How dare I what?” he asked haughtily.

“Call me in here as if—as if—”

“As if nothing had happened between us?” he asked, leaning lazily on the back of the couch, watching as her breasts heaved with restrained anger. God, she was so tempting, so desirable.

Quenching the immediate desire that surged the instant he set eyes on her, Juan looked her over.

“I hear you are going to be a bridesmaid at my wedding.”

“By no choice of mine,” she hissed, turning her back on him and staring out of the window.

“Georgiana, I wanted to talk to you to see if we could come to some reasonable arrangement.”

She whirled round. “What did you say?”

“A reasonable arrangement. Perhaps we could contrive matters so that—”

Stepping forward, she raised her right arm in anguished fury.

Juan caught her wrist as her fingers were about to make contact with his cheek. He stood above her, eyes blazing. “What exactly did you think I was offering?” he bit out, flashing eyes locked with hers.

“I know what you want,” she whispered angrily. “What men like you think you're entitled to. You want Leticia as your wife and me as your mistress.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes. I also think you're despicable.”

“Really? Let's make sure about that, shall we?”

In one swift movement he had her locked in his arms. Georgiana struggled for all she was worth. But once Juan's lips found hers that familiar tingle of heat coursed through her, and her body melted once more, and her anger fizzled out. All she could do was succumb to his will, revel in the hardness of his taut frame against hers.

Her body refused to obey her mind. She could not resist his talented tongue flicking oh, so cleverly, the touch of his fingers grazing her breast through the thin cotton of her T-shirt and bra, the feel of him against her.

She let out a gasp when Juan pressed closer, felt his hardness grinding into her pelvis, the rush of molten desire flow between her thighs. Head thrown back, Georgiana felt Juan's lips kissing her throat, descending ever further until he reached her taut nipple. Before she could stop him he'd
cupped her breast, slipped up her T-shirt and bra. Now his lips, his teeth and his taunting tongue were causing havoc.

“Don't,” she begged. “Please don't.” But he ignored her, and, just as before, lowered her to the couch, where he plundered, unable to resist the bewitching feel of her nipples rising to his command. The desire to assuage the delicious ache that he knew was mounting between her thighs was too much to ignore.

Georgiana arched, her eyes closed. It was unbelievably magical. Nothing she had ever known could compare to the ecstasy she was experiencing. Then he moved his lips further, undid her jeans and lowered them. As she felt his tongue discovering her in ways she had not imagined existed, Georgiana stifled a cry of sheer delight. Then, still flicking his tongue on her, he brought her careering to the edge, and held his breath as she plunged headlong into a dizzy, ecstatic haze that left her limp and exhausted.

“Georgiana,” Juan whispered, holding her close and brushing the strands of golden hair from her face. “My beautiful
linda
Georgiana.”

All at once his words sank home and she pulled away, righting her clothes and sitting up, horrified that she'd allowed him to have his way once again—and in broad daylight. What was the matter with her? Surely she knew he was only trifling with her?

“Juan, leave me alone,” she said hoarsely. “This is dreadful. It's sordid and degrading.”

“You didn't appear to feel that way a few minutes ago,” he pointed out, rising and straightening his clothes.

“You're right.” She looked him straight in the eye. “I should never have allowed you to do what you did. After all, it's always the woman's fault, isn't it?”

The ironic twist of her lips took him by surprise, and he stepped forward, horrified. Not only was he taking shame
less advantage of this girl, but he was also deforming her view of life, of men.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said in a low, tense voice, his hands clenched as he paced the room.

“Don't worry—you haven't,” she threw, trying to sound nonchalant as she passed her fingers through her hair and rose. “But I think even you will agree that after this it is better I go. How can I possibly be a bridesmaid to Leticia after this? The whole notion is horrible.”

“You cannot leave the house.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't want you to.”

“Frankly, Juan, at this stage what you want or don't want doesn't enter the equation. We must do whatever it takes to stop this absurd set of circumstances. Or do you expect me to go on having secret trysts with you while your aunt drinks tea in the dining room?” she threw bitterly, making him realise once again how very badly he'd behaved.

“I will stay away,” he said stiffly.

“You said that once before.”

“This time I mean it. You will not be compromised by my presence again.” With a small bow he turned on his heel and left the study, leaving Georgiana standing alone in the middle of the room seething, not knowing whether to be happy or sad.

Furious, she picked up her books from the hall and left for class. She must end this now.

On arrival in the Faculdad de Filosofia y Letras, where her course was taking place, Georgiana walked absently up the wide staircase to her classroom.

“Hey!” a voice called from above. She looked up to see Sven, a Swedish student to whom she'd talked several
times during breaks. “Hi, there,” he called, waiting for her to climb the rest of the steps.

“Hello.”

“So, where have you been? We wanted to invite you to go away with us this weekend.”

“Oh? Who's ‘us'?” she asked, smiling. Sven was a tall and handsome young man whom all the girls on the course found devastatingly attractive. The first week she had too. Until a tall dark Spaniard had walked into her life, eclipsing every other man within miles.

“Well,” Sven replied, in Scandinavian-accented English, “there's Tina, Albert from Holland, Anya from Finland, me, and two other guys from Canada you haven't met yet.”

“Where were you planning to go?”

“We thought it would be fun to go down to Andalusia. We can rent a mini-van.”

“That's not a bad idea,” Georgiana replied thoughtfully as they reached her classroom. “In fact it would be lovely. Thanks for remembering me, Sven. Of course I'll join you.”

Satisfied that a few days in Andalusia would help her forget all that had happened between her and Juan, Georgiana entered the classroom determined to master Spanish grammar and not allow one thought of the man to cross her brain.

But that, she found, was easier said than done.

 

“But why should we advance the date of our wedding?” Leticia asked, as they sat at the bar in their favourite
tasca
on the corner of Don Ramon de la Cruz and Goya, working their way through several
tapas
, consisting of calamares fritos—fried squid—
tortilla
and
chorizo
.

“Letti, it doesn't matter why,” Juan exclaimed, exas
perated at her resistance to the idea. “It'll make things much easier. It means we can go skiing on our honeymoon. We agreed that a month in the sun would drive both of us crazy with only each other for company, remember?” He took a sip of wine.

“Really? I said that?”

“Well, not in so many words,” Juan remonstrated. “But I distinctly remember the conversation.”

“We're certainly a romantic pair, aren't we?” she said with a sigh, looking down into her glass thoughtfully.

“Letti, what's the matter? Neither of us ever pretended this was a love match. But you know how fond of you I am.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“I know. I'm very fond of you too,” she said, looking up, her eyes awash with sincerity. “It's just that—”

“Look, Letti, if you've any regrets, for goodness' sake say so.”

She hesitated. “No, I don't have any regrets.” She shook her head, looked up at him and smiled brightly. “When do you want the wedding to be held?”

“I don't suppose we could do it quietly somewhere?”

“You mean disappear and get married? I wish,” she replied longingly. “But the thought of having to bear my mother's recriminations for the next few years is a bit off-putting.”

“Yes. You have a point,” he agreed, and they both fell silent and sipped their wine.

“You see, for her, planning this wedding is the highlight of her life. I mean you're a duke, Juan. My parents think that is marvellous. After all, my father's a mere marquis,” she said, laughing. “We're going up a notch.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Your family and title date back a lot further than mine.”

“I was just joking. But it is a big deal in their world.”

“And that's not your world?” he asked, quizzing her.

“Of course it is. It's just that with my work I've been exposed to so many experiences, so many other stratas of society. I'm conscious of problems and situations that people like my mother don't even know exist. Or only peripherally.”

“Letti, you're a highly intelligent human being. You don't think I'd want to stand in the way of your work, do you?”

“Of course not, Juan. But the truth is,” she said regretfully, “I may have to consider giving much of it up.”

“Why? I'd never ask that of you.”

“I know. But, you see, being married to you is going to be a job in itself.” She sighed, toyed with a piece of
chorizo
, then popped it in her mouth.

“That's your mother speaking, isn't it?” he said, eyes narrowing.