At the Spanish Duke's Command (7 page)

“It belonged to the Duquesa,” Conchita said sadly.

“Then maybe I shouldn't be wearing it,” Georgiana replied quickly.

“On the contrary.” Juan smiled at her, his dark eyes filled with emotion. “My mother would have loved to see you wear it. In fact I would like you to keep it. In memory of her.”

Their eyes met. Georgiana swallowed and Juan cleared his throat. There was something about the mention of the Duquesa that forged a bond. She was, after all, the reason they'd met.

Slipping the shawl about her shoulders, Georgiana smiled. “Thank you. I shall treasure it all my life. Your mother was a delightful woman. I remember her from the times she used to come to England. We used to have tea together at the Ritz.”

“And I remember her telling me about the little girl, Lady Cavendish's daughter, to whom she was godmother,” he replied, in a bantering tone. “I never imagined she would turn out to be so—” He was about to say beautiful but changed it instead. “So enchanting.”

“Thank you,” she murmured demurely.

Evening was closing in on the
finca
, the sky a dark, translucent sapphire, dotted with diamonds, the moon a per
fect crescent. Chattering crickets filled the night air and whiffs of jasmine gently enveloped the verandah.

“It's so peaceful here. Do you come often?”

“Whenever I get the chance,” he answered promptly. “I love this place. It's here that I recharge my batteries.” He waved a hand towards the countryside. “Being in touch with nature is soothing. It was here that I came after Leono—” He cut off abruptly.

“What were you going to say?” Georgiana leaned forward, brows creased, watching Juan's well-defined profile. He'd looked suddenly very sad, and she wondered what he'd been about to say.

“Nothing. Nothing important.”

“I don't believe you,” she said, rising and joining him on the small cushioned parapet. “You were going to say something that mattered to you and then you thought better of it. Why?”

“Because it is part of the past,
querida
. Over. Done with.” He looked down at her, his face harshly outlined in the lantern light.

Georgiana got the impression he was suppressing something important. But she held her peace even as a wave of compassion—or was it something else she could barely define?—went out to him.

“It doesn't matter,” she said softly, placing her hand on his arm, feeling the tenseness of his muscles, wishing she could soothe away whatever pain he was experiencing.

Juan looked down at her hand on his arm. Again the tenderness of her gesture touched him in a way he was not used to, and the raging desire he experienced any time he was in close contact with her soared once more. But he restrained it.

“Shall we go to dinner?” he enquired, rising and clearing his throat. Anxious to create distance, he stepped away,
removing her glass from her slackened grip, using it as an excuse. “I thought we could wander around the city a bit first. As you know, we eat dinner very late here in Spain.”

“Of course,” she responded with a dazzling smile. It was really none of her concern who or what Juan had been about to mention. Still, in a typically feminine fashion she wanted to know everything about the man, and couldn't help wishing he'd been more explicit. He was being perfectly friendly and gentlemanly now, she reflected ruefully, not knowing whether to be pleased or annoyed.

Then, just as they were about to climb into the Ferrari, she noticed it had shed all its earlier dust. In fact it glistened. She frowned. “Did you clean the car?” she asked, surprised, wondering when he could have had the time.

“No, Conchita's husband Gustavo did it.”

“I thought you were short-staffed,” she retorted with a quizzically raised brow, challenging him as he was about to close her door.

“I am.” An arrogant smile hovered in his eyes as they glistened down into hers. “I usually have all the people who tonight are out at the
fiesta
. I'm reduced to only three or four.”

“I see,” Georgiana replied dryly.

She made no further comment. But realised woefully that it behoved her to take extra care. Juan Monsanto, Duque de la Caniza, was quite a match for any woman. Let alone a young inexperienced one like herself, with her heart wobbling dangerously on her sleeve.

D
INNER
in a
bodega
—a one-time wine cellar—was outstanding. The staff were solicitous, from the owner to the lowliest busboy, and hovered attentively. It was clear to her that Juan was highly considered in the city. It was “Don Juan this” and “Don Juan that” all evening. And although he was by no means autocratic—he laughed and joked with the head waiter—she could tell the respect Juan inspired, and noted the underlying air of command that constituted a natural part of his being.

He had ordered their meal—a delicious array of seafood and regional dishes—and instead of feeling annoyed at him simply taking charge, Georgiana found it enjoyable. He knew exactly what wines to order, which dessert would go perfectly with the other courses, and by the time they reached coffee she was caught up in a tailspin of exotic food and amusing conversation that would have been hard to interrupt.

When a
tuna
—a group of students from the university—stopped by their table in their black capes and bright sashes, playing and singing for them on their guitars, Georgiana sighed, delighted.

“This has been a marvellous evening. Thank you, Juan,” she said, clasping her hands on the table as the romantic ballad sung by one of the young men came to an end.

When he finished Juan handed him a banknote. “And
by the way,” he said, “you are very good. Have you considered a career in singing?”

“As a matter of fact I have,” the young man responded with a wistful smile. “Unfortunately I need to study law and help provide for my family,” he ended regretfully.

“I see. Well, here's my card. Give me a call. Perhaps I could help you.” Dismissing him with a smile, he turned back to Georgiana.

On seeing the coat of arms and the name on the card, the young man suppressed a gasp of surprise.

“Thank you,
Excellencia
. Thank you very much. It was you who donated the music scholarships to the university, wasn't it?”

“Yes. And I have other plans that include music.”

With a half-bow the young man followed his companions excitedly.

“What sort of scholarships did you endow the university with?” Georgiana asked curiously. This was a side of the man she had never heard mentioned even by the Condessa, who loved to sing her young cousin's praises.

“I decided to do it in memory of my mother. She was quite a musician, as you probably know. I felt that it was something she would approve of. She helped a lot of young people to study music who otherwise wouldn't have had the chance.”

“But that's wonderful. I remember my mother telling me what a talented pianist the Duquesa was.”

“Yes. Some of my early memories are of her seated at the piano playing. Though after my father died she didn't play as much. I think it reminded her of him. Now,” he said, reaching over and squeezing her hand in a friendly manner that sent shudders rippling up her arm, “how about going for a walk? I want to show you the Alcazar lit up. It's spectacular.”

When they reached the street Juan slipped his arm through hers, and together they walked through the ancient streets of the city, its many influences visible in the varied architecture—Christian and Moorish, old and modern, living harmoniously side by side.

Georgiana felt strangely comfortable in Juan's company. All her previous misgivings dissipated as together they roamed the city. They passed several establishments from which the sounds of flamenco music emanated. On the steps of one three
gitanas
in colourful polka-dotted dresses stood smoking and chatting, waiting for their number to be called. One of them sent Juan an appraising look and murmured something to her companion in rapid Spanish. As they passed laughter could be heard.

“What was that about?” Georgiana asked. The interchange had been too rapid and tinged with dialect for her to follow.

Juan smiled and gave her a sidelong look. “Maybe it's a good thing you still don't know too much Spanish,” he murmured, eyes glistening mischievously.

“Oh?” Georgiana challenged. “Was it that bad?”

“Not at all. Very complimentary, in fact. But also rather daring.”

Georgiana felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Obviously the woman had made some reference to them together. She wished she hadn't asked.

“Do you want to know what she said?” he taunted as they turned the corner back into the
plaza
, where the car was parked.

She shrugged. “I'm sure it can't have been that important.”

“She said you could tell that a couple like us were very compatible in bed.”

“Oh.” Georgiana swallowed. Just as she'd started feel
ing really comfortable all the discomfort returned, as did a rush of heat, searing down, that left her undone.

“Georgiana,” Juan said gently, “I think we're going to have to face the fact,
querida
, that we are both deeply attracted to one another.”

“Perhaps,” she said, turning away. “But you're marrying another woman.”

“I know. And I'm not proud of the fact that I find you irresistible.” He reached out, touched her cheek lightly and sighed. “You remind me of someone,” he said at last. “Someone I cared for very deeply.”

“Then perhaps you're just trying to recapture the past,” she retorted, standing stiffly, certain that if she weakened she would end up in his arms, giving way to the world of sensations he'd unlocked and which she longed to partake of once more.

She swallowed, wished she could be stronger, resist the magnetic draw this man held for her. He was out of bounds, she reminded herself. If she did sleep with him she would be taunting destiny, inviting chagrin into her life when he walked away with another woman.

“I think we should go home,” she said at last.

“So do I. But think about it. I can't offer you marriage, Georgiana, but I can make your first adventure in love an unforgettable one.” He opened the car door and she sat down, drained of energy.

“It's fine for you,” she threw bitterly as he sat in the driver's seat. “Afterwards you would just walk away and move on. But what about me?”

“It is your choice, Georgiana. If you don't want us to consummate the fire that burns between us I will respect that. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“But you are hurting me merely by suggesting it,” she
cried, clasping her hands in her lap, trying to curtail the rising frustration.

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said quietly, starting the Ferrari's engine. “But, as you have reminded me several times, we are both adults and I think we both know that our desire for one another does not stem from anything trite, rather from something very special.”

“Maybe,” she whispered, “but what about Leticia?”

“This has nothing to do with Leticia. She is part of another area of my life,” he said coldly. “Ours will be a marriage of convenience. She does not expect me to be faithful to her—now or after our marriage. As long as I do not humiliate her publicly, she will be quite content to turn a blind eye to my affairs.”

“And what if
she
decides to have an affair?” Georgiana challenged him, livid at his chauvinistic attitude.

“That,” Juan replied implacably, “would be an entirely different matter. Leticia will bear my children. She cannot be running around having affairs.”

“But that's exactly what you are asking me to have with you, isn't it? An affair?”

“I'm afraid I can offer no more. You know that,” he said sadly, taking a sidelong look at her. “That's the way the cookie crumbles sometimes,
querida
.”

“I think it's preposterous—and I wish I hadn't agreed to come to your
finca
,” Georgiana snapped, irritated with herself, and with the fact that she was even contemplating this man's outrageous offer.

“Why? Because you are tempted?” He raised a quizzical dark brow and his eyes bored into hers for a quick moment before he fixed them back on the road.

Georgiana didn't reply. Instead she remained in stony silence until they reached the
finca
.

“Goodnight,” she said grandly, once they'd entered the
hall, “and thank you for a pleasant evening. Now, if you'll excu—”

But her words were cut off as Juan placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him. “Are you so sure you want to brush me off in this manner?” He gazed down into her eyes and his hands roamed down her back.

Georgiana tried to muster every spark of will-power but she knew it was useless. Sooner or later she would give in. As his lips came down on hers and his hands glided to her bottom, bringing her close up against him, she let out a tiny moan.

“You see,” he murmured, lifting his lips for an instant from hers. “We both want this, need this,
mi querida
. Don't resist what is meant to be. And have no regrets. I promise to take care of you, whatever happens.”

Georgiana's logical mind fought with all its might. This was rubbish. Juan was engaged to another woman. She had no right to do this either to Leticia or herself.

But in vain.

All resistance broke down when his thumb grazed her breast and she let out the sigh of delight she'd been holding back. It was impossible to resist, impossible not to submit to his touch, to his magical fingers dominating her body, his powerful arms scooping her up.

Georgiana lay quietly in his arms as Juan carried her up the ancient staircase and into his bedroom, where only the bedside lamps were lit. Then, laying her down gently on the heavy lace coverlet, he looked her over possessively.

She was beautiful, lovely and tender. For a minute memory flashed and he travelled back in time. This, he realised with a twinge of regret, was how his wedding night with Leonora should have been, had it ever taken place.

Then, banishing the past, he concentrated on the present, on slowly divesting the lovely creature with whom he was
enchanted of her clothes, until she lay naked before him, her beautiful, lithe figure etched in the lamplight, her soft skin translucent and creamy, begging to be touched.

“You are so beautiful, Georgiana,” he said, fingers lightly caressing her neck, down to the swell of her taut breasts. Her hair splayed like a golden fan over the pillows. He would, he vowed, as his thumb fleeted across the delicious pink peaks, teach her what love was all about. He would not rush the experience, however much his own desire burned him. He would take his time, the time needed to love her thoroughly, caress her to her core, show her what pleasure and lovemaking were all about.

Slowly he lowered his lips to her breast and his fingers roamed further. As they did so, Georgiana arched and let out a gasp. Then she murmured his name, caught on a new, passionate wave of emotion, sweeping her in a tide of soaring heat that engulfed, consumed, swamped her entire being. As his fingers sought tenderly within her, she experienced a release of molten heat, the coiling tension growing deep inside her begging to be freed.

Gently Juan stroked her, discovering each secret spot, a strange primal sensation taking hold. He was the first man to touch her, the first to discover her, to pleasure her.
Dios,
how he wished he could also be the last.

Again he taunted her breast with his teeth, laved it, then basked in the fall of the soft honeyed flow as his fingers reached for her and she arched eagerly against his hand. In a rush she came, body thrust towards him, crying his name, and he held her close until the last shudders subsided.

Only then did he undress and lie next to her on the bed.

Should he take her?

For a moment Juan hesitated, examining his conscience. He could still hold back—could still put an end to this folly.

But just as reason was about to take hold Georgiana
turned towards him, eyes glistening, and let out a tiny sigh of longing. Her breast stroked his side and he groaned. All at once her fingers trailed down his chest and he shivered. Then, to his delight, they shyly trailed lower, until she discovered him. Juan let out a stifled moan as timidly she began to caress him. Drawing her closer, he kissed her, caressed her, gasped as her touch grew more confident. They sought to pleasure one another—he with the experience of years, she with a centuries-old primal female instinct that had suddenly come alive.

But soon the moment came when he could wait no longer.

Parting her thighs, he looked deep into her eyes. “I will try not to hurt you,” he whispered, lowering his lips softly to hers as carefully he entered her.

For a second he held back, looked into her eyes, caught the flash of fear followed by wonder as she experienced the new feel of him entering her. Then, as naturally as if they'd been making love for years, she arched, moving her hips, her body begging for fulfilment.

Juan could stand it no more.

In one swift movement he thrust and made her his, heard her stifled gasp, felt her body surrender to him, and knew the exquisite joy of possessing her heart and soul.

Georgiana let out a tiny cry of wonder and pain as he discovered her. Then just as quickly gave way to the wonderful mysterious rhythm of their bodies entwining as one, felt the delicious pain and joy of being possessed by a man she—

Loved.

They climaxed in a glorious coming together of body and soul and Georgiana knew the truth. And as she shuddered, experienced the weight of a man's body on her for the first time, she also knew that tonight she'd set herself up for a broken heart.