At the Spanish Duke's Command (8 page)

G
EORGIANA
blinked as a persistent ray of warm autumn sunshine peeped through the half-closed shutters. Opening her eyes, she suddenly realised where she was and turned on her side. In the shadows she saw Juan stretched out next to her, asleep, his dark hair tousled, his tanned body partially covered by the white linen sheet taking up a large portion of the bed.

The ghost of a smile hovered as she looked at him, recalling the night before, swamped by a sudden rush of tenderness. Overwhelmed, she blinked away tears. It had been so wonderful, so extraordinary, so perfect. Yet what, she wondered, as daylight poured gently into the room, awaited her now? What would the future hold? Would he want rid of her now that he had satisfied his desire for her? Would he simply banish her from his life? Or would he expect things to return to the way they had been when she'd first arrived in Spain?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the figure next to her stretching and yawning.

Juan looked up sleepily. He yawned again, and a wonderful lazy smile dawned on his tanned features. Watching him, entranced, Georgiana felt her fears subside. She would deal with those later.

“Georgiana,
mi amor
, come here,” he ordered sleepily, reaching out and pulling her back into his arms.

Moments later they were kissing tenderly, their bodies
entwined, feeling the warmth of one another, caressing lazily as, half asleep, they sought each other once more. She allowed Juan to turn her firmly until she lay on her side, cuddled up in the crook of his body, his arms surrounding her, his hands caressing her breasts, while he nibbled the back of her neck.

Then to her utter surprise he entered her, slowly, tenderly, in a delicious, warm, slow movement that had her gasping, pressing herself up against him, accommodating her body to his so that he could enter her fully. Again the exquisite sensations soared, and she moaned with pleasure as expertly Juan brought her to the peak, then held her wrapped against him as though he would never let her go.

“Go back to sleep,” he commanded in a whisper, stroking the hair from her face.

And, closing her eyes, she did.

 

“I've been thinking about what you said,” Leticia murmured down the phone.

“What was that?” Juan frowned, swivelled in his office chair and handed his secretary the pile of documents he'd just signed, indicating to her to close the door.

“What you said about the wedding.”

“What did I say?” Juan tried to concentrate on the conversation. He'd been having a hard time concentrating on anything since his return from Seville and the two disturbing nights spent in Georgiana's arms.

“Well,” Leticia reminded him, “you said you'd like to advance the date of the wedding ceremony.”

“I did?” He grimaced, remembering.

“Yes, and now I've had time to think a bit about it I've decided that you're right. It's a good idea. In fact, the sooner we get on with it the better,” she said in a rush.
“I've talked to my mother, and although at first she was reticent she's agreed to start preparations immediately.”

There was a moment's silence while Juan digested the information.

“Juan? Are you there?”

“Yes—yes, of course I'm here. That is—well, that's wonderful news, Letti.”

“You don't sound too delighted,
querido
.”

“But I am. Of course I'm delighted. I mean, it was my suggestion, wasn't it?” he said, a bitter twist to his lips.

Why on earth had he come up with the absurd notion of bringing forward the wedding? he asked himself bitterly. It seemed ridiculous now. Yet it was only a short while since he'd wanted to get married to Letti as soon as possible…to avoid the possibility of an affair with Georgiana!

“When exactly were you thinking of?” he asked finally, trying to accustom himself to the idea.

“I thought the first week in November seemed appropriate. It works well for me if it does for you. I'll have less of a workload just then. You weren't planning on a long honeymoon, were you?” Leticia asked anxiously.

“Uh, no. I wouldn't want to interrupt your working schedule,” he said automatically. How could he possibly go on honeymoon with Leticia—make love to Leticia—when all the while he could think of nothing but Georgiana writhing deliciously in his arms?

Damn, damn, damn.
Dios mio
, what a mess. Surely he was too old to be getting involved in anything so tasteless and absurd?

After he'd placed the receiver back in its cradle, Juan rose impatiently and walked to the window of his large office overlooking Serrano. How could he possibly have imagined that Georgiana would get to him so much? That
she would touch a part of his being he'd believed buried with Leonora those many years ago.

But she had.

And now he was going to have to deal with the consequences of his folly. He hadn't seen her since their return to Madrid—he had avoided the Castellana residence and stayed at his bachelor flat over the past few days. What was she up to? he wondered. And how was she feeling?

For a moment he thought of phoning her. Then, remembering all that rested on his shoulders, he resisted. He simply must let her go—before he messed up more than just his own life.

 

Georgiana sat abstractedly through her Spanish literature class and dreamed of Juan. It was impossible not to remember the magical days they'd spent together at the
finca
. Even the arrival of her classmates for their dinner of
paella
had done nothing to counter the romantic haze in which she'd floated.

Then she'd returned to Madrid, and reality had hit home.

It was over. The fantasy weekend had been nothing but that.

She and Juan had even tried to have a sensible, grownup conversation before returning to town, with Georgiana desperately attempting to appear nonchalant and sophisticated when all she'd felt was her heart wrenching inside. Suddenly, the thought of Juan in Leticia's arms, which before then had been nothing but a remote concept, had been enough to render her breathless with agonising envy.

Worse, Leticia herself had appeared today at the Madrid apartment, and Georgiana had been forced to smile and be polite while feeling a complete hypocrite. She'd agreed to fittings for her bridesmaid's dress and listened to Leticia's plans for the wedding. The final blow had hit when Leticia
had announced that, instead of taking place next spring, as initially planned, the wedding was to be next month.

Doodling on her pad, Georgiana decided to go home after this class. It was impossible to concentrate on the adventures of
Don Quixote
and
Dulcinea
when all she wanted to do was go to bed, crawl under the covers and hide from the world.

She was experiencing a plethora of new emotions so diverse she was hard put to it to keep track of them. They ranged from sexual satisfaction to shame at her own moral behaviour. Leticia's presence in the apartment had brought her situation home with a bang. Instead of the happy fulfilled woman of hours earlier, she'd felt suddenly sordid, wicked and deceitful. Now those feelings alternated every few minutes—disgust at herself countered with elation, leaving her in a state of emotional exhaustion.

Juan hadn't been near the house, which only proved that her first instinct had been right. Now that he'd satisfied his desire to go to bed with her he would avoid her like the plague and move on. Not only did Georgiana feel ashamed, she felt used—even though she recognised that she had only herself to blame. She'd been aware of the circumstances right from the start and, to give him his due, Juan had never pretended anything different. But still she resented him.

Finally the bell rang to signal the end of class and she picked up her things. Outside it was a beautiful early October day. A mild breeze blew and she swept her hair from her face. All of a sudden she saw a red Ferrari pulling up. Seconds later Juan jumped out, and, ignoring the envious looks from a group of young men who were staring at the vehicle, came immediately to her side.

“Georgiana. I've come to take you home,” he said in
that familiar commanding tone that had once so annoyed her.

“You needn't bother,” she said coolly. “I can find my own way.”

“Well, I'm here now. You might as well take advantage of the ride,” he said, opening the door, making it impossible for her to refuse without appearing churlish. Reluctantly Georgiana sat in the passenger seat, horrified to feel her hands shaking. Just the sight of Juan was enough to leave her breathless. His flashing black eyes were looking at her so arrogantly, stripping her, letting her know that he'd possessed each nook and cranny of her being. It left her devastated.

“Georgiana, we need to talk,” he said, as the car swerved out of the university car park and on to the road.

“There's nothing to talk about,” she said, looking stonily ahead.

“I think there is.”

“Really? About your wedding, perhaps? Your fiancée was over at the apartment today. I gather the ceremony is to take place next month. You must be excited.”

“Don't be sarcastic, Georgiana. It doesn't suit you.”

“It may not suit me, but it expresses exactly how I feel.”

“I'm sorry,” he replied stiffly, changing gears.

“Are you? You could have fooled me,” she threw, suddenly bitter that this man, to whom she'd given so much of herself, was about to abandon her for another woman in a question of days. “I don't know how you have the nerve to pretend to Leticia like this,” she said suddenly, a knot forming in her throat. “In fact I feel sorry for her.”

“We'll leave Leticia out of this, if you please.”

“Oh, will we?” She whirled round, facing him now, eyes ablaze with anger. “I don't suppose she deserves any
thing as commonplace as a truthful explanation? Poor woman. What kind of a marriage is she getting into?”

“The kind of marriage she expects to get into,” he replied matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes off the road while weaving his way through the afternoon traffic.

“I doubt it,” she threw back. “I can't believe that any woman would want to marry a man ready to subject her to the kind of humiliation you obviously have in store for her. Which reminds me of something else I have to tell you.”

“What's that?” He stopped as they reached traffic lights and looked at her.

“I'm leaving,” she said, her voice trembling despite every effort to contain her emotions. “I'm going back to England.”

“That's ridiculous,” he said harshly.

“No, it's not. I've had enough. I don't want to remain here a minute longer. In fact I'll leave tonight, if I can get a ticket.”

“You will do no such thing,” he retorted firmly.

Then, to Georgiana's horror, the light turned green and Juan took a sharp right turn, in the opposite direction from the Avenida Castellana.

“Where are you going?” she muttered nervously.

“You'll see.”

“Juan, I demand to be taken home immediately.”

“In due course,” he said, ignoring her frustrated gesture.

“I want to go back now,” she cried.

“Do you?” Juan sent her a quick sidelong look. “Can you look me in the eye,
querida
, and swear you don't want to be in my arms just as much as I want to be in yours?”

Their eyes met, locked, and against her will Georgiana melted. How could she pretend that she wanted to leave when the mere presence of him next to her left her filled with throbbing desire?

Without another word Juan drove on. Several minutes later they entered the chic suburb of La Moraleja, where they stopped in front of a large wrought-iron gate. Taking out an electronic remote control pad, Juan clicked it and the gates parted slowly.

“Where are we?” she asked, eyeing the well-tended flower-beds and hedges as the car moved slowly up the drive.

“This was my mother's house. I still haven't decided whether to sell it or keep it. I was thinking perhaps—” He stopped.

“You were thinking of keeping it for you and Leticia?” she asked sweetly. “For when you have a family? What a perfect setting. I can just imagine you surrounded by frolicking children. How fatherly. How sweet.” Fury ripped through her again. “What a pity that it will only be a part-time job,” she added scathingly. “And now that you've so kindly shown me your future residence, will you please take me home?” she said icily.

Juan stopped the car abruptly. They still hadn't reached the house, visible among the trees.

“Will you stop this ridiculous ranting?” he said finally. “Don't you understand that I
have
to marry Leticia? That I must fulfil certain duties? It has nothing to do with my feelings for you,” he added, reaching across and grabbing her hands, pulling her firmly towards him. “Ah, Georgiana,
mi linda
Georgiana.”

Before she could react he brought his lips firmly down on hers, pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her as he never had before, with a harsh, determined passion that left her breathless. Uncontrollable searing heat burst through her like a bullet, lodging low in her abdomen, and that same coiling spiral of desire mounted, rising like volcanic lava, ready to erupt at his touch.

She felt his fingers seeking her breast.

She mustn't,
couldn't
, let him do this.

Yet even as her mind protested her body begged for his touch, for the delight that his fingers wrought, grazing her strained, aching nipples.

She moaned, unable to pretend any longer, and gave way, revelling in his caresses, in his hands unbuttoning her jeans, seeking further. Soon she was writhing, head thrown back in wanton abandon as expertly he pleasured each part of her. Finally Georgiana let out a small cry and collapsed in his arms.