Bride in a Gilded Cage (3 page)

Her pulse sped up when she saw Rafael turn from where he’d been looking out of the window over the street below. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes looked her up and down, their expression shuttered.

He gestured towards where a couple of gift-wrapped boxes sat by her things. ‘Do your students know that it’s your birthday in two weeks?’

Isobel looked at Rafael, panic resounding through her in waves.
He’d come for her.

‘It’s nearly three years to the day since we met, Isobel, do you remember?’

Her mouth felt numb. She’d gone icy cold. She deliberately ignored what he said. ‘They’re not birthday gifts. I’m shutting
down for August as everyone in Paris goes on their holidays. Some students bring me small gifts to say thank you.’

Rafael just looked at her with that intent gaze. In a bid to put some space between them and turn her back to him, Isobel went over to her things and started to pack up her iPod and speakers, putting it all into a small backpack. Her brain had seized.

When everything was packed away she turned around and took a deep breath, steeling herself. Her belly went into a tight knot of apprehension. ‘Why are you here, Mr Romero?’

His dark eyes speared her to the spot. ‘You know very well why I’m here. And it’s not Mr Romero. It’s
Rafael.’

Isobel’s hand clenched on her bag. Even now, when he’d confirmed why he’d come, she tried to deny it to herself—fool herself into thinking that she still had some sort of choice. ‘I’m not prepared to just—’

He cut her off. ‘We’re not going to discuss this here and now. I’ll have my car pick you up from your apartment at 7:00 p.m. and bring you to my hotel.’

Isobel nearly fainted to think that he was just snapping his fingers and expecting her to fall in behind him. Hysteria wasn’t far from her voice. ‘How do you know I don’t have plans? That I don’t have friends I’ve arranged to meet somewhere? If you think you can just come here and pluck me out of my life like this—’

Rafael stepped close, and Isobel fought strenuously not to move back a pace. His eyes roved over her face, making her skin prickle.

‘You’ve known very well this day was coming, and you can’t say I haven’t left you alone to enjoy your independence. I’ve booked a table for dinner this evening and you
will
join me.’

While Isobel was still absorbing her shock at his implacable arrogance, he’d somehow taken her bag off her shoulder
and with a hand on her elbow was escorting her from the studio. He’d taken her keys and was locking up behind them, as if he did it all the time.

Once they stepped out into the street, the languorous city heat did little to break Isobel from her inertia. Rafael calmly handed her back her keys and bag and indicated a sleek car parked by the kerb. ‘I won’t offer you a lift, as I know you live just a block away from here, but my car will be waiting for you at seven.’

He reached out and trailed a finger down Isobel’s cheek to her jaw. It left a line of fire in its wake, making her breath hitch, shocking her out of the inertia holding her in its grip. He’d done exactly the same thing that night three years before.

‘Don’t try anything silly, Isobel, or I’ll just come for you myself.’

And then, speechless, Isobel just watched as Don Rafael Ortega Romero got into the back of the car and it pulled away and disappeared into the traffic.

Isobel was still in a state of shock three hours later. She looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror that lay against a wall in the tiny space the landlord euphemistically called a bedroom. She’d found the mirror one day in a nearby skip and carried it home.

She knew well the kind of man Rafael was. The world he came from was a place where people didn’t say no to him, so she knew his threat was not an empty one. He wouldn’t stand for being stood up. A disturbing frisson of something she didn’t want to name went through her belly and she quashed it. She hated the fact that she seemed to be caught up in wondering about what Rafael thought of her now.

In a moment of weakness about a year ago she’d done a
Google search on him, to see where he was, what he was doing, and she’d seen a picture of him at a premiere in Los Angeles with a veritable glamazon of a woman on his arm. All long, luscious limbs and flowing red hair. The kind of woman Isobel didn’t think she could
ever
hope to imitate.

She looked at her hair critically; she’d had it cut when she’d come to Paris on an impulse. It had felt like something rebellious, something cathartic, to distract her from the fact that she couldn’t escape her fate. Sometimes now, though, she longed for length again—something to hide behind. She’d felt acutely exposed today under Rafael’s gaze.

She gave herself a last, dismissive look, collected her bag and went down to wait for the car. It was only in the car on the way to Rafael’s hotel that Isobel realised that not once since she’d seen Rafael again that afternoon had the thought occurred to her to try and run or escape.

Rafael sat in the lobby of the Plaza Athénée hotel and waited for Isobel. It was one of the grandest hotels in Paris, but Rafael didn’t notice the trappings of wealth around him, the expensive scents of the women there as they passed by with unconcealed looks of interest in his direction.

A coil of delicious tension snaked through his body—a sense of anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He remembered the moment in that study three years before, when Isobel had stood up to him, taking him by surprise, and he recognised the same sense of anticipation.

He saw his car pull up outside the main door and stood, grimacing slightly when he felt that tight coil of tension move southwards. With ruthless control he called his body to heel. And then the minute he saw Isobel’s silhouette emerge from the car that control was blasted to smithereens.

She passed two men as she walked in the main entrance, and Rafael saw how they both turned to look. He was no better, with his eyes glued to the graceful curve of her body. She wore the unmistakable signs of her breeding unconsciously; her dress was most likely chainstore, and nothing more than plain and black…but it could have been a Dior creation the way it hugged her torso and clung softly to her slim thighs, flaring out slightly at the knee. His eyes dropped to see her feet encased in silver high-heeled sandals and his desire escalated. With a burst of pique at his uncontrollable hormones, he went to intercept her.

Isobel tried not to be intimidated by the plush luxury of the iconic Paris hotel. It was a long time since she’d been somewhere so opulent, and she found it a little overpowering now. If she’d felt like a bag lady earlier, now she felt as if she might be mistaken for a cleaner.

She went towards the reception desk, with the intention of getting them to inform Rafael that she was here. She was not expecting the great man to be waiting himself. But just then something tall and dark caught her eye. She turned to see Rafael, in a coal-black suit and white shirt, striding across the marble lobby towards her. Isobel quailed inwardly. He looked angry, a glower transforming his features as he came closer and closer. She felt a hot rush of sensation when she remembered the tango they’d danced earlier and how closely he’d held her.

He came to a stop just inches away, and Isobel was more nervous than she cared to admit, reacting testily to his obvious irritation. ‘There’s no need to look like you’re about to take my head off. I’m only too happy to turn around and go home.’

For a second she saw Rafael battle with something, and then the glower was gone, replaced by a smile so gorgeous
and charming that she was sorry she’d said anything. He put a disturbingly warm hand on her elbow.

‘Come through to the bar. We’ll have an aperitif before dinner.’

Isobel had no choice but to follow him. His hand was like a steel brand on her elbow, and heat radiated up her arm. No other man had ever had such a viscerally intense physical reaction on her body. To her relief when they walked into the bar he let her go, so they could sit down at a table. The décor was a sophisticated mix of modern and antique, the lighting was low and the tones of conversation around them reverentially hushed. Soft piano music played in the background.

She’d dreaded this moment of seeing Rafael again for three years, and yet now that it was here it didn’t feel as if it was dread making her belly tighten…

A bowing waiter materialised, as if from thin air, and Rafael looked at Isobel. She felt flustered and hot. ‘I’ll…just have a sparkling water, please.’

Rafael just looked at her, before glancing at the waiter and saying, ‘A shot of whisky. No ice. Thank you.’

The waiter walked away and Rafael settled back into his chair, long legs stretched out under the table. Isobel’s usual sense of co-ordination and grace had deserted her somewhere back in the lobby. She felt as tightly wound as a spring and sat straight, legs tucked under her chair, as far away from his as she could get.

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a small smile and her chest literally ached for a second.

‘I have to admit it, Isobel, you’ve surprised me and proved me wrong.’

She schooled her body and mind’s traitorous responses
and replied tightly, ‘I wasn’t aware that I was doing anything with
you
in mind.’

His smile grew. ‘You threw down the gauntlet when you left Buenos Aires.’

‘I also told you that I never wanted to see you again.’

He smiled. ‘Well, you knew that wasn’t going to happen.’

Isobel felt the colour leaching from her face like a physical reaction, draining all the way down to her feet.
No escape.

He continued. ‘I’ve kept tabs on you, and believe me, if I’d thought it necessary I would have come for you a lot sooner.’ He shrugged minutely and almost smirked. ‘But it would appear that your closest association has been with your gay dance partner, so I wasn’t too worried.’

Heat flooded Isobel’s cheeks at his
‘I would have come for you a lot sooner.’
‘You had me followed?’

Rafael shrugged again, and grimaced delicately. ‘I wouldn’t say
followed,
per se, I merely had access to your movements. After all, you are essentially my fiancée.’

Fury raced through Isobel, and she seized the opportunity to feel righteous, with something concrete to be angry about. ‘You had me followed, and that is unacceptable.’

She stood up, but in an instant Rafael was standing, too, dwarfing her across the table. His face wasn’t remotely charming now.

‘Sit down, Isobel. I will not allow you to use something so flimsy as an excuse to walk out of here just because I make you feel nervous.’

Shock upon shock reverberated through her. Isobel’s jaw felt sore from clenching it. She felt as transparent as a glass screen, but lied, ‘You don’t make me nervous. And I’m not going to stay unless you apologise for having me followed.’

Tension crackled between them. Rafael’s eyes glowed, a
dark and almost black-brown, and Isobel had a sudden flash of memory, back to when he’d kissed her and she’d seen flecks of green in their depths. She felt weak.

Rafael struggled not to kick the low table out of the way and haul her into his arms, crush her mutinous mouth under his. Two spots of colour were in her cheeks, standing out against the pallor that lingered, evidence of her discomfiture.

Easily, because it cost him nothing, he said, ‘I apologise. Now sit down.’ When she didn’t move straight away he bit out, ‘Please.’

Finally she sat, and an enticing scent teased his nostrils—
her
scent. Rafael sat, too, and shifted in his seat so he could be comfortable—which was a challenge when his body seemed determined to respond to rogue hormones and not logic. Sexual frustration was not a state he’d ever known until the last six months, and right now it was screaming through his veins.

The waiter came back and put down their drinks. Isobel reached for her water and lifted it to take a big gulp, but just before she did she saw Rafael’s glass lifted, too, towards her. He raised a brow.

She blushed, embarrassed, and clinked her glass to his faintly.

‘To your health.’

She mumbled something incoherent, her eyes glued to his as they both took a sip. The sparkling fizzy water burst down her throat and brought her back to some sort of reality.

‘So tell me,’ he drawled, ‘how has it been for you living in Paris?’

Isobel looked at him, and he could see her bite her lower lip. He wanted to reach across and take her chin between his fingers, kiss that spot. She looked down and up again, something fleeting crossing her face, before she asked in a strangled voice, ‘You want to talk about my life here in Paris?’

Rafael sat forward, elbows on his knees, intent on this woman in a way he hadn’t felt about any woman in a very long time. ‘That’s exactly what I want.’

Isobel sneaked a glance at Rafael. Tension had been gradually building in her body since they’d moved into the plush and opulent dining room, lit with a thousand glinting lights from intricately heavy chandeliers. A waiter came and unobtrusively cleared their empty plates. If asked, she knew she wouldn’t remember what they’d eaten, delicious though it had been. Rafael lifted the white wine bottle and gestured to Isobel. She’d only had a few sips from her glass. She shook her head quickly.

Rafael refilled his own glass and shot her a look. ‘You don’t drink?’

Isobel grimaced slightly. ‘I don’t have the head for it.’ Desperation mounted inside her as she watched him take a lazy sip. She couldn’t believe that there was no way out of the situation, and in that moment something else struck her—a feeling of guilt at knowing that he had once tried to forge his own path, marry for love, and it had been destroyed, all because of this legal agreement.

Isobel leant forward. ‘Mr Romero…’ she faltered. ‘That is, Rafael…you can’t want to marry me. Neither one of us wants this. Is there no other way we can salvage the agreement without marrying?’

Rafael leant forward, too, putting down his glass. His face was hard, his voice arctic. ‘No, Isobel, there is no other way. And you’re quite wrong. I
do
want this marriage. The sooner you come to terms with the fact that we are getting married, the better. If we were to try and get out of this agreement the legalities would tie up any monies from the estate for the
foreseeable future—a situation your parents really cannot afford. And, as I’ve told you before, I’m not about to jeopardise one of my most valuable assets.’