The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride

by Chantelle Shaw

  He was waiting in the lounge. Grace swept along the corridor with her head held high, refusing to acknowledge that her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. As she neared the doorway she halted and stared at him. He was something else, she thought weakly, feeling her bravado trickle away. His impeccably tailored black dinner suit accentuated his height and the width of his broad shoulders. His exquisitely chiselled profile could have been hewn from marble, but when he turned and saw her the fire in his golden eyes warned that he was alive, and at this precise moment breathing fire.

  ‘What the devil are you wearing? Dios, you look as though you are about to attend a funeral rather than celebrate our engagement.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s because I consider our engagement as little to celebrate,’ she replied, stung by his mocking disdain. She didn’t look that bad, for heaven’s sake. ‘Funereal black is a fitting colour to match my mood.’

  ‘I swear you would test the patience of a saint, Miss Beresford,’ Javier growled as he strode across the room and gripped her shoulders. Before she could remonstrate, he spun her round and propelled her back along the corridor to her room. ‘And I am the least saintly man on this planet. You have two minutes to change out of the widow’s weeds and into the blue dress.’

  ‘Or…?’ Grace challenged him, her cheeks on fire and her hands coming to rest belligerently on her hips. She had never felt so angry in her life. Gone was mild-mannered Grace Beresford, and in her place a bubbling cauldron of fury. Javier Herrera was insufferably arrogant and downright rude. She would wear what she damned well liked, and how dared he try to lay down the law?

  ‘Or I will strip you faster than you can blink.’ Javier’s mouth curled into a smile that held no warmth. ‘Although I confess it may take me considerably longer to dress you again,’ he murmured coolly. ‘It might even result in us being late for the banquet, but our hosts would surely forgive the heated passions of a betrothed couple, and the stain of sexual warmth on your cheeks would be preferable to you looking like a wan ghost.’

  ‘You are despicable, and I won’t go through with this.’ Grace felt tears of rage sting her eyes, and she blinked furiously, determined to stem their fall. ‘I couldn’t remain married to you for five minutes, let alone a whole year.’

  Javier shrugged his shoulders indifferently and took his mobile phone from his jacket pocket. ‘Fine—we’ll call the whole thing off.’ He paused fractionally and then added softly, ‘I thought you cared about your father, but obviously I was wrong. The only person you care about is yourself, isn’t that right, Grace?’

  ‘You know I would do anything for him,’ she whispered thickly. Javier had the upper hand and they both knew it. If she refused to marry him, he would easily find another bride—his multi-million-pound fortune guaranteed that. But she had no other way of saving her father from prison. She was trapped; there was no way out. Frantically she moistened her suddenly dry lips with her tongue and could not bring herself to meet his gaze.

  ‘Two minutes, Grace,’ he warned, handing her the blue dress, and with a muttered oath she swung round and marched into the bathroom.

  If she was honest it was a beautiful dress, and the colour complemented her delicate colouring far better than black, she noted sourly. With narrow diamanté shoulder straps and a neckline that plunged lower than anything else she had ever worn, the gown was both elegant and sexy. The fluid silk seemed to caress her skin, skimming over her curves with a lover’s gentle touch…

  For heaven’s sake! She glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Where Javier was concerned it was imperative that she keep her wits about her, not drift off into some fantasy world where the sensual heat she’d seen reflected in his amber eyes transmuted into the feel of his hands exploring her body. She didn’t even like the man, she reminded herself irritably. In fact, she loathed him. He was too big, too powerful, and altogether too much, and the less time she spent with him during the coming year the better.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door leading from the en suite. ‘Satisfied?’ she demanded coldly, unable to repress a little quiver of awareness when his eyes slid insolently over her.

  ‘Not quite—come here.’

  She felt like a dog called to heel, but the gleam in his golden gaze warned her to hold her tongue. Squaring her shoulders, she walked across the bedroom until she was standing in front of him and then gasped when he spun her round so that her back was to him and she could see their reflection in the long mirror. With swift, precise movements he removed the pins from her carefully arranged chignon, and when her hair uncoiled down her back he picked up her hairbrush and began to stroke it through the silky strands.

  It was shockingly intimate. Heat coursed through Grace’s veins and she jerked away from him, but a sharp tap on her derrière with the back of the brush quelled her escape bid.

  ‘Keep still.’ The glint in his eyes was faintly mocking, as if he was aware of her Herculean effort to hold her furious words in check. She’d like to commit murder, she thought savagely, clenching her hands into small fists. And yet the glide of the brush through her hair was strangely soothing, and when he slid his free hand to the nape of her neck and gently kneaded the knot of muscles there with his long, tactile fingers she felt the tension ease from her body.

  ‘There—you’ll do.’ Abruptly he dropped the brush back onto the dresser and reached into his pocket. ‘Apart from one final touch.’ He flipped open the velvet box in his hand, and Grace stared in stunned silence at the blazing brilliance of the sapphire and diamond ring.

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ she croaked. She guessed that most women would give their eye teeth for such a fabulous piece of jewellery, but she felt faintly sick. It was more than just a ring—it was a statement of intent between two people and a symbol of their love. She was a fraud, and her forthcoming marriage was nothing more than a business proposition. What was the point in trying to dress it up?

  ‘Of course it’s necessary. Once I’ve announced our engagement, everyone at the banquet will be hoping for a glimpse of the ring,’ Javier told her, his voice curdling with cynicism. ‘Give me your hand,’ he demanded, reaching for her impatiently when she shoved her hands behind her back. ‘Think of it as a nest egg. When our marriage is over, you can always sell it.’

  ‘When our marriage is over I’ll return it to you, along with everything else you’ve given me. You may have bought my presence in your life for a year, Javier, but you will never own my soul or steal my integrity.’

  ‘Integrity?’ His eyebrows shot skywards but he said no more as he slid the ring onto her finger. Grace had particularly slim fingers and she was certain it wouldn’t fit, but to her surprise it sat snugly, as if it was meant to be there. It was exquisite, she thought numbly, but the weight of it seemed oppressive and she had to fight the urge to wrench it from her finger.

  ‘It’s beautiful—I just hope I don’t lose it,’ she murmured, lifting her hand and reluctantly admiring the way the diamonds danced in the light. Javier stood watching her in a brooding silence, and she flushed.

  ‘The sapphire matches the colour of your eyes,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t think you’ll lose it. I took a guess on the size of your finger, and asked the jeweller to alter the original ring by several sizes.’ He enfolded her hand in his strong grasp and stared down at her slim white fingers. ‘You are as tiny and fragile as a little bird, and I fear I could crush you with one hand.’

  The velvet softness of his voice sent a quiver through her and she quickly snatched her hand back. ‘I’m stronger than I look,’ she assured him fiercely, lifting her chin to meet his gleaming gaze. ‘You’ll never crush me, Señor.’

  His sudden smile took her breath away and she could not tear her gaze from the bold beauty of his face. ‘Brave words, querida! And now it’s time for us to go.’ He held out his arm, and with a sinking heart Grace slid her hand through it so that they were linked together. She had made a pact with the devil and now she had no optio
n but to see it through.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE roads around central Madrid were teeming with traffic, causing the limousine to slow to a crawl.

  ‘We’re almost at the hotel,’ Javier told Grace. ‘I see that my tip-off to the media has had the desired effect—the paparazzi are out in droves.’ He glanced at her, and his black brows drew together in a frown as he studied her tense expression. ‘Dios! Smile, woman! The press will be expecting you to appear overjoyed that you’re about to become the Duquesa de Herrera, but instead you look as though you’re on your way to the gallows.’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ Grace muttered. ‘How can I look happy on the worst night of my life? Why does it matter what anyone thinks, anyway? Isn’t it common knowledge that you’re only marrying to secure your place at the head of the bank?’ She stared speculatively at Javier’s closed expression as a thought struck her. ‘Who knows about the marriage stipulation in your grandfather’s will?’

  For a moment Javier looked as though he would refuse to answer. His nostrils flared, and he regarded her with such icy disdain that Grace felt like crawling beneath a stone. ‘Apart from you and me, only Carlos’s lawyer, Ramon Aguilar, is aware of the contents of the will. And that’s the way I intend it to stay,’ he added, the inherent threat in his voice causing Grace to shiver. It was difficult to read his thoughts when his eyes were shielded behind his ridiculously long black lashes, but from the stiffness of his shoulders Grace detected a hint of embarrassment.

  ‘Why did your grandfather insist that you must marry before you could take over as head of the bank?’ she queried, her eyes widening as she noted the dull flush of colour that ran along Javier’s cheekbones.

  He shrugged dismissively. ‘He believed that if I was seen as a contented family man it would be a better image than that of a playboy. I confess I have never lived the life of a monk, querida,’ he drawled, his eyes flashing with amusement at the sight of her pink cheeks. ‘I have a…healthy sexual appetite. But Carlos deemed that my personal life could have a detrimental effect on my business judgement and lead me to make mistakes.’

  ‘And did it? Did you make mistakes?’ Something must have happened to make Carlos Herrera add the marriage clause to his will.

  ‘Only one.’ His smile faded and he subjected her to a cool stare. ‘I appointed a man called Angus Beresford to manage the British subsidiary of the bank.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Grace’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Did your grandfather know…?’

  ‘That the man in whom I had put all my faith turned out to be a common thief who abused his position to embezzle a fortune from El Banco de Herrera? Oh yes, he knew. My grandfather made it his business to know everything. For years he groomed me to take his place as head of the bank, but when he was dying he learned of your father’s deception and it caused him to doubt my abilities as a good judge of character.’ Javier gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Carlos obviously concluded that a wife would take care of my sexual desires, leaving my mind free to focus on business.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Grace mumbled, feeling her heart lurch in her chest. ‘Is that how you view our marriage, Javier—as a means of convenient sexual satisfaction?’

  ‘I regard our marriage as a damned inconvenience,’ he informed her harshly. ‘And I have no intention of allowing anyone besides us to discover the true reason behind it. But there is a certain irony about the fact that in order to adhere to my grandfather’s demands I am to wed the daughter of the man who caused Carlos to doubt me in the first place.’ His eyes trailed a scorching path down her body and settled on the soft swell of her breasts revealed by the daring neckline of her dress. ‘Although I can see that there will be definite compensations in making you my bride, querida.’

  ‘What sort of compensations?’ Grace croaked as panic swept through her. She had assumed that their marriage would be in name only; it hadn’t occurred to her that Javier would expect her to fulfil the full duties of a wife. The car drew to a halt and she inhaled sharply at the sight of the assembled press pack waiting outside the hotel. She couldn’t do this, she thought frantically, tugging at the sapphire ring which seemed to be glued to her finger. She had to end it now, before her farcical engagement led to the reality of becoming Javier Herrera’s virgin bride.

  ‘Compensations such as this…’ Something in his voice brought her head round and she swallowed at the lambent heat in his eyes. Too late she realised his intention but before she could jerk away from him he caught hold of her chin and lowered his head.

  He had kissed her briefly at the castle earlier that day—a fierce, brutal assault that had left her reeling. Remembering it, Grace steeled herself, confident that he would not draw a response from her. But, although his lips were firm on hers, they were warm and sensuous as he skilfully coaxed her mouth apart.

  She should not be allowing him to do this, Grace thought dazedly, but her willpower seemed to have deserted her. If she was honest, she had fantasised about his kiss since she’d first seen him at El Castillo de Leon, and now, instead of rejecting him, she was trembling with excitement. Molten heat flooded through her veins so that she felt boneless, unable to prevent herself from leaning into him, so that she was pressed against the hard wall of his chest.

  He used his tongue with skilful precision to explore the contours of her mouth and she gave a low murmur when he probed between her lips in an intimate caress that was blatantly erotic. He slid his hand beneath her hair to cup her neck and haul her even closer. Grace could feel the erratic thud of his heart echoing in time with her own and, utterly captivated by the haze of sensual energy, she curled her arms around his neck and dug her fingers into his silky black hair.

  She had never felt like this before, not even when Richard, who she had believed was the love of her life, had kissed her. Nothing had prepared her for the white-hot flame of desire that threatened to overwhelm her, and when she felt Javier cup her breast in his hand she moaned softly and strained against him, wanting more.

  ‘That should do it. I want you to look ravished, but not as though you’ve just stumbled from my bed and can’t wait to return there.’

  The coolly sardonic comment doused her passion as effectively as a bucket of cold water thrown over her head. Scarlet-cheeked, Grace snatched her hands from his shoulders and tried to avoid his mocking gaze. ‘You bastard,’ she whispered shakily.

  ‘I don’t think the press can be in any doubt of our passion for each other, do you, querida? You look suitably smitten with your adoring fiancé—all you have to do now is keep up the pretence for the rest of the evening.’ From his amused tone it was obvious that Javier was aware there had been no pretence, on her part at least. She’d practically eaten him alive, Grace thought miserably, feeling sick with mortification. How could she have responded to him so wantonly when she knew how much he despised her?

  The chauffeur opened the door and Javier gripped her wrist, as if he knew that she wanted to slink into the corner of the car and stay there. ‘Smile, querida, before the photographers become suspicious and I have to kiss you again,’ he breathed in her ear. ‘In tomorrow’s papers I want the world to see that our marriage is a love match made in heaven.’

  Quivering with resentment, Grace pinned a smile to her face and was almost blinded by the array of flash bulbs from the paparazzi assembled on the pavement. ‘We both know that our union was devised in the fires of hell,’ she hissed through gritted teeth. ‘I doubt I’ll fool anyone into believing that I’m in love with you.’

  His hand settled on her waist and seemed to burn through her dress, branding her flesh. ‘On the contrary, I thought you were very convincing,’ he drawled as he guided her firmly up the steps and into the hotel foyer. ‘But if you insist we can always put in more practice later tonight. Now, here’s our host. Remember what’s at stake here, Grace,’ he warned silkily. ‘Your father’s freedom depends on you giving a performance worthy of a Hollywood starlet.’

  The banquet was a prestigious affair
held in honour of members of Spain’s top business establishments. Grace felt overawed by the splendour of the ornate banqueting hall and wished she had more time to admire the stunning artwork adorning the walls and the exquisite chandeliers overhead.

  Instead she had to suffer the ordeal of the formal dinner that seemed to last for hours. Worse was to come when, at the end of the meal, Javier stood and announced their engagement. In front of a sea of faces, she was forced to get to her feet and accept the congratulations of the other guests. A toast was called in honour of the happy couple and, to her horror, Javier then swept her into his arms and kissed her, much to the delight of their fascinated onlookers.

  Her humiliation was complete, she acknowledged bitterly when he finally released her and she sank low into her chair. Even when she’d felt the eyes of several hundred strangers on her, she had been unable to resist the sweet seduction of his lips. For a few mindless seconds she’d felt as though they were the only two people in the room, and when he’d lifted his head her lashes had swept down too late to disguise the hunger in her eyes.

  What was happening to her? Grace wondered desperately as she watched Javier move with lithe grace across the dance floor. With dinner over, the party had moved into the ballroom, where it was instantly apparent that every woman in the room had their eyes on one man. It was hardly surprising, she conceded. In a room full of sophisticated males, Javier stood head and shoulders above the rest.