The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride

by Chantelle Shaw

  He captured her lips once more in a searing caress, and then lifted his head to stare down at her, his amber eyes glittering like twin orbs of fire. ‘Will that suffice, Grace?’ he drawled coolly.

  She drew a sharp breath and tore her gaze from the mockery in his. ‘I hate you.’ She jerked away from him and yanked her tee shirt into place, horrified at the way her nipples jutted prominently through the thin cotton. ‘I wish I could watch you burn in hell, but for now we’re stuck with each other, so let’s get on with it.’ She scrambled out of the car before he could say another word, and hurried along the pavement and up the path of Aunt Pam’s guest house, her traitorous heart leaping when Javier followed her and curled his arm around her waist.

  ‘Grace! Thank heavens you’re here,’ Aunt Pam greeted her. ‘Your father’s not a well man. His solicitor visited him again this morning and said something about the charges against him being dropped, but I don’t understand what’s going on.’ As she spoke her eyes settled on Javier, her curiosity tangible. ‘I didn’t realise you were bringing a friend.’

  ‘This is…Javier Herrera,’ Grace explained, placing a hand on her aunt’s arm when the older woman visibly flinched in shock. ‘It’s all right, Pam, we’re friends…Well, more than friends,’ she added, feeling her cheeks turn pink beneath Aunt Pam’s startled scrutiny. ‘Has Dad seen any newspapers today?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’ Pam was clearly lost for words as she ushered them inside. ‘But to be honest, Grace, nothing would make any sense to him at the moment anyway. He’s in his own world.’ Her eyes suddenly looked suspiciously bright. ‘He keeps asking where your mother is, and I haven’t the heart to remind him that she’s dead. He’s in the sitting room,’ she added, bristling as she glared at Javier. ‘I don’t know why Grace has brought you here, and I know my brother has done a terrible thing, taking all that money, but if you’re here to upset him it’ll be over my dead body.’

  ‘I have no wish to upset Angus,’ Javier assured the older woman. ‘I’m here to…’ He paused fractionally and stared at Grace for a moment. ‘Offer my forgiveness. I want to help your brother.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ Aunt Pam demanded.

  He paused again and allowed his eyes to trail slowly over Grace, taking in the fall of her long silky brown hair and the faint tremor of her lower lip. ‘Because I’m in love with his daughter, and I hope he will give his blessing on our relationship, because I intend to marry her.’

  ‘Well! I’ll be…’ For the first time in her life Aunt Pam was lost for words. ‘But when did you meet? You can’t have known each other for more than five minutes,’ she muttered helplessly, turning to Grace.

  ‘I knew the moment I saw him that Javier was the man for me, and that I would love him for the rest of my life,’ Grace said quietly. She didn’t want to look at Javier, knowing she would see mockery in his gaze. But her eyes moved to his face of their own accord, and instead of cynicism she noted a curious, indefinable emotion before his lashes fell, concealing his thoughts.

  ‘Well, I’ll be…’ Aunt Pam said again. ‘It must run in the family. Your father took one look at Susan and fell in love with her. He always said he couldn’t live without her, and tragically that seems to be true.’

  ‘I hope he’ll understand about my relationship with Javier,’ Grace said anxiously as she stepped into the sitting room and saw Angus sitting in a chair, looking blankly out at the garden. ‘He’s no longer in any kind of trouble, and thanks to Javier he won’t be prosecuted.’ She gave Javier a tremulous smile and knelt by her father. ‘Dad, it’s me—Grace.’

  ‘Hello, sweetie.’ The sound of her voice seemed to rouse Angus Beresford out of his reverie, and he stared at Grace, his thin face breaking into a faint smile as tears welled in his eyes. ‘Grace—I can’t find your mother anywhere.’

  ‘I’ll get her for you, Dad,’ Grace promised gently, knowing that her father meant the photograph of her mother that he had always kept by his bed at Littlecote. It was packed safely in one of the storage boxes and she wouldn’t rest until she’d found it. She squeezed his arm reassuringly. ‘And then I’ve got something to tell you.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘SIR, it’s time to go.’

  The voice from the doorway disturbed Javier’s silent contemplation of the view from the high tower. He stiffened. ‘Gracias, Torres,’ he murmured as he stepped away from the window and awarded his butler a brief nod. ‘I trust everything is ready?’

  ‘Si; the guests are assembled in the chapel.’

  ‘And Señorita Beresford?’

  ‘She is waiting in the salon. I will escort her to the chapel, as arranged.’

  ‘Bueno.’ Javier lifted the tumbler he was holding to his lips and drained the neat malt whisky in one gulp. The betraying gesture hinted at nerves—but that was laughable, Torres decided. The new Duque de Herrera was a man of steel, just like his grandfather had been. He did not suffer from such mortal weaknesses as nerves. ‘Tell me, Torres.’ Javier stared at the butler and cleared his throat. ‘How does Señorita Beresford seem?’

  ‘How does she seem, sir?’ Torres could not hide his puzzlement.

  ‘Yes, does she seem…happy?’ Javier glared at the other man impatiently, a tide of dull colour running along his sharp cheekbones.

  Torres’s face cleared. ‘But of course—she is soon to be the new Duquesa; naturally she is ecstatic. And, may I add, she looks very beautiful.’ The butler’s usually impassive features broke into a smile of genuine warmth, which did nothing to appease Javier’s mood. He sincerely doubted that Grace was feeling ecstatic at the prospect of becoming his bride—far from it.

  No doubt she looked exquisite in her wedding gown, but Javier didn’t appreciate his butler showing his admiration quite so enthusiastically. Until Grace’s arrival at El Castillo de Leon, he hadn’t even known that Torres could smile. The castle had always been a subdued and rather grim place, and the staff likewise. But somehow over the past three weeks all that had changed, thanks to the influence of a gentle English rose whose soft smile seemed to pervade the austerity of the Moorish fortress.

  Not that she’d smiled at him, Javier acknowledged grimly. With his staff she was warm and friendly, and her quiet manner had won their instant approval. But with him she was cool and aloof, and her wariness of him had seemed to increase daily. Dinner each evening had become an ordeal, although he would not admit to anyone that he longed to break down her reserve and receive one of her shy smiles that she gave so willingly to every other damn soul at the castle.

  ‘Sir, is there anything I can get you?’

  Torres was far too well trained to reveal impatience, but Javier knew he was concerned that the guests waiting in the chapel would be growing restive. What would the butler think if he revealed that Grace was only marrying him because he had forced her into it? he brooded. Hell, even now, with less than an hour to go before the ceremony, he wasn’t absolutely certain that she would go through with it.

  He was startled by the realisation that he hadn’t even thought about the Herrera bank for days. Surely the only reason he cared about this marriage was as a means to achieving his birthright? But the idea that Grace might not join him in the chapel made his stomach clench with sick apprehension—just like years ago when Pepe, one of his mother’s lovers, had caught him stealing a few pesetas to buy food, and had decided to teach him a lesson with his belt. He tasted bile in his mouth and swallowed it as common sense returned and he recalled the way she had clung to her father at the end of their brief visit to Eastbourne.

  Her huge blue eyes had shimmered with tears, and her voice shook when she told Angus Beresford how much she loved him. Her loyalty was undeniable; she would do anything for him, Javier conceded heavily. If the only way she could save her father from a prison sentence was to marry a man she clearly loathed, then she would do it.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes, all right, I’m coming.’

  He and Grace had made a
deal, and he’d already honoured his side of it, he reminded himself as he strode across the room and followed Torres down the winding staircase leading from the west tower. There was no point in suffering an uncharacteristic attack of conscience now. Indeed, it was thanks to him that her crooked, cheating father wasn’t languishing in a prison cell awaiting trial for fraud.

  But on the trip to Eastbourne Angus had been nothing like he’d expected, and had certainly borne no resemblance to the quietly spoken, dignified professional that he had appointed to manage the British subsidiary of El Banco de Herrera three years ago. With his gaunt face and trembling hands, Grace’s father had been a pitiful sight, and Javier had been genuinely shocked by his obvious mental fragility.

  What had happened to trigger Angus’s decision to embezzle from his employers? There were no obvious signs that he had benefited from the millions he had stolen. Far from living a life of luxury, he had seemed a broken man, forced to turn to his sister to provide him with a room in her guest house.

  So what the hell had he done with three million pounds? Had he spent it all on Grace? Before she had crashed into his life, Javier had believed Angus Beresford’s daughter to be a spoilt, conniving gold digger, happy to live off the proceeds of her father’s criminal activities. But over the past few weeks he’d been forced to accept that Grace was nothing like he had imagined.

  As he crossed the vast entrance hall, he glanced up at the portrait of the previous duque. From the moment he had arrived at the castle as a young boy, Carlos Herrera had indoctrinated him with the belief that power was everything and failure inconceivable. Emotions such as love were for the weak, Carlos had insisted. El Leon de Herrera was strong and always walked alone.

  There was no place in his heart for Grace Beresford, Javier conceded heavily, but he could not banish her from his mind. Compared to his many mistresses, she was an unremarkable slip of a girl, with her delicate features and soft brown hair. Yet she dominated his thoughts and haunted his dreams. Her gentle beauty made him ache in a way no other woman had ever done. The few kisses he’d snatched when they had been on public display had fanned the flames of his desire to fever pitch.

  Sexual chemistry was a potent force, but physical attraction was the only thing he felt for her, he reminded himself fiercely. He wanted her, and tonight, on their wedding night, he would have her.

  She owed him, he reassured himself as he crossed the courtyard and headed towards the chapel. He didn’t understand why her father had embezzled the money, but his actions had led Carlos Herrera to doubt Javier’s judgement and add the marriage clause to his will. It was only fair that Grace now honoured her side of their bargain by becoming his wife and ensuring his place as head of El Banco de Herrera.

  She was married. Grace nervously twisted the plain gold band on her finger and found that it was stuck tight. Earlier in the day Javier had slid it onto her finger with ease, but then she had been so cold—due as much to nerves, as to the cool interior of the ancient chapel—that she had been forced to bite her lip to prevent her teeth from chattering. Now the warmth and hubbub of voices in the banqueting hall made her feel hot, and the glass of champagne she had bolted down with the wedding feast had caused hectic colour to stain her cheeks.

  It had been a long day and she couldn’t wait for it to end, but from the gleam of anticipation in Javier’s amber eyes the night promised to be even more traumatic than her wedding day. The thought caused her stomach to lurch and she cast a furtive glance around the room, her eyes homing in on her husband with the accuracy of a missile.

  With the meal finished, most of the guests were moving around the room, chatting and drinking. Javier was standing with a group of people she’d never met before today and whose names she doubted she would remember. She guessed that most were business associates, although he had introduced her to a few of his family members, notably his cousin, Lorenzo Perez—the man who would have usurped Javier’s place as head of the bank if he had failed to choose a bride.

  Was Lorenzo aware of the true reason for their hasty marriage? she wondered. Did anyone else present know, other than the lawyer Ramon Aguilar? Javier had insisted that he wanted it to remain a secret. He was a proud man, and she sensed that he had been not just angered but bitterly hurt by his grandfather’s lack of faith in him.

  He was a complicated man, she conceded with a sigh, unable to tear her eyes from his wickedly handsome face. When she’d first caught sight of him waiting at the altar, looking cold and remote and yet devastatingly gorgeous, she’d felt overwhelmed by his raw sexual magnetism. Her legs had suddenly seemed incapable of holding her upright, and she had clung to Torres’s arm as he’d escorted her into the chapel.

  The marriage ceremony had been deeply moving—more so than she’d expected—and tears had filled her eyes when she’d made her vows in a voice that trembled with emotion. How often had she dreamed of marrying a man who was the other half to her soul? She believed that marriage was a lifelong commitment, and for a while she’d thought that Richard Quentin was that man. His betrayal had shattered her trust and caused her to doubt her judgement, and now she was trapped in a loveless union with a man whose ruthlessness was legendary and who was often referred to by his staff as el Leon de Herrera.

  ‘Try not to look so tragic, querida, or our guests will think we’ve had our first lovers’ tiff.’ A familiar mocking voice sounded in her ear. Javier’s sudden presence at her side made Grace jump, and she glared at him. He moved with the silent stealth of a big cat, she thought irritably, and right now she felt like his prey waiting in trepidation for him to strike. ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded, his keen gaze noting the faint shadows in her eyes. He drew out a chair and sat down next to her, so close that she caught the sensual musk of his cologne mixed with another indefinable scent that was pure male.

  ‘Nothing…I was just thinking about my father and wishing he was here.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘I never imagined that I would be alone on my wedding day, without either of my parents.’

  ‘There are four hundred guests here—you’re hardly alone,’ Javier said harshly.

  ‘But I don’t know any of them. They’re not my friends—although I’m curious to know if any of them are yours, or is our wedding just some wonderful networking opportunity for your business associates?’ she muttered cynically.

  ‘Well, you won’t have to suffer their presence for much longer, querida,’ he said icily. ‘The party will be over within the hour and nobody will dare linger. They must know how impatient I am to take my new bride to bed—but just in case they have any doubts…’ He dipped his head and captured her mouth with unerring precision, imposing his will with a mastery that left her breathless. One hand slid the length of her slender neck, exposed where her hair was piled on top of her head and secured there with an ornate pearl-and-diamond tiara. His lean fingers gripped her neck, holding her fast while he proceeded to demonstrate to the wedding guests his eagerness to carry his duquesa up to bed.

  She should resist him, Grace thought numbly, putting her hand on his chest to push him away. Throughout the meal she had been searching for the right words to tell him that she had no intention of consummating their fake marriage. She had lied in the chapel when she’d made her vows, but she would be true to her own heart—she refused to give her body to a man she didn’t love.

  She should tell him now, instead of allowing him to believe that they were about to spend a night of passion. But it was difficult to think straight when the slide of his tongue was probing the firm line of her mouth with erotic intent, demanding access.

  He had kissed her in the chapel when the priest had announced them man and wife, but then his lips had been gentle, almost tender, and so sweetly beguiling that he had coaxed a response from her. Now his mouth ground down on hers with a punishing force that should have appalled her, but instead his blatant hunger sent liquid heat surging through her veins.

  With a low murmur she leaned into him and parted her lips,
a quiver running through her at his husky growl of approval. He slid his tongue into her mouth and explored her with a thoroughness that left her trembling. She’d never felt like this before, never experienced such a wild, all-consuming need that made her breasts ache and caused a peculiar squirmy sensation in the pit of her stomach, and without conscious thought she flattened her hand against his chest.

  Javier finally broke the kiss and stared down at her, a fierce glitter in his eyes as he noted the confusion in hers. His English rose might not like him, but she was trapped by the primitive sexual chemistry that also enslaved him, he noted with a surge of satisfaction.

  ‘I’ll tell Torres to call the final toast to the bride and groom. It’s time our guests went home,’ he said, his mouth curving into a faintly cruel smile at her shocked expression.

  ‘You can’t just throw them out. What will they think?’

  ‘I don’t give a damn,’ he told her with supreme arrogance. ‘I’m so hungry for you, querida, that I’m close to taking you here and now on the dining table, and to hell with social niceties.’

  ‘Javier…’ Grace took a deep breath. ‘I…don’t want to sleep with you.’

  He lifted his flute of champagne and drained it before glancing at her, his eyes hooded and heavy with sensual promise. ‘I don’t want to sleep with you either; I intend to indulge in other far more pleasurable activities during the long hours of the night.’ His eyes skimmed over her in such a frank appraisal that Grace blushed and then ground her teeth in impotent fury when he chuckled. ‘Your act of virginal innocence is such a turn-on, querida, as I’m sure you realise,’ he drawled hatefully. ‘But you don’t have pretend any longer. I prefer a woman who is confident of her sensuality, and I have every expectation that you’re a tigress between the sheets.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Grace retorted darkly, and was then forced to drop the conversation when a young woman approached the table, her eyes firmly focused on Javier.