At the Spanish Duke's Command

by Fiona Hood-Stewart

  “So. Tell me about your classes,” Juan said, leaning back in the soft leather chair and taking a long swig of brandy. Georgiana, he realised with a touch of dry humour, had not the faintest idea how deliciously sexy she looked in her long flannel nightgown, her hair falling about her shoulders, the tiny moist film over her top lip as she sipped the water just asking to be removed. The sudden desire to kiss it away made him sit up straighter and take another quick sip of brandy.

  “It’s fine,” she was saying. “We’re beginning to study some literature. Romancero Gitano.”

  “Ah. Federico García Lorca. One of our great poets, executed by the Fascists during the civil war.”

  “Yes. It’s beautiful verse.”

  Juan smiled and recited part of a poem.

  “You know Lorca by heart?” she exclaimed, surprised.

  “I’m fond of poetry.”

  “So am I,” she said, and their eyes met in a shared moment of complicity. Then Georgiana looked quickly away and finished her water. “I suppose I’d better go back to bed. It’s getting late.”

  “Already? Shall I get you some more water?” Juan rose, moving lithely to where she stood, hovering and unsure whether to leave or stay.

  “I don’t think—”

  He removed the glass from her hand.

  He shouldn’t—mustn’t. But the need was too strong.

  Lightly he touched her cheek. “You are too lovely for your own good,” he murmured hoarsely, enchanted not just by her sensuous beauty but by the sensitive creature he intuitively perceived her to be just below the surface. Then, unable to resist, he drew her into his arms.

  This time, regardless of all her noble resolutions, Georgiana did not resist. Like a magnet, a mesmerising force was drawing her in, and despite every good intention not to, she succumbed. Slowly Juan’s lips came purposefully down on hers, prying them open. As his arms enveloped her, his hands stroked up and down her back, pulling her to him until she felt the hardness of his desire. Another torrent of emotion splintered through her body. Heat rushed to her cheeks, her breast, her abdomen, and she melted between her thighs. As the kiss deepened, and his body cleaved to hers, she let out a little moan.

  “Linda,” he whispered, taking her down with him onto the sofa and laying her back amongst the cushions, “Mi Linda.”

  Georgiana could no more walk away than she could resist. Her entire being felt deliciously on fire, her nipples two sensitive peaks, her core a throbbing, anticipating chalice of pent-up desire. When Juan’s tantalising fingers finally reached her aching nipples, gently grazing them through the soft flannel nightdress, she threw her head back and let out a low gasp of delight, arching towards him as he taunted her further, guiding her expertly towards the brink.

  Now, as Juan gazed down at her, arching in his arms, he knew instinctively that it was the first time Georgiana had experienced anything like this. It was too late to go back, too late to stop, he realised, knowing he couldn’t even if he’d wanted to. Gently he lifted her nightdress and drew it over her head, revelling in her creamy-skinned body lying naked before him, etched in the soft glow of the flames.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered, lowering his head to her breast while his fingers caressed her legs, travelling upwards until he reached her inner thigh.

  For an instant he hesitated, knowing that what he was doing was wrong, that he should not be here with this girl. But it was too late. As his fingers discovered the soft, moist honey between her thighs he groaned and gave way to the delicious intense sensation of bringing her to orgasm. Slowly he reconnoitered, let his thumb graze the tiny nub of flesh until she arched and cried for fulfilment. Now he laved and teased her nipples further as she arched again, begging for release. But still he carried on, driving her to a peak, until in one thrusting movement she let out a cry of joy. He muffled it with his lips and she fell back, trembling.

  When he felt her go limp in his arms, Juan drew her carefully to him, held her close. And together they shared a long intimate moment of joy where nothing was present but their shared pleasure.

  Little by little Georgiana came slowly back to earth. Never had she experienced anything remotely similar. Now, as she lay quietly naked in Juan’s arms, her head resting against the breast pocket of his dinner jacket, breathing the scent of his aftershave, she felt as though a window had opened and a new part of her life had begun. Instinctively she reached her hand up and touched his cheek.

  The tenderness of the gesture shocked him back to life. Made him realise how entirely irresponsible and wrong he’d been to permit things to go this far. He had no right to let this young woman fall in love with him—as he sensed from her tender gesture she would—had no right to take her innocence and betray his future wife inside the portals of his home where, within a few months, Leticia would be residing.

  Placing Georgiana’s hand gently back in her lap, he picked up the flannel nightgown and slipped it over her head. Georgiana struggled to get her arms in and he smiled. She was part-child, part-woman—the most lovely, desirable creature he’d ever met. Yet she was out of bounds and he must not forget it.

  She sighed and smiled up into his face. Juan felt a rush of guilt.

  “Georgiana, what happened here tonight shouldn’t have,” he said bluntly.

  She nodded, swallowed. “I know. What are we going to do?” she asked in a small voice, looking to him for guidance.

  “There is nothing to be done, I’m afraid,” he replied harshly, getting up and pacing the room. “You must forgive me for having taken advantage of your innocence and forget I exist. I had no business seducing you. As you well know, I’m engaged to be married. This was out of line.”

  “But it happened all the same,” Georgiana protested, hurt pride coming to her rescue. “We both knew the circumstances before. I’m not a child, you know. I can take responsibility. If this—if this has happened,” she said, a delicious flush covering her cheeks, “it’s because we both wanted it to. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  He stopped pacing and looked down at her, hearing the truth of her words. In a gentler voice he replied. “It should, cariña. But unfortunately it is not to be. We must resist this temptation. As for blame, the only guilty party here is me. You are not to feel at fault. I am eleven years your senior—a man of the world. I should have known better than to take advantage of you. Particularly when you are residing under my roof,” he added, disgusted.

  “Oh, no, we’re not back at that again, are we?” Georgiana said, his words causing a surge of anger. “We both knew we shouldn’t do it, but we did. Well, it may have been wrong. But is it wrong for two people to feel so intensely drawn to each other?” she questioned, her small chin jutting out, her huge eyes seeking the truth in his.

  Juan dragged his fingers through his rumpled hair. “Yes. No. It is not wrong to feel what we felt. It is the circumstances that are wrong.”

  “I agree,” Georgiana said, making a dignified retreat. All she’d needed to know was that he’d felt the same way she had. “I will make arrangements to leave the house as soon as possible.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said harshly. “You will stay here. It is I who will leave. I have to go on several business trips anyway. Plus I have another place here in town—a bachelor pad I can stay at. I will tell the Condessa that I’m very busy. She’ll understand,” he added ironically.

  “How about Letti?” she challenged. “Will she understand?”

  “Yes. Oh, she will never suspect that anything went on between us,” he said, an ironic twist to his lips. “She’ll just think I’m having an affair with an actress or some new model and turn her eyes the other way.”

  “And is that really what you want out of marriage?” Georgiana asked, her brows meeting in a frown. “How can you think of marrying a woman you don’t love and who doesn’t love you? For if she loved you,” Georgiana threw hotly, “she would never tolerate that kind of behaviour.”

  Juan looked at her, eyes
arrested. “You mean you wouldn’t tolerate it?” he asked, suddenly curious.

  “No. Of course I damn well wouldn’t. I think it’s appalling.”

  “What does a child like you know of marriage?” he said with a bitter laugh. “It is not a passion we’re talking about, but a contract.”

  “Is that how you think of marriage? As a contract?”

  “Yes. That is how it should be, and how it will be with Leticia and myself. That is what our place in society demands.”

  “Then you’re welcome to it,” Georgiana threw back. “I think you’re the biggest hypocrite on earth, Juan Monsanto. May you enjoy your loveless marriage and long may it last.”

  With that she spun on her heel and, head high, closed the door behind her with a bang, leaving Juan swearing aimlessly before the fire, unable to do more than wish his life was not such a damn mess.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “JUAN, you’re not concentrating on your game,” Leticia rebuked affectionately as Juan’s golfball disappeared into a neighbouring bunker. “I’ve never seen you play so badly. Where’s that one-digit handicap disappeared to?” Her forehead creased as she looked at him enquiringly. “Is something the matter?” she asked solicitously, brushing back her chestnut hair and observing him closely. He’d looked strangely drawn these past few days. She wondered if he had a business problem.

  “Damn,” Juan muttered, following the ball’s unfortunate trajectory.

  “If you like we can call it a day,” Leticia offered reasonably. “After all, we’ve played nine holes and we should be getting back for lunch. I have a memo to prepare this afternoon.”

  “What, on a Sunday?” Juan asked, distracted.

  “Yes. I’m afraid I have so much on my plate at the moment. Pablito Sanchez is up to his eyeballs at the university, and I promised I’d help out. It’s the conference on abused women. You know—the one I told you about?”

  “Yes. But surely you can take one whole day off a week?”

  “I would if I could,” Leticia said regretfully. “But seeing as I have to squeeze in the engagement party, and give my mother a minimal amount of time to make the arrangements for this wretched wed—” She blushed suddenly, realising her words were none too flattering.

  “I didn’t realise you considered our wedding a disagreeable obligation,” Juan replied stiffly, slipping his clubs back into his golf bag and preparing to walk to the bunker where his ball was lodged.

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” Leticia countered, her face flushed. “It’s just that Mother expects me to be interested in every tiny detail. I’m afraid I’m just not that kind of person, Juan. Of course I’m looking forward to our wedding.”

  “Good, because I was about to suggest we bring the date forward,” he said, eyeing her closely. When she paled visibly he experienced a rush of irritation.

  “Advance the date? But—”

  “Is the thought of being married to me so very terrible, Leticia? If that is the case, then now is the time to speak up.” He leaned against the golf cart and eyed her carefully.

  “No. Of course not.” She laughed off his words with a wave of her hand. “That’s ridiculous. It’s just getting everything planned. I’m afraid I’m not as good at social organisation as I am at legal briefs. But,” she said with a bright smile, “you’re right. I need to become more interested in such matters. After all, we will be leading an intense social life. Your business commitments require it.”

  “Only if you want to,” he said slowly, ignoring the wave of disappointment that swept over him. He’d given her an opportunity to get out of marrying him. She hadn’t taken it. Smothering a sigh, Juan made light of the situation. “Come on, Letti. Let’s go and find out what happened to that damn ball of mine. The sooner you marry me, the better. Right now my life is all over the place.”

  “Is it?” Leticia raised a brow and her intelligent eyes scanned his face. But she said no more, merely accompanied him to the bunker. Both laughed out loud when they realised the ball was stuck on a slope in the sand.

  “I don’t know why Juan is absent so much these days,” the Condessa said with a sigh several days later as she and Georgiana drank coffee in the small salon. “When I quiz him about it, he says he has so much work that he stays until late in the office. But I wonder. I would hate to think he was conducting an affair at this stage, so close to the wedding—” She cut herself off, realising who she was talking to. “But let’s forget Juan. Leticia is dropping by in about ten minutes to bring me a list of the wedding guests. I need to get our side of the family sorted out so that she can send out the invitations. Juan mentioned advancing the date, but I think Letti is wise to stick to what was planned. May is a lovely month in which to be wed, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. I suppose it is,” Georgiana murmured dully, finishing her coffee in one gulp. “I’d better be off,” she said suddenly, “I forgot I have a lecture this afternoon.”

  “But won’t you wait and see Leticia? She’ll be most disappointed. She mentioned to me only the other day how charming she found you. In fact—” the Condessa leaned forward and her expression turned confidential “—I think she plans to ask you to be one of her bridesmaids.”

  “Oh, no!” Despite every attempt to stay calm Georgiana paled and sat down again with a thud. This was turning into a cruel farce.

  “I think you should stay and receive her,” the Condessa remarked. “It’s probably too late for your lecture anyway.”

  Realising there was no escape, Georgiana smiled weakly and agreed. Five minutes later the doorbell rang and her pulse quickened. How could she face Leticia, knowing that she’d spent the most glorious moments of her life in the woman’s future husband’s arms? It didn’t bear thinking of.

  Seconds later Leticia entered the room.

  “Hola, Tia,” she said, kissing the Condessa on both cheeks. “And Georgiana. What a delightful surprise. How lovely to find you here. I’ve a question to ask you.” Georgiana smiled nervously as Leticia sat down next to her on the couch, all natural friendliness. “I would like to know if you would do me the honour of being one of my bridesmaids,” she said, smiling.

  “That’s very k-kind of you,” Georgiana stammered, “but don’t you want to keep it in your family?”

  “Not at all. It would be a pleasure to have you. After all, Juan has very few young cousins, and you were his mother’s goddaughter. I’m sure nothing could be more suitable. Don’t you agree, Tia?” She turned to the Condessa for approval.

  “But of course you must take part in the bridal party,” the Condessa agreed complicitly. “Just think how beautiful she’ll look, Letti. Have you decided on the colour of the bridesmaids’ dresses yet, querida?”

  “Mama thinks we should do a replica of Velazquez’s painting Las Meninas—which, as you know, hangs in the Prado.”

  “But what a brilliant idea. I can see your mother plans to make it the wedding of the year,” the Condessa added, flicking her bejewelled fingers over the waves of silver hair. “I can’t tell you how pleased we all are that you and Juan are about to wed.”

  “Thank you,” Leticia murmured. “So I can count on you?” she enquired, turning to Georgiana.

  “I—yes, of course. It would be a pleasure,” Georgiana murmured, smothering a sigh and hoping the flush she sensed mounting in her cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

  There was simply no getting out of it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AFTER several unsuccessful attempts at trying to persuade her mother that she simply must move out of Juan’s apartment, Georgiana gave up. But knowing that Juan might walk through the door at any moment, that she might be obliged to see him and have to pretend complete disregard for the man she was fast believing she’d fallen in love with, left her restless and nervous. She ate little and lost weight. This did not go unnoticed by the Condessa.

  “Georgiana, what is wrong? You look thin and peaky, my dear. Is something the matter?”

  “No, n
othing at all,” she answered quickly, hastily buttering a piece of toast she had no desire to eat.

  “Then you are studying too hard.”

  “I assure you, Condessa, I’m fine,” Georgiana said quickly. Then to her horror the door opened and Juan walked in.

  He wore grey trousers, a well-cut blazer, a white shirt and an aqua Hermès tie. Georgiana’s fingers trembled and some coffee spilled in her saucer. Mercifully the Condessa was too busy greeting her relative to notice. Georgiana’s eyes flew to Fernando, standing near the door, praying he hadn’t picked up the tell-tale signs. But as usual the butler looked blank. She sighed, wished her heart would stop beating so fast, and prepared to greet Juan in a conventional manner.

  “Hello, Georgiana,” he murmured. “Everything going all right?”

  “Fine, thank you,” she said brightly.

  “Good. I’m afraid I can’t stay long, Tia. I have to be at a meeting in under an hour.”

  “Always on the run,” the Condessa sighed, leaning back in the dining room chair. “Let us hope that once you have children of your own you’ll calm down and give sufficient attention to your family.”

  Georgiana swallowed twice. She noted a dull flush rising above the pristine white of Juan’s collar. For a moment their eyes met.

  She couldn’t bear it. His eyes, so bright and dark, immediately brought back images of their encounter in the study. She stared at her plate and wished time would go by as quickly as possible. Couldn’t he have chosen to visit the house when he knew she wouldn’t be in?

  Then, to her horror, he turned towards her. “Georgiana, I have something I need to speak to you about in private,” he said, his voice turning severe, as though he planned to reprimand her.

  “I can’t think what we could have to talk about that can’t be said before the Condessa,” she countered quickly, determined not to be alone with him ever again, unsure of the extent of her will-power should he— She stifled the thought and stared up at him belligerently.