The Spanish Billionaire's Hired Bride

by Rachel Lyndhurst

  “You know damn well it was my father’s dying wish that it was reclaimed for the Almanzas. I told you that the day after his funeral, remember? And it was then you refused an offer of millions to hand it over and turned the whole matter into a childish bet, trivializing his last moments. You were laughing in my face before Antonella’s tears were even dry.”

  The older man nodded and smiled. “But, my dear Ricardo, the bet was that you wouldn’t be able to abandon your extravagant ways, settle down and wed before your thirtieth birthday. Nothing’s changed. I’ll only consider signing that real estate back once you’re married.”

  “You stole it from my father in the first place, you bastard.”

  “That’s slander, be careful.” He frowned and passed a pen back and forth between his fingers. “Your dear papa was of sound body and mind when he signed those conveyance papers and they were witnessed by two sets of lawyers.”

  “He signed under duress, Capella, and you promised you’d get him out of jail if he did. And then you betrayed him.”

  Capella’s fist came down hard on the desk. “Your father betrayed me first, at the same time he betrayed your mother and everyone else who trusted him. He had to pay.”

  “So that’s why you set him up as well as taking his assets? Why you got your gangland cronies to frame him for theft, murder, and fraud?”

  “More slander?” The older man stood up, a foot shorter than Ricardo, and cracked a reptilian smile. “There’s no proof, and your father was a thief, murderer and fraudster anyway, wasn’t he? He’d just never been caught.”

  Ricardo gritted his teeth and stared at the wall for a few seconds to compose himself. He wanted to pulp the man he’d once considered an uncle. “I’m not here to rake all over this again, Capella. Just get the paperwork drawn up, because I’m getting married. I win the bet.”

  “But I actually win,” Capella said, bad teeth filling the gap between his thin lips. “The Almanza playboy heir forced into the institution he despises. The misogynist son shackled to a brood mare against his will. You’re settling down … It will make you the most miserable man in Spain.”

  “And that will bring you joy?” Ricardo shook his head. “What did I ever do to you to deserve such hatred? There was once a time when you treated me like your own son.”

  “That time ended when your father took everything I loved. The sins of your father are being visited upon you, Ricardo. It’s my last act of revenge on him.” His dark eyes clouded over and he looked away. “I will attend your wedding and then it’s over between us. My honor and dignity will be restored. For what it’s worth, your torment will bring me no joy. I did once love you like my own son.”

  Chapter Three

  Helen braced herself as the private jet bounced a couple of times and the wheels hit the rain-lashed landing strip. Her hands gripped the armrests until it came to a halt and she heard the clunk of Ricardo’s seatbelt being released. She was furious that they were making this whistle-stop journey to the UK at all, but Ricardo had insisted. She’d hoped to keep her parents in blissful ignorance about what she was about to do, but the only way they were going to get married within days was to do it in Gibraltar. And that meant she had to produce her birth certificate, which inconveniently was in an old shoebox somewhere at Primrose Farm.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Ricardo said cheerfully. “Your parents are going to love me.”

  Helen stared bleakly out of the window. “I hate to agree with you on anything, but I think in this instance you’re right.”

  The elation in her parents’ voices was unmistakable when they had chatted over the phone. The financial crisis that had threatened to consume them had been lifted in a matter of days. Years of struggle and worry had been dispelled, and they sounded like different people. Happy. Free. The advance payment of Ricardo’s money had given them their lives back in exchange for three months of sacrifice on her part. But the deception made Helen feel sick to her stomach. She knew the joy she would see on her mother’s face would be like stolen goods, not really hers to share or take any pleasure in. But telling them the truth about where the money had come from and why would only make her feel better.

  The truth wasn’t an option, anyway. Ricardo had insisted on this day trip to not only to fetch her birth certificate, but also to give their brief engagement authenticity. It wasn’t a coincidence that a mob of paparazzi had been waiting for them at the airport. Ricardo wanted to make the news.

  “Oh God,” Helen muttered as she saw what was on the tarmac. “Isn’t a brand new Aston Martin over the top?”

  “Not in the least. You are the fiancée of one of the richest men in Europe now. There are certain standards to be maintained. Enjoy it.”

  Thirty minutes later the car roared up a steep hill, and the sun burst through a cloud to reveal an astonishing vista. Golden fields of rapeseed, swathes of mauve stone, and green hedgerows formed a patchwork quilt over the rolling landscape. The dark blue sea on the horizon shimmered and glistened, crashing against rugged coves, and a church steeple spiked through a hamlet of thatched cottages clinging to the edge of a silver river.

  Helen breathed out slowly. “Home.”

  Ricardo nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

  Helen smiled and looked out of the window again, avoiding his eyes and the dark contract they were holding her to. If only this engagement was for real… Shocked by her involuntary thought, she immediately locked the notion away in a mental drawer marked “impossible dreams.” The very idea was madness, crazy with a side order of delusion. She needed to remember that he was no more than a feckless playboy, a man prepared to marry for the sake of a bet. Determined to win at any cost, he had the morals of an alley cat and would go to any lengths to get his own way. She shouldn’t let sexual attraction trick her into thinking there was any depth to the man at all.

  It was just before lunchtime when they arrived, which was precisely when Ricardo had insisted they would arrive. His network of flunkies had delivered them stylishly and faultlessly to their destination without the slightest hitch or delay, which was a minor miracle at that time of year. Ricardo even seemed to have control over the holiday traffic that usually clogged up the arterial roads to Brackley Bench. He’d dressed for the occasion too. Gone was the sharp suit, and he was now dressed in head to toe designer country casual. Even in stonewash jeans, a grey roll neck sweater and Ugg Rockvilles he was stunning to look at.

  The car clattered over a cattle grid at the entrance to Primrose Farm, and a large bird left a calling card on the Aston’s immaculate windscreen.

  “Welcome to the New Forest.” Helen suppressed a giggle as the car came to a stop in the yard. “The wildlife must have seen you coming.”

  “This place. It smells like…blue cheese,” Ricardo said, his brow furrowing with distaste.

  “Doesn’t it though?” Helen said as she scrambled out of the car. “We call it silage here. But only the cows eat it.”

  Helen’s parents were waiting as they arrived. Broad smiles greeted them on the red brick porch full of old rain boots and kittens. In the herb garden outside, a cockerel puffed out his chest as his hens pecked and fussed around him. Being hugged warmly by both excited parents made her forget her deception for a while, their chatter and animation warmed her inside, but she still avoided eye contact with Ricardo when she introduced him.

  “What’s for lunch, Mum?” Helen breezed into the kitchen. She had a pretty good idea from the smell that was coming from the old, blackened range. It had been the heart of the home for generations, providing heat, food, and a gathering place away from the hardships of outdoor life. She recognized the smell of homemade steak pie, and judging by the steamed-up windows they’d be having black cabbage and boiled potatoes too. She couldn’t wait to see how Ricardo would react to his future mother-in-law’s rustic cuisine.

  To Helen’s surprise and intense annoyance, Ricardo ingratiated himself with her parents effortlessly. He was a master of seduction on
all fronts, smooth, entertaining and completely disarming. She had hoped to glean some satisfaction from his being completely out of place. In fact, she’d been particularly looking forward to watching him swallow every mouthful of her mum’s “signature” pastry. Cooking was not one of Mrs. Marshall’s strengths—unusual for a farmer’s wife, but she’d not killed anyone yet.

  “Just like the finest cavolo nero,” Ricardo enthused, piling dark, bitter kale onto his plate. “And organic, even better!”

  Her mother glowed. Her father nodded approvingly and opened a big bottle of cider, which was an honor, indeed. Ricardo looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth as he munched his way into her parents’ affections. He was infuriating. And he had the most tempting mouth.

  Helen was close to throwing up when her mother declined Ricardo’s second offer to wash up. “No, no!” she trilled. “Why don’t you show Ricardo around, Helen? I hear there’s an egret nesting down on the marsh somewhere. You don’t see many of those.”

  “Okay, that sounds like a very good idea.” She’d had quite enough of the happy extended family scenario. It was time to play dirty. She didn’t much care if Ricardo noticed the glint in her eye as she picked up a big smelly pair of muddy boots. He’d bloody asked for it, being so disgustingly well mannered and charming around her mum. She wanted to see him squirm. “These are for you. Darling.”

  “That went well,” Ricardo said as they trudged uphill towards a wooden stile on the edge of a meadow. “Your parents seem to like me. We make a convincing pair.”

  Helen shot him a cold look. She’d felt like a fight since dessert and was delighted that he hadn’t noticed her kick a streak of wet manure up his back when he wasn’t looking. “We’re alone now, so you can stop acting as if you’re actually a nice person. Having said that, you’re really very good at it. Acting that is. It comes with practice, I suppose.”

  Ricardo stopped walking and let out a hollow laugh. “It baffles me how people as nice as your parents managed to produce such a misery for a daughter. It doesn’t seem biologically possible somehow. What made you so sour?”

  “You.”

  “What?” He started walking again. “You entered into this agreement willingly. No one held a gun to your head. You appear to need my money more than I need a difficult new bride, however much you turn me on.”

  Helen felt her cheeks burn as a sharp arrow of sexual awareness found its target. She felt like such a hypocrite. Their rapidly approaching wedding night was never far from her mind. If he could inflame her senses with one brooding flick of an eye, heaven only knew what would happen if she ever let him touch her naked flesh.

  “Anyway,” Ricardo said swinging his athletic frame over the stile, faded denim stretching tight for a moment over his thighs and backside, “what’s the money for?”

  Helen hadn’t been expecting that question. Ricardo had advanced her half the money, and she’d cleared her parents’ debts the same day. She hated lying to them, but had convinced them she’d arranged a new financing package while she was in Ibiza. A long-term deal with a Spanish financial institution, secured on her future earnings.

  The deception was horrible, but she could never tell them what she’d really done to get the money. They’d be appalled. Added to that, her father was a proud and independent man. He’d allow his family to pitch in. After all, Helen was an only child and would ultimately inherit, but he’d hate for any one else to know the mess they were in. Rightly or wrongly he would feel ashamed of what he viewed as his failure to protect his assets and family’s future. And to be bailed out by his future son-in law? That would be unthinkable.

  Helen was clear in her own mind that her parents didn’t need to know the truth, and neither did Ricardo. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Helen said. “It’s not going to fund anything illegal if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “That hadn’t crossed my mind at all until you mentioned it. Spiraling debts, was it?”

  “Something like that,” Helen conceded, in an attempt to satisfy his curiosity.

  “Too many designer handbags, eh?” he said mockingly, and cast a glance over the small leather backpack she was carrying. “You women are such suckers.”

  Helen simmered with fury. She’d never bought a designer item in her life, not even from a charity shop! But she couldn’t let him know that. “We all make mistakes,” she said in a flustered tone. “Don’t try and tell me you haven’t, Ricardo. This stupid bet of yours must count as one.”

  “That’s an entirely different situation.” His expression was as hard as stone. “A matter of honor, as I told you before.”

  “Yeah, right.” Helen didn’t even try to hide the scorn in her voice. “Not some playboy antics that got out of hand after too much beer, then?”

  The muscles in his jaw twitched with annoyance as he stared angrily out over the teal and grey estuary marshland. “It’s very refreshing here.” He poked at a plant with his foot. “What’s that stuff down there? I’m sure I’ve eaten it at The Savoy before, is that possible?”

  “Every possibility,” Helen said as she picked a little of the fleshy plant for him to try. She studied the sweep of his nose and the way his nostrils flared slightly as he stared at the ground. She’d noticed his sudden change of subject—she’d touched a raw nerve. “It’s samphire. Some people call it sea asparagus. It does set off a plate of seafood quite prettily.”

  “It tastes like the air smells,” he said thoughtfully as he studied the slender green plant between his fingertips. “Salt and ozone. Nice. It’s a good place here, you know. I could picture a really nice marina development. The views are fantastic and the access to the shipping channels would be a real selling point—”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to have the idea, believe me.”

  “Really? Anyone I’ve have heard of? I do a lot of business over here, mainly in London, but it’s a small world.”

  “Lady Lidia Skiptree. She owns a lot of land around here. She also spends most of her time in London from what I can gather. Buying stuff. You may well have bumped into each other in The Savoy,” she added with a dry look. “I imagine she’d take quite a shine to you, Ricardo. She has appalling taste.”

  “You don’t get on then?” He rocked back on his heels, the wind whipping his hair into black spikes. “The name isn’t familiar, so I don’t think we’ve met. Which is a pity because she sounds fun.”

  Helen scowled, acutely aware of the flare of indignation she felt at his apparent interest in her. Skiptree, her nemesis. “She’d eat you alive.”

  “There’s no way she could be as bad as one particular Brit that took a shine to me a few years back.” He let out a low whistle as he stared into the middle distance. “She’d make your average bunny boiler look like Tinker Bell.”

  “I rather like the sound of her, in that case. Pity she didn’t finish the job.”

  “Charming.” He glanced up at the darkening clouds. “We’d better be heading back. Our flight is scheduled to leave in three hours, and I still have to ask your father for your hand. Do you think they will be happy with their new son-in-law to be?”

  “I’m sure they will be delighted.”

  Helen turned away and sharply marched back down to the farmhouse. She could hear his breath as he followed close behind. It was like being chased to the ground by the hounds of hell. There was no going back on her immoral deal now. Everything in her life was about to change, and the dull ache in her belly grew stronger with every step.

  Chapter Four

  “Welcome to Casa Colina, one of my Spanish mainland bases.” Ricardo gestured towards the enormous building. “Much more private and luxurious than the best hotel in Marbella. And I should know because I own that one too.”

  He dismissed the white chauffeured Mercedes, and took Helen’s arm with the confident touch of a man comfortable in his own skin, master of all he surveyed. There was no denying it was a view to die for. Perched high up over
Puerto Banus, the Mediterranean sparkled, and the panorama stretched all the way along the golden coast against a backdrop of dramatic mountains. The house was a slab of blinding white against the deep blues and greens that surrounded it, like a star between sea and sky. It was worth millions. Stepping onto a marble terrace, Helen let the warm breeze fill her lungs, while the Andalucian sun dazzled her eyes and the pungency of Mediterranean herbs tingled her palate.

  “Everything has been made ready for our arrival. Will it do for a few days?” Ricardo asked.

  “It’s amazing, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Ricardo chuckled. “You have no idea who you’re marrying, do you? There are more houses like this. It’s one of the ways I make my money.”

  “Oh.” She touched the waxy petals of a pink hibiscus flower. “So you don’t just have a woman in every port. You have a mansion to stick her in as well.”

  He shrugged. “Enjoy it while you can. Carlos Andretti, the designer, and his people are descending in thirty minutes to start on your dress. Then there’s the wedding organizer, so decide what sort of civil ceremony you want. Not to mention the beautician, hairdresser, and holistic therapist my team has organized. You’re going to be a very busy woman in the coming days arranging the wedding of your dreams.”

  “The wedding of my dreams?” Helen laughed bitterly. “Do you want any say? Or is it all up to me?”

  “Do what you like.” He sighed, which she took as a sign he was becoming bored. “If you can’t be bothered or can’t cope, I will deal with the arrangements. But going by my experience of women, you’ll do a very good job of it with unlimited resources at your disposal.”

  Helen suddenly felt deflated. Women really didn’t feature highly on his list of favorite things, sex aside. “What about your parents? Will they want to vet me? Or am I to be an irrelevance to the entire Almanza family?”

  Ricardo ignored her question and strolled towards a wine cooler positioned in the shade of a vine-covered alcove. He grabbed a chilled bottle of Cava and ripped off the gold foil covering the cork, before filling two crystal flutes. Helen watched the froth rise with a frenzy and then subside.