The Spanish Billionaire's Hired Bride

by Rachel Lyndhurst

  Ricardo took a deep breath and knotted his fingers together tightly. “She alluded to a level of substance abuse, your supply…”

  Helen sat stunned for a moment and absentmindedly took another swig of Prosecco. Why on earth had the little witch dragged up the illicit bottle of cider incident? It had been naughty, pinching it from the cupboard, but she’d only had one sip before Kat swanned off with it into the woods with a French exchange student.

  “Hardly a big deal, Ricardo!” Helen shrugged at the pettiness of it all. “Everyone does it at some time or another, don’t they? Part of growing up, but if we’re getting puritanical here, I admit it was probably a silly thing to do. If I’d been caught Dad would have hit the roof, but I don’t really regret it. Schoolgirl hijinks, that’s all.

  Ricardo glared angrily at her. “What if someone got out of their depth?”

  He really was sanctimonious when he wanted to be. “I hardly think anyone needed me to introduce them to the delights of underage indulgence. I was by far the youngest and least experienced of our crowd.” She looked at him crossly. “So where’s all this leading? That all happened a long time ago, kids being kids. I do hope you’re not going to make an issue out of it.”

  “You seem almost proud of what you did.”

  She was tempted to giggle at the craziness of the situation, and the wine was doing its worst on her empty stomach. “Oh come on! Millions of teenagers do the same sort of thing every single day, and don’t go off the rails, they do it for a while, get sick and then grow up.” She suddenly remembered what he’d told her about his sister-in-law, which would explain why his expression was so bleak, his eyes so angry. “Look, I don’t want to sound flippant, but not everyone ends up going down the drain like Arabella. Some people are destined to push things too far. For all you know her finger had been on the self-destruct button for years.”

  “You seem particularly unmoved by the appalling tragedy of it all,” Ricardo replied bitterly.

  “I’m sorry if it seems that way, but I didn’t know her. I didn’t know your brother and mother either. In fact, I’m not sure I know you as well as I thought I did.”

  Ricardo’s expression was unreadable. “Can I assume you still enjoy such social stimulants?”

  Helen regarded her half-empty glass, irritated by his absurdly highhanded tone. He was treating her like a child, like someone helpless he could control. “Yes, I bloody do. I’m an adult, aren’t I?” She rebelliously topped it up and slammed the bottle back into the ice bucket. Ricardo was turning out to be more of a control freak than she had expected. He’d sent Lucia up with the wine, hadn’t he? Was he expecting her to ask permission?

  “You’ve had too much to drink, Helen. I don’t like it.”

  “Grounds for divorce, is it?”

  “I think maybe it will do, yes,” Ricardo said coldly.

  Helen’s breath caught for a second. “What are you saying?”

  “What I am saying, Helen, is that I might as well bring the divorce forward if you insist on behaving like this. There’s no reason why we have to drag this unpleasant sham out for three months if you’re not happy after all.” He pushed his chair abruptly away from the table and Helen’s wine glass wobbled. “I’ll get on to the lawyers as soon as possible and have an addendum drawn up.”

  Helen’s head was spinning. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” He sniffed and stood up, overshadowing her with an air of menace. “Unless you have anything you wish to add.”

  Helen began to panic slightly. He’d turned the tables on her so quickly she hadn’t been able to deal with the other poisonous seed that The Bully had planted.

  “I need some assurance regarding what’s mine and yours. I should have read the small print, I know.”

  “Anything you can put on your body is yours. Everything else we brought into this marriage reverts to its original owner. That is the point of a pre-nup after all.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Christ! You don’t want some more money already, do you?”

  “No, Ricardo, I just need to be sure you have no claim on anything in the UK,” she said stiffly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Why on earth would I want anything of yours? I don’t want anything you have to offer, Helen. I don’t even want to look at you anymore.”

  His words hurt, but anger gave her courage. “You do bore quickly.”

  Ricardo looked down on her with a disgusted expression on his face. “You might as well finish that,” he said, pointing at the Prosecco.“ It’s the last thing you’re ever going to get out of me.”

  He stiffly turned and walked away back towards the villa, his tall angular frame silhouetted for a few seconds against the pale blue sunset. She watched him go with a twisted sense of longing and anger. She wanted to run after him and say she forgave him for treating her so abysmally, that she’d do anything, be anything he wanted, if she could only stay with him for a little longer.

  But she had known this was going to happen in the end. It had been inevitable and Ricardo had made no secret of the fact from the very beginning. If only she hadn’t allowed herself that small grain of hope that there could be some sort of a happy ending.

  A chill was settling like mist over the hard stones and metal of the terrace and Helen swallowed back the tears when she heard the sound of an engine being started and then tires spinning on gravel.

  She would probably never see him again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The clouds were beginning to gather everywhere when Helen arrived back at Primrose Farm. Although she’d cleared the legal bills and given her parents a fighting fund to finish the initial court case, the aggravation was still rumbling slowly on. It had never really gone away. Something new seemed to be around every corner to cause anxiety.

  It had been three weeks since Helen had returned from Spain and the Skiptree estate was blatantly running their animals over the Marshall’s land, causing damage and upsetting their livestock. And then there were the “travelers” that seemed to be spookily well-heeled with their Range Rovers and designer clothes, intimidating the local families and setting fires all over the place. They were clever, of course. The police appeared to have their hands tied and the legal system was way too slow and cumbersome to tackle the ever-changing nature of the harassment.

  All the landowners knew was that if the trespassers were allowed to continue in this way, eventually commoner’s rights would prevail and the land would be lost to them forever. But the costs of fighting their corner were crippling. It was unfair and it was bullying, but it was like trying to hold back the rising tide. However long they battled, they would never win, not up against the cold-blooded millions that were behind it all. It was just a question of who fell first. And then the Skiptree Estate and Fothergill Enterprises would have their marina.

  Helen hated to admit it, but maybe it was getting to the stage where they should consider their position and quit while they could. It would never be that simple though. Her father was approaching retirement age officially, although he’d always said he’d die on the job. It had been his entire life, he loved it, and he wanted to spend his last days here on Primrose Farm.

  Her mother’s voice interrupted her thoughts as she stood in the farm kitchen. “So when are you planning on telling us, Helen?”

  “What do you mean, Mum?” Helen rubbed a cloth round a cracked mug and pretended to inspect it closely.

  Mrs. Marshall beat some cake batter more vigorously. “It’s not like you to avoid eye contact with me, dear.”

  Helen frowned and rubbed the mug harder. “Don’t be daft. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then look me straight in the face and tell me you’re not pregnant then, will you?”

  “What?” She hadn’t seen that question coming, and it heralded a sweep of pent up emotion she hadn’t realized was there. Suddenly the previous few weeks seemed to crash down upon her and Helen was horrified to feel a tear tip over her bottom lashe
s and trickle down her cheek. She put the mug down on the drainer with a clunk and rubbed at her eye with the heel of her hand.

  “Oh come here.” Mrs. Marshall gathered her only child into her arms and tucked her damp face against her chest. “It’ll be all right, love. You didn’t think we’d be angry, did you?”

  Helen tasted the cold salt drip that rolled into her mouth and her throat ached. “I don’t know what to think. I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

  “Everything will be fine, we’ll manage somehow, assuming that you…?”

  Helen stared up and felt completely empty. “I’m not pregnant, Mum.”

  Her mother looked anxious and stroked Helen’s hair. “Are you sure? You seem different. I can sense a change in you.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Are you? Completely?” The older woman’s tone became suspiciously cheerful as she squeezed Helen’s shoulder before saying, “I’ve always dreamt of there being a new baby on Primrose Farm.”

  “I put on quite a bit of weight in Spain, that’s all. Too much high living. It’ll come off soon enough.”

  Helen’s spine stiffened as her mother’s gaze slipped to her stomach area and she frowned. “I don’t want to pry, sweetheart, but you both seemed so happy…”

  Helen sighed, her shoulders felt very heavy. “It’s so complicated. I love him, Mum, in spite of everything. I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t help it and you going on about wanting a baby around isn’t making me feel any better about it all.”

  “You’d tell Ricardo if you were though, wouldn’t you?” her mother asked gently. “He’d have a right to know.”

  “He wouldn’t be interested, believe me, Mum. It’s not his first if you get my meaning.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Marshall winced awkwardly. “Oh I see…well at least you two were married.”

  They still were legally.

  “And I wouldn’t trap him like that even if I was pregnant,” Helen said quickly. “If we had an accident he’d just think I was after his money.”

  “Perhaps you should make an appointment at the clinic just to be on the safe side, to make sure—”

  “I’m not pregnant, okay?” At least she was as sure as she could be that she wasn’t. All the signs were that she was about to have the period from hell any minute now. Sore breasts, bloating, headache, tearfulness… And it was better that way, she told herself firmly. Ricardo was finished with her and already had an inconvenient heir. It was over. This is the last thing you’re getting from me were his last words to her and she was sure he’d meant it. “It’s bad enough having a failed marriage behind me so soon anyway, let alone an unplanned pregnancy.” She wiped her eyes with the tissue her mum gave her. “Dad would hit the roof.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  “He’d be pretty angry.”

  “He’s sad that you’ve split up with Ricardo, but he’d never be cross about a baby.”

  Helen’s father may have taken the news quietly, but Helen knew he was disappointed. He had always been one to keep his feelings to himself on delicate matters and Helen couldn’t work out if it was her or Ricardo he was most angry with. The phone began to ring at the other end of the house and once her mother had gone to answer it, her mind began to wander. Her parents had never said as much, but Helen knew they had yearned for sons, to help out with the farm, to continue the work of generations. Helen knew she couldn’t cope with running a large farm on her own. Thank goodness she wasn’t pregnant.

  …

  “I’m afraid I have bad news,” Mr. Marshall announced three hours later as the lunchtime dishes were being cleared away. “Bob Hargreaves popped over during morning milking to tell me. He’s selling up Pinkmead and the other two farms adjoining us are about to sign it all away too.” He puffed out his cheeks and rubbed his eyes under his spectacles. “So, girls… it’s just us left.” He stood abruptly and Helen’s heart turned over painfully as she saw his bottom lip twitch. “I’ll be off to the calves now.”

  Helen exchanged a glance with her mother. He left the house and they watched as his old rounded shoulders seemed to shrink a little more as he trudged up the yard in the lashing rain. The strain of the troubled farm was beginning to show again.

  “Katie needs some TLC in the barn, if you could,” Mrs. Marshall said in her most stiff upper-lipped way. “All those new kittens are wearing her out. Would you mind popping up to check on her?”

  “Will do,” Helen said softly, knowing that her mum needed a private, dignified moment alone. She wondered if she might cry. She’d never seen her mum weep, but things had never seemed quite as hopeless as this before.

  The barn was warm and dry at least when she reached it, a safe haven from the elements and the sweet smelling hay bales muffled the clatter of rain on the corrugated iron roof. Helen crouched to pick up a tiny squirming ball of fur and its high-pitched mew made her feel even more tearful. She set the tiny, warm and defenceless kitten back down into its cardboard box nest. It had been lined with an old red blanket and Katie the cat closed her yellow eyes for a moment as Helen stroked her head. “Thank you for letting me hold him,” she whispered. “He’s perfect.” Her hand dropped to her stomach. She felt an all too familiar ache, then she heard something fall with a soft thump to the floor.

  “Hello, Helen.” The voice behind her was unmistakeable.

  Ricardo.

  Helen scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding louder and faster than the rain on the barn’s roof. She spun round and stared at him, cold with shock. “What’s happened to you?”

  He was unshaven, hair matted to his head, raindrops trickling over his sharp cheekbones, glistening against the stubble on his jaw. Dressed in a black leather jacket and black jeans, his white T-shirt was splattered with mud and his breath formed short bursts of mist in the damp air.

  “It’s disgusting out there, if you hadn’t noticed. Your bloody farmyard is covered in crap and I’ve been running.”

  “Running?” Helen said, suddenly seeing the funny side of a dirty Ricardo Almanza, but feeling instinctively wary. He had no good reason for being there. “I didn’t think you’d know how. Don’t you have people for that sort of indignity?”

  “Funny,” he growled, brushing away some barley straw that had latched on to the soaked denim of his jeans.

  Helen’s heart sank when his volcanic expression registered and any levity of the situation evaporated. His eyes flashed in a way she’d not seen since their wedding day, when he’d lashed Jerardo Capella away from her. This was one angry hulk of Spanish male. But, of course, how stupid of her. He was there because of the marina, because of Primrose Farm, nothing to do with his runaway sham wife. This was the last piece of his corporate puzzle, his bankers bonus. He’d come to end it once and for all.

  Well, she could do angry as well and was now growing too furious and protective to be intimidated by him. It was just the two of them there and if she had to fight like an alley cat to save what she had left then she would. She’d beaten him up once before, after all.

  “We have unfinished business,” Ricardo said coldly.

  “Come to wield the fatal blow, have you? I guess you’ve brought the marriage contract addendum for me to sign? And now we’re the only farm left fighting you’ve come to finish that off too. In person.” Helen clamped her teeth together to stop herself shaking before she continued. “Well, let me tell you this, Almanza, we’re not going without a fight and if it has to be dirty one, then bring it on.”

  “I’ve come for my wife and child.”

  Helen felt her limbs turn to stone as he ran a shaking hand through the ink black shock of hair plastered to his forehead. His wedding ring glinted in the grey light that filtered through a dusty cobwebbed window.

  “You’ve what?”

  “I waited as long as I could before coming. I’ve been holed up in London since you got back here, like a cat on a hot tin roof waiting for the phone to ring.”

  “I
n London?”

  “I had to be somewhere close, so that I could get here within a couple of hours when the time was right. Your mother said you needed time to get your head together, to decide what you really wanted without being influenced, so I should stay away. But what she said today was just too much.”

  “My mother? You’ve been talking to each other behind my back?”

  “We spoke on the phone soon after you got back and she gave me the tongue lashing of a life time. Dios! I thought Lucia was bad! Berated me for abandoning my responsibilities, called me things that would make a pimp blush—”

  “So, let me get this straight. My mum told you I was pregnant?” Helen shook her head in disbelief. “Talk about interfering…”

  “She couldn’t stop herself from telling me when I rang this morning, and it was the last straw. Why I couldn’t wait any longer. Your mother didn’t betray you. She wants what’s best for you, that’s all. She was protecting you.”

  Helen’s brain was racing. “Look there’s been a misunderstanding. You really didn’t need to come.”

  “Didn’t need to come? This is our child we’re talking about! Why would I want to miss a second of my baby?”

  “Because you’ve done it all before?” Her voice sounded brittle. She felt brittle.

  “What?”

  “Pirro?” Helen said bitterly. “Remember him? Your son and heir?”

  “Pirro isn’t mine!”

  “Oh I see, so whose is he then? Jerardo Capella sneaked in and gave your girlfriend one while you were out on business, did he? Or don’t you really care who his real father is, just as long as you’re not landed with the inconvenience, the responsibility!”

  Ricardo took a step towards her, his hands tense, jaw set. Helen could see the veins on his hands.

  “Pirro is…” Ricardo shook his head from side to side, as if he was attempting to control his temper. “Pirro is my brother’s son, my nephew. I love him, obviously, but he is not my son! If I’d thought for one minute you’d thought that—”