‘Me impatient?’ she muttered indignantly. ‘You’re the one who insisted on dragging me to Madrid without giving me a chance to pack properly or anything. I don’t even know why I’m here—unless it’s simply to sit around your office looking decorative.’
Anger briefly surged through Javier, followed almost instantly by a flash of amusement that he struggled to hide. Grace might look like a meek little mouse, but she had a sharp wit and wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself, and he felt a grudging admiration for her nerve.
‘Actually, my reason for bringing you here is very simple,’ he told her. ‘Tonight we’re attending a prestigious banquet held in honour of Madrid’s top businessmen and social elite.’ His eyes briefly skimmed over her and settled on her flushed face. ‘But first we need to go shopping.’
Several hours later there was no trace of amusement in Javier’s voice when he spoke to Grace. ‘Hurry up and get out of the car. And stop sulking.’
Grace turned her head and gave him a poisonous glare. ‘I’m not sulking,’ she snapped indignantly. ‘I was merely…collecting my thoughts.’ Thoughts that she judged would be better kept to herself, she decided after another glance at the smouldering impatience in his amber eyes. Their marriage pact was less than a day old, and already she had the sickening feeling that she had lost control of her life. ‘You might enjoy storming through life like a tornado but you can’t expect me to keep up with you.’
‘I expect you to step out of the car and into the lift in the next five seconds—unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you?’ Javier ground out, his brows drawn into a frown as he stared at her mutinous expression.
‘You can keep your damn hands off me!’ Riotous anger coursed through Grace’s veins—and that in itself was a shocking indication of how strongly the situation was affecting her, she thought dismally. She was renowned for her gentle nature and even temper, but Javier Herrera seemed to bring out the worst in her.
Catching the glint of battle in her tormentor’s eyes, she flung open the car door and stalked across the underground car park towards the lift, muttering a curse beneath her breath. For the past few hours her feet had barely touched the floor. The banquet being held tonight at one of Madrid’s most exclusive hotels would be the ideal situation at which to announce their engagement, Javier had informed her. For once he would welcome the attention of the media, and had already prepared a statement giving details of their forthcoming marriage in three weeks’ time.
Grace had baulked at the thought of marrying so soon—her heart lurched painfully at the thought—but Javier had overridden her concerns in his usual autocratic manner. He was plainly a man used to getting his own way, and he was utterly determined to claim control of El Banco de Herrera by making her his bride.
The afternoon had been spent on a whirlwind tour of the city’s top boutiques as he’d personally selected a wardrobe of designer outfits and evening dresses that he deemed suitable for the soon-to-be Duquesa de Herrera. He had ignored Grace’s initial refusal to accept anything from him, and had scathingly pointed out that a few thousand pounds on clothes was a drop in the ocean compared to the million he had already paid for her.
The words ‘paid for’ had rendered Grace speechless. She had indeed sold her soul to the devil, she acknowledged despairingly. Her father would be free from debt and fear of a jail sentence, but she would be Javier’s prisoner for a whole year.
‘I can’t believe you bought me so many clothes,’ she muttered when he followed her into the lift, holding a multitude of bags and boxes. ‘I told you I don’t need them, I have my own clothes.’
Javier pressed the control panel to take them to the top floor. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, querida,’ he drawled, the inflexion in his tone making the endearment sound like an insult. ‘For the next year you will be my wife, God help me. When we are in public I expect you to act and dress like a duquesa rather than a badly dressed schoolgirl—understand? What you do in private is up to you—you can run around naked for all I care.’ His eyes settled on her furious face and he gave a sudden grin that did peculiar things to Grace’s insides. ‘Who knows? It might spice up our relationship,’ he murmured silkily.
‘In your dreams!’ Grace told him witheringly, ignoring the way her heart rate accelerated. ‘And what do you mean, “badly dressed”? What’s wrong with the way I look?’ She caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored panels of the lift and grimaced. Her sundress was pretty but hardly elegant, she acknowledged. Compared to Javier’s sophisticated secretary and the fashionably dressed shop assistants who had aided her in trying on outfits, she was sadly lacking in style. She had managed to bundle her long hair into a topknot, but stray tendrils had escaped to curl around her flushed cheeks, giving her the appearance of a grubby urchin rather than a mature woman of the world.
She had a feeling that she was standing at the bottom of a steep learning curve, she thought heavily when the lift doors opened and she followed Javier into his apartment. From the outside the apartment block appeared to be an old historical building that complemented the architecture of the nearby Palacio Real. But inside the layout and decor were modern and minimalist. The rooms were light and airy, with pale wood floors and huge windows that allowed sunlight to flood in.
It was very much a bachelor pad, Grace decided as she studied the neutral coloured walls and furnishings. Splashes of colour had been artfully added with crimson and purple cushions and rugs, while in the kitchen the granite worktops and stainless-steel appliances were the epitome of designer chic.
The apartment, rather like its owner, was expertly crafted but soulless. For a moment she longed to be back at Littlecote with its comfortable, chintz chair covers that her mother had once chosen—in the far off days before her illness had wreaked its terrible price—and her father had refused to ever change for something more up to date.
But Littlecote was being sold, and she had nowhere back in England to call home, apart from the guest house in Eastbourne that Aunt Pam had bought after she’d sold her bar in Malaga, where her father would stay until he was well enough to pick up the threads of his life.
‘What’s the matter now? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Javier’s harsh voice intruded on her thoughts, and Grace hastily blinked back her tears.
‘I was thinking about my father, hoping he’s all right,’ she said thickly. ‘When will the charges against him be dropped? Soon, I hope.’
‘My legal team are already working on it, but you have to understand that his case is in the hands of the British justice system. There’s only so much my lawyers can do.’
‘Well they’d better do it quickly, because your wedding ring isn’t going on my finger until my father is free from the threat of prosecution.’
‘Dios, you have a disrespectful tongue,’ Javier growled darkly. Never had he been spoken to in such a manner. He was used to giving commands, not receiving them. And how dare this tiny, insignificant woman, the daughter of a thief, lay down the law to him?
He was tempted to tell her that the deal was off. He would find himself a wife elsewhere—the gutter if necessary. Anyone would be better than this she-devil, even though she did have the face of an angel. He would have no problem in finding another woman to agree to his marriage proposition—his wealth ensured that, he brooded cynically. But Grace owed him. It was Angus Beresford’s fault that Carlos had doubted his abilities to run the bank, and it was only fitting that a Beresford should be punished—an eye for an eye, and in this case a year of Grace’s life, in return for her father’s freedom.
‘I give respect where it’s due,’ Grace said with a sniff that warned him he fell way below her standards. For a second Javier’s anger threatened to overwhelm him. Over the years he had learned to control his hot temper, but Grace Beresford brought out the worst in him and he glowered at her. She was five-feet-nothing of stubborn determination, but beneath her bravado he sensed wariness and real fear.
Did she think he would hurt her? The thought was not a pleasant one and Javier’s mouth tightened. He had never laid a finger in anger on a woman in his life. As a boy he’d seen grown men use their fists on their women and he had abhorred their violence. Grace might irritate the hell out of him, but he would never cause her physical harm.
Abruptly he swung away from her, wondering why the faint shimmer of tears in her navy blue eyes made his gut clench. ‘Angus’s case will be dropped as soon as it is humanly possible, certainly before our wedding. We have a deal,’ he reminded her grimly. ‘And it is in both our interests to stick to it.’
‘Thank you.’ The huskiness of the simple statement brought his head round and he caught the flash of vulnerability on her face. She suddenly seemed young and painfully fragile. An illusion, surely, he thought with a grimace. She possessed a tongue that could flay flesh from bone. But the droop of her shoulders, the way she ran a hand over her face, tugged at his heart and once again he felt a begrudging sense of admiration.
She was, he conceded ruefully, one hell of a woman, and quite unlike any other woman he’d ever met. Their marriage promised fireworks, and he couldn’t deny a sense of anticipation at the thought of bedding his little English shrew. There had to be some compensations for being trapped in the holy state of matrimony for a whole year, he brooded sardonically. Grace Beresford, with her slender fine-boned figure and mass of silky brown hair, would provide an interesting diversion from the glamorous and sophisticated blondes who usually shared his bed.
‘I’ll show you to your room,’ he said abruptly, his keen gaze noting the expression of relief on her face. Had she been worried that he would insist on trying the goods before he bought? If he was honest, the thought had crossed his mind. He seemed to have been in a state of arousal since she’d fallen into his arms at the castle and he was tempted to explore the sexual chemistry that smouldered between them.
He would enjoy purging his frustrations by sating himself within her, he acknowledged as he focused his gaze on the rapid rise and fall of her small breasts. And, despite her look of maidenly outrage, Grace would enjoy it too. He knew without conceit that he was a skilled lover who would ensure her sexual satisfaction, but now was not the time, he conceded. The banquet at which he intended to announce their engagement was in less than two hours.
Business before pleasure—his golden rule, he reminded himself with a cynical smile. It was irritating to think that Angus Beresford would not suffer any kind of penalty for his betrayal of trust, but a million pounds seemed a fair price to pay for a wife. Three weeks from now he would have his ring on Grace’s finger, and more importantly claim his place as head of El Banco de Herrera. Time then to indulge this unexpected passion for the pale-faced girl whose elusive smile promised sensual heaven.
Grace followed Javier along a corridor and into a spacious, elegantly furnished bedroom. ‘The bathroom’s over there,’ he told her, indicating a door at the far end of the room. ‘I suggest you make use of it and prepare for tonight. The occasion demands a strict dress code, and in future we will need to order you some designer eveningwear tailored to your height.’ His amber eyes skimmed fleetingly over her lack of inches, and Grace had the distinct impression that if he could have done so he would have put her on the rack and elongated her frame until she was a suitable height for a duquesa. ‘Until then, you’ll have to make do with one of the dresses we bought today. Possibly the blue silk,’ he instructed arrogantly.
‘I’m not a complete peasant! I do know how to dress, you know,’ Grace snapped, incensed by his haughty manner.
His cool smile did nothing to appease her. ‘Good, I’ll see you in an hour.’ He strolled towards the door and paused. ‘Obviously we will eat at the banquet, but not until at least nine o’clock. It’s my housekeeper Pilar’s day off today, but I can get you something if you’re hungry.’
The offer was unexpected, a small kindness from a man who Grace had decided was carved from granite. ‘I don’t feel like eating at the moment,’ she replied huskily, feeling her stomach rebel at the mere thought of food. ‘But…thank you.’
His eyes narrowed on her face but he said nothing more, and with a brief nod stepped through the door and closed it behind him. Only then did Grace release her breath as her legs gave way and she sank down onto the bed. What had she done? For a moment the enormity of her agreement to become Javier Herrera’s bought wife threatened to overwhelm her, and she buried her face in her hands. She felt as though she had jumped out of a plane without a parachute and now she was in free fall.
How could she live with him for a year? she wondered despairingly. He both intrigued and terrified her, and it had taken every ounce of her willpower not to reveal either emotion in his presence. Perhaps he would mellow, she thought, the faint hope quickly dashed when she recalled the implacability of his hard-boned features. There was no hint of gentleness about him, and even his offer to prepare her something to eat had probably been because he feared she would collapse through hunger at tonight’s party.
Everything Javier did had an ulterior motive, which was why he was marrying her. He needed a wife and now he had bought one. But their marriage would simply be a legal contract—there was no reason why they would have to actually spend time together. Maybe she could even return to England and help Aunt Pam take care of her father, she thought with a little flutter of optimism. Javier had made it clear that his only interest in her was as a ticket to him taking control of the Herrera bank.
But as she stepped beneath the shower she remembered how his golden eyes had trailed boldly over her, as if he had been mentally divesting her of her clothes and enjoying the image of her nakedness. She should have been outraged—was outraged, she told herself sternly. He had no right to look at her like that. But three weeks from now the legal contract between them would give him the right to do…what, precisely? Demand that she share his bed?
With a gasp Grace finished rinsing her hair, turned off the taps and huddled beneath the folds of a towel. Dear God! He wouldn’t, would he? Because of course she would refuse, no question. But there could be a battle ahead, if not a full-scale war, and she wondered fearfully how she could possibly emerge unscathed. One thing was certain—she would not give herself to a man she did not love and who did not love her.
And yet she had come so very close to doing just that, she brooded as she returned to the bedroom and began to sort through the various bags containing the clothes Javier had bought for her. She had been agonisingly in love with Richard Quentin and had believed that he loved her. Good-looking and exuding supreme self-confidence, Richard had swept her off her feet when she had met him shortly after her arrival in London to take up her job at the auction house. Up until then she’d had few boyfriends. Caring for her mother and trying to provide emotional support for her father had taken all her energies, leaving little time for romance. She’d met Richard not long after her mother’s death when she was acutely vulnerable, she acknowledged grimly.
Heaven knew what Richard had seen in the shy, unsophisticated girl living alone in London for the first time. Perhaps it had been her unmistakable innocence, Grace thought as she wandered over to the window to stare at the view of the palacio and surrounding gardens. Certainly he had never tried to pressurise her into his bed, assuring her that he was happy to wait until she was his wife. The solitaire diamond ring he had then presented her with had shimmered through her joyful tears. Her love for Richard had overwhelmed her, and she’d been convinced that their marriage would be as happy and long lasting as her parents’ had been.
To this day she didn’t know why he had bothered with the façade of loving fiancé. She had no idea whether, if he hadn’t been caught in bed with his Polish housekeeper, he would have gone through with the whole charade and actually married her. But the sight of his naked body entwined with that of a pretty blonde, who spoke minimal English but nevertheless seemed able to communicate with him with mind-boggling inventiveness, had broken Grace’s h
eart.
No amount of pleading by Richard, that Stasia was just a domestic who meant nothing to him, had convinced Grace to give their relationship another chance. Fidelity was a vital ingredient of a successful marriage, but Richard hadn’t even made it up the aisle to the altar. Utterly heartbroken, and feeling like a fool, she had returned home to Brighton. Her trust had been severely dented but somewhere out there, she believed, was the partner to her soul, and although it might be old-fashioned she was determined to wait until she’d found him before she fell into bed.
Time was moving on. Grace dragged her mind from the past to discover that half an hour had gone by and she still had to dry her hair and get changed. Although she loved clothes, she had taken no pleasure in the afternoon’s shopping trip, and hated the fact that Javier had footed the bill. She didn’t want to be beholden to him in any way, she thought bleakly as she laid the blue silk dress he’d suggested she wear out on the bed.
From another bag she took out the one purchase she had made. It was a plain black full-length gown with a high neck and long sleeves. When she’d taken it from the rail, Javier had instantly dismissed it as not suitable, but it was smart and functional and, more importantly, paid for behind his back with her own money.
It was a pity that black seemed to drain the colour from her face, she decided after she had swept her hair into a severe knot and stood back to inspect her reflection. Even with a touch of pink lip-gloss she resembled a governess in period costume rather than a blushing bride-to-be. But it was too late to change now, and besides, she thought with a spurt of rebellion, she refused to allow Javier to dictate how she should dress. He was obviously used to his minions obeying his every command, but he would have to learn that she wouldn’t be a pushover.
The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride Page 5
