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The Spanish Uncle

Page 17

by Jane Corrie


  have no need to worry about it. I shall stay, I promise.'

  Don Emilio gave her a thoughtful look, and to her extreme embarrassment asked her the one question she would least want to answer. 'Mary, do you love my son?'

  Mary's cheeks flamed and she looked away quickly from his searching eyes, afraid that he might read the truth in hers.

  'I have a particular reason for asking this,' he went on steadily, 'because if the answer is no, then I would advise you to go back to England.'

  Mary's startled eyes flew to his, and he gave her another searching look. 'He loves you, Mary,' he said, and his voice sounded tired as he added gently, 'and as much as I want you to stay, I know that he will give you no peace until you agree to marry him.' He smiled sadly. 'He will browbeat you into acceptance—he is not a man to be denied once he has set his mind on a goal.'

  Mary tried to speak, but words were beyond her; she simply could not believe what Don Emilio was telling her. She desperately wanted to, but she couldn't.

  'You find it hard to believe, don't you?' said Don Emilio slowly. 'I'm too fond of you, Mary, to try to deceive you. You ought to know that of me at least,' he added gently. 'I only want what's best for you. I can imagine how Rafael's attentions must have affected you—he would be no gentle or patient lover.' He gave her another small smile. 'And my poor Mary would bolt for the nearest hole. I'm right, aren't I?' he asked.

  Mary swallowed and lifted up her head in an action that said more than words. 'If he loves me,' she said simply, 'then I shall not look for a bolthole.'

  Don Emilio's hand caught hers and he held it tight

  in his. 'I thought I hadn't been mistaken in you,' he said softly. 'If I were younger then I might not have stood down for my son. He is a good man, Mary, and I have no hesitation in advising you to accept him as a husband.'

  Mary's grey eyes met the old man's earnest ones, but there was a shadow in hers. 'If he loves me,' she said quietly, 'why did he agree with me when I suggested that I should go away?'

  For a moment Don Emilio was taken aback, then he said, 'When did you make this suggestion? And what preceded it? Tell me the whole of it,' he urged.

  Mary told him of Rafael's visit to her the previous evening, and how he was intent only on making her agree not to marry his father. She stumbled a little in the telling, but she knew that Don Emilio would guess at the method chosen by Rafael to achieve his aims. 'I then asked him,' went on Mary, 'if he would rather I went away, and he said yes, he would rather that than see me marry you—or anyone.' When she came to this part she stopped suddenly and gazed wide eyed at Don Emilio as if something had just occurred to her. 'Or anyone,' he had said. Anyone but him, he had meant, and she had thought—

  'He was warning you, Mary, that if you refused to marry him it would be better for you both if you left, but I told you that, didn't I?' said Don Emilio. 'Not that I can imagine him letting you do any such thing,' he added dryly, 'not if I know my son.' He gave her a wicked smile. 'You might as well give in, you know,' he warned her gently.

  'He said I was not to worry about the arrangements,' she murmured in a wondering voice, still marvelling at the way she had completely misunderstood his words.

  She had been thinking of travel arrangements and he of wedding arrangements!

  Her heart soared as she left Don Emilio later that morning, and too excited to want to bother about lunch she made her way to her favourite spot beside the fountain.

  As she gazed dreamily at the sparkling drops of water . as they cascaded down, she felt that she was in another world, a world where fairy stories came true, where anything and everything could happen.

  Lost in her dreams, she did not hear the firm step of the man she was dreaming of, and gave a little cry of surprise when she found herself lifted from the seat and held in two strong arms. Her large grey eyes were still full of daydreams as they met the dark searching ones of Rafael.

  'Tell me, amada, of what do you dream?' he asked huskily.

  His amada laid a light finger on her lips and then placed it caressingly on his. The action told him everything that he wanted to know, and with a swift inward breath he bent his lips to hers. 'I can do better than that,' he said, and did!

 

 

 


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