She loved Vidal.
From the window of the master bedroom she could see a car coming down the rutted driveway and heading for the house. Vidal’s car. He had come to collect her, as he had told her he would, and soon they would be on their way back to Granada. Soon she would be on her way back to London and her own life there. A life without Vidal. Could she bear that? She would have to.
Fliss reached the hallway just as Vidal opened the front door. His, ‘Have you seen everything you wanted to see?’ elicited a nod of her head.
She didn’t trust herself to actually speak to him—not right now, with her heart aching for him and for his love.
Later that day, driving away from the castillo and the estate, Fliss knew that from now on whenever she smelled the scent of citrus fruit she would think of the Lecrin Valley, of the touch of Vidal’s hands on her skin, the passion of his kiss on her mouth, and the possession of her body by his. Bittersweet pleasure, indeed.
CHAPTER TEN
THE Granada townhouse contained an air of impatient bustle—due, Fliss knew, to the fact that its lord and master was about to fly to Chile for a business meeting with his business partner there later in the week.
‘It’s foolish, I know, but I can’t help feeling a little anxious whenever I know that Vidal is about to fly to South America. It always reminds me of the death of his father, and makes me worry for Vidal’s safety—although I can never say that to Vidal himself, of course. He would think me overprotective,’ the Duchess confided to Fliss as they had their morning coffee together out on the courtyard terrace, two days after Fliss’s return from the castillo. ‘You will be returning to England soon, I expect,’ she added, ‘but you must keep in touch with us, Fliss. You are part of the family, after all.’
Part of the family? Vidal certainly didn’t want her to be part of the family.
As though her thoughts had somehow conjured him up, Vidal himself walked out of the house and came over to join them, bending swiftly to kiss his mother’s cheek and smile at her. His look for Fliss was notably cold and dismissive.
‘I’ve arranged for you to see Señor Gonzales tomorrow morning, so that the paperwork with regard to the sale of your father’s house to me can be set in motion,’ he told her.
‘I’m not going to sell it.’
The words were out of their own volition, spoken as though Fliss had no control over them, shocking her as much as they obviously infuriated Vidal. Until that moment it had never occurred to Fliss to even think of keeping her father’s house, but now that she had told Vidal that she wasn’t going to sell it, defying what she knew were his expectations, she suddenly realised how right it felt that she should keep it.
Almost as though they had physically reached out and touched her, she felt as though somehow she could sense her parents’ approval and delight. They wanted her to keep the house. She felt that more surely than she had ever felt anything before in the whole of her life. In a rush of aching emotion Fliss knew that no matter how much Vidal tried to bend her to his will and make her sell the house to him she wouldn’t—because quite simply she couldn’t.
‘The dower house is part of the ducal estate,’ Vidal told her grimly. ‘When it was given to Felipe—’
‘When my father left it to me,’ Fliss interrupted him, ‘he did it because he wanted me to have it. If he had wanted it returned to the estate then that’s what he would have done. It’s mine, and I intend to keep it.’
‘To spite me?’ Vidal suggested coldly.
‘No,’ Fliss denied. ‘I intend to keep the house for myself … for … for my children. So that they at least can know something of their Spanish ancestry.’
What children? An inner voice mocked her. The only children she wanted were Vidal’s children—children she would never be allowed to have. But her words seemed to have been enough to infuriate Vidal further. Fliss could see that.
His eyes burned molten gold with anger as he challenged her, ‘And these children—you will bring them here to Spain, will you? With the man who has given them to you?’
‘Yes!’ Fliss told him, refusing to be intimidated. ‘Why shouldn’t I? My father left the house to me because he wanted me to have something of him to cherish. Of course I will want to share that with my own children.’ Overwhelmed by what she was feeling, she accused him emotionally, ‘You might have been able to stop me making contact with my father, but you couldn’t prevent him from leaving his house to me—although no doubt you tried.’