He’d clearly stated the terms of their marriage, and had thought he would be doing her a favour by making sure her father didn’t get his hands on her inheritance. But he’d died soon after the wedding, and if what she’d just said was true he’d never planned on doing her out of it anyway. That bugged him now. He wasn’t used to reading people wrong. His mouth thinned. And yet what had his wife turned out to be? He slugged back a gulp of wine. A monumental thorn in his side …
The truth was, she’d touched a protective instinct in him. From the first moment he’d seen her, and that unbelievably naïve quality about her. He’d read her outward shell of unconcern to be just that—a shell. And yet she’d played him for a fool from that first moment.
His feeling of vulnerability these last few days came back to him and rocked him to his core. From the first moment he’d seen her again he’d viewed her as a dangerous threat. But she’d become the complete opposite … And when he’d walked into the dining room earlier all he’d seen were those huge eyes, staring at him, full of something. Looking at him as she’d looked at him before. When he had stupidly believed that perhaps his wife felt more for him than she had shown.
She’d asked him if he was happy. It had touched a nerve. Zac had made him happier than anything else he’d ever known, and for someone who’d meticulously planned out a life built around gaining power it had been … a revelation. A revelation that she was responsible for. Anger coursed through him again. He welcomed it.
More than a week had come and gone. Why wasn’t she bored? Why hadn’t she made an attempt to go into Seville, to the city? Why was she insisting on wearing those three tatty outfits day after day?
Was that why he’d felt compelled to goad her, to prod her? To ask her about things that had never concerned him before? To drive her to reiterate why she’d left? So that he could remember and not forget? Was he in danger of forgetting? He downed the last of the wine. He would not forget. And as soon as their divorce was through he would move her out of his home and they would establish her access to Zac. That was all their relationship comprised now.
When Rowan came down the stairs the following morning it was bedlam. Zac was in Isandro’s arms, and he and Julia the housekeeper were trying to talk above Zac’s screaming, crying. His face was puce, and Rowan guessed it was because he was being ignored. Her arms itched to take him and calm him down. It couldn’t be good for him to be getting worked up so soon after the convulsion.
‘What’s wrong?’
Her voice seemed to cut through the mayhem and they turned to her. Even Zac halted with a hiccup. Isandro glared at her. But what had she expected after last night? They’d taken two steps forward and about three hundred back.
‘María has left.’
Rowan’s churning thoughts stopped dead. Much like Zac’s screaming. ‘María’s left? But why?’
Isandro held out a note. ‘Here—you seem to have a lot in common.’
Rowan ignored his barb and read the note. In effect María was saying that she felt she hadn’t handled Zac’s convulsion well, and now that his mother was here she didn’t see that she had a role.
Rowan looked up at Isandro, speechless. He glared at her briefly, before trying to calm Zac down. He was rapidly working himself up again.
‘Here—give him to me. Let me give him some breakfast. He must be hungry.’
Rowan watched as Isandro handed Zac over to Julia. She had a nervous fluttering in her belly. It was patently obvious who Isandro blamed for this. She crossed her arms.
‘Isandro, I’m sorry to hear María has left—’
‘Of course you are. No doubt you’re loving this. Tell me, did you pay her to leave?’
Rowan’s mouth dropped open inelegantly and she sputtered indignantly. ‘How dare you? Of course I had nothing to do with her leaving. If you hired someone unprofessional enough to leave at the first sign of a crisis then you cannot blame me.’
He moved close and said silkily, ‘And yet everything was running smoothly before you came back.’
His conscience pricked at that. In truth he’d begun to have his doubts about María within the last month, but he was too incensed faced with Rowan right now, her face flushed prettily with anger, to be rational or fair.
Rowan glared at him belligerently, her hands now down at her sides and curled into fists. ‘Well, I did—and I’m here to stay. Are you going to accuse me of bringing on Zac’s convulsion too?’
For a long second they glared at each other. His anger was tangible and awe-inspiring. Then Isandro broke the spell. He stepped back slightly and ran a hand through his hair.