November Harlequin Presents 2(74)

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 heart.

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.