The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride(30)

Her resistance would have been minimal, he thought, not bothering to mask his satisfied smile. He’d seen the way she’d looked at him earlier and noted the way her eyes had widened when she’d spied the mirror above his bed. There was no doubt in his mind that Grace was as aware of the simmering sexual chemistry between them as he was, and he didn’t understand why she couldn’t simply admit to it honestly instead of playing mind games. In that respect she was the same as every other woman he’d ever come across, he thought with a frown of disappointment. What madness had made him believe she might be different?

She had finished her juice and was glancing around the kitchen and down the hallway.

‘What are you looking for?’ he asked curiously.

‘I was wondering where your housekeeper was. I haven’t met her yet,’ came the reply.

‘I thought I’d already explained that yesterday was Pilar’s day off. She won’t be back until later this morning.’

That caught her attention. Her head swung round and she glared at him. ‘In that case, who undressed me and put me to bed last night? Don’t tell me it was you?’ Her eyes shimmered with angry tears and she blinked hard to disperse them. ‘You’re so damned arrogant. You think you can do whatever you like, but you don’t own me you know.’

‘Not yet, querida,’ he murmured in a dulcet tone. The door buzzer sounded. ‘I think the couturier is here for your fitting.’ He paused in the doorway and stared at her. ‘Why were you crying?’

‘I wasn’t crying.’ The slight quirk of his brows spoke of his patent disbelief, and she shrugged. What was the point in lying when his golden eyes seemed to see inside her soul? ‘I’m worried about Dad. It’s all right,’ she added bitterly. ‘I’m aware of your opinion of him and I know you don’t understand. Love is an alien emotion to you, isn’t it, Javier?’

‘All charges against Angus have been dropped—my lawyers phoned earlier this morning to let me know.’ Javier watched the tension drain from her and saw the visible relief on her face. She might be a calculating bitch, but there was no denying her obvious devotion to her father.

‘Thank God,’ Grace whispered fervently. ‘Can I at least phone him to reassure him that I’m okay?’

‘Later.’ He tore his eyes from her and strode out of the kitchen. ‘Right now there are more important things to do.’




It was late afternoon when the limousine joined the queue of traffic heading for the airport. Grace had spent the journey staring out of the window, lost in her thoughts and unaware of Javier’s brooding gaze as he studied her pale face.

‘Here, you’ll need this,’ he said suddenly, flipping open his briefcase and extracting her passport.

‘I don’t need to show it for an internal flight,’ she replied in a confused voice.

He seemed to deliberately avoid making eye contact with her. ‘I have a private jet waiting to take us to England. We’ll arrive late this evening, and fly back to Granada tomorrow night, but you’ll have the day to spend with your father,’ he told her in a voice that warned her not to question the sudden change of plan.

Grace swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I don’t know what to say—how to thank you.’ She curled her fingers around her passport and offered him a tentative smile.

‘Say nothing, querida,’ he advised coolly. ‘There’ll be time enough to thank me on our wedding night, and, I admit, I’m savouring the expectation.’

‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’ Grace felt her brief flare of happiness die and she clutched her passport to her chest as if it were a lifeline. ‘I’ve a feeling you’re going to be hugely disappointed.’

The limousine halted and the chauffeur sprang out to open the door. As he prepared to slide out of the car, Javier’s stern expression broke into devastatingly sexy smile that made Grace’s skin tingle. ‘I do hope not, querida,’ he murmured.




Several hours later Javier parked the hire-car in a narrow side street close to Eastbourne seafront and glanced disparagingly at the Belle Vue guest house. With its cream paintwork and window boxes full of busy Lizzies, Grace thought it looked rather pretty, but she doubted the Duque de Herrera had ever stayed in an English seaside B&B in his life.

‘Come on, what are you waiting for?’ he demanded when she didn’t instantly jump out of the car. ‘Haven’t you been sitting here long enough? This isn’t a car, it’s a toy designed for midgets. I knew we should have checked into a hotel close to the airport and visited your father tomorrow,’ he added irritably.