The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride(32)

‘Not that I know of.’ Pam was clearly lost for words as she ushered them inside. ‘But to be honest, Grace, nothing would make any sense to him at the moment anyway. He’s in his own world.’ Her eyes suddenly looked suspiciously bright. ‘He keeps asking where your mother is, and I haven’t the heart to remind him that she’s dead. He’s in the sitting room,’ she added, bristling as she glared at Javier. ‘I don’t know why Grace has brought you here, and I know my brother has done a terrible thing, taking all that money, but if you’re here to upset him it’ll be over my dead body.’

‘I have no wish to upset Angus,’ Javier assured the older woman. ‘I’m here to…’ He paused fractionally and stared at Grace for a moment. ‘Offer my forgiveness. I want to help your brother.’

‘Why would you do that?’ Aunt Pam demanded.

He paused again and allowed his eyes to trail slowly over Grace, taking in the fall of her long silky brown hair and the faint tremor of her lower lip. ‘Because I’m in love with his daughter, and I hope he will give his blessing on our relationship, because I intend to marry her.’

‘Well! I’ll be…’ For the first time in her life Aunt Pam was lost for words. ‘But when did you meet? You can’t have known each other for more than five minutes,’ she muttered helplessly, turning to Grace.

‘I knew the moment I saw him that Javier was the man for me, and that I would love him for the rest of my life,’ Grace said quietly. She didn’t want to look at Javier, knowing she would see mockery in his gaze. But her eyes moved to his face of their own accord, and instead of cynicism she noted a curious, indefinable emotion before his lashes fell, concealing his thoughts.

‘Well, I’ll be…’ Aunt Pam said again. ‘It must run in the family. Your father took one look at Susan and fell in love with her. He always said he couldn’t live without her, and tragically that seems to be true.’

‘I hope he’ll understand about my relationship with Javier,’ Grace said anxiously as she stepped into the sitting room and saw Angus sitting in a chair, looking blankly out at the garden. ‘He’s no longer in any kind of trouble, and thanks to Javier he won’t be prosecuted.’ She gave Javier a tremulous smile and knelt by her father. ‘Dad, it’s me—Grace.’

‘Hello, sweetie.’ The sound of her voice seemed to rouse Angus Beresford out of his reverie, and he stared at Grace, his thin face breaking into a faint smile as tears welled in his eyes. ‘Grace—I can’t find your mother anywhere.’

‘I’ll get her for you, Dad,’ Grace promised gently, knowing that her father meant the photograph of her mother that he had always kept by his bed at Littlecote. It was packed safely in one of the storage boxes and she wouldn’t rest until she’d found it. She squeezed his arm reassuringly. ‘And then I’ve got something to tell you.’





CHAPTER SEVEN




‘SIR, it’s time to go.’

The voice from the doorway disturbed Javier’s silent contemplation of the view from the high tower. He stiffened. ‘Gracias, Torres,’ he murmured as he stepped away from the window and awarded his butler a brief nod. ‘I trust everything is ready?’

‘Si; the guests are assembled in the chapel.’

‘And Señorita Beresford?’

‘She is waiting in the salon. I will escort her to the chapel, as arranged.’

‘Bueno.’ Javier lifted the tumbler he was holding to his lips and drained the neat malt whisky in one gulp. The betraying gesture hinted at nerves—but that was laughable, Torres decided. The new Duque de Herrera was a man of steel, just like his grandfather had been. He did not suffer from such mortal weaknesses as nerves. ‘Tell me, Torres.’ Javier stared at the butler and cleared his throat. ‘How does Señorita Beresford seem?’

‘How does she seem, sir?’ Torres could not hide his puzzlement.

‘Yes, does she seem…happy?’ Javier glared at the other man impatiently, a tide of dull colour running along his sharp cheekbones.

Torres’s face cleared. ‘But of course—she is soon to be the new Duquesa; naturally she is ecstatic. And, may I add, she looks very beautiful.’ The butler’s usually impassive features broke into a smile of genuine warmth, which did nothing to appease Javier’s mood. He sincerely doubted that Grace was feeling ecstatic at the prospect of becoming his bride—far from it.

No doubt she looked exquisite in her wedding gown, but Javier didn’t appreciate his butler showing his admiration quite so enthusiastically. Until Grace’s arrival at El Castillo de Leon, he hadn’t even known that Torres could smile. The castle had always been a subdued and rather grim place, and the staff likewise. But somehow over the past three weeks all that had changed, thanks to the influence of a gentle English rose whose soft smile seemed to pervade the austerity of the Moorish fortress.