The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride(6)

The girl remained silent and Javier’s jaw tightened. He was not in the mood to play games, and he wanted her off his land. ‘Climb down; the dog’s leashed and won’t hurt you.’ Still no response. His eyes narrowed as he studied her pale skin. Her hair was hidden beneath some kind of shawl that she had wrapped around her shoulders and head so that it formed a hood. But instinct told him she wasn’t Spanish, and he repeated his request in English, which tended to be a universal form of communication.

The silence stretched between them before she eventually spoke. ‘I can’t.’ Grace’s voice was little more than a whisper. The knowledge that she could topple off the wall and plunge down the sheer side of the mountain was so terrifying that her throat had closed up. She couldn’t move, could barely breath, and her head felt as though it was spinning.

‘Señorita, you must come down.’ The edge of urgency in the man’s voice penetrated the fear clouding Grace’s brain, and she turned her head cautiously to stare down at him.

Muttering a savage oath, Javier quickly scanned the wall. It would be relatively easy for him to climb up and rescue her, but fear was an unpredictable emotion. He judged that she was close to passing out, and if she edged away from him she was likely to tumble over the edge onto the jagged rocks on the other side of the wall.

Stifling his impatience, he softened his voice. ‘You have no need to be afraid. I won’t hurt you, and neither will the dog. Let go and I’ll catch you,’ he added sharply when she swayed. Her skin was grey now, her eyes closed, and Javier felt a frisson of apprehension. Much as he despised journalists, he had no wish so see the girl fall to her death. ‘Señorita, jump into my arms, you will be safe with me. What is your name?’ he demanded, holding out his arms as her head lolled forwards.

As she fell, the shawl slipped from her head so that her hair flew around her shoulders in a stream of pale brown silk. Her voice floated down to him.

‘My name is…Grace…Beresford,’ Grace whispered before she tipped into darkness.




Grace was cocooned in warmth. It was a safe, comforting feeling with a steady drumbeat beneath her ear, but it couldn’t last for ever. Reality intruded, bringing with it the memory of those last terrifying moments when she had clung to the wall, a sheer drop on one side and the faceless stranger with his fierce dog on the other. Abruptly her eyes flew open and fear kicked in. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded in a voice that sounded annoyingly feeble to her ears. ‘Put me down.’

She could only glimpse the man’s features, shadowed as they were by the brim of his hat, but his square jaw gave an indication of brute strength. At her words he stopped and set her none too gently on her feet. The ground swirled alarmingly. Overwhelmed by nausea, she felt her legs buckle and she fell to her knees.

The man made no attempt to help her up but simply loomed over her as she knelt on the damp grass, his silent scrutiny shredding her nerves. His dog sat at his heel, its black eyes fixed unblinkingly on her, and Grace gave a faint sigh of relief when she spied the leash attached to the collar around its neck.

‘I can’t believe you set your dog on me,’ she said accusingly, unable to prevent the wobble in her voice.

‘I dislike trespassers,’ the man replied harshly. His voice was gravelly and low-pitched, but despite a strong accent he spoke perfect English. Grace tilted her head and glanced at him curiously. His arrogant stance irritated her. Presumably he was a member of the castle staff, some sort of groundsman by the look of his clothes, but he was staring down at her as if he owned the place and she was something unpleasant on the bottom of his boot.

‘Why have you come here?’ he growled.

‘I came to see the Duque de Herrera.’ Grace felt at a distinct disadvantage kneeling before him and, taking a deep breath, she forced herself to her feet. She still felt weak and disorientated, and swayed unsteadily, but the man made no offer of support and simply watched her in a brooding silence.

‘For what reason?’ The barely disguised insolence in his tone set her teeth on edge. She lifted her chin and glared at him, wishing she could see his face.

‘For personal reasons.’ She paused, her eyes drawn to his strong arms and broad chest. Fortunately she had no recollection of falling from the top of the wall, but the memory of her terror when she had balanced precariously on its summit still haunted her. Undoubtedly the groundsman or security guard, or whoever he was, had saved her from a fall that would have resulted in broken bones. She couldn’t bear to contemplate the outcome had she fallen the other way, down the sheer side of the mountain.