At the Spanish Duke's Command (12 page)

Georgiana sat down carefully on the edge of a spindly gold-leafed chair, trying not to crush the beautiful white chiffon creation. “I'm terrified to do anything lest I get reprimanded by the master himself,” she whispered, still giggling.

“Oh, don't worry about him. He's a sweetie at heart. I just hope I won't look ridiculous.” Leticia grimaced. “I made him promise to keep my dress very plain. And up till now he hasn't dared add one frill or ruffle to it. This whole wedding thing is rather silly in the first place. After all, Juan and I are far too old to be parading about in wedding garb.”

“Oh, but surely you want to have a lovely wedding,”
Georgiana said, swallowing. “After all, it's a day to remember for the rest of your life.” Her voice caught and she turned away to take a deep breath. The image of Juan and Leticia wreathed in smiles, walking down the aisle as a married couple, was too much to bear.

“In a way. But you see neither Juan nor I have any illusions about our marriage. It is the sensible thing to do for both of us. That's all.”

Georgiana looked over at Leticia, half turned towards the window. To her surprise she caught a deep, enduring sadness in the older woman's eyes.

“But aren't you thrilled to be marrying him?”

“No, not thrilled. I am—I am fulfilling my obligations.”

“But that's awful!” Georgiana exclaimed, grimacing as a pin nicked her leg.

“I know it must seem so.” Leticia turned and smiled down at her. “But at my age I have no illusions left about what can and can't be. If things were different… The other day I almost said something to him, but—” She cut off, sighed, then shrugged. “But they're not. And life must go on as it always had. Juan needs an heir to keep the de la Caniza dynasty alive. I happen to be suitable wife material.”

“You make it sound like a job,” Georgiana said glumly, thinking how much she would give to be in Leticia's shoes, how lovely it would be if right now she was preparing to marry the man she loved. But he was destined for another.

“Well, I suppose in a way it is a job,” Leticia replied, sitting down opposite her and taking her hands in hers. “Georgiana, won't you tell me what's wrong,
querida
, I hate to see you so wound up.”

For a moment she was tempted to spill the beans. But she caught herself just in time. If Leticia had been anybody else, and the truth had been anything else at all, she would
have poured out the whole story. Unfortunately this was the one taboo subject. She would not, could not, destroy Leticia's faith in her marriage. However weird the arrangement seemed to her personally, Georgiana recognised that she had no right to burst Leticia's bubble—even if it seemed a superficial one.

“I'm fine. Just some problems with a guy I'm in class with,” she lied, knowing she had to come up with something Leticia would believe.

“I see.” Leticia frowned, then her brow cleared. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”

“No. But we quarrelled. I'm seeing him tonight. I think we can sort it out.”

“Good. You've taken a big weight off my mind.”

And she did look relieved, Georgiana realised. Had Leticia suspected that she and Juan had something going on?

“I'd better get changed and be off to class,” she murmured, smiling briefly and disappearing into the changing room. When she exited Geraldo was chattering with Leticia nineteen to the dozen, and after brief kisses and hasty goodbyes she was able to slip away.

How long was this torture going to last? she wondered, hailing a taxi. If a dress fitting was hell, imagine what the actual wedding would be like.

What a farce, she concluded angrily. What a bloody farce.

And she was the principal player in it.

I
T WAS
past ten o'clock when Juan pulled up in the garage of Leticia's building. He was tired, but since he'd promised her he would meet to talk he'd come as soon as he could. As he parked the Ferrari he noticed another car, a Seat, parked in the other visitor's parking place. He made a mental note to tell her someone was hogging the spot, then headed up in the lift.

Upon ringing the doorbell the maid, Lola, answered.

“Don Juan,” she said, a shocked expression covering her face. “The
señora
wasn't expecting you.”

“I know. I should have phoned. Is she in?”

“Yes. She's—she's entertaining a guest. If you'll allow me, I'll advise her of your arrival.”

Juan frowned as Lola scuttled off in the direction of Leticia's study. Who on earth could Letti have over at this time—and in the study? he wondered.

“If you will come this way,” Lola said when she reappeared, looking more composed and straightening the white lace apron over her black uniform.

Juan followed her to the study, surprised to see a man he'd never met before rising from the armchair near the fireplace.

“Ah, Juan.” Leticia smiled nervously and came to greet him. “May I introduce Pablito Sanchez, my friend and colleague? We're working late on a project for the university.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Juan stretched out his hand and
the two men shook hands while summing each other up. Pablito Sanchez was not very tall, and was greying at the temples. He had a scholarly look, and wore jeans and a light blue V-neck sweater that had seen better days. He also seemed very at ease with Leticia.

Juan frowned. “I'm sorry if I've disturbed you both,” he said, his tone noncommittal. “I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop in,” he lied.

He'd had every intention of having a long serious conversation with Leticia. A conversation
she
had solicited. That was out of the question under the present circumstances. But perhaps it was better that way. For all at once the realisation of what, in a moment of anxiety and madness, he'd thought of doing seemed utterly impossible. How could he tell this woman he didn't want to go through with a wedding only days away? How would she appear before her friends and colleagues? At this very moment Pablito was formally congratulating him on his upcoming nuptials. It was unheard-of to humiliate Leticia in such a manner.

As he sat down and accepted a glass of red wine from Letti, Juan felt as though a vice were slowly squeezing him in its grip. Each day, each hour, was a growing inferno. Knowing that he had finally found the woman he loved, and that despite those feelings was obliged to give her up in the name of duty and honour was an unbearable burden.

But bear it he would.

An hour later, after a pleasant chat, Pablito tactfully rose to take his leave. He picked up an old tweed jacket and smiled wistfully. “I'll see you tomorrow in the office, Letti. She's a great lawyer, you know—the bulwark of our organisation,” he said, turning to Juan. “I hope she'll continue to be so after she's married.”

The words were almost a challenge, and Juan caught the gleam in the other man's eye.

“I certainly hope that Letti won't feel in any way stunted by her marriage,” Juan said, rising as the other man prepared to take his leave. “She's a free agent.”

Pablito shrugged, shook his hand and smiled. “I hope so. I see too many brilliant women change the minute they're married and their obligations force them to give up something they love and that fulfils their lives.”

As Leticia accompanied her guest to the front door Juan thought about Pablito's words, and what Leticia had said the other day, about probably having to give up part of her work to attend to her obligations as his wife.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.
Dios mio
, what a situation. In truth, they would both be far better off if she married someone like Pablito and he— Well, he would give anything, he acknowledged suddenly, to marry the object of his dreams. How ridiculous that all these years he'd cynically rejected love and romance, yet here he was, caught in the midst of it. Had he met Georgiana even months or weeks earlier it might have been different. Now it was too late.

For all three of them.

 

The big question in Georgiana's mind was how to keep pretending she was dating Sven, yet not allow the poor boy to get close to her. He'd tried to kiss her earlier, in the movies, and she'd moved away, hoping she hadn't rejected him too openly. But the thought of being kissed by any man other than Juan was repugnant to her.

Now, as they drove home and she saw Juan's Ferrari pulling up in front of them outside the building, she gritted her teeth. This was her chance to end it once and for all. To show Juan that she was otherwise occupied than thinking of him, that whatever had happened between them was finally over.

Making sure Juan was getting out of the car and could see them in the full glare of the street lamp, she mustered her courage and reached across and touched Sven's cheek.

“Thank you. It was a lovely evening.”

Surprised, but taking her signal for what it was—an obvious invitation—Sven leaned over and, slipping his arms around her, took her in his arms and kissed her.

Juan's hand clenched on the car door handle. In one swift movement he slammed it shut, then watched for a few long seconds as Georgiana kissed her companion. Fury such as he had never experienced seized him. As she exited the vehicle and Sven drove off he marched towards her in a cold, blind rage.

“How dare you?” he spat, oblivious of the doorman, trying to appear discreet but taking in every word. “How dare you kiss that boy?” He grabbed her arm and frog-marched her through the lobby. “I want an explanation,” he demanded, his voice quietly furious. “And you will give me one.”

“I shall give you nothing of the sort,” she answered, her voice trembling, her strength waning at the touch of his arm gripping hers. “I owe you no explanation whatsoever. My life is my own.”

“No, it bloody well isn't.
Por dios,
” he muttered, his dark eyes flecked with such suppressed anger that Georgiana shuddered inwardly.

When they reached the apartment he unlocked the front door and held it stiffly for her. There was nobody about and he pointed to the study door. “In there,” he ordered, in such a masterful tone that she hesitated to refuse. Also, she reflected, if they were going to have it out it would be better to do so in the privacy of the study rather than the drawing room, where the Condessa might suddenly appear.

“I have no reason to justify any of my behaviour to you,” she said, determined to take the offensive as soon as the door closed behind him.

“That's what we shall see.”

In two quick steps he marched across the room and pulled her roughly into his arms. “How dare you let any man sully your lips?” he muttered, eyes blazing. Then his mouth clamped down on hers, devouring her, as though wanting to erase all memories.

His hands coursed over her body possessively, knowingly. He pressed the small of her back, forcing her against him, obliging her to feel the power of his passion hard and throbbing against her.

And all she could do was let out a tiny cry, try to push him away, then submit to his will, her mind and her body unable to resist the onslaught.

Juan threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair, pulled her head back and surveyed her, eyes burning into hers, as the other methodically unbuttoned her blouse, letting her know there would be no escape. Next he unhooked her bra and moved her towards the couch, his eyes never leaving hers. Once she was pinned against the cushions, unable to resist him, his lips fleeted to her throat, where he planted a slow, taunting trail of kisses that descended relentlessly until he reached the swell of her breasts.

His hands were holding her hips in a firm grip and Georgiana let out a moan, her nipples taut and aching with desire, the heat within her soaring to new and unimagined heights. She almost begged him to stop playing, taunting, and finally reach them. Then suddenly his tongue flicked the pink-tipped mounds and she let out a cry as she melted, thrusting towards him in a plea for completion. Ignoring her, Juan took the tip of each breast between his lips. Slowly he played there, never giving way, feeling her rising
anguish, determined to punish her for what he considered her betrayal.

Never would another man give her such pleasure, he vowed, using every art he knew to seduce her so thoroughly that she arched, moaning. His fingers reached lower, and he was satisfied when he dragged off her skirt and panties and his fingers glided inside her. She was all unfettered warmth. Wet and wanting, however much she pretended not to be.

Now she was his once more.

For all she'd kissed that boy tonight, she was his—and would be so again and again.

Leaving her just long enough to drag off his clothes, Juan gazed down at the beautiful vision before him. He'd turned on only one lamp and the soft glow bathed her creamy skin. Looking her over possessively, Juan lowered his body to hers, then in one swift, possessive thrust he entered her. Tonight he would teach her who owned her, who possessed her. To whom she belonged.

Unable to think, or do more than take him inside her, Georgiana curled her legs about Juan's waist and, arching, came to meet him thrust for thrust. This was no gentle lovemaking but a primal need for satisfaction, to possess, to know one another as never before.

When at last they climaxed it was together. A long, shuddering endless wave of joy that continued long after they lay spent among the crushed cushions, listening to the beating of each other's hearts.

 

Next morning Georgiana woke up surprised at how wonderfully relaxed she felt, despite the dire situation she now faced. Strangely, her anxiety was gone and she knew now what she had to do.

They hadn't talked, just lain in each other's arms, sa
vouring one another. But one thing she was sure of: Juan loved her. He might be marrying Leticia, but he loved
her
. And that, she knew, was enough to make the decision which only days before had tormented her seem obvious: she would keep her baby.

Now, with the decision taken, she experienced a wave of calm. But she knew that it made it impossible to go through with the travesty of her being a bridesmaid at the wedding.

Once she'd risen and showered, and got past the early-morning queasiness, Georgiana carefully packed her belongings and rang her mother. She would not run away this time, but do things right. The message machine answered and she told her parent that she was coming home and had something important to tell her.

Then she sought out the Condessa.

“But why are you leaving?” she cried, horrified.

“Because I have to, Condessa. It has nothing to do with Madrid. I love it here. But unfortunately I have to leave. It is better that way.”

With unusual insight the Condessa smiled at her sadly. “Sit down, Georgiana. I want to talk to you.”

Georgiana sat down next to the Condessa and waited. She'd rehearsed a speech, but knew now that she could not go through with it.

“Georgiana, I will ask this of you plainly and I would like a truthful answer. Are you and Juan in love?”

Georgiana was so shocked at the suddenness of the question she almost choked.

“I was not born yesterday,” the Condessa continued. “Also, I have been in love myself. I see the way his eyes follow you, the way you try to pretend indifference when he is in the room.”

Georgiana took a deep breath. She glanced up and real
ised there was no use lying. “Yes,” she said finally. “I am in love with him. Which is why I'm sure you'll understand that I must leave. It would be utterly wrong if I stayed and got in the way of him and Letti. Their wedding is but days away. I just can't do it.” Her voice caught and the Condessa's hand covered hers.

“Poor child,” the Condessa said sympathetically. “What a situation. If only you and he had met before.”

“But we didn't,” Georgiana said bitterly. “And now it's too late. He's made it very clear that the wedding must go ahead.”

“Well,” the Condessa pondered sadly, “it would be a scandal if the engagement were broken off at this late stage. And you're right. Poor Leticia. Though of course it wouldn't be her heart that would be broken but her pride. Which can be ten times worse.”

Georgiana found it hard to understand this reasoning, but she accepted it. “I hope you will help me find a suitable excuse for not being bridesmaid at her wedding,” she said at last. “You see I d-don't think I could bear seeing them—” Her voice ended in a sob and the Condessa's arms flew about her.

“Oh, you poor, poor child,” the old lady repeated, devastated. “If I'd dreamed something like this could happen I never would have suggested you come and stay. But how could I guess that such a thing would occur?”

“You couldn't,” Georgiana said between muffled sobs. “It is my fault for allowing him to—”

“You mean this whole thing has gone further than just an exchange of feelings?” the Condessa said, drawing back while keeping her hand on Georgiana's shoulders and surveying her closely. “So that is why you are so peaky and looking so tired. Why, Juan should be whipped for what
he has done. He had no right to seduce you when he was engaged to another woman,” she said severely.

“He didn't do it alone,” Georgiana replied, a wavering smile hovering on her lips. “It takes two to tango, Condessa. He did nothing that I wasn't a party to. The truth is we couldn't resist our feelings for one another. And now it is up to me to see that our relationship comes to an end.” She turned away and wiped a tear.

“It seems too cruel,” the older woman whispered, her hands dropping into her lap. “But you are right, Georgiana, and very brave. This is the only solution. I shall help you carry this through,
querida
. I will talk to Leticia and create a suitable excuse. Perhaps a problem at home with which you have to help your mother. Don't worry. Letti will have so much to do she won't have time to linger too long over this. As for Juan—” her voice turned angry “—I shall have something to say to him when he gets back tonight.”