The Hostage Bride (9 page)

‘Okay, then, I'll hope for good news.' She stunned herself by even managing a smile, though it was one that was very definitely frayed at the edges. ‘For both our sakes.'

That smile twisted sharply in Rico's nerves. Did she have to look so damned pleased—so keen to be gone? But then what had he expected? That she would beg him to let her stay?

‘Dad? It's me—Fliss. What? … Oh, yes, I'm fine. How are things with you?…
What?
…'

She struggled to hear her father's words through the roaring in her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Her stunned grey eyes flew to Rico's intently watchful face, clashing sharply with his coldly assessing stare.

Did he know about this? What did this news mean for her own situation? And, most importantly, would Rico consider it good or bad?

Somehow she managed to bring the conversation to a halt, promising to ring again as soon as possible. When she had switched off the phone she simply sat, staring unseeingly at the opposite wall, a thousand disjointed thoughts whirling inside her head.

‘Well?'

Rico pounced as soon as she had switched the phone off.

‘I don't understand. Dad says Edward's disappeared—that he's run off with someone else—some other woman.'

It didn't sound any more credible once she'd said it out loud. And she couldn't even begin to tell whether Rico
regarded it as good news or the opposite. His face was giving nothing away and the dark stream of Spanish with which he greeted the news was totally incomprehensible to her.

‘What? Rico, don't do this to me!' she protested. ‘You know I don't understand Spanish. What are you saying?'

But he simply ignored her question, focussing only on the one thing that was important to him.

‘This woman…'

Coming to the chair in which she was sitting, he rested one bronzed hand on the back of it, the other on the table at her side, effectively imprisoning her in her place.

‘Did she have a name? Did your father say who she was?'

Why did it matter so much to him? Because it did matter. That much was obvious from the burn of something dangerous in the darkness of his eyes.

‘Y-yes. Yes, he did. It's Llewellyn. Her name's Maria Llewellyn.'

What she couldn't tell him was that she had heard that name before—and where.

But Rico didn't seem to need any input from her. Instead, his face was filled with a dark satisfaction and he gave a sharp nod of approval of her words.

‘Bueno!'
he said, easing from his position hemming her in. ‘Just what I wanted.'

Her thoughts still completely unfocussed, Felicity could watch him in silence.

Just what he wanted? She was lost. What
had
he wanted? She had thought that all his anger was directed against Edward. That it was Edward he wanted to suffer in all this. But now it seemed that what gave him satisfaction was the news that Edward had someone new in his life. And that someone was the only person Felicity had ever heard her
former fiancé ever speak of with true warmth. The woman he had once admitted had stolen his heart.

So did Rico actually want Edward to be
happy
?

And if that was the case, what were the possible repercussions for herself and her father?

‘This—this is the
good
news?' she managed, unable to believe that could be true.

But Rico nodded firmly, even allowing himself a small, grim smile of gratification.

‘The best.'

‘But…'

She felt as if her world had been turned upside down and inside out. If it wasn't Edward that Rico had been after all this time, then who was his intended victim?

Had it after all been so much more personal than she had realised? Had he really been after
her
right from the start?

‘I don't understand.'

The look Rico slanted in her direction did nothing to ease her whirling thoughts, the panic that was growing by the second, threatening to swamp her completely.

‘You don't have to understand,
gatita
. You can leave that to me. All you need to know is that this is good news for you too. Your imprisonment is over. You can go home today.'

“Y
OU
can go home today.'

Just like that.

Was it possible? Or was he just cruelly playing with her emotions as a cat might toy with a mouse before finally delivering the deathblow?

‘Do you mean that?'

‘Mean it?'

Rico looked stunned that she had even had the temerity to ask.

‘Of course I mean it. Why would I say it if I meant something else?'

It still didn't seem real. She couldn't imagine why, having gone to the trouble of capturing her, keeping her here, he was going to let her go so easily and so quickly.

Rico had turned away to the worktop and was pulling open a drawer, taking out knives and forks.

‘You can leave as soon as you like. You'd better eat something first; then you can go home.'

Go home.

Last night that statement would have sounded like the most wonderful words in all the world, but somehow today they felt like the last straw. It was like being slapped hard in the face when she was already down so that she didn't know what to think.

She only knew that memory after memory was piling up inside her head, destroying any pleasure she might take in the prospect of going home and making her feel desolate and despairing.

Go home to what? To the mess that her father had cre
ated of his life and see him arrested for embezzlement? To watch her mother, already weak and ill, grow worse as a result of the shock?

And what about herself? What did the future hold for her? No Edward, no marriage—no Rico.

Hot bitter tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, and she couldn't bear the thought that Rico might see them. Pushing back her chair with an ugly scraping sound on the floor, she got clumsily to her feet and headed for the door.

‘Felicity!'

Rico's voice was sharp and reproving.

‘Where do you think you're going?'

‘To get ready,' Felicity muttered, keeping her head stubbornly averted. ‘You said I could go.'

Yes, he'd said she could go—but did she have to make it quite so plain that she couldn't wait to get out of here? That she was desperate to turn her back and leave?

But what else had he expected? He'd be every kind of a fool to believe that her behaviour was motivated by anything other than just a physical passion that had taken her as much by surprise as it had him. He'd been stunned by the way he'd wanted her—still wanted her, his body tightening simply at the memory of the hours they had spent in bed—but lust was all it was. How could there be anything more in a relationship with a woman who had been going to marry one man at the start of the day and had ended up in another's bed less than twenty-four hours later?

And yet somehow he couldn't just watch her walk out on him like this.

‘You can't…'

Madre de Dios
, what was wrong with him? Was he actually going to plead with her to stay? Hastily he readjusted his tone.

‘You haven't eaten.'

‘I'm not hungry.'

Food would choke her. She would never get it past the hard, solid knot that had formed in her throat, closing it off. And if she stayed then Rico would be sure to spot the betraying sheen of tears in her eyes and know her pretence of carelessness for the act it was.

And she couldn't bear that.

‘But you haven't had anything since last night. You'll make yourself ill. What about some—?'

‘I told you, I'm not hungry!'

It was a wail of panic, of fear that he might stop her, force her back into the room. She was almost at the door. But her tear-hazed eyes were too blurred to see clearly and she blundered clumsily into the large pine dresser that stood against the wall, biting her lip hard to hold back the cry of pain that almost escaped her.

‘Felicity!' Her name was a sound of pure exasperation as if it came through gritted teeth. ‘Sit down!'

Stubbornly she shook her head.

‘I said, sit down!'

‘And I said I don't want anything to eat.'

‘
Por Dios
, woman, will you do as you are told!'

He was definitely losing his already shaky grip on his temper now.

‘No, I will not!'

Oh, why wouldn't this door open? Perhaps the fact that she could hardly see it had something to do with it, but she had turned and turned the handle and all to no avail.

‘Felicity…' It was a warning, low-voiced and dangerous, but one she was determined to ignore.

‘Stop ordering me around!'

‘And you stop arguing with me over everything. You're only making things so much harder for yourself. Felicity…'

Strong hands closed over her arm, stilling her frantic movements, and swung her round to face him.

‘Be sensible! This is not getting you anywhere.'

‘I—I don't feel sensible.'

To her horror her voice quavered revealingly on the word.

‘I feel—I feel…'

Just when she was least able to handle it, she heard a sudden vivid echo of her father's voice at the other end of the phone line when she had spoken to him earlier.

‘Edward's run off with some other woman—he left a message saying he loved her, that he planned to marry this Maria, that your wedding was off. But now that Ricardo Valeron's in the picture, none of that matters any more, does it, sweetie? Now that you and he are together we're quite all right. We're more than all right…'

Suddenly, shockingly, things just would not be held back. The tears she had fought against so fiercely overwhelmed her, spilling from her eyes and cascading down her cheeks.

‘Felicity?
Gatita
…?'

The sudden gentling of his voice, the use of that caressing ‘gatita', was positively the last straw. Unable to hide her feelings any longer, she buried her face in his shirt, her cheek against the hard wall of his chest, gave herself up to the fear and the unhappiness, and wept.

‘What the…? Felicity…?'

Where the hell had this come from? Just what had provoked this storm of weeping?

‘
Tears?
Why?'

But she could only shake her head and sob more.

Gently he eased her back into the room, folding his arms round her and holding her. There was no point in any further questions, at least not until the storm had passed.

But he didn't feel at all comfortable. His conscience was uneasy and making him feel angry at the circumstances that had led to this, at Maria for her drama queen behaviour,
her demanding of promises. But most of all he felt angry at himself for not reading the situation right.

He had believed Maria when she had declared that Felicity didn't love Edward Venables. His half-sister had claimed that there was no way this marriage was going to be based on love or any real feeling. And he had
believed
her.

And until now, the way that Felicity had behaved had only seemed to add fuel to the fires of contempt he had felt for this woman. She had appeared to be nothing but a cheap slut, slipping from one man's bed into another without a second thought, never pausing for a moment to even think of Venables.

But if that was the case then why this sudden attack of weeping? Could it be a belated conscience, or because of the news she'd just received? Was she truly this upset at the thought that Venables was with someone else? He didn't like the way that made him feel. The uncomfortable sense of guilt combined with something he knew was dangerously close to jealous envy at the thought of this woman actually caring for the other man.

But added to this already volatile mixture, threatening to make it even more potently explosive with every second that ticked by, was the constant burning physical hunger he felt for Felicity. A hunger that gnawed away at his insides, leaving them raw and sensitive, arousing his body and inflaming his mind in the most dangerous way.

Slowly, gradually, Felicity's sobs became less violent, less desperate, until eventually they shuddered to a halt, leaving her breathing rather raggedly, sniffing inelegantly. Reaching across to the box of tissues that stood on the dresser, Rico pulled out a bunch and wiped her tearstained cheeks with a considered gentleness that twisted in her heart.

‘So now,
gatita
,' he said softly, his tone almost a caress
in itself. ‘Can you talk now? Are you prepared to tell me what all this is about? You should feel happy, not sad. I have said you can go home…'

‘But that's just it!'

The struggle she had to hide so much of what she was really feeling made her voice higher and sharper than she had ever intended.

‘You don't want to go home?'

‘Yes, yes, I do—but…'

Despairingly she shook her head.

‘But it's not my story to tell.'

‘Then whose story is it?'

Keen brown eyes narrowed sharply and she knew that he had guessed even before he spoke.

‘It was the phone call that upset you, so this has something to do with Edward.'

She couldn't meet his eyes, knowing her own cloudy grey ones would give away too much. But she knew that he would insist on some response and all she could do was nod slowly, keeping her downbent gaze fixed on the floor.

It
was
something to do with Edward. She didn't dare to tell Rico about the sorry mess that Joe Hamilton had got himself into. She had no idea how much he already knew; she only knew that Edward had promised her he would keep it from the Argentinian if she did as he said.

If her one-time groom had kept his word, then there was still a chance that all might not be lost as far as her father was concerned. It was only a tiny chance, but if there was any hope at all she was going to snatch at it. Not to do so was to risk too much and, with her mother's health still so precarious, she would do anything at all to prevent the truth getting out.

‘Yes, it's about Edward,' she whispered unhappily.

It wasn't all of it, but that was more than she was prepared to admit to. Besides, there was so much that she
couldn't bring herself to acknowledge, even to herself. She didn't understand half of it so how could she explain any of it to Rico? He was too tangled up in all this for her to be able to think straight about him.

‘So tell me.'

He was moving as he spoke, leading her back towards the table. Easing her into a chair, he looked down at the now cold coffees with a grimace of distaste and hurriedly emptied the mugs into the sink. He felt better if he was doing something. At least it kept his hands occupied and distracted his thoughts.

Felicity wished he would look at her. It was so hard to say this to that stiff, straight back. If she could just see his face…

But then Rico swung round and she realised her mistake. Seeing his expression was far worse than she had ever anticipated. The contempt that seared over her skin seemed to burn everywhere it touched, and the tight muscles in the ruthless jaw pulled his beautiful mouth into a hard, uncompromising line.

‘What about Edward?'

‘He—he needed a wife.'

She had to fight to force the words out.

‘His grandfather—Lord Highson—totally disapproved of his lifestyle and had threatened to disinherit him. What he wanted was to see Edward married and settled down. If he—if he found a suitable bride before the end of the year then his grandfather would keep him in his will. He'd get the money, Highson House and the title—and Edward wanted that title.'

But Rico wasn't listening. His mind seemed to have tuned out Edward's part in all this. All he could think of was Felicity and the way that she had been prepared to sell herself…

His face set rigid. He didn't like the way this was heading at all.

‘He—he asked me to help him.'

‘Why you?'

‘I was the sort of bride his grandfather had in mind. The right age, the right background…'

Her mouth twisted bitterly.

‘The right sort of breeding stock, I suppose. And Lord Highson very definitely wanted another heir to the dynasty.'

This was nothing more than the complete truth. Edward had been totally blunt about the advantages she could bring to their proposed union. She was everything his grandfather would approve of—and light years away from the one woman Edward Venables had ever truly cared for—the wild, exotic, slightly scandalous Maria Llewellyn.

‘And what would you get out of this?'

Felicity swallowed hard but found that her throat still felt knotted and constricted. She had known that this was inevitable. This question had to come, but she was still totally unprepared to answer it. Just what could she say that would sound both convincing and in character?

Except for the truth.

‘Money.'

She forced the word out on a hoarse, raw croak, hating the sound of it. It was the truth but only a tiny part of it. The only part she could let Rico know. The rest of it was too problematic, too dangerous, to reveal. Just the thought of the probable consequences if she did made her shudder in horror deep inside.

‘Money.' Rico made his repetition of the noun sound like a violent curse. ‘I take it you needed a lot of money.'

‘Thousands.'

In her mind's eye she was picturing her father's ashen face when he'd told her. The tremor in his voice as he'd
pleaded with her not to say anything to her mother for fear of worsening her already bad health.

‘And Edward offered to give you what you needed?'

‘Yes.'

It was just a thin sliver of sound, one he must have had to strain to hear.

He didn't ask
why
she had needed the money, Felicity noted. He just stood there, strong arms folded tight across the width of his chest, dark eyes cold with contempt, like judge and jury all rolled into one.

‘In return for marrying him?'

‘Yes.'

‘He'd pay off all your debts?'

‘Yes.'

‘So you didn't love him?'