‘Hector has not met Poppy again since we arrived two days ago,’ Rafael assured her gruffly.
He was not completely heartless, and Juliet looked pathetic in her rag-bag clothes that hung off her angular body, with her face blotchy and wet with tears.
‘As you can see, Poppy is quite safe. I have been taking care of her.’
‘You?’
The mistrust in her voice exasperated him, but he felt uncomfortable as he remembered how she had accused him—rightly—of failing to defend her and Poppy in front of his grandfather.
‘I am not an ogre,’ he said curtly. But the wounded expression in Juliet’s eyes made him feel like the evil villain in a Victorian melodrama.
‘I can’t believe that we have been here for two days,’ she said unsteadily. ‘What happened to me?’
‘You have been ill with a virulent virus which gave you a high fever. The doctor I called in gave you medication to bring your temperature down and it knocked you out.’
Rafael did not add that the doctor had voiced his concern that Juliet was underweight and most likely undernourished, which had lowered her immune system, allowing the virus to take a hold.
‘I don’t remember putting my pyjamas on.’ She looked at him with something akin to horror in her eyes. ‘Did you undress me?’
‘The nurse I hired put you to bed.’
Dios, Rafael thought irritably. Juliet had sounded appalled at the idea of him taking her clothes off. It was not a response he’d ever had from a woman before.
He recalled that at their wedding, when the registrar had invited him to kiss his bride and for the sake of convention he had tried to brush his lips over Juliet’s, she had turned her head away to prevent him from kissing her mouth. Her behaviour had been puzzling because he knew she was attracted to him. Rafael always knew.
Before he was twenty he had discovered that he could have any woman he wanted with minimum effort on his part. No doubt his wealth and the name Casillas were partly responsible for his popularity, but he indulged his high sex drive with countless affairs with women who understood that commitment was not a word in his vocabulary.
He wasn’t interested in his poor, plain bride. Although those attributes were the reason he had married her, he acknowledged, feeling guilt snaking through him as he remembered the crushed look on her face when his grandfather had insulted her. How was he to have known that Juliet understood Spanish? Rafael asked himself irritably.
‘Rafael, are you going to introduce me to your wife?’ Sofia walked up to Juliet and held out her hand. ‘I apologise for my brother’s lapse in manners. You must be Juliet. I’m Sofia, and my daughters are Ana and Inez. The twins have had a wonderful time playing with Poppy. She really has been quite happy with Rafael and me and the nanny, Elvira.’
‘I panicked when I woke up in a strange place and couldn’t find her.’ Juliet set Poppy on her feet and the fierce look of love on her face as she watched her daughter tugged on emotions buried deep inside Rafael.
He had long ago got over the fact that his mother did not love him and that his relatives—with the exception of his sister—resented his existence. He’d never felt that he belonged anywhere or with anyone, and he had assured himself that he did not care. No one had ever looked at him as though they would give their life for him...as if they loved him more than anything in the world.
‘Rafael—quick!’
Sofia’s urgent tone jolted him from his thoughts and he sprang forward and caught Juliet as her legs crumpled beneath her. She weighed next to nothing, he thought as he carried her over to the door.
‘You are not fully recovered,’ he said, ignoring her attempts to slide out of his arms. ‘You should be in bed. I’ll ask the nurse to check your temperature and bring you something to eat.’
‘Poppy will be fine with me,’ Sofia assured Juliet. ‘I’ll read the girls a story.’
‘As soon as I’m better—which I’m sure I will be by tomorrow—I want to take Poppy home,’ Juliet told Rafael when he’d carried her into the bedroom and sat her on the edge of the bed.
She was a slip of a thing, perched on the huge bed like a little sparrow, he mused. But as he straightened up he noticed that her eyes were really a quite remarkable bright blue. His gaze dropped to her mouth, which was pulled down at the corners in a sulky expression.
‘Where is home, exactly?’ he asked sardonically. ‘I made it clear when you signed the marriage contract that you cannot return to Ferndown House until after we have attended my grandfather’s eightieth birthday party and he has appointed me as CEO.’
‘I wish I’d never signed the contract. You said there were no catches, but you didn’t tell me that you had chosen me as your bride to punish your grandfather,’ she said in choked voice. ‘You certainly didn’t think about my feelings when your family looked at me as though I had crawled out of the gutter.’
Rafael ignored the prick of his conscience. ‘I’m paying you five million pounds,’ he reminded her harshly. ‘It is regrettable that my grandfather spoke to you the way he did, but I’m sure you’ll get over it when the money is in your bank account and you can buy yourself nice clothes and jewellery—whatever you want.’
‘All I want is security for Poppy,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not interested in jewellery and clothes.’
‘That much I can believe,’ he muttered, flicking his gaze over her revolting pyjamas before he stalked out of the room, away from the accusing expression in Juliet’s eyes that made him feel ashamed of himself.
Dios, she should be grateful that she and her daughter would no longer have to live in poverty, Rafael brooded as he strode down the grand staircase.
His foul mood was not improved when he entered his grandfather’s study and saw the company’s senior lawyer, Lionel Silva, seated behind the desk next to Hector. Rafael strolled across the room and lowered himself into a chair facing the two men, resting his ankle across his opposite thigh. His appearance was relaxed but his instincts sensed trouble.
‘Lionel, I am glad to see you,’ he drawled. ‘I presume my grandfather asked you here today to set in motion the transfer of the CEO-ship to me, now that I am married. It is what we agreed, did we not, Abuelo?’
His grandfather gave a snort. ‘Once again you have disappointed me, Rafael. I cannot say that I am surprised, when you have so often proved to be a disappointment. But this time you have excelled yourself.’
Rafael felt a flare of irritation mixed with something raw that he assured himself wasn’t hurt. He’d spent the past twenty-odd years trying to earn Hector’s approval—hoping to win his grandfather’s love—although he refused to admit as much even to himself. Now all he cared about was his right to be recognised as the Casillas heir.
‘I trust you were not disappointed when I secured a deal to buy out the biggest clothing retail company on America’s west coast?’ he said drily. ‘The acquisition puts Casillas Group among the top five largest apparel retailers in the world.’
‘I do not dispute that your business acumen is impressive,’ Hector barked. ‘But, as I have said before, our CEO is the figurehead of the company—all the more so because the role is combined with that of Chairman. It is a position of great power and responsibility that requires a sense of humility—which you lack, Rafael.’
‘I have met the condition you imposed on me and brought my wife to Spain in time for your eightieth birthday celebrations. How does that show a lack of humility?’ Rafael said grittily.
‘Do not insult my intelligence. You know that I expected you to make a good marriage, befitting the Casillas family’s noble heritage, but you have deliberately sought to undermine me by marrying an unprepossessing girl. Your wife looks no more than a teenager and yet she already has one illegitimate child and no doubt lives off hand-outs from the state.’
‘Juliet is in her mid-twenties and she has always work
ed to support her daughter.’
Fury simmered inside Rafael at his grandfather’s unfair description of Juliet. But his conscience prodded him that his reason for marrying her had been to infuriate Hector by introducing an untitled and unsophisticated bride.
The lawyer cleared his throat as he picked up a printed document. ‘This is the agreement between you, Rafael, and your grandfather, stating Hector’s intention to name you as his successor following your marriage.’
Rafael nodded. ‘I have given you a copy of my marriage certificate.’
‘Yes, it seems to be legitimate,’ Lionel murmured, studying the other document in front of him. ‘Nevertheless your grandfather has expressed his concern that your marriage to Miss Juliet Lacey is in fact a marriage of convenience which you have entered into for the purpose of gaining benefit or advantage arising from that status. In other words, your marriage to Miss Lacey is a sham, meant to deceive Hector and persuade him to name you as his heir and the next CEO of Casillas Group.’
‘The marriage is perfectly legal.’
Rafael’s grip on his temper broke and he jerked to his feet, slamming his hands down on the desk. He noted that the lawyer flinched but Hector remained absolutely still. A clash of bulls, his sister had once said, describing his battle of wills with his grandfather.
‘I have kept to my side of our agreement and I expect you to honour your word, Abuelo.’
‘What do you know of honour?’ Hector snapped. ‘It is my belief that you do not intend your marriage to be a permanent arrangement and that once you are CEO you will seek a divorce. But the wedding took place in England, and under UK law you cannot apply for a divorce until you have been married for one year.’
Rafael stiffened. ‘So? Where is this leading?’
His grandfather gave a smug smile.
‘On my eightieth birthday this Saturday I will announce that you are my successor, as we agreed, but I will not step down until the date of the first anniversary of your marriage—and only then if I am convinced that your marriage is genuine rather than an attempt to trick me.’
Hector gave Rafael a sly look.
‘I am certain that there will be no need for me to try to prove or disprove the validity of your marriage A year will, I suspect, seem like a lifetime to a playboy such as you are, to maintain the pretence of a committed relationship with your unappealing bride.’
‘You can’t do that,’ Rafael gritted. ‘You agreed—’
‘I can do whatever I think best protects the interests of the Casillas Group,’ Hector interrupted. ‘If I handed the company over to you and you divorced after only a few months of marriage it would suggest that you lack commitment. Instead I will appoint you CEO-in-waiting, and it will make sense that you should be based in Valencia in order for us to be in daily contact and ensure a smooth hand-over of leadership. I will expect you and your wife to spend the first year of your marriage living here at the Casillas mansion. If you return to your home in England it might lead to rumours of a rift between us, which would worry the board and our shareholders, who already have reservations about your suitability to head the company.’
The old man was as wily as a fox, Rafael thought furiously. ‘I am certain that Juliet will not want to stay here after the vile way you spoke to her. Her daughter is settled at my home in London and it would not be good for the child to be brought to live in a different country.’
‘Children are adaptable,’ Hector said coolly. His black eyes bored into Rafael. ‘Either you remain married for a year, or Lionel and his legal team will convince a court of law that your marriage is a fraudulent exercise intended to dupe me into appointing you as CEO.’
Rafael swore savagely. ‘You cannot dictate where I choose to live or how I conduct my marriage.’
But he would not give his grandfather the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper, and he swung round and strode out of the study. The truth was that the old man could do whatever he liked. Hector had won this round in their battle of wills, but he would not win the war. Whatever it took, he would claim his birthright, Rafael vowed.
* * *
An hour on the treadmill relieved some of his tension, but he was still in a black rage when he left the gym and returned to his private suite of rooms. He headed straight to the bar and took a beer from the fridge. He could do with something stronger, but spending the afternoon getting drunk on Orujo—a fiercely strong spirit sometimes referred to as Spanish firewater—would not be a good idea. Especially as he was expected to attend a family lunch later with his wife.
His wife.
Rafael swore under his breath as he stepped outside onto the balcony which ran along the entire length of his apartment at the back of the mansion and overlooked the extensive gardens. In the distance the swimming pool glinted in the sunshine, but he wasn’t interested in the view. His attention was fixed on Juliet.
She was standing a little way along the balcony, leaning against the stone balustrade. He knew it must be her, but his brain could not believe what his eyes were seeing. Gone were the saggy grey pyjamas and instead she was wearing an ivory-coloured silk chemise that skimmed her slender body. Her hair was even more of a surprise. Freed from the tight braid she usually wore, it reached almost to her waist and was not a dull brown, as Rafael had thought, but red-gold, gleaming like silk in the sunshine.
She was unaware of him and he stood and stared at her, not daring to move in case she was an illusion that might disappear if he alerted her to his presence. He was stunned to realise that the unflattering clothes he had always seen her wearing had hidden a slender but definitely feminine figure, with graceful lines and delicate curves.
As Rafael watched Juliet tilted her face up to the sun and lifted her arms above her head, stretching like a sleepy kitten. The gentle breeze flattened the silk chemise against her body, drawing his gaze to her small, high breasts. He could see the faint outline of her nipples, and heat rushed to his groin as he imagined sliding the straps of the chemise down her arms and peeling the silky material away from her breasts.
He cursed silently when he felt his arousal press against the thin material of his running shorts. What the hell was happening to him? Discovering that his mousy little wife might be more appealing than his initial opinion of her had suggested was not something he had ever anticipated.
Nor had he anticipated that his grandfather would react the way he had, Rafael thought grimly. He’d guessed Hector would be annoyed that he had not chosen a bride from the Spanish aristocracy, but he’d never imagined that the old man would break their agreement and refuse to appoint him CEO.
Rafael did not know if Juliet had heard him sigh or if she’d sensed that she was no longer alone. She was still half turned away from him, but when she spun round he felt another jolt of shock when he saw how her features were softened by the hair now framing her face. Her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes gave her a fey prettiness.
Now that he was really looking at her—rather than flicking an uninterested gaze over her—he noticed that her mouth was a little too wide for her heart-shaped face and the sweet curve of her lips was unexpectedly sensual.
He walked across the balcony, and as he came nearer to her he saw the rosy flush on her face spread down her throat and across her décolletage. Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating. These subtle signals her body was sending out betrayed her awareness of him—which might work in his favour in light of the news he was about to break to her, he brooded.
* * *
Juliet watched Rafael saunter towards her and the wariness she felt for this stranger who was her husband was muddled with other confusing emotions that evoked a dragging sensation low in her pelvis.
It wasn’t fair that he was so gorgeous, she thought ruefully. It had been difficult enough to keep her eyes off him when he’d been wearing a suit, or jeans and the navy polo shirt that he’d worn earlier when
she had found him in the nursery with Poppy.
Now he must have come from the gym, and his black shorts and matching vest top revealed his powerfully muscular physique. His legs and arms were tanned a deep bronze, and she wondered if the sprinkling of black hair visible above his gym vest covered the whole of his chest.
She hated her reaction to his smouldering sensuality, very aware that he did not find her remotely attractive. But it was odd that he was staring at her intently, almost as if he had never seen her before. When she glanced down at the silk chemise she understood the reason for his scrutiny.
‘Your sister lent me a nightdress because my pyjamas have been sent to the laundry,’ she explained. ‘I should have them back later today.’
‘I do hope not,’ Rafael said drily.
She grimaced, thinking of her pyjamas, which were as old and cheaply made as everything else she owned. After paying the bills and the monthly repayments on the money she’d borrowed from a loan company which charged a high interest rate, she used any spare cash to buy clothes for Poppy.
‘It hardly matters to you that I have horrible pyjamas,’ she said defensively. ‘You won’t see me wearing them. It’s not as if we will have to spend any time together, or so you assured me.’
‘I only meant that the temperature here in Valencia is much warmer than in England and you won’t need to wear thick pyjamas to sleep in.’
‘No, you didn’t. You think I look terrible and so do your family—apart from your sister, who is very kind.’
Juliet was grateful to Sofia for taking Poppy to play in a summerhouse in the garden with her twin daughters. Sofia had explained that she was married to an Englishman—Marcus Davenport. Her husband worked for a bank in Valencia and the family lived at the Casillas mansion. The twins had been brought up to be bilingual and happily chatted away to Poppy in English.
Wed for the Spaniard's Redemption Page 6