‘You could be right.’ Javier’s brows had drawn together in a frown, but now he opened the door and propelled her into the corridor. His wide smile revealed a flash of white teeth and his curious amber eyes glowed with genuine humour. ‘But, let me assure you, it’s a state of affairs that suits me perfectly. Adios, Miss Beresford.’
‘Wait!’ The door was already closing and Grace quickly jammed her foot in the gap, aware of how easy it would be for him to crush her bones against the frame. ‘Do you want me to beg? Is that it?’ she asked desperately. ‘Because I’ll do whatever it takes to save my father.’
As she spoke she dropped to her knees, her pride cast aside. ‘I won’t allow Dad to go to prison. There has to be some way that I can be of use to you—I’ll willingly cook, clean…’ she glanced along the corridor at the seemingly miles of stone floor ‘…scrub your floors. I’m not afraid of hard work, and I’ll do anything…as long as it’s moral.’ She bit down hard on her lip until she tasted blood and stared at him, willing him to give her a chance.
Javier’s jaw tightened and his golden eyes burned into her skin as he allowed his gaze to travel in a leisurely fashion over her yellow sundress, noting its narrow shoulder straps and pretty lace-edged bodice that revealed the delicate curve of her breasts.
It was like being propositioned by a nun, he mused sardonically. Her air of innocence was all the more intriguing because common sense told him it couldn’t be real. From his report on her he knew she’d had her share of relationships, notably with a successful insurance broker called Richard Quentin who was several years older than her and who had a reputation around London as a ladies’ man.
According to the report, she’d been briefly engaged to Quentin. It was impossible to believe that they hadn’t been lovers, so why bother with the pretence of virginal shyness? And why the hell didn’t he just get rid of her, instead of fantasising about exploring her soft, full lips with his own?
‘Why have you come to me?’ he queried harshly. ‘Why not offer your…’ he paused and purposefully allowed his eyes to linger on her breasts ‘…services to some other wealthy man?’
‘I don’t know any,’ Grace replied bluntly. ‘And with Littlecote about to be sold, I have nothing to offer as collateral against a bank loan. I’m out of options. Señor Herrera, I’m serious about repaying the money Angus took—every penny of it,’ she added fiercely when he looked unimpressed. ‘I’m not sure how yet, but somehow I will clear my father’s debts. All I’m asking is that you give me time, and your agreement to settle out of court.’
For some reason the sight of her kneeling before him filled Javier with impatience and, muttering an oath, he swung away from her. Common sense dictated that she was a selfish bitch who had coerced her father into abusing his position at the bank to fund her extravagant lifestyle. But she was so lovely. Dios, he could barely think straight when she looked at him with those huge, sapphire blue eyes. And she had spirit, he granted—she must love her father very much to have come here to plead his case. She deserved neither his respect nor sympathy, but to his annoyance he felt a begrudging sense of both.
An idea had filtered into his mind and refused to be ignored. He had no need of a cook or a cleaner, but he suddenly knew of a way that he could make use of her—and it was moral, he acknowledged, his mouth curving into a cynical smile as he remembered the stipulation she’d made.
‘Stand up, Miss Beresford,’ he said coolly, aware of a curious sensation in his chest as he watched her get shakily to her feet. ‘You say that you are prepared to work for me in return for me dropping legal proceedings against your father?’
‘Yes.’ Hope hammered in Grace’s chest, and she stumbled towards him. ‘I told you, I’ll do anything,’ she assured him eagerly.
The silence between them thrummed with tension until Javier finally spoke. ‘In that case I take it that you have no objection to being my wife?’
His unemotional statement knocked the world temporarily off its axis, and Grace dragged air into her lungs. ‘You’re joking, of course?’ she muttered bleakly when she could think straight. Tears stung her eyes. Since her father had been formally charged with fraud, she had clung to her wildly optimistic belief that she would succeed in persuading Javier to agree to settle out of court. The stark reality of defeat caused an agonising pain in her chest. Any minute now she would hear Javier’s mocking laughter, and she wished she could crawl away and die. But his next words brought her head up.
‘It’s not a joke. I’m in the unenviable position of having to find a wife before my next birthday—and remain married to her for a year,’ Javier informed her tersely.
‘And when is your birthday?’ Grace murmured dazedly.
‘Two months from now.’
‘So fairly urgent, then.’ The conversation, the whole situation, was verging on the surreal and Grace felt as though she had wandered into the pages of Alice in Wonderland.
Javier was watching her speculatively with his amazing golden eyes. Grace was aware of the frisson of sexual awareness that vibrated between them, and she licked her lips nervously. She seriously doubted she could handle the Duque de Herrera in any capacity and for a second she felt like fleeing. The note of command in his voice halted her.
‘Sit down, Miss Beresford—although now that we’re betrothed I suppose I’d better call you Grace.’
‘I haven’t said yes yet,’ she snapped, incensed by his authoritarian manner.
He gave her a bored glance. ‘I thought you were out of options?’
‘I am, but so it seems are you.’ Grace sank gratefully into a chair and fought to regain her composure. Some sixth sense told her that Javier’s expression of cool indifference belied his inner frustration. For some unexplained reason he had to find a wife and he was running out of time. It was possible that he needed her as much as she needed him, and that put her in a powerful bargaining position.
‘Why do you have to get married?’ she demanded.
For a moment she thought he was going to refuse to answer. His expression hardened so that his cheekbones were sharply visible beneath his skin, and his eyes glittered with sudden anger. ‘Under the terms of my grandfather’s will I must choose a wife, or lose control of El Banco de Herrera to my cousin,’ he told her in a voice laced with bitterness.
‘It sounds as if the bank is very important to you.’
‘It is my birthright, and the only thing that is important to me,’ Javier corrected her fiercely.
‘I see.’ Grace hesitated and then said, ‘From what I’ve heard, you have no shortage of women in your life. Why not ask one of them to marry you?’
‘Because there’d be hell to pay when the time came to get rid of them,’ he admitted in a blunt tone that made her wince. ‘The marriage will be a business proposition, nothing more, but mention the word “wedding” to most women and they seem to link it with the ridiculous notion of love.’
‘You’re afraid that if you choose one of your girlfriends they might fall in love with you?’ Grace said slowly as understanding dawned. ‘Your arrogance takes my breath away,’ she hissed, almost lost for words, ‘What makes you think you’re so damned special?’
‘A multi-million-pound fortune,’ Javier replied dryly. ‘I learned early on in life that, where women are concerned, money is their biggest turn-on—that and power. It’s the reason you’re here, after all, Grace,’ he murmured silkily. ‘You want me to drop charges against a common thief. A man who repaid my trust in him by betraying me and abusing the position I’d awarded him.’
Grace felt her cheeks flood with colour. ‘It wasn’t like that,’ she insisted huskily. ‘I told you, my father was in a desperate situation and he had no choice.’
Javier pushed back his chair and strolled around his desk towards her. Instantly Grace felt overwhelmed by his sheer magnetism, and her heartrate accelerated when he rested his hip against the edge of the desk and leaned close, trapping her gaze. ‘We all have choices, Grace,’ he sai
d, his gravelly accented voice mesmerising her with its hypnotic intensity. ‘You can choose to give me a year of your life, and in return I will ensure that your father is spared prosecution and a lengthy jail sentence.’
This close, Grace could see the fine lines around his eyes and the incredible length of his silky black lashes. Tiger’s eyes, she thought dazedly as she stared into their glowing amber depths. Her gaze settled on the sensual curve of his mouth and she found herself fantasising about what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against hers.
‘I don’t think I can do it,’ she whispered. ‘Marriage is special—sacrosanct. It’s about two people standing before God and promising to love one another for the rest of their lives. What you’re suggesting is…immoral.’
‘And stealing three million pounds is not? I think we can safely leave the question of morality out of this, Grace,’ Javier murmured sardonically. ‘You want to ensure that your father is spared a jail sentence, and I can help you.’ The faint tremor of her lower lip betrayed her tension and his jaw tightened. ‘Surely becoming the Duquesa de Herrera is a better option than scrubbing my floors?’ he growled impatiently.
‘I don’t like the idea of lying,’ Grace muttered, ignoring his look of mocking disbelief. In all honesty, what choice did she have? If she didn’t agree to marry him her father would undoubtedly be sent to prison. She had to do it. But if she kept her wits she could turn Javier’s urgency to find a wife to her advantage.
‘All right,’ she said abruptly. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll agree to your business proposition and become your wife for one year, but in return I want all of my father’s debts cleared. I want you to repay the outstanding money to the bank out of your personal account,’ she continued in a flat, unemotional voice that she hoped disguised the fact that her heart was pounding. ‘And I want your written assurance that you will drop all charges against him. When you’ve done all that, I’ll be your bride.’
Javier moved with the speed of a big cat making a kill as he placed his hands on either side of her chair, effectively caging her in. ‘You value yourself highly, Miss Beresford. Perhaps too highly,’ he hissed savagely. ‘You seem to forget that I’m calling the shots here. What will you do if I call your bluff and throw you out without a penny?’
Oh, God! He wouldn’t, would he? Grace took a shaky breath and forced herself to meet his scorching gaze. ‘You won’t,’ she said in a calm voice that belied her screaming tension. ‘You need me as much as I need you, because I can absolutely guarantee that from the first day of our marriage I will be counting the hours until our divorce as eagerly as you. There’s no chance that I’ll fall in love with you,’ she added, tilting her chin so that her face was inches from his.
She could feel his power, his need to subjugate her to his will, but she refused to be cowed. If she was to survive a year as his wife then she could not allow him to dominate her.
The tension between them was so fierce that the air seemed to crackle. Grace could feel the heat emanating from his body as he leaned over her, and for one wild moment she wondered how he would react if she curled her arms around his neck and drew his mouth down to hers.
Raw, sensual heat flooded through her, and as she stared into his eyes she knew that he felt the same kick of desire. She bit back a gasp as his head slowly lowered. Her eyelids felt heavy and her lashes drifted down, only to fly open again when, instead of kissing her, he grabbed a handful of her long hair and jerked her head up.
At her stunned expression, Javier’s mouth curled into a smile that told her he was aware of her disappointment. ‘You’re not the fragile flower that I first thought, are you, Grace? Your delicate beauty belies a cunning mind that almost matches my own.’ Before she had time to react, he claimed her mouth in a brief, brutal assault that demanded her response as if it were his God-given right.
It was over almost instantly. He released her and straightened to tower over her, his golden eyes glittering. ‘We have a deal Miss Beresford. We’ll marry as soon as it can be arranged. I have a feeling that it’s going to be an interesting year,’ he added mockingly.
A cold hand of fear closed around Grace’s heart but she made herself get to her feet and gave him an icy glare. Her lips were stinging, but she resisted the urge to trace the swollen flesh with the tip of her tongue. ‘I have every expectation that it will be the worst year of my life.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find some compensations as the wife of a millionaire,’ Javier replied dryly. ‘Think of all the shopping you can indulge in.’ He strolled around his desk, picked up the phone and barked out a series of instructions without giving Grace the chance to tell him she would rather die than spend a penny of his money.
Having solved the niggling problem of finding a wife, Javier was getting back to business, she realised when he paid her no more attention. Presumably she would be dismissed until the civil ceremony that would legally bind them together. But her father would be a free man, and she would have to cling to that one comforting thought throughout the coming year.
She began to edge towards the door when Javier’s curt voice stopped her.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
His arrogance made her seethe, but having just secured her father’s freedom and financial security she was anxious not to annoy him and so she smiled hesitantly. ‘To find my car and drive back to Granada. Do you want me to wait there for a few days, or shall I return to England and expect to hear from you?’
‘Neither,’ he replied coolly. ‘I’m leaving for Madrid in a few minutes, and you’re coming with me.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THE Madrid offices of El Banco de Herrera were lavishly elegant, but Grace was growing tired of cooling her heels—however charming her surroundings.
‘Miss Beresford wishes to know if you are expecting her to sit here in reception all day.’ Javier’s secretary, Isabel Sanches, could not disguise the hint of embarrassment in her voice at she relayed the query to her boss.
Barely lifting his eyes from his computer screen, Javier spoke into the intercom on his desk. ‘Tell her she will remain there for as long as is necessary for me to finish this report,’ he snapped, fighting the urge to remind Grace that if she was that bored she was free to leave—and he’d see her and her father in court.
Dios, he was doing the woman an immense favour by releasing Angus Beresford from his debts—the least she could do was show a little gratitude! Instead she had spent the fifty-minute flight to Madrid moaning that she wanted to go home to her father, and Javier was having serious doubts about marrying her. The woman was a shrew, he thought darkly—albeit a very beautiful one.
He amended several pertinent details on the report, scrolled back to the top of the document and re-read it before he saved it to disc, but as he worked he was unable to dismiss the image of her delicate features and enormous, tear-filled blue eyes from his mind, and with a muttered curse he sprang to his feet and crossed his office to stare out over the city.
Below him Madrid sweltered in the late spring sunshine. He liked the buzz of the cosmopolitan capital. Commercially, it made sense to have the head offices of El Banco de Herrera at the heart of Spain’s major city, and he was happy to spend time at his luxurious penthouse apartment in one of its elegant suburbs. But his heart lay in Andalucia, and home would always be El Castillo de Leon.
Having spent the first ten years of his life living in a filthy caravan, he had at first been overawed by the size and sheer majesty of the castillo. The fortress was a magnificent example of Moorish architecture, but as a young boy he had been more interested in exploring its vast rooms and extensive grounds than learning about its history.
Even now he could remember how good it had felt to finally know that he belonged somewhere. The castle was his home, his heritage, Carlos had told him. There would be no more endless travelling, no more scavenging for food like a wild dog, or spending hours huddled on the caravan steps while his mother entertained her numerous lov
ers and his father disappeared for days in search of his next fix.
His jaw hardened as he recalled Grace’s taunt that his wealth shielded him from the real world. Little did she know, he brooded grimly. He’d been in the kind of places she couldn’t even imagine. Situations where the toughest ruled with their fists, and the simple task of getting through each day had called on all his cunning.
During the first ten years of his life he’d known poverty and hunger, a sense of fear and loneliness that, even after twenty-five years, still tainted his dreams. His only blessing was to have been born with a tenacious instinct to survive, plus a determination to answer to nobody. It was those qualities that had shaped the man he was today, and he didn’t need a spoilt, high-maintenance English miss from a privileged background trying to make him feel bad.
On the other hand, she had been sitting in his secretary’s office for two hours, and that was after he’d bundled her out of the castle and allowed her only a few brief minutes to collect her belongings from her hotel in Granada before whisking her aboard his private jet. Patience was not one of his more obvious virtues, he acknowledged honestly. Grace probably didn’t know if she was on her head or her heels, and with another oath he crossed to his desk and spoke into the intercom.
‘Isabel, tell Miss Beresford to come in, por favor.’
Javier remained seated behind his desk when Grace entered his office, and he spared her a cursory glance when she walked hesitantly towards him.
‘What’s the matter? I told you I had to attend an important meeting and then file a report afterwards,’ he snapped. ‘Are you always so impatient?’
For a few seconds Grace felt totally intimidated. He was so arrogant and powerful, and so God-damned sexy, she admitted silently as her heart lurched in her chest. This man held her father’s well-being in his hands, but all she could do was stare at him like a teenager in the throes of her first crush, her annoyance at being abandoned like a parcel in the outer office momentarily forgotten.
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