At the Spanish Duke's Command

by Fiona Hood-Stewart

  “How dare you?” she muttered, aware that the Condessa and Fernando were interested spectators of the scene. “How dare you treat me as though I were a child?” Her chin jutted rebelliously.

  “If I treated you as a child, my dear, you would already be cooling off in your room,” he remarked, eyes gleaming. “I repeat, while you are under my roof you will follow my rules.” He moved back and removed his hands, leaving her free to go.

  “Oh, how dare you?” Georgiana spluttered, swallowing and trying to compose herself, and not show how shaken she was by his proximity. But his forceful presence, the masterful manner in which he’d ordered her to obey, left her seething.

  Without another word she flounced out of the hall and onto the vast landing. Then, not waiting for the lift, she ran down the stairs.

  In the main hall she hesitated. She could see a Rolls Royce drawing up, and Pepe preparing to open the door. What should she do? Flout him? Take the bus and risk his anger? Or concede with as much dignity as possible.

  For a moment she hesitated, then raising her small determined chin, she plastered on a smile and resolved to make the best of it. She would deal with Juan and his ridiculous autocratic notions when she got home. For now it was better to beat a safe retreat and not make a public spectacle of herself.

  Juan watched from the window as she stepped, stiff-backed into the vehicle. A smile hovered about his lips. She was going to be a handful, this one. Oh, well, it was only for a few months, and he probably wouldn’t see that much of her. But he’d meant what he said. His rules were his rules. And he would not allow them to be altered.

  By her or anyone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “SO, YOU and Leticia are finally setting a date, are you?” said Don Alvaro de Sandoval, the Marquis de Cabral, his deep, patrician voice laced with satisfaction. A man of medium height and build, he wore a thick curling moustache and sported a head of very white hair.

  “Yes, Don Alvaro,” Juan replied, accepting a glass of dry sherry from Doña Elvira, Leticia’s mother.

  “Of course, we don’t know exactly when we’ll be married,” Letti chipped in hastily. “We both have such very busy schedules. It will be hard to find the time to fit in a wedding,” she said absently. Tweaking her bobbed brown hair behind her ears, she frowned.

  “Why, really, Letti,” her mother exclaimed, shocked. “Surely you can both find time for your wedding?”

  “Yes, of course, Mother. I didn’t mean to sound uninterested.” Letti glanced briefly at Juan, who smiled back at her, amused.

  Her frankness was one of her best qualities. Neither of them pretended to be in love. It was a practical arrangement that suited them both. He knew that he had a real friend in Letti, and didn’t have to pretend to court her. She accepted the arrangement for what it was: a marriage of convenience that suited their time and station in life.

  “Don’t worry about us, Doña Elvira,” he said, placing a reassuring arm on his future mother-in-law’s sleeve. “Letti and I will sort it all out in good time. But I think we can safely say that we are thinking of the spring.”

  “Exactly. Spring,” Letti answered, relieved, straightening the skirt of her chic Chanel tweed suit. “That will give us lots of time to prepare, Mama.”

  “Well, I hope so,” Doña Elvira said doubtfully. “There is always so much to do before a wedding, you know. Remember when Patricia, your sister, got married—all the time it took to decide on the invitations alone? It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “I’m sure Juan and I will be able to make up our minds rapidly,” she reassured her mother.

  “Please don’t choose that dreadful recycled paper, will you?” Doña Elvira turned to Juan. “It always looks so grubby. I don’t know why people favour it.”

  “It’s ecology, my dear,” Don Alvaro assured her. “Good for the environment.”

  “That’s all very well.” Doña Elvira sniffed. “But after seeing that dreadful invitation that Teresa Albregon de Lozada sent us the other day I can only shudder. I feel so sorry for her poor mother. It is so ugly I didn’t even place it on the mantelpiece in the small drawing room.”

  “Doña Elvira, I give you my word of honour that no such paper will be used in any shape or form at our wedding.” Juan exchanged a quick conspiratorial smile with Leticia while raising Doña Elvira’s hand to his lips.

  “There. You see, Mama? No need to worry. We’ll only settle for something you approve of. In fact, if you like,” she said, warming to her theme, “you could choose the invitations yourself. You wouldn’t mind that, would you, Juan? It would save a lot of trouble,” she added in an under-voice.

  “Really, Letti!” her mother exclaimed, brows raised. “I’m ashamed of you. Not choose your own wedding invitations, indeed! I never heard of anything so preposterous.”

  “Very well, Mama.” Leticia sighed, rolled her eyes and smiled at Juan once more. “You pick out those you like the best, Mama, and we’ll select one of them.”

  Hoping she’d appeased her parent, at least for the moment, Leticia went with Juan out onto the terrace, where they sat for a while in wide wicker chairs, enjoying the early autumn day while they sipped their drinks. The house, in the distinguished Madrid suburb of Puerta de Hierro, had a huge private garden and a lovely lawn. Two peacocks preened themselves by the lily pond, their splayed feathers caught in the fleeting sunlight.

  “So, how are things going now that you’re back?” Letti asked, leaning back and watching Juan.

  “Fine. Business as usual. By the way, I meant to tell you—the Mondragales send you their best. I had drinks with them before leaving Marbella. They hope to be here later in the season.”

  “Good. They’re very nice. And, of course, a very interesting contact for that paper business of yours,” she pointed out with a significant look.

  “Great minds think alike. I can already tell what an excellent wife you’ll be, Letti.” He laughed, appreciating how quick on the uptake she was. “And you’re absolutely right. Alberto Mondragal is the ideal chap to take on board. I think he’s definitely very interested…”

  “Then remind me to organise a small dinner party when they’re in town,” Letti said, in her practical down-to-earth way. “How’s your house guest getting on, by the way? I met her the other day, when I was visiting your aunt. She seemed a delightful girl.”

  “Georgiana? Delightful?” Juan’s brows came together in a thick line above the ridge of his patrician nose. “She’s a perfect little pest. Why the Condessa ever consented to having her come and stay is beyond me.”

  “Well, she asked you and you agreed. I remember. I was there. It was your mother’s wish,” Leticia added softly, hoping that the reminder of the parent he’d lost last year was not too painful.

  “I know. And that is the only reason I haven’t sent her packing back to England already. I can’t imagine how Lady Cavendish could be so lax with her daughter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It appears the girl is allowed a ridiculous amount of freedom. She comes and goes pretty much as she pleases.”

  “Well,” Letti responded reasonably, “she’s over eighteen, you know. Not an infant.”

  “That still doesn’t make it appropriate for her to be gallivanting around the city in jeans that barely cover her bottom and— Well, I won’t get into it.”

  “But they all dress like that nowadays, Juan. It’s not like it was back in our day. You should see some of Pablito Sanchez’s students at the law school. I’m sure Georgiana is positively prim next to them.” She laughed.

  “You may be right,” he conceded, smiling, “but it still doesn’t meet with my approval. I suppose I have very old-fashioned notions.”

  “Completely outdated, querido,” she responded complacently. “Let’s hope that by the time your own children grow up you’ll have got used to the inevitable changes ahead,” she said, her rich, soft laugh filling the air.

  “Who knows what they’ll be wearing
by then?” he agreed. The sudden vision of children of his own was somewhat daunting. “Oh, I think your mother’s beckoning us for lunch,” he continued, rising, glad to change the subject. “By the way, I thought it all went off quite well with your parents, didn’t you, querida?” He linked his arm with hers in a friendly manner.

  “Oh, very well,” she agreed. “Mama will be quite satisfied to have the run of the wedding in the end. Thank goodness,” she murmured, laughing. “I really can’t spare the time.”

  “No. Of course not,” Juan answered.

  But as they entered the dining room he couldn’t quell a slight feeling of disappointment. He was no romantic, but wasn’t a woman supposed to be a tiny bit excited about her forthcoming nuptials?

  Telling himself not to be ridiculous, that he was very lucky to be marrying such a sensible, altogether suitable young woman, Juan sat down on his hostess’s right and set about charming her through lunch.

  “He’s insufferable,” Georgiana exclaimed to the Condessa as they sat sipping orchata in the living room. “I don’t know why you let him get away with it.”

  “But what is wrong with a man seeing to one’s every comfort?” the Condessa enquired uncomprehendingly. “I am only too grateful to Juan for all his attentions. You know, it’s thanks to him that I’m able to live in this gracious manner. Such a dear boy,” she murmured, a fond sigh escaping her.

  Georgiana was about to make a pithy response when she realised it would be rude and undignified to criticise her host further. She’d already had a row about it with her mother on the phone. Lady Cavendish had flatly refused to allow Georgiana to move into a flat with two American girls from San Francisco. If she wished to remain in Spain then she would do so at the Duque de la Caniza’s residence or not at all. Georgiana was still fuming from the conversation, which she’d just relayed in injured tones to the Condessa. But, although she’d listened sympathetically to Georgiana’s complaints, the Condessa had offered no solutions.

  It really was becoming unbearable.

  Well, never mind, Georgiana reflected, cheering up. Tonight she was going out on a date with a chap she’d met in the university cafeteria, who was studying art and had a Porsche. He seemed fun, and hung out with a cool group of kids. The fact that he had a pierced tongue didn’t deter her in the least.

  Juan was due back later tonight, the Condessa told her, from a trip to Seville where he’d been for a couple of days. So much the better. At least she could breathe freely when he wasn’t around. For some reason she could not explain she seemed uptight whenever he came near. Which just went to prove how domineering and insufferable he was. Otherwise why would he provoke such a reaction in her?

  At eight o’ clock the downstairs bell rang and Fernando answered. “It’s for you, señorita. Someone is waiting for you downstairs.”

  “Thanks, Fernando. Don’t wait up. I have my key.”

  “But, señorita, you won’t be too late?”

  “Of course not,” she replied blithely. “But in case I am, don’t worry.”

  “Very well, señorita.” The manservant opened the front door for her and Georgiana, dressed in low-slung black Gucci pants and a short, clinging, and very fashionable white top, got into the lift. When it arrived at the lobby she stopped, horrified, when the doors opened and Juan stood before her.

  “Hello,” she said, doing a double take and swallowing nonchalantly. He looked dark, handsome and forbidding, standing there at the entrance of the lift.

  “Good evening, Georgiana. Do I gather you are going out?”

  “That’s right. Some friends from college.” Why she felt nervous when she had every right to go out was beyond her.

  “And what time do you plan to be back?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She waved an airy hand. “Whenever.”

  “I see. Well, have a good evening.”

  With a slight bow and without a smile he stood aside for her to pass. Why, she wondered, annoyed, did she feel as if he’d stripped her naked? For an instant she almost wished she could cover herself. Then, straightening her shoulders, she forced herself to walk in a self-assured sexy manner through the lobby, down the steps and into the waiting Porsche.

  Juan watched as the car roared into the evening traffic. Then he unclenched his fist, wondering why it should irritate him so profoundly to see Georgiana take off with that uncouth-looking creature with a pierced tongue. Heaven help his kids if this was what lay in store for them.

  Pressing the button in the lift, he thought about Georgiana, annoyed at his sudden physical reaction. “Damn the girl,” he muttered under his breath, consigning the sudden slash of heat coursing straight to his groin to the devil. He had no right to have any thoughts about her at all—except, perhaps, the proper concern due to a young woman at present under his protection. So why had he felt an irresistible desire to push her against the elevator wall and kiss her very thoroughly, rather than watch her walk out through the front door?

  Closing his eyes a moment, Juan took a deep breath and reminded himself that not only was he engaged to be married, but that any extramarital affairs must be conducted with older women who knew the name of the game. Preferably married ones who were utterly discreet. Not vulnerable sexy teenagers.

  By the time he reached the apartment, and Fernando had ushered him in, Juan was back in control. The ridiculous moment of sexual weakness—something any man might experience when placed before a beautiful, seductive young woman—had passed. But in the future he vowed there would be no more such moments.

  Not if he could help it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JUAN woke at the second ring of the phone next to his bed. Groggily he switched on the bedside lamp. Then he glanced at the clock. Dios mio, it was four a.m. Who on earth could be calling him at this hour?

  “Dígame?” he said, brows meeting in surprise over the ridge of his nose as he sat up abruptly. Calls in the middle of the night never spelled anything good.

  “Am I speaking to His Grace the Duke of Caniza?” a deep voice asked.

  “You are,” Juan replied warily, his attention fully focused now.

  “This is the police.”

  “The police?” He was fully alert.

  “Yes. We have a young English lady here by the name of Georgiana Cavendish.” The officer pronounced the name with difficulty. “She claims to be staying at your address.”

  “That is correct,” Juan replied stiffly. “What is she doing in your station?”

  “There has been a traffic incident,” the officer answered lugubriously. “The young man she was with was speeding on the Avenida Generalissimo. He was stopped and breathalysed.”

  “But no one was hurt?” He felt a familiar rush of anxiety.

  “No, Your Grace. Both are fine.”

  “I see. Then why is Miss Cavendish being held?”

  “She’s not. But as I understand the girl is under your protection, Excellencia, I didn’t think it would be appropriate—”

  “She’s not a minor. She’s nineteen years old,” he snapped.

  “I know, Excellencia, but a young girl like that shouldn’t be out on her own with wild young men who are driving under the influence,” the officer said repressively. “I am a father myself, of two daughters. I felt it was my duty to inform whoever is in charge of her.”

  “Quite right, Officer. Thank you,” Juan replied dryly. “I suppose you wish me to come and pick her up?”

  “Well, sir, I think that under the circumstances that would be best.”

  “Very well. Please inform Miss Cavendish that I shall be there in under half an hour.”

  Juan hung up the phone and, swearing under his breath, went to the bathroom, where he splashed cold water over his face. Damn it, he should have known this would end in trouble. Dragging on a pair of jeans, a shirt and some loafers, he grabbed his tan suede jacket and his car keys and headed down to the basement garage.

  His anger towards Georgiana smouldered as the lift de
scended. She was a pest, a thorough nuisance, and the sooner she packed her bags and left Madrid the happier he would be.

  Minutes later the Ferrari roared down the half-empty Paseo de la Castellana towards the address of the police station the officer had given him.

  By the time he walked into the unprepossessing building his temper had risen another few notches. The sight of Georgiana sitting sulkily on a wooden bench did nothing to abate it.

  Ignoring her, Juan spoke directly with the officer in charge.

  “I’m very sorry that you have been caused so much trouble, Officer,” he said, flashing his most charming smile.

  “Oh, it’s not too serious, Excellencia. Not for her, anyway. The young man is a different matter. These young people with fast sports cars are all the same.” The older man shook his head. “Irresponsible, I’m afraid. I blame the parents,” he continued with a sigh. “And if I may be permitted to say so, Excellencia,” he added, lowering his voice, “you’d be wise to keep an eye on her in future. A pretty girl like that let loose on the town can only cause trouble,” he murmured in a man-to-man tone.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Juan answered. “Now, if you’ll allow me, Officer, I shall relieve you of this bothersome charge.”

  Georgiana, who’d been listening to the interchange, underwent an immediate change of attitude. She’d felt ashamed, then embarrassed, then grateful to Juan for rescuing her. Now, as he turned and looked her over with that arrogant, possessive stare, she wished she’d never mentioned his wretched name. She sent him a hostile glare. It would have been far preferable to spend a night in jail than be subjected to his insufferable manners.

  “Come on,” he said, without so much as a smile. “You’ve caused enough bother around here for one evening.”