At the Spanish Duke's Command

by Fiona Hood-Stewart

Then he turned to the officer and took his leave, making Georgiana feel like a recalcitrant schoolgirl being shepherded out of the headmistress’s office by an angry parent. But since there was no alternative she obeyed reluctantly, walking before him to the Ferrari parked on the kerb, her head held high. Serve him right if he got a ticket, she reflected sourly, slamming the door as she got in, her previous gratitude to him fading completely as Juan’s forbidding figure entered the vehicle.

  Georgiana sat staring straight ahead.

  Juan didn’t say a word, merely gunned the engine and drove off at a sedate pace down the wide avenue. If only he’d explode, at least then she could rave back at him, Georgiana reflected grudgingly. Nothing could be worse than this dreadful silence.

  Out of the corner of her eye she took a peek at him. He looked stern and she swallowed.

  Then all at once the vehicle came to a stop in front of a café that appeared open despite the early hour.

  “Get out,” Juan commanded once he’d parked the vehicle.

  “I don’t want to get out,” Georgiana demurred, stubbornly crossing her arms. “I’m tired. I want to go home.”

  “I don’t wish to repeat myself, Georgiana,” Juan murmured dangerously.

  “I—”

  “Haven’t I made myself clear?” he enquired, in a low, menacing tone that left her in no doubt that should she not obey he would find a way of making her.

  It went against the grain, but slowly she exited the car, and with as much dignity as she could muster entered the café.

  Soon they were seated at a table. Juan ordered in quick Spanish. And, despite her wish to stay cool and indifferent, Georgiana realised that she was more shocked by the incident that had occurred than she cared to show. All at once she realised just how cold and hungry she was. The order of chocolate con churros—delicious hot chocolate and the deep-fried fritters dipped in sugar that she’d learned to love in the past few weeks—would be very welcome and comforting. A sudden rush of tears burned her eyes as weariness and fright hit her unexpectedly. She swallowed and turned quickly away, determined not to show weakness.

  Juan was about to give Georgiana a harsh talking-to when he noted her hands, clenched and white, trembling in her lap. He glanced at her face, partially hidden by the long silky mane. The sight of a single tear rolling down her cheek made him sigh.

  And just as his anger had flared so it abated.

  She was, after all, a very young girl with little experience of life. What had happened to her was no different from what happened to many other young people, and it would merely serve as a lesson. A smile hovered about his lips and tenderness surged. He slipped a hand over her trembling fingers.

  “Now, now, querida, don’t be upset. What happened was stupid and unnecessary, but it’s over,” he said softly.

  Georgiana sniffed and Juan removed a large white pocket handkerchief from his jacket. Slipping his hand under her chin, he turned her face towards him. God, she was lovely, he realised with a jerk. Beautifully, deliciously lovely. Those huge green eyes were tearful and misty, her breasts heaving as she tried to control her distress.

  Juan got up and went around the table to sit next to her. “There, there,” he said, wiping the tears with his hanky, “No llores, cariña. Please don’t cry. It’s all right.” He slipped a reassuring arm around her shoulders and drew her head onto his shoulder. “Let it out and stop worrying. You’re safe now.”

  Georgiana could hardly believe his words, or the extraordinary sensation of relief she experienced when Juan’s arm came about her and her cheek rested on his taut muscled shoulder. It only made her want to cry harder. She gulped, took the hanky from him and blew her nose, unable to believe this was the same man who half an hour ago had picked her up at the police station.

  “I’m really t-terribly s-sorry to have caused you so much trouble,” she gulped. “I woke you up in the middle of the night,” she added in a muffled whisper into his shirt-front.

  “Shush. Look, here are the churros and the chocolate. Now, sit up and have some. You’ll feel better.” Gently he drew her up. “Eat this,” he said, dipping a sugar-coated churro into the piping hot, thick dark chocolate, then holding it close for her to eat.

  “Thank you.” Georgiana swallowed, heaved a shaky sigh, and nibbled. It was warm and comforting, and all at once she began to feel better. “I really am sorry,” she said between bites, determined to expiate her sin.

  “I know,” he murmured, a smile hovering. “You’ve told me several times. Now, drink your chocolate and stop worrying. It’s over. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he said with mock severity, the twinkle in his eyes belying his tone.

  Georgiana smiled at last. “You’ve been so decent about all this.” She hesitated, then looked deep into his eyes. “You—you won’t tell the Condessa—or my mother?” she begged in a tentative tone.

  “That depends on how you plan to behave in the future,” he answered, a speculative grin forming on his handsome face.

  “But that’s blackmail!” Georgiana exclaimed, nearly dropping the churro, his comment jolting her back to her old self as he’d intended. “That’s outrageous. You’re going to hold this over me like a—a—”

  “Sword of Damocles?” he enquired helpfully.

  “Exactly. You can’t do that,” she muttered hotly.

  “Can’t I?” The speculative smile deepened.

  “Absolutely not. It’s outrageous.”

  Did she have any idea how perfectly lovely she was? Those bright green eyes were filled with the remains of tears and righteous anger, her breasts, outlined by the tight T-shirt, thrust out unwittingly as she flounced at him. All at once, unable to resist, Juan snaked his hand behind her neck and drew her to him.

  “Oh!” A small exclamation escaped her parted lips. The next thing she knew she was enveloped in Juan’s well-worked-out arms. His lips prised open hers, and his tongue played havoc with her senses.

  Georgiana had been kissed before. But those kisses had consisted of over-anxious teenage forays into the new-found realm of petting. Never, in the course of her short existence, had she experienced anything close to this. Part of her wanted to shove him away, protest. But as his mouth worked on hers shafts of heat soared and thrust into her pelvis, leaving her limp, weak and moist. Her breasts cleaved to his chest and she felt her nipples harden. Her hands instinctively threaded into his thick black hair and she let out a sigh, giving way to the delicious ardour of her first real kiss.

  Then, just as he had taken her, he pulled away.

  “Dios mio!” he exclaimed, dragging his fingers through his hair and signalling the waiter for the bill.

  Still recovering from the whirlwind sensations, Georgiana watched silently as he paid. Then, before she had time to regroup, he grabbed her arm and marched her firmly out of the café.

  “Juan—I—what happened?”

  “Something that never should have.” He stopped abruptly, placed his hands on her shoulders and stood her away from him. “Stay out of my way, Georgiana. For your own good.”

  “But, what—?”

  “Don’t. It was my fault. I should never have done that. I’m sorry.” Then without another word he walked to the car, opened the door for her punctiliously, then, once she was inside, closed it.

  They drove home in heavy silence.

  Juan seethed inwardly, furious at himself for giving way to temptation. He had no business kissing this girl. He was about to become engaged to Leticia. This girl was staying in his house—under his protection. It was unthinkable.

  When they finally reached the building, and parked in the garage, Georgiana stepped shakily out of the car. Then they boarded the elevator and rode it in complete silence. On the top-floor landing Juan unlocked the apartment door carefully. No one was about.

  “Go to your room quickly,” he whispered.

  “Juan, can’t we talk about what happened?” Georgiana whispered back.

  “There is nothing to
talk about. I made a mistake. I’m sorry. Forget it. Now, go to bed and get some sleep,” he commanded.

  Reluctantly Georgiana slipped down the wide corridor and carefully opened the door to her room. Inside, she flopped on the bed and sighed, still trying to assimilate all that occurred during the course of the evening. But all that stuck was the lasting sensation of Juan’s lips on hers.

  Finally closing her eyes and pulling the covers over her, Georgiana crawled into bed and allowed sleep to overtake her. But even as she dreamed a new awareness took hold. Something deep within her had changed.

  And she liked it.

  Juan entered the study and poured himself a stiff whisky. Por Dios, where was his head at? How could he have been so irresponsible? He’d actually kissed Georgiana. At the thought of the kiss he dropped into the worn leather armchair that had belonged to his late father and let out a groan. He leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed. It was years since he’d felt anything like it—years since he’d experienced that unique coiling sensation of delight as his lips touched a woman’s.

  And there had been many women.

  But until tonight there had been none to replace Leonora, the lovely young girl he’d once loved and who’d been wrenched from him so suddenly in a terrible boat crash one summer, when she was holidaying with her family in Ibiza. Taking a gulp of whisky, he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Just thinking of Leonora still had the power to hurt him, even though the accident had occurred twelve years ago. And tonight Georgiana’s soft, compliant lips, resistant at first, then melting so deliciously, and the tender, spontaneous gesture of her fingers threading his hair had left him undone.

  Sitting up, Juan pulled himself together.

  It was absurd. Ridiculous.

  He was reacting like a teenager, not a man of thirty. Perhaps he should call Leticia tomorrow and suggest they bring forward the wedding. The sooner he got married and settled the better. He shook his head and let out a harsh, disparaging laugh at himself. How could he—a veteran, a man who’d had his share of experience, who knew women like the back of his hand—be caught unawares by a simple kiss?

  Closing his eyes once more, Juan groaned as the memory of Georgiana’s nipples hardening against his chest caused another flame of heat to flash straight to his groin. Dios, this was unbearable.

  Then abruptly he rose and, turning out the lights, headed to his room. Tomorrow he would take measures to curtail this absurd business. But all that would help his present state, he reflected wryly, was a very cold shower.

  The next day being Saturday, it was close to noon by the time Georgiana finally woke up. As she stretched and opened her eyes the previous night’s adventures surfaced.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered, feeling the button of her pants squeezing her tummy. She hadn’t even undressed.

  Climbing stiffly out of bed, she headed to the bathroom and stared at her face. Smeared mascara and rumpled hair was not a pretty sight. She grimaced at herself and, throwing off her clothes, walked into the huge marble shower, letting the hard water jets wake her sleepy body. As she did so the previous evening rolled out in slow motion, including the unexpected finish.

  How, she wondered, lathering the soap, had she ended up in Juan’s arms? And how could it have felt so very wonderful to be there? It was crazy. Juan. The man she’d come to loathe, who was so much older than her—a man who never would have crossed her mind as anything but an odious figure of authority. Yet now, as the water trickled down her back, her nipples hardened and a delicious hitherto unknown sensation pulsated between her thighs at the thought of him.

  Turning off the water abruptly, Georgiana stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in one of the soft white terry cloth monogrammed towels. As she did so she thought of Leticia.

  Oh, no. How awful. Poor Leticia, who had been so welcoming and nice to her. How could she have allowed such a thing to happen?

  Feeling like a Jezebel, Georgiana perched on the edge of the vast bathtub and wallowed in an attack of guilt. She must get away from here. She couldn’t possibly stay under the same roof as Juan after what had occurred. She simply must find a way of persuading her mother to allow her to go into a flat.

  On this determined note Georgiana rose and returned to the bedroom to get dressed. She would slip out of the house and spend the day somewhere—anywhere but here.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “THAT was not too bad, all things considered,” Leticia said once she and Juan were ensconced in the back of the Rolls Royce and being driven by Juan’s chauffeur, Jacobo.

  “No. For an evening of speeches and mediocre food, I suppose it wasn’t,” Juan agreed, laughing, loosening his satin bow-tie, which he left hanging around his neck, and reaching for Leticia’s hand. “You’ll be a great duchess, Letti. A credit to the family, mark my words. You’re wonderful at looking interested when people are boring you stiff.”

  “Rubbish!” she exclaimed, giving his hand a friendly squeeze. “I’m used to listening to people. It’s part of a lawyer’s job.”

  “Certainly a dedicated, socially conscious lawyer like you,” he replied in a more serious tone. “When are you going to the conference on abused women’s rights?”

  “Next week. Tuesday night. At the university. Will you come?”

  “Of course. I’ll be interested to hear your views.”

  “You may not entirely approve of them,” she murmured ruefully as the car drew up in front of the sleek apartment block on Velazquez where she lived.

  “I may surprise you yet. I have great respect for women, and detest the idea of any woman being mistreated.”

  “I know you do,” she replied affectionately. Then, as the car slowed, she dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I won’t ask you in for a nightcap as I have to be in court at eight o’clock.” She grimaced.

  Juan hesitated, then, leaning over, drew her into his arms.

  “Surely we could do a good deal better than this, Letti? After all, in a few months we’ll be married.” He looked down into her eyes, and frowned when he saw a wary restraint enter them. He had no desire to frighten her, but she was a thirty-year-old woman after all. He’d naturally presumed that over the years she must have acquired some kind of sexual experience. Yet the way she went stiff in his arms was anything but encouraging. “Sorry,” he said, drawing back, his tone stiff. “I didn’t mean to offend you in any manner.”

  “You don’t bother me in the least, Juan,” Leticia said, embarrassed. “It’s just that I have to get up early, and it’s late, and I—”

  “Of course.” He cut her short, smiled perfunctorily and got out of the car to see her to the door. “I’ll give you a ring tomorrow. Perhaps we can get together at the weekend?”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding relieved. “That would be lovely. We could take in a round of golf and have dinner at the Club.”

  “Perfect.” He dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead and watched as she entered the marble-halled building with a wave.

  But as he was driven the rest of the way home Juan frowned again. What was it about Letti that wasn’t right? She was always obliging and friendly. They were at ease in each other’s company. So what had made her draw back when he tried to kiss her? A sudden flash of Georgiana, whom he hadn’t seen since the fateful incident the week before, made him swallow. He let out a muffled oath and told the chauffeur to drop him a couple of blocks from his home. He needed to walk.

  As he arrived at the front door of the building the night porter opened up.

  “Buenas noches, Don Juan.”

  “Buenas noches, Julio.” Juan smiled at the man, then made his way to the lift. On reaching the apartment he entered quietly and headed straight down the wide carpeted corridor, lit by small bronze picture lights which illuminated the art gracing the walls. When he reached Georgiana’s room he stopped. He saw a sliver of light seeping from below the door and hesitated. Just as he was about to move on the door opened.

  “Oh!” Georgiana jumped
.

  “I’m sorry.” Juan stepped back immediately.

  “I—I was going to the kitchen to get a glass of water,” she stammered, blushing. This was their first encounter since the night he’d kissed her. Georgiana swallowed, enveloped by a sudden rush of heat.

  “I was just passing on the way to my room,” he said stiffly.

  “Ah, yes, of course.” Georgiana smiled weakly. He looked so handsome, with his hair slightly dishevelled, his bow-tie lying negligently on the white shirt-front, the jacket of his tux casually opened.

  Then all at once, as though sensing her discomfort, he smiled. “Come,” he said winningly. “A glass of water is a good idea. I’ll join you. Though I fear my nightcap will be a brandy.”

  She smiled back tentatively, then together they walked back down the corridor, across the hall and into the kitchen. Georgiana headed for the cupboard. She removed a glass, and Juan was ready with a bottle of chilled mineral water he’d taken from the fridge. He filled the glass carefully.

  “There. Now we can make ourselves comfortable in the study.”

  He held the door for her and she passed through, willing the churning sensations she was experiencing to quieten down. She tugged her nightgown, wishing rather wistfully that she was wearing flowing silk rather than graceless flannel stamped with images of Winnie the Pooh. Though of course she shouldn’t care what she looked like, she admonished herself severely as they entered the study and Juan poured himself a brandy from the decanter. After all, the man was engaged to be married to another woman.

  Sitting on the deep couch near the fireplace, Georgiana curled her toes beneath her among the cushions.

  “Salud.” Juan raised the brandy snifter and sat in the armchair opposite, at a suitable distance.

  “Cheers,” she said, a smile curving her lips as she raised her glass of water.

  “I think we need a fire,” Juan said, getting up and lighting the logs already set in the hearth. Soon the pleasant crackle of flames filled the air.

  Georgiana let out a tiny sigh and relaxed, feeling at ease with him again, as though the kissing incident hadn’t taken place. Though of course it had, she reminded herself, trying to convince herself she wouldn’t want it to happen again.