Juan frowned as Lola scuttled off in the direction of Leticia’s study. Who on earth could Letti have over at this time—and in the study? he wondered.
“If you will come this way,” Lola said when she reappeared, looking more composed and straightening the white lace apron over her black uniform.
Juan followed her to the study, surprised to see a man he’d never met before rising from the armchair near the fireplace.
“Ah, Juan.” Leticia smiled nervously and came to greet him. “May I introduce Pablito Sanchez, my friend and colleague? We’re working late on a project for the university.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Juan stretched out his hand and the two men shook hands while summing each other up. Pablito Sanchez was not very tall, and was greying at the temples. He had a scholarly look, and wore jeans and a light blue V-neck sweater that had seen better days. He also seemed very at ease with Leticia.
Juan frowned. “I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you both,” he said, his tone noncommittal. “I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d drop in,” he lied.
He’d had every intention of having a long serious conversation with Leticia. A conversation she had solicited. That was out of the question under the present circumstances. But perhaps it was better that way. For all at once the realisation of what, in a moment of anxiety and madness, he’d thought of doing seemed utterly impossible. How could he tell this woman he didn’t want to go through with a wedding only days away? How would she appear before her friends and colleagues? At this very moment Pablito was formally congratulating him on his upcoming nuptials. It was unheard-of to humiliate Leticia in such a manner.
As he sat down and accepted a glass of red wine from Letti, Juan felt as though a vice were slowly squeezing him in its grip. Each day, each hour, was a growing inferno. Knowing that he had finally found the woman he loved, and that despite those feelings was obliged to give her up in the name of duty and honour was an unbearable burden.
But bear it he would.
An hour later, after a pleasant chat, Pablito tactfully rose to take his leave. He picked up an old tweed jacket and smiled wistfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow in the office, Letti. She’s a great lawyer, you know—the bulwark of our organisation,” he said, turning to Juan. “I hope she’ll continue to be so after she’s married.”
The words were almost a challenge, and Juan caught the gleam in the other man’s eye.
“I certainly hope that Letti won’t feel in any way stunted by her marriage,” Juan said, rising as the other man prepared to take his leave. “She’s a free agent.”
Pablito shrugged, shook his hand and smiled. “I hope so. I see too many brilliant women change the minute they’re married and their obligations force them to give up something they love and that fulfils their lives.”
As Leticia accompanied her guest to the front door Juan thought about Pablito’s words, and what Leticia had said the other day, about probably having to give up part of her work to attend to her obligations as his wife.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. Dios mio, what a situation. In truth, they would both be far better off if she married someone like Pablito and he— Well, he would give anything, he acknowledged suddenly, to marry the object of his dreams. How ridiculous that all these years he’d cynically rejected love and romance, yet here he was, caught in the midst of it. Had he met Georgiana even months or weeks earlier it might have been different. Now it was too late.
For all three of them.
The big question in Georgiana’s mind was how to keep pretending she was dating Sven, yet not allow the poor boy to get close to her. He’d tried to kiss her earlier, in the movies, and she’d moved away, hoping she hadn’t rejected him too openly. But the thought of being kissed by any man other than Juan was repugnant to her.
Now, as they drove home and she saw Juan’s Ferrari pulling up in front of them outside the building, she gritted her teeth. This was her chance to end it once and for all. To show Juan that she was otherwise occupied than thinking of him, that whatever had happened between them was finally over.
Making sure Juan was getting out of the car and could see them in the full glare of the street lamp, she mustered her courage and reached across and touched Sven’s cheek.
“Thank you. It was a lovely evening.”
Surprised, but taking her signal for what it was—an obvious invitation—Sven leaned over and, slipping his arms around her, took her in his arms and kissed her.
Juan’s hand clenched on the car door handle. In one swift movement he slammed it shut, then watched for a few long seconds as Georgiana kissed her companion. Fury such as he had never experienced seized him. As she exited the vehicle and Sven drove off he marched towards her in a cold, blind rage.
“How dare you?” he spat, oblivious of the doorman, trying to appear discreet but taking in every word. “How dare you kiss that boy?” He grabbed her arm and frog-marched her through the lobby. “I want an explanation,” he demanded, his voice quietly furious. “And you will give me one.”
“I shall give you nothing of the sort,” she answered, her voice trembling, her strength waning at the touch of his arm gripping hers. “I owe you no explanation whatsoever. My life is my own.”
“No, it bloody well isn’t. Por dios,” he muttered, his dark eyes flecked with such suppressed anger that Georgiana shuddered inwardly.
When they reached the apartment he unlocked the front door and held it stiffly for her. There was nobody about and he pointed to the study door. “In there,” he ordered, in such a masterful tone that she hesitated to refuse. Also, she reflected, if they were going to have it out it would be better to do so in the privacy of the study rather than the drawing room, where the Condessa might suddenly appear.
“I have no reason to justify any of my behaviour to you,” she said, determined to take the offensive as soon as the door closed behind him.
“That’s what we shall see.”
In two quick steps he marched across the room and pulled her roughly into his arms. “How dare you let any man sully your lips?” he muttered, eyes blazing. Then his mouth clamped down on hers, devouring her, as though wanting to erase all memories.
His hands coursed over her body possessively, knowingly. He pressed the small of her back, forcing her against him, obliging her to feel the power of his passion hard and throbbing against her.
And all she could do was let out a tiny cry, try to push him away, then submit to his will, her mind and her body unable to resist the onslaught.
Juan threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair, pulled her head back and surveyed her, eyes burning into hers, as the other methodically unbuttoned her blouse, letting her know there would be no escape. Next he unhooked her bra and moved her towards the couch, his eyes never leaving hers. Once she was pinned against the cushions, unable to resist him, his lips fleeted to her throat, where he planted a slow, taunting trail of kisses that descended relentlessly until he reached the swell of her breasts.
His hands were holding her hips in a firm grip and Georgiana let out a moan, her nipples taut and aching with desire, the heat within her soaring to new and unimagined heights. She almost begged him to stop playing, taunting, and finally reach them. Then suddenly his tongue flicked the pink-tipped mounds and she let out a cry as she melted, thrusting towards him in a plea for completion. Ignoring her, Juan took the tip of each breast between his lips. Slowly he played there, never giving way, feeling her rising anguish, determined to punish her for what he considered her betrayal.
Never would another man give her such pleasure, he vowed, using every art he knew to seduce her so thoroughly that she arched, moaning. His fingers reached lower, and he was satisfied when he dragged off her skirt and panties and his fingers glided inside her. She was all unfettered warmth. Wet and wanting, however much she pretended not to be.
Now she was his once more.
For all she’d kissed that boy tonight, she was his—and would be so again
and again.
Leaving her just long enough to drag off his clothes, Juan gazed down at the beautiful vision before him. He’d turned on only one lamp and the soft glow bathed her creamy skin. Looking her over possessively, Juan lowered his body to hers, then in one swift, possessive thrust he entered her. Tonight he would teach her who owned her, who possessed her. To whom she belonged.
Unable to think, or do more than take him inside her, Georgiana curled her legs about Juan’s waist and, arching, came to meet him thrust for thrust. This was no gentle lovemaking but a primal need for satisfaction, to possess, to know one another as never before.
When at last they climaxed it was together. A long, shuddering endless wave of joy that continued long after they lay spent among the crushed cushions, listening to the beating of each other’s hearts.
Next morning Georgiana woke up surprised at how wonderfully relaxed she felt, despite the dire situation she now faced. Strangely, her anxiety was gone and she knew now what she had to do.
They hadn’t talked, just lain in each other’s arms, savouring one another. But one thing she was sure of: Juan loved her. He might be marrying Leticia, but he loved her. And that, she knew, was enough to make the decision which only days before had tormented her seem obvious: she would keep her baby.
Now, with the decision taken, she experienced a wave of calm. But she knew that it made it impossible to go through with the travesty of her being a bridesmaid at the wedding.
Once she’d risen and showered, and got past the early-morning queasiness, Georgiana carefully packed her belongings and rang her mother. She would not run away this time, but do things right. The message machine answered and she told her parent that she was coming home and had something important to tell her.
Then she sought out the Condessa.
“But why are you leaving?” she cried, horrified.
“Because I have to, Condessa. It has nothing to do with Madrid. I love it here. But unfortunately I have to leave. It is better that way.”
With unusual insight the Condessa smiled at her sadly. “Sit down, Georgiana. I want to talk to you.”
Georgiana sat down next to the Condessa and waited. She’d rehearsed a speech, but knew now that she could not go through with it.
“Georgiana, I will ask this of you plainly and I would like a truthful answer. Are you and Juan in love?”
Georgiana was so shocked at the suddenness of the question she almost choked.
“I was not born yesterday,” the Condessa continued. “Also, I have been in love myself. I see the way his eyes follow you, the way you try to pretend indifference when he is in the room.”
Georgiana took a deep breath. She glanced up and realised there was no use lying. “Yes,” she said finally. “I am in love with him. Which is why I’m sure you’ll understand that I must leave. It would be utterly wrong if I stayed and got in the way of him and Letti. Their wedding is but days away. I just can’t do it.” Her voice caught and the Condessa’s hand covered hers.
“Poor child,” the Condessa said sympathetically. “What a situation. If only you and he had met before.”
“But we didn’t,” Georgiana said bitterly. “And now it’s too late. He’s made it very clear that the wedding must go ahead.”
“Well,” the Condessa pondered sadly, “it would be a scandal if the engagement were broken off at this late stage. And you’re right. Poor Leticia. Though of course it wouldn’t be her heart that would be broken but her pride. Which can be ten times worse.”
Georgiana found it hard to understand this reasoning, but she accepted it. “I hope you will help me find a suitable excuse for not being bridesmaid at her wedding,” she said at last. “You see I d-don’t think I could bear seeing them—” Her voice ended in a sob and the Condessa’s arms flew about her.
“Oh, you poor, poor child,” the old lady repeated, devastated. “If I’d dreamed something like this could happen I never would have suggested you come and stay. But how could I guess that such a thing would occur?”
“You couldn’t,” Georgiana said between muffled sobs. “It is my fault for allowing him to—”
“You mean this whole thing has gone further than just an exchange of feelings?” the Condessa said, drawing back while keeping her hand on Georgiana’s shoulders and surveying her closely. “So that is why you are so peaky and looking so tired. Why, Juan should be whipped for what he has done. He had no right to seduce you when he was engaged to another woman,” she said severely.
“He didn’t do it alone,” Georgiana replied, a wavering smile hovering on her lips. “It takes two to tango, Condessa. He did nothing that I wasn’t a party to. The truth is we couldn’t resist our feelings for one another. And now it is up to me to see that our relationship comes to an end.” She turned away and wiped a tear.
“It seems too cruel,” the older woman whispered, her hands dropping into her lap. “But you are right, Georgiana, and very brave. This is the only solution. I shall help you carry this through, querida. I will talk to Leticia and create a suitable excuse. Perhaps a problem at home with which you have to help your mother. Don’t worry. Letti will have so much to do she won’t have time to linger too long over this. As for Juan—” her voice turned angry “—I shall have something to say to him when he gets back tonight.”
“Please.” Georgiana laid a hand on the Condessa’s arm. “Don’t be angry with him. It must be hard for him to do his duty. Just don’t let him come after me. That’s all I ask. I need time on my own to get over this. For him it will be different. Soon he’ll be caught up in his new life and he’ll forget all about me.”
“We shall see,” the Condessa replied cryptically. “But for now let us get on with seeing to your arrangements. I will tell Fernando I received a call from England and that you have to leave. That will take care of the household.”
“Thank you.” Georgiana pressed the Condessa’s hand and they exchanged a long look. She felt better now that at last she had shared part of the truth.
Now, at least, she could leave with a clean conscience.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“BUT, Georgiana, there is no question of your dropping out of university! You must go back to Madrid and finish your course. And as for this nonsense of refusing to be Leticia’s bridesmaid—why, it’s unheard of. The dresses have been fitted, the wedding party compiled. I’m very surprised that you would even think of such a thing.”
“Mother, I’ve already explained to Letti that I can’t go through with it. She understands,” Georgiana said patiently, wishing the wave of nausea would pass.
“Just because you’ve had a tiff with some young man in your class? Really, Georgiana, I find it hard to believe that you would allow something so trivial to deter you from doing what I can only consider as your family duty.”
“Mother, it wasn’t trivial. It was very upsetting and I’m still not over it.” Thank goodness she’d not opted to tell Lady Cavendish the truth. Yet.
“Well, I’m sorry, darling. Far be it from me to want to see you unhappy, but I do feel that a little backbone at these moments can do wonders.”
“I know you do. Perhaps you’re right. I think I’d like to go away, but not back to Spain. Maybe I could transfer to Paris, or Florence, or somewhere else?”
“I hardly think that running away the minute something goes wrong is the right course of action, Georgiana. You would do better to pull yourself together and get over it there.”
“Well, I’m not going back and that’s that,” Georgiana muttered in a voice that sounded petty but which she couldn’t alter without giving way to her feelings.
If only her mother knew what was truly going on. But how could she tell her? How could she break the news when it was still so difficult for her to assimilate? Once she was past three months, once she felt her body changing and her tummy growing, then it would be easier somehow. But right now she just couldn’t face the recriminations she knew would surely accompany such a confession, an
d the inevitable demand to know who the father of her unborn child was.
No, Georgiana decided, watching her mother’s forbidding expression, she’d find some way around the problem, but right now telling the truth just wasn’t an option.
“I’m shocked and appalled,” the Condessa said, eyeing Juan from her perch on a high-backed Queen Anne chair. “You have seen fit to seduce a girl whom I brought into this house under our protection. I am astounded that you would behave in such a manner.”
“Tia, I know very well that there is no excuse,” Juan said heavily, taking off his blazer and dropping it on the back of the chair. “My only excuse, if you can call it one, is that I love her.”
“That’s all very well.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I am entirely to blame for this whole lamentable episode. When she tried to put a stop to it, I insisted. I couldn’t let her go, couldn’t bear to think of her in another man’s arms, couldn’t—” Juan cut himself off, moved towards the tray of decanters and poured himself a stiff drink. “The truth is, Tia, that part of me died with Leonora. Or so I thought. That is why it wasn’t a problem to agree to a marriage of convenience with Letti. And then Georgiana came so unexpectedly into my life. It was as if a light had been switched on inside me. I couldn’t help what I did. We were drawn to one another like magnets.”
“I understand,” the Condessa said, her voice softening as she watched him sit heavily down on the couch, his body language so different from his usual proud tall stance. “I too have been in love. In fact I am going to tell you a story.”
Juan looked up and frowned, for the expression in his aunt’s eyes was filled with love and understanding.
“When I first met your father’s cousin I was engaged to be married to a marques in Navarra. Everything was arranged—the wedding, the bridal trip—everything. I didn’t love him, but in those days one obeyed one’s parents’ wishes. And then Pedro came along. I’ll never forget the moment we first met.” The Condessa’s eyes went soft and misty. “We saw each other across a room at the country residence of a friend. It was a shooting party near Toledo. You remember that lovely old song ‘I took one look’? Well, that is how it was for us. I didn’t care that he was an impoverished conde rather than the wealthy marques my parents had chosen for me.
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