‘Where is Señor Velaquez?’ she asked the young woman, thankful that she spoke Spanish reasonably well. She had picked it up as a child, when her parents had taken her on holiday to Spain every summer, and she had opted to study Spanish rather than French at school.
She had a sudden flashback to her first dinner-date with Ramon, when she had surprised him by speaking to him in his own language. Sherry-brown eyes gleaming wickedly, he had proceeded to teach her several Spanish words and phrases that had definitely not been part of the school curriculum. The sexual chemistry between them had sizzled, and when he had suggested going back to his apartment for a drink she had willingly agreed, knowing that he would make love to her, and impatient to experience the passion his sensual smile promised.
They had shared so many good times during their affair, she thought, her heart aching as memories flooded her mind. It hadn’t just been the amazing sex; they had talked and laughed, visited art galleries, and walked for miles around the London parks. He had made love to her under a weeping willow tree in the middle of a heavy rain shower, and once they had got so carried away while out in a rowing boat on the Serpentine in Hyde Park that they had nearly capsized.
Her steps slowed. Ramon had said he believed they were adult enough to work things out for the sake of their child—but how could she possibly marry him knowing that he would never love her? It was a pathway to certain heartbreak, but so too was a legal battle over Matty—a battle she was not at all sure she would win, she thought bleakly.
‘I want to find my son,’ she told the maid urgently. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Sí.’ The maid nodded. ‘Follow me and I will take you to him.’
Under different circumstances Lauren would have liked to linger and study the dozens of rooms the maid took her past—rooms with stunning murals on the ceilings and exquisite tapestries on the walls, filled with beautiful antique furniture and even ancient suits of armour. And yet, despite being stuffed with historical artefacts, many of which were undoubtedly very valuable, the castle still felt like a home rather than a museum.
This was Matty’s heritage, she thought as she followed the maid down a magnificent sweeping staircase and across a vast oak-panelled hall hung with portraits of dark, proud looking men whom she guessed were Ramon’s ancestors. The castle and its ancient history were her son’s birthright.
At the far end of the hall stood a set of doors, one of which was slightly ajar, revealing a modern addition to the castle: a beautiful glass conservatory that overlooked the extensive gardens beyond. Sunshine streamed through the windows onto the women and children who were sitting on the sofas or, in the children’s case, sprawled on the floor around a laughing baby boy.
Mateo seemed completely at home amongst all these strangers, Lauren thought bleakly. She guessed that the older, rather regal-looking woman was Ramon’s mother, and the three younger women—one of whom was heavily pregnant—must be his sisters.
She stood behind the half-open door and watched Matty. He was sitting on a rug, surrounded by a group of little girls and boys. The children were teaching him to clap his hands, laughing and chattering in Spanish, and to Lauren’s amazement Matty already seemed to understand them and was grinning happily.
He belonged here. The thought struck her like an arrow through her heart. With his jet black curls and light olive skin he was the image of his cousins, but he shared more than a physical resemblance with them. Matty was a Velaquez—a member of the Spanish nobility. This castle was his rightful home, and these people were his family. How could she take him away, back to her undeniably small flat, to a lifestyle that was far from ideal? She hated leaving him at the nursery all day, but she had believed that she had no choice.
Her choices now were not great, she thought dismally. She could agree to a loveless marriage, give up her job and her independence, and be tolerated here at the castle for no reason other than that she was Matty’s mother. Or she could risk a court battle with Ramon, the outcome of which would at best only give her shared custody of her son, and might conceivably result in Ramon being allowed to keep Matty in Spain while she was awarded the right to visit him only a few times a year.
There was no choice, she acknowledged dully. She would rather die than be separated from her baby.
Five minutes later Ramon found her in the great hall, standing as cold and white as if she had been carved from marble as she watched Mateo and his cousins in the conservatory beyond.
‘You look like death,’ he said sharply when he came up to her. ‘You shouldn’t have come downstairs.’
At last she turned her head to him, and the glisten of tears clinging to her lashes evoked a curious pain in his gut. ‘Lauren…?’
‘You win,’ she said, in a voice as brittle as glass. ‘I can’t take Matty away from here—from his family. But I can’t live without him.’ She swallowed and then went on quickly, before her courage deserted her, ‘And so, for him, I’ll marry you.’
She made it sound as though she was offering herself as a human sacrifice, Ramon thought irritably. Dios, he was a billionaire duque, and from now on she would live a life of luxury. ‘Had you considered that marriage to me might not be the ordeal you seem to think it will?’ he asked curtly. ‘As my wife, you will want for nothing.’
‘How do you know what I want?’ Lauren said quietly. His words tore at her heart, for she would always long for the one thing he could never give her.
Muttering an imprecation, Ramon steered her into his study, strode over to his desk and took something from a drawer. ‘Now that we are formally engaged you will wear this,’ he told her, opening a velvet box to reveal a ring that drew a gasp from Lauren.
It was plainly an antique—an enormous ruby surrounded by a circle of diamonds and another circle of smaller rubies.
‘It’s a monstrosity,’ she muttered, voicing the first thought that entered her head as Ramon took her cold hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It was a fraction tight over her knuckle, and felt heavy and cumbersome.
‘Only you could describe a ring that was recently valued at a million pounds as a monstrosity,’ Ramon said dryly. ‘For countless generations every Velaquez bride has worn this ring, and my family will expect you to continue the tradition.’
A million pounds! ‘But suppose I lose it?’ Lauren argued as she stared at the huge ring in horror. ‘Ramon, surely there’s no need? It’s not as if we are marrying for conventional reasons. We’re not in love with each other,’ she explained sharply when his dark brows rose quizzically.
‘I doubt that love was a factor in many of my ancestors’ choices of brides,’ he replied laconically. ‘For most marriage was a business arrangement, between high-born families.’
While Lauren brooded on his words he gripped her elbow and led her back out of his study and across the hall, to the doors leading to the conservatory.
‘My mother, however, is under the illusion that ours is a love-match,’ he told her grimly, ‘and I have no intention of shattering her romantic ideals.’
‘Meaning what, exactly?’
Sherry-brown eyes clashed with stormy grey ones. ‘Meaning that in front of my family you will act the part of my love-struck fiancée.’
‘Sorry, but I’m not that good an actress,’ Lauren muttered sarcastically.
‘Perhaps this will help you get into character.’
Ramon’s dark head swooped before she realised his intention, and her startled gasp was lost beneath the hungry pressure of his mouth. She was unprepared for the thrust of his tongue between her lips, and to her shame white-hot, rampant desire swept through her as he explored her with a bold eroticism that left her weak and trembling and clinging to him for support.
She was scarlet-cheeked when Ramon finally broke the kiss, and her embarrassment intensified when she discovered that he had opened the door while he had been kissing her and they were in full view of everyone in the conservatory.
‘Well, Ramon, I hope you a
re about to announce your engagement and spare all our blushes,’ commented one of the young women in an amused voice.
‘I am,’ Ramon replied, triumph in his voice as he slid his arm around Lauren’s waist and drew her forward. He led her over to the older woman, who stood up from the sofa as they approached. ‘Madre, this is Lauren—the mother of my son and, I am happy to say, soon to be my wife.’
His gentle, loving tone caused Lauren’s steps to falter. It was pathetic to wish that his tender smile was genuine, she told herself angrily. He was only turning on the charm in front of his family. But she could not drag her eyes from his face, and her heart hammered beneath her ribs when he dropped a butterfly-soft kiss on her lips.
‘Lauren—welcome.’ Ramon’s mother spoke in English, and to Lauren’s surprise took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I am Marisol, and these are my daughters: Alissa, Juanita and Valentina—who you might have guessed is expecting twins.’
Marisol Velaquez was tall and elegant, her beauty in no way diminished by the fact that her hair was now pure silver rather than the jet-black of her children and grandchildren. Lauren liked her instantly, and her fear that Ramon’s mother would not approve of him marrying an English woman rather than a member of the Spanish nobility was allayed by the warmth of the older woman’s smile.
‘We are delighted to meet you, Lauren, and so sorry that you have been ill.’ Ramon’s sister Juanita, who had first spoken, now addressed Lauren in perfect English. ‘Ramon explained that you had a high fever. It is fortunate that Mateo did not contract the virus.’ She glanced down at two of the children, who were tickling Matty, making him squeal with laughter. ‘As you can see,’ she said with a smile, ‘his cousins adore him already.’
Lauren was in no doubt that Ramon’s family had taken her son into their hearts—especially his grandmother, she thought heavily, when she noted the soft expression on Marisol Velaquez’s face. She knelt down in front of Matty, her heart aching with love for him. He immediately held out his arms and she hugged him to her, closing her eyes as she breathed in the delicious scent of her baby. He was her life, and she would do anything to be with him—even marry a man who had arrogantly stated that he did not consider love to be a prerequisite for marriage.
It took every ounce of her energy to stand up with Matty in her arms. She was sure he had grown during the past four days when she had been ill. He was certainly heavier, she thought wryly—or perhaps he only felt so because the flu had left her horribly weak.
‘Allow me to take him,’ Ramon’s mother said gently. ‘You are not strong enough yet to hold this fine big baby.’
Silly tears blurred Lauren’s eyes as she handed Matty over to his grandmother. But Marisol was right. Her arms were already aching from the effort of holding him. So much for her earlier plan to snatch him and take him from the castle, she thought miserably.
‘Come—it’s time you were back in bed,’ Ramon told her, sweeping her into his arms and ignoring her protest. ‘The sooner you are fully recovered, the sooner I can make you my wife,’ he added, with a mocking gleam in his eyes that made Lauren itch to slap him.
‘I can walk,’ she told him furiously as he strode out of the conservatory and across the hall. ‘Your family can’t see us now, and there’s no need to act the part of loving fiancé on my account. Unlike your mother, I’m under no illusions about you.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he said evenly, ‘but you’ve had the good sense to agree to marry me to keep your son, and for Mateo’s sake it will be better if we end hostilities and try to be friends.’
Lauren seethed silently while he carried her up the stairs and along various corridors until they reached her room. ‘How can you expect friendship from me when you have blackmailed me into marriage?’ she demanded bitterly when he set her on her feet. ‘You have callously used my love for Matty to get your own way.’
‘I have done what is best for our son,’ he countered inexorably. ‘Mateo needs both of us.’
Before Lauren had time to react, he spun her round and unzipped her dress.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She tried to bat his hands away but he ignored her and tugged the dress over her hips so that it slithered to the floor.
‘You look even better in that underwear than I visualised when I chose it,’ he drawled, the sudden heat in his gaze scorching her skin as he turned her back to face him and rested his eyes deliberately on her breasts.
To Lauren’s shame her nipples instantly hardened and strained against the sheer lace bra cups, and she closed her eyes to shut out his mocking smile. ‘The wedding will be very soon, querida,’ he murmured. ‘The best place for you to recuperate from your illness is in my bed.’
He only had to look at her and she was on fire for him, she thought despairingly. Her breasts felt heavy, and a tremor ran through her when he placed his hands on either side of her waist. She lifted her head blindly, thinking that he was going to kiss her, but her eyes flew open in shock when he drew back the covers and pushed her gently into bed.
‘I’m glad you share my impatience,’ he said in an amused voice, ‘but you are not nearly strong enough yet for what I have in mind.’
‘I hate you,’ Lauren muttered grittily, burning up with mortification. She jerked her head to one side when he leaned over her, but he gripped her chin and forced her to look at him as he swooped and captured her mouth in a punishing kiss intent on proving his mastery.
She should resist him. Her brain knew it, but unfortunately her body did not agree. Molten heat coursed through her veins, and her limbs shook with need as he lowered his body onto hers. His tongue probed the tight line of her lips until with a moan she parted them so that he could delve into her moist warmth. She did not want to want him, and bitterly resented his power over her, but like it or not she was racked with hot, urgent desire, and with a low moan she cupped his face and kissed him with a fierce passion that she could not deny.
‘I love the way you hate, querida,’ Ramon drawled when he finally broke the kiss and they both dragged oxygen into their lungs. He got up from the bed and watched dispassionately as she dragged the sheet over her half-naked body. ‘Blackmail is an ugly word. I may have coerced you into marrying me, for our son’s sake, but however much I desire you I would never force you to share my bed. Fortunately I won’t have to—will I, Lauren?’
She gave him a furious glare. ‘Don’t sulk,’ he chided. ‘Passion is as good a basis for marriage as any other—particularly when combined with our mutual desire to do the best for Mateo. What else is there to wish for?’
Love! Lauren wanted to cry. She wanted him to love her as she had loved him practically since the day she met him. But at this particular moment she felt so angry with him for demonstrating his power over her that she longed to throw a heavy object at his head.
‘Get out,’ she snapped, goaded beyond bearing by his arrogant smile.
‘That’s no way to talk to the man you are soon going to promise to honour with your body.’
Ramon wondered if Lauren had any idea how tempted he was to strip out of his clothes and bury his burgeoning arousal between her satin-soft thighs. Only the purple smudges beneath her eyes and the faint tremor of her mouth prevented him from joining her on the bed and making love to her until she accepted that marrying him was not just the right thing to do for their child, but for them too.
He drew the bedcovers over her as he saw that she was struggling to keep her eyes open. He had told himself that he hated her for hiding his son from him, but he had been lying, he thought bleakly. He did not understand why she had done what she had, and he was still furious with her, but she was the mother of his child and Mateo would always be a special link between them. Deep in his heart, and for reasons he chose not to define, he was glad he had a reason to make Lauren his wife—and he couldn’t give a damn that she was not the aristocratic bride his family had expected him to choose.
‘Trust me, querida,’ he said with sudden ur
gency. ‘I believe we can make our marriage work.’
Something in his voice brought tears to Lauren’s eyes, and she turned her head slightly on the pillow so that he would not see them. ‘I don’t find it easy to trust,’ she admitted thickly, losing the battle with the waves of sleep that were pulling her under.
Had something happened in her past which had caused her to value her independence so highly and made it hard for her to trust? Ramon brooded as he stood by the bed and looked down at her. There was so much he did not know about her, for during their affair he had deliberately not involved himself in her personal life. Maintaining that distance between them had made him feel he was in control of their relationship, but now she was to be his wife he could allow himself to lower his barriers. Perhaps, in time, he would be able to persuade her to lower hers.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY married two weeks later, in the private chapel in the grounds of the castle. The wedding was a low-key affair, with only close family and friends from the groom’s side in attendance and no one at all from the bride’s.
Ramon had asked Lauren if she wished to invite anyone from England, but she had decided against it, thinking to herself that it was going to be hard enough to fool his family that she was a joyous bride without having to maintain the charade for her friends. She could tell a few close colleagues from PGH the truth, she’d acknowledged. But stubborn pride made her want to hide the fact that her fairytale wedding to a handsome Spanish duke was in reality a marriage of convenience for the sake of their son.
‘I don’t want Mum and Alan to interrupt their cruise,’ she had explained to Ramon when he had called her into his study to discuss the wedding arrangements.
‘Who is Alan?’ he’d queried.
‘My stepfather. Mum married him two years ago, and this trip is a belated honeymoon.’
‘What about your real father?’ Ramon had hesitated when Lauren visibly tensed. ‘Is he dead?’
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