Rachel nodded, her heart racing from the all too brief pleasure of being held against his chest. When he lowered her onto the pretty pink bedspread she wished he would stretch out next to her, but he quickly straightened up and moved away from the bed.
‘We won’t be able to eat out once the baby is here,’ she murmured. When she had stayed at the cottage with him at Hardwick, Diego had frequently arranged for dinner to be delivered from a nearby restaurant, and it seemed that he still had an aversion to the kitchen.
‘I realise that and I have already advertised for a cook. I suppose I will have to become more domesticated,’ he said, sounding distinctly unenthusiastic at the prospect. Was he already regretting bringing her here? Rachel wondered, watching him prowl around her room like a caged tiger. There was something wild and primal about Diego and she could not imagine him settling down to a life of cosy domesticity. But he had insisted on marrying her, she reminded herself. And, for the baby’s sake, they would both have to adjust and make the best of it.
To her amazement, adapting to her new life in Argentina did not prove as hard as Rachel had anticipated. Diego had withdrawn from his next polo tournament because it would have meant immediately flying to the Bahamas, and he gave her several guided tours of Buenos Aires, although he insisted on taking frequent breaks at street cafés so that she could rest. ‘You’ll find that Buenos Aires is a cosmopolitan city, with a strong European influence,’ he explained as they strolled around the district of La Boca, where the unusual tin houses were painted in rainbow colours. ‘The Portenos—as the citizens of Buenos Aires are called—are a multicultural people, and you will hear Italian and German spoken just as much as Spanish.’
It was a pity she did not speak any of those languages, Rachel mused. Diego had been shocked when she had admitted that she had never travelled outside England, and she felt ill-educated and unworldly when he revealed that he had visited practically every capital city in the world. Bustling, vibrant Buenos Aires was light years away from anything she’d ever experienced, but she enjoyed their trips to the famous Plaza de Mayo with its beautiful fountains, and the spectacular pink Presidential palace, and her heart had leapt when Diego linked his fingers through hers as they strolled through the old district of San Telmo, exploring the narrow streets lined with antique shops and artists’ studios, pausing to watch dancers perform a breathtakingly sensual tango in one of the little courtyards.
Rachel was captivated by the raw energy of the city, but she was less enthusiastic when they went shopping. The Avenida Alvear housed many of the top designer establishments and Diego whisked her into Prada, Louis Vuitton and Versace, where she was fitted for several stunning but ludicrously expensive maternity evening gowns.
‘I won’t need maternity clothes in a few weeks,’ she argued, praying it was true and that she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life resembling a beach ball.
‘I’ve already explained that we’ve been invited to various events over Christmas,’ Diego replied. ‘And tomorrow night one of my closest friends, Federico, and his wife Juana are throwing a party to celebrate our marriage.’
Rachel’s mind flew to the one and only other social event she had attended with Diego. She had felt horribly out of place at Ascot, among his wealthy friends, and here in Argentina her inability to speak Spanish would surely be another barrier.
‘You’ll like Rico and Juana,’ Diego assured her, feeling a curious tugging sensation on his heart at her dismayed expression. ‘Their daughter Ana is two years old, and Juana has just announced that she is expecting another child.’
Federico Gonzalez and his wife lived in a large Spanish-style house in a leafy suburb of the city—and were as friendly and charming as Diego had promised. Juana was pretty and plump. ‘I piled on pounds when I was expecting Ana,’ she confided to Rachel, ‘and now there’s another baby on the way. But fortunately Rico says he likes me curvy.’
Rachel was grateful that Juana was so down-to-earth because most of Diego’s other friends were cultured socialites, members of the jet set whose wealth and sophistication made her feel horribly gauche. They politely hid their curiosity about her and took care to speak to her in English, but she knew nothing about fine wines or opera, and even less about politics, and found that she had little in common with them.
Among themselves the other guests chatted in Spanish, and as Rachel listened to the babble of incomprehensible words she felt increasingly isolated. She looked around for Diego and saw him walking towards her.
‘Where did you disappear to?’ he murmured when he reached her side.
‘I went up to the nursery with Juana to meet little Ana. She’s the sweetest baby,’ Rachel said, her face softening as she thought of the cherubic toddler, who had still been wide awake, playing with her nanny. It seemed hard to believe that soon she would be holding her own baby. This time last year she’d had no idea that Diego would storm into her life, but now here she was, heavily pregnant and the wife of a man who had only married her to claim his child.
‘Not long now,’ Diego said softly, watching the play of emotions on her face. He could not take his eyes off Rachel tonight. He had read in one of the many pregnancy and childbirth books he’d been studying that pregnant women often glowed, and he had wondered what that meant. Now he knew.
She had caught the sun while they had been walking around the city and her face was lightly tanned, her cheeks flushed a soft rose-pink that emphasised the dense blue of her eyes. Her blonde hair was rich and lustrous, tumbling around her shoulders, and the dress she had chosen for tonight—layers of blue chiffon that skimmed her bump—was a perfect foil for the sapphire and diamond necklace that matched her engagement ring.
But her loveliness was more than a designer dress and jewellery, he mused. She was serene and slightly distant, as though her thoughts were focused on the child she carried, and Diego found that he wanted to be included in that special, secret bond between mother and baby.
‘No,’ Rachel murmured, wondering if he was tired of her looking like an elephant and impatient for the baby to arrive. As if on cue, the baby kicked, the movement clearly visible beneath her dress. Diego looked startled.
‘Was that…? Doesn’t it hurt?’
‘Not really, but the kicks are definitely getting stronger.’
Diego was staring at her stomach with an absorbed expression that, for some inexplicable reason, made Rachel want to cry.
‘May I?’ he asked huskily, moving his hand over her stomach.
Wordlessly, Rachel nodded. The warmth of his palm through her dress was enticing. It was so long since he had touched her body. Her heart began to thud and her breathing quickened. The baby kicked again. Did he or she recognise its father? she wondered mistily. She met Diego’s gaze and her heart contracted at the emotion blazing in his amber eyes. Unquestionably, he would love his child. But what about her? a voice in her head demanded. Would she ever be anything to him other than the mother of his baby?
‘He’s obviously going to have a career as a footballer,’ Diego murmured as the distinct shape of a tiny heel drummed against his hand.
‘She might be a ballerina,’ Rachel retorted.
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘One thing’s for sure, he or she is destined to be stubborn and argumentative—just like their mother.’
Rachel blushed but lifted her chin. ‘I suppose you’d like me to be amenable and biddable and agree with everything you say,’ she muttered crossly.
‘I’d like to see the day you become amenable,’ Diego choked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He paused and then said quietly, ‘I like you just the way you are, querida.’
Rachel did not know how to respond to that startling statement, but the warmth in Diego’s gaze filled her with a tremulous hope that maybe they could work things out between them. She hesitated for a moment and then voiced the fear that had been gnawing at her all evening. ‘Will we bring our child up to speak English or Spanish? Juana speaks to her dau
ghter in Spanish … naturally …’ She broke off, unable to explain how she’d felt when it had hit her that Diego would undoubtedly wish for his child’s first language to be Spanish. It was bad enough that she could not chat to his friends, but the idea that she would be unable to communicate with her own child was terrible.
‘I imagine we will bring him or her up to be bilingual,’ Diego replied.
‘That’s fine for you, because you can speak both languages fluently.’ Rachel bit her lip. ‘You’ll be able to chat away to our child in Spanish, but I’ll be left out—and when we go to parents’ evenings at school I won’t know how he or she is progressing …’ Her voice rose slightly. She was swamped by the very real fear that she would spend her life alienated from her environment and her baby, and tears flooded her eyes. ‘Diego … I need to learn Spanish, but I was hopeless at languages at school. I failed French abysmally.’
Her vulnerability tore at Diego’s insides. Unlike the many women he had met who could turn on the tears when it suited them, Rachel rarely cried. She gave the impression that she was strong and independent, but he suddenly appreciated how frightened she must have felt, moving to a new country with different customs, lifestyle and language.
‘I will teach you Spanish, querida,’ he promised gently. ‘And with me as your tutor you will not fail.’ He lifted his hand to her face and wiped away her tears. ‘Every day we will spend an hour where I will show you the written language but, more importantly, we will talk in Spanish and you’ll be surprised at how quickly you pick it up.’
He drew her into his arms and inhaled the delicate fragrance of her perfume. ‘This is your first lesson. Me siento muy orgulloso de mi hermosa esposa. Do you want to know what that means?’
Rachel nodded, her eyes locked with his dark gaze and her heart beating too fast.
‘It means—I am very proud of my beautiful wife.’
‘Oh …’ She did not know what to say, but suddenly words seemed unimportant as Diego lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers in a butterfly caress that left her aching for more. She wrapped her arms around his waist, afraid that he intended to pull away, but instead he traced the shape of her lips with his tongue and then claimed her mouth once more in a slow, drugging kiss that stirred her soul.
‘From now on you tell me immediately if something is troubling you,’ he ordered when he eventually lifted his head and they both dragged oxygen into their lungs. ‘I am your husband, Rachel, and it is my duty to care for you and protect you.’
His smile stole her breath, and she tried to ignore the little flutter of hurt that he regarded his role as her husband as a duty. It was unrealistic to hope he would fall in love with her as she loved him, she reminded herself. But they had been friends, as well as lovers, during their affair—and only a few moments ago he had told her that he liked her. That was a start, wasn’t it?
Diego was shocked by how sweetly seductive it had felt to press his body against Rachel’s soft curves. He had hardened the moment he had taken her into his arms, and the urge to lead her out into the dark garden where they would be alone and he could run his hands freely over her gorgeous pregnant shape was almost overwhelming. Calling on all his willpower, he eased away from her and stroked his finger lightly over her swollen mouth.
‘I’ll go and find us some drinks. Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?’ He needed to bring his raging hormones under control.
‘Of course.’ Rachel watched him stride across the room, her heart sinking when she noted the many admiring glances he drew from the female guests. His stunning looks made him a magnet for the opposite sex but, to give him credit, he seemed unaware of the interest he aroused.
A waiter appeared at her side, offering a selection of sweet pastries, and she could not resist the sugar-covered churros, which were similar to small English doughnuts, or the little layered cakes filled with chocolate that the waiter told her were called alfajores.
‘I’m going to be the size of a house if I keep eating these,’ she said guiltily to Juana, who had just joined her.
Juana gave a faint smile but her eyes were troubled. ‘Rachel … Lorena Ortega has arrived and she’s asked to meet you.’ Juana grimaced. ‘Lorena is Diego’s mother. I had to invite her to the party, of course, but she told me she wasn’t coming. I can’t believe she’s turned up.’ Juana looked even more awkward. ‘I expect you know that Diego and his mother don’t get on. They never did, not even when Diego was a child, and of course after the accident … well …’ Juana broke off. ‘It’s no secret that Lorena adored Eduardo and rejected Diego. The thing is, she’s asked to see you alone. But you don’t have to. I wanted to warn Diego she’s here, but Federico has dragged him off to admire his new toy—and, knowing my husband and cars, they could be hours.’
Rachel shrugged. ‘I’m quite happy to meet Diego’s mother.’ If she was honest, she was intensely curious to meet Lorena Ortega because Diego had never spoken about her.
She followed Juana along the hall and into what she guessed was Federico’s study.
‘Lorena, this is Rachel,’ Juana said as she ushered Rachel into the room.
Diego’s mother must have been a beauty in her youth, and even now she was older she had retained her classically sculpted features and enviably slim figure. But her face was lined, her mouth set in a permanent droop of dissatisfaction and her dark eyes were dulled. She was also drunk, Rachel realised as she stepped into the room and waited while Lorena drained a glass of spirits and set the glass down with an unsteady hand.
‘So you’re Diego’s little wife.’ Her eyes roamed over Rachel and she gave a mirthless laugh. ‘And you’re pregnant. Well, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before now. My son’s list of mistresses is legendary.’
She waved her hand imperiously, indicating that Rachel should sit down, and refilled her glass with brandy. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘No, thank you.’ Rachel instinctively moved her hand to her stomach.
Lorena’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re just a child—a child who, no doubt, was seduced by a man who should have known better.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘That’s not true,’ she said firmly. ‘Diego didn’t seduce me. I knew what I was doing.’
Lorena shrugged. ‘Your loyalty is touching, but I fear it won’t be repaid. I was your age when I met Diego’s father. I was young, naïve, hopelessly in love. But Ricardo was a playboy and an opportunist, and he didn’t want me—he wanted my money. My father saw him for what he was immediately, but by then it was too late. I was pregnant, and blinded by love for Ricardo. I was grateful when he offered to marry me.
‘I didn’t know about his other women, not at first,’ Lorena spat, seemingly unaware of Rachel’s shocked silence in the face of her venomous diatribe. ‘But as the months and my pregnancy progressed and I became grossly huge, Ricardo no longer bothered to keep the reason for his frequent trips to Buenos Aires a secret.
‘I have always thought that if there had only been one child, if there had only been Eduardo, I would have retained Ricardo’s interest,’ she confided to Rachel, an unnerving wildness in her eyes. ‘But what man would want to make love to a woman whose body is swollen and ugly? I did not have one baby, I had two, and giving birth to Diego nearly killed me.’
‘But you can’t blame Diego for that, or for your husband’s infidelity,’ Rachel said in a startled voice. ‘How could anyone blame a baby for anything?’ She bit her lip, remembering how in the weeks after she had learned that she was pregnant she had almost resented the child she had conceived by accident. She had blamed the baby for the fact that she could no longer ride or work at the stables, and for having to give up Piran. Fortunately she had come to her senses, but it was clear that Lorena Ortega’s resentment of her son had begun before he had even drawn breath.
Lorena lifted her glass to her lips and took another long swig of brandy. ‘If there had only been Eduardo …’ she muttered, her voice slurring. She suddenly
looked up and stared at Rachel with glazed eyes. ‘Diego is a man like his father, mark my words. I believe there is an English expression—don’t expect a leopard to change its spots? Diego has never remained faithful to one woman for long, and you’re a fool if you think he’ll start now.
‘Diego was always wild and reckless,’ Lorena continued morosely, ‘while Eduardo was the finest son a mother could wish for. But now Eduardo is dead—,’ her voice broke and she drained the brandy in another gulp ‘—and it’s Diego’s fault. Diego sent him to his death …’
‘What do you mean…?’ Rachel’s heart was beating so fast she could barely breathe. She gasped, frantically trying to snatch air into her lungs, and when she heard a sound from behind her she jerked her head around.
Diego walked into the room. ‘Hola, madre.’ His eyes swung suspiciously from Lorena Ortega, and the half empty bottle of brandy in front of her, to Rachel’s pale face and he grimaced. ‘I see you have been celebrating my marriage to Rachel. Is it too much to hope that you’ve been drinking to my good health?’ he drawled sarcastically.
‘Perhaps I have been commiserating with your wife on her choice of husband,’ Lorena snapped.
‘And no doubt warning her that I am a serial womaniser like my father was?’
‘Well, that’s the truth, isn’t it, Diego?’ Lorena glared at her son, and Rachel was shocked by the bitterness in the older woman’s eyes. ‘You and Ricardo were from the same mould. He even died in the arms of one of his harlots. I always knew cocaine would kill him.’
Diego strolled across the room and slid his arm around Rachel’s waist, drawing her against him. She made no resistance, glad of his support, his strength and air of calm in contrast to his mother’s emotional intensity.
‘I’m taking Rachel home now,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s been a long evening and I’m sure she must be tired.’
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