Bride By Mistake

by Anne Gracie

  “You are my business,” Bella said quietly. “You are my sister. I have no other family, just you and my aunt who is in the convent.”

  “And Ramón.” Perlita smoothed the other brow.

  “Ramón is not my family,” Bella snapped.

  Perlita raised her perfectly groomed brows. “So vehement.” She peered critically at her reflection in the glass. “Why did you come here? Really.”

  “I told you. I came to help you, Perlita.”

  In the looking glass, her half sister gave her a skeptical glance. “I do not believe you.” She gave her reflection one last scrutiny. “Besides, I do not need your help. Come, Ramón is hungry and he does not like to be kept waiting.” She held the door for Isabella.

  Luke and Ramón waited in the hallway: Prince Charming and the Beast.

  Perlita took Ramón’s arm and entered the dining room ahead of them.

  Luke presented his arm to Isabella in a cautious manner, as if she were a wild beast who might bite him. His eyes were dancing.

  She longed to box his ears. She gave him a severe look and took his arm. “Yes, I’m cross, and do not look at me like that. My cousin isn’t a man you trifle with! You could have been killed!”

  His mouth curved slightly. “No need to fuss. Cousin Twice-Removed doesn’t bother me.”

  “Fuss?” She hit his arm. “Are you blind? He’s huge!”

  “I’m not exactly insubstantial, myself,” he pointed out, six feet of lean, hard-muscled man.

  “Yes, but he’s built like a bull and you’re… you’re…” She frowned, trying to think of the right comparison.

  “A lion?” he offered. “A stallion? A stag?”

  She gave what she hoped was a withering look. “No, a rat.”

  They entered the dining room, and Isabella almost bit back a cry. The room was so bare. Just a large, plain table and chairs, none of them matching. Where was the ornately carved dining furniture, handed down in her family for generations, and the matching sideboards?

  There were dark patches on the walls. Missing paintings. Her father’s pride and joy, the Velázquez, gone. And the El Greco, and her mother’s favorite by Luis de Morales.

  Luke held a chair for Bella to be seated. “Where are all the paintings?” she asked Ramón. “And the furniture?”

  Ramón snorted. “Sold.” He eyed Luke sourly, then seated Perlita. Borrowed manners, thought Bella.

  “Sold? But—”

  “Where do you think I get the money for this?” He waved his hand as servants brought in the various dishes for the large midday meal. “How do you think I pay my workers? Do you think an estate can run on air?” He snorted again. “No, but it can run on art.”

  “But those paintings have been in the family for generations.”

  Ramón gave Isabella a hard look. “Your father, the fine gentleman, ran this estate into the ground with his politics and his private army. And the fine gentleman’s fine daughter ran off with an Englishman, taking her fortune with her. So it is left to the ruffian, Ramón, to do what he can to repair the mess, to rebuild Valle Verde into the prosperous place it should be.” He fell on his dinner, shoveling in his food rapidly and without finesse.

  Isabella ate her meal in silence. There was much to digest here.

  After dinner, Ramón pushed back his plate and said with satisfaction, “Time for siesta.” He gave Perlita a heated look.

  Faint color rose to her cheeks, and she turned to Bella. “I presume you will stay for siesta.”

  “Yes, of course, thank you, and would you mind if we stayed the night, as well?” Bella said quickly. She pretended not to notice Luke’s swift sidelong glance.

  Perlita glanced at Ramón, who gave an indifferent shrug.

  It wasn’t the most gracious of invitations, but Bella accepted it gratefully. “I don’t suppose we could use my mother’s old bedchamber?”

  “Of course,” Perlita answered. “Ramón—” She corrected herself with a hint of defiance. “We sleep in the conde’s rooms, as is right.” Confirming to her sister, in case there was any doubt, that she was more than a housekeeper to Ramón. “Follow me.”

  Bella knew the way by heart to her mother’s suite of rooms at the opposite end of the house, but Perlita insisted on escorting them. Politeness? Or underlining whose house it was now? Bella wasn’t sure.

  As Perlita opened the bedchamber door, Bella’s gaze darted ahead of her. A rush of relief swiftly followed. The carved dressing table with the oval looking glass was there. All the furniture was still in place: the high four-poster bed; the heavy, tall wardrobes that she once hid in as a child.

  “Your mother’s rooms are untouched since you left,” Perlita said, noticing the direction of her gaze. “Servants go in only to clean.”

  “Thank you.” Bella was touched that they’d preserved her mother’s memory. And relieved that no one went in there.

  Perlita corrected her assumption in a cool voice. “When Ramón marries, his wife will have these rooms. Until then, nobody will bother to use them. Except now, of course.” She left, gliding to where the bull-like master of the house waited for her.

  “A levelheaded young lady,” Luke said when they were alone. “Must take quite a bit of courage to live openly with Ramón. She’ll have no other society: no respectable woman would have anything to do with her.”

  Bella shuddered. “I don’t know how she can bear him. Still, she seems to be able to handle him, like leading a bull by the nose.”

  Luke snorted. “It’s not his nose she’s leading him by.” He removed his coat. “But she seems to accept her position well enough.”

  “She might. I don’t,” Bella said. “She’s far too good for him.” It felt strange to be in this room again, so long after she’d left her home. Even longer since Mama had died. Papa had made no move to preserve it in any way; he just hadn’t bothered with it, and it seems Ramón was the same. It was clean, and there were no signs of dust, but still, it felt… deserted.

  “How do you know? You know him as little as you do her. Which I have to say was a surprise to me. You’d never even talked to her?”

  Bella tossed her head. “She’s still my sister. Almost my only relative. And it doesn’t matter that I’d never met her. It’s my fault she’s in this situation.” She examined the ornate dressing table. It seemed untouched. She opened the small drawer at the side and slid her fingers in to release the lever she knew was there. It was trickier now. Her fingers had grown since she was a child.

  “Your fault? How so?”

  Bella froze. She hadn’t meant to say that. She’d been concentrating on opening the secret drawer and the admission had just slipped out. She closed her eyes briefly. She’d have to tell him. He’d just risked his life for her, and she owed him the truth.

  And if he despised her afterward, well, it was only what she deserved.

  “I lied to you before.” She took a deep breath and turned to face him. “It wasn’t fear that made me leave Perlita and her mother behind. It was… it was jealousy.”

  He leaned against one of the carved bedposts, folded his arms, and waited for her to explain.

  She nibbled nervously on her lower lip. “I… I hated her for stealing my father’s love. So I left her… to her fate.” She swallowed and finished, “And then when I escaped Ramón, he took Perlita for revenge.”

  There was a long silence. She was very aware of his eyes resting steadily on her, but she was afraid to meet his gaze, afraid of what she might see there.

  He straightened, stretched his arms reflexively, and said in a mild tone, “You don’t know it was for revenge.”

  Bella was slightly stunned by his matter-of-fact acceptance of her dreadful admission, but she wasn’t going to argue. “Well, of course he desires her—she’s beautiful—but he doesn’t care about her. He can’t.” She spread her arms to indicate the faded suite of rooms. “You heard what she said, that these rooms were being kept for his wife—and she didn’t mean herse
lf. Who knows what will become of her when that happens? He’ll either turn her out—and it’s not as if he has any money to give her; he’s sold most things of value—or he’ll set her up in that little house in the next valley, the house where she was born. She’ll live her mother’s life all over again, Luke.” She gave him a despairing look. “She’s my half sister, she’s only nineteen, and she’s ruined. And it’s my fault.”

  Luke said briskly, “Well, in that case we’ll have to help her.” He sounded so certain, she felt a little better. Her husband was a man who could get things done; she was beginning to realize that. He hadn’t let her down once. Perhaps he had some brilliant plan to save her sister.

  “How?”

  He pulled off his boots.

  She frowned. Was that it? His brilliant plan was to take off his boots? “What are you doing?”

  “I didn’t mean this very instant.” He removed his waistcoat and hung it on the back of a chair. “We can’t help her now. It’s siesta.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought you didn’t like siestas.”

  He tossed his neckcloth over the chair and pulled his shirt off over his head. “Depends what else there is on offer.”

  She stiffened. “What do you imagine is on offer?” If he thought this was the time to seduce her, in the middle of the day, in her own mother’s bed…

  “I imagine the choice is between another delightful chat with the master of the house—and he’ll be none too pleased to have his own plans for the siesta interrupted—or a nap. You did see the way he was looking at your sister, didn’t you?” He winked. “I prefer the nap.”

  “Oh.” She felt a little foolish. “Yes, Ramón has got a temper.” She drew the curtains to dim the room. “He really could have killed you, you know.”

  “No, he couldn’t.” He sounded almost amused. Men were strange. “Though he’s probably ruthless enough to try. He’s desperate.”

  “Desperate?” She took off her slippers.

  “For money.”

  “Do you think we’re in any danger now?” She had a sudden vision of Ramón coming in and murdering them in their sleep. She hurried across and locked the door.

  “From Ramón? No, I doubt he’d worry about revenge.” Luke turned back the bedclothes. “He seems to be an eminently practical fellow. Now he knows my death would not benefit him in the least, we’re safe enough.”

  “That reminds me—”

  He unbuttoned his breeches. She blinked and turned away, fighting a blush. The question of his will was forgotten.

  He padded around the bed in his drawers and an undershirt. “Do you need help with your dress?”

  “No, er—”

  “You wouldn’t want it to crush, would you? It would be a mass of wrinkles if you napped in it. Not setting a good example for your little sister at all. Let me get those laces.” He turned her around and unlaced her dress at the back. She could quite easily have undone it herself, Bella thought. She’d done it up this morning with no trouble. She shivered as his fingers brushed her bare skin.

  He bent and kissed the nape of her neck.

  “Cold?” he asked, but there was another, silent, question in the deepness of his voice.

  This was the moment. If she said yes, he would leave it at that, she knew. They would climb into bed and lie there side by side, not touching until the siesta was over. Or she could say no. Meaning yes.

  So much for waiting. She was as powerless to resist him as the tides were able to resist the pull of the moon.

  “No,” she said. Meaning yes.

  Fourteen

  Before she knew it he’d lifted the dress over her head and removed it entirely. He draped it carefully over a chair and then turned her around to face him.

  He looked at her and his eyes darkened. There was no trace of the lightness she’d glimpsed in him earlier. It was all focused, burning intensity.

  She was perfectly decently clothed in her chemise and the corset, but somehow, Bella felt… exposed. His gaze dropped to her chest. She glanced down. Her breasts looked almost naked, pushed up as they were by her corset. From this angle she could almost see her nipples. Could he?

  Leaning against the edge of the high bed, he slowly pulled her between his thighs. “I think we’d better undo that thing,” he murmured. “It looks a bit tight to sleep in.” His voice was quite matter-of-fact, but his eyes… his eyes told a different story.

  “Er, no, I’m sure it will be—” she started to mumble, but then his hands were there, reaching for the hooks at the front of her corset. He paused. Bella held her breath.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, and though she knew she was not at all beautiful, in that moment she believed it, believed him. He made her feel beautiful. Very gently, he brushed the back of his fingers across the delicate skin that rose from the constriction of the white linen corset.

  She shivered again.

  His knuckles slid down, across the linen casing, and she felt her nipples rise, hard and aching to meet them. Back and forth his big knuckles moved, a friction that barely touched her, yet her breasts were on fire.

  He bent and kissed the exposed skin and then nibbled his way up her throat to claim her mouth, and as wondrous sensations shimmered through her, she felt suddenly looser, freer.

  He’d removed her corset. And then she felt a draft of air against her legs and he pulled back from kissing her a moment and tugged the chemise up… up… and over her head. She folded her arms over her breasts, feeling inadequate, wholly exposed as his dark blue eyes roved hotly over her.

  “Don’t be shy; you’re lovely,” he told her, sliding his hands around her waist and drawing her nearer. “Perfect and sweet and lovely.”

  A rush of delicious warmth surged through her. She leaned eagerly into him, sliding her hands around his waist, lifting her mouth for his kiss. Blindly, feverishly, she found the hem of his shirt and started to drag it up his body.

  “No.” He caught her hands and brought them up to his chest, pressing her palms down flat on the fabric. She felt hard little nubs under her fingers. Male nipples. Remembering the pleasure of his caress through the fabric of her corset, she lightly scraped her nails over the tiny bumps. They hardened and she heard his low growl of pleasure.

  He ran his hands down her spine and cupped her bottom. “Ready?”

  She nodded, gasping, not sure what he was planning, but willing to go along with it.

  He lifted her, and she felt her thighs drag against a thrusting male hardness. He turned and laid her back onto her mother’s high, soft bed. A heavy bulge pushed against the fabric of his undergarments. She was naked to his gaze; she wanted to see him naked, too.

  She reached for his shirt again, but he caught her hands and kissed her palms, lingeringly, one at a time. She shuddered delicately, and her fingers curled involuntarily around his jaw, cupping his face, as if holding the kiss in her hand. Who knew that the center of your palm could be so sensitive?

  He pressed her back on the bed, his mouth devouring her while his big, warm hands slid over her ribs, down her hips, and up again, caressing her in a ceaseless hypnotic rhythm. Wherever he touched her, hot ripples flowed inside her, gathering in a place deep within her.

  And all the time she felt the hot, heavy hardness of him pressing at her center.

  He cupped her breasts, teasing the nipples with his fingers until she cried out with the frustration of it, not really knowing what she wanted until his hot mouth closed over one breast and sucked, and she gasped, arched, and shuddered violently, clutching his hair and holding him close.

  He paused, and her eyes fluttered open. She was dazed, gasping for air, and she saw a gleam of white as he smiled. He was panting, too, and yet he was still almost fully clothed. She wanted to feel him, feel him against her, skin to skin.

  “Please,” she heard herself moan. “Please.”

  He pulled back. “No… not yet,” he panted thickly. His eyes burning into hers, he unfastened his cotton d
rawers and kicked them off.

  She reached for his shirt. His mouth closed over her other breast, and she almost screamed as a kind of lightning flashed through her. She grabbed his shoulders and held him tightly, but it wasn’t enough, so she opened her thighs and wrapped them around him. She writhed beneath him, wanting to get closer, aching for more.

  He moaned. Kissing and nipping the soft skin of her stomach, he slowly worked his way down her quivering body until his fingers slid through the hair at the base of her stomach, and between the folds, caressing her there until she could hardly bear it.

  She moaned and lifted herself, pushing against his fingers. “Now, Luke, now,” she panted.

  And then he parted her and placed his mouth on her and she lost all control. Her body wasn’t her own. Each time his mouth moved, she quivered and shuddered with helpless pleasure. It built and built until she thought she would burst, and just when she thought she could stand it no more, he lifted his mouth off her and entered her in one long, smooth thrust.

  She panted, pulling him closer, wrapping her legs tighter around him as he thrust into her again and again. With each thrust, deep convulsions racked her, and she didn’t know where she ended and he began as she shattered and screamed and plunged into oblivion.

  Bella wasn’t sure how long it was before she drifted back to full awareness. She could tell by the shadows on the curtains that the sun had moved quite a bit, so she must have slept for a while.

  Luke had pulled the covers over them both. She lay with her head on his chest, his arm around her.

  She stretched, feeling like a very satisfied cat. And laughed.

  “What is it?” Luke murmured.

  “Mama was wrong,” she said. “It is exactly like animals. I was like a cat in heat there, and you—” She broke off.

  “And I?” he prompted. “Though I ought to know better than to ask.”

  She smiled and rubbed her cheek against the fabric of his shirt like the cat who ate the cream. “You were a stallion.”

  She felt him laugh, rather than heard it, a deep vibration of his chest.