Carrying the Spaniard's Child

by Jennie Lucas

  He shrugged. “So?”

  “What’s he like?” she breathed. She’d never met royalty before, or aristocracy. The closest she’d come was knowing a kid called Earl back in middle school.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said shortly. “We’ve never met. Look.” Changing the subject, Santiago pointed out the window. “There’s the house.”

  Belle looked, and gasped.

  The horizon was wide and flat, stretching in every direction, but after miles of dry, sparse sagebrush, the landscape had turned green. Between tree-covered rivers, she saw outbuildings and barns and pens. And at the most beautiful spot, she was astonished to see a blue lake, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Next to it, atop a small hill surrounded by trees, was a sprawling single-story ranch house that made the place in the old TV show Dallas look like a fishing shack.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said in awe. “The land is so green!”

  “Five different rivers cross the property.”

  Past one of the pens she saw a private hangar, with a helipad and airplane runway stretching out to the horizon beyond. “All this is yours?”

  “All mine.”

  His black eyes gleamed down at her, and she heard the echo of his arrogant words earlier. If the baby is mine, then so are you. She shivered.

  The baby was his. He now had undeniable proof. When they’d gone to the cutting-edge medical clinic in Houston, she’d gotten the impression Santiago must be a very important financial donor, the way the entire staff had waited on him hand and foot. They’d taken the noninvasive blood test, drawing blood from each of them, then the highly trained lab technicians had promised to rush the results.

  “But while you wait—” the female OB/GYN had smiled between them “—would you like to have an ultrasound, and find out if you’re having a boy or girl?”

  Belle had started to refuse. She’d already decided she wanted to be surprised at the birth. But looking at Santiago’s face—his dark eyes so bright, almost boyishly eager as he looked at her—she couldn’t refuse. If Santiago truly wanted to be what she herself had never had...a loving father...then she was going to do everything she could to encourage the bond between father and child.

  “All right,” she’d said quietly, and got up on the hospital bed. A few minutes later, as the doctor ran the wand over the sticky goo on her belly, they were staring at the image on the ultrasound screen. A whoosh-whoosh sound filled the room.

  “What’s that?” Santiago asked in alarm, sitting beside her on the bed.

  Belle blinked at him in surprise. She suddenly realized that unlike her, he was hearing that sound for the very first time. Smiling, she told him, “It’s the baby’s heartbeat.”

  “Heartbeat?” he breathed. The expression on his darkly handsome face, normally hard and cynical, changed so much he looked like a different man.

  “It’s nice and strong. Your baby looks healthy,” the doctor murmured. She pointed at the ultrasound screen. “Here you can see the head, arms...legs...and...” She turned to them with a smile. “Congratulations. You’re having a little girl.”

  “A girl!” Belle gasped.

  “A girl?” Reaching out, Santiago suddenly gripped Belle’s hand tightly in his own. “When will she be born?”

  “Her growth is on track for her due date in late September,” the doctor replied.

  “September,” he murmured, looking dazed. “Just two months from now...”

  Belle saw an expression on his face she’d never seen before. Bewilderment. Emotion. Tenderness.

  So he wasn’t a total bastard after all, she thought. There was one thing that could reach past his layers of cynicism and darkness. Their baby.

  Grateful tears had risen unbidden to her eyes, and she’d gripped his hand back tightly. Their daughter would have a father. A father who loved her.

  Now, as the helicopter landed at his Texas ranch, Santiago held out his hand to help her out onto the tarmac. He caught her when her knees unexpectedly started to buckle.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

  She gave him a weak smile. “It’s been a crazy week.”

  He laughed. “That’s one way of describing it.”

  She’d never seen him laugh like that, with his whole body, almost a guffaw. It made him more human, and somehow even more handsome, more impossibly desirable. In that instant, as she looked up at his dark, merry eyes, her heart twisted in her chest. She turned away, afraid of what he might see in her face.

  “So, what happens now?” she said, relieved her voice held steady.

  “Now?” he said. “We start planning the wedding.”

  She stopped abruptly on the tarmac. “I’m not going to marry you. We can share custody.”

  His eyes narrowed. “The decision has been made.”

  “By you. Not by me. And if you think you can bully me into marriage, on this ranch or anywhere else, you’ve got another think coming.” She lifted her chin. “My family might not have an aristocratic history that goes back to infinity, but there are a few things we do have.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Stubbornness. Pure cussedness. And I’m not going to marry a man I don’t love, a man who doesn’t love me. I would rather scrub your floors with my tongue!”

  Amusement flashed across his handsome face. “That can be arranged. Although,” he murmured in her ear, “I can think of better uses for your tongue.”

  An unwilling fire went through Belle’s body. Before she could formulate a response, he took her hand, pulling her toward the sprawling single-story ranch house surrounded by green trees.

  Inside the main house, it was light and airy, with large windows and hardwood floors. A smiling housekeeper came forward. “Welcome back to the ranch, Mr. Velazquez.” She turned her rosy round face in Belle’s direction. “Welcome, miss. I hope you had a nice journey.”

  Nice didn’t quite cover it, but luckily Santiago answered for her. “It’s been a long day, Mrs. Carlson. Could you please serve refreshments in the morning room?”

  “Of course, Mr. Velazquez.”

  He led Belle down the hall, into a large room with a glossy wooden floor and a wall of windows. Comfortable furniture faced the view of green trees and a river turned gold beneath dappled sunlight. She breathed, “It’s so beautiful.”

  “Sit down,” he said. He seemed suddenly on edge.

  Her knees felt weak anyway, so she let herself fall back onto the soft, plush, white cotton sofa. A moment later, the housekeeper appeared with a tray, which she set down on the table.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  After the housekeeper departed, Santiago handed Belle what looked like a cocktail from the tray. At her dubious look, he explained, “Sweet tea.”

  Oh, her favorite. She practically snatched it from him. Drinking deeply, she sighed in pleasure at the ice-cold, sweetened, nonalcoholic beverage. Wiping her mouth, she sank back happily into the cushions of the sofa. “There are a few things about you that aren’t horrible.”

  “Like sweet tea?”

  “You’re not totally a monster.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Gulping down the rest of the drink, she held the empty glass out hopefully.

  His lips quirked as he turned back to the tray. Refilling her glass with the ceramic pitcher, he poured one for himself. “By the way, if you’re formulating a plot to run away, you should know the nearest highway is thirty miles.”

  “I’m not planning to run away.”

  He straightened. “You’re not?”

  “Why would I? You’re my baby’s father. We have to figure it out. For her sake.”

  He stared at her. His handsome face seemed tense. He held out a plate. “Cookie?”
/>
  “Thank you.” Chocolate chip, warm from the oven. As she bit into it, the butter and sugar and chocolate were like a burst on her tongue. She sighed with pleasure, then, feeling his gaze on her, looked up, pretending to scowl. “If you’re trying to ply me with delicious food and drink to convince me to marry you, it won’t work. However,” she added hopefully, “you’re free to keep trying.”

  But he just looked at her, his handsome face strained. He started to say something, then abruptly changed his mind. “Excuse me, I have to go.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Carlson show you the bedroom. As you said,” he gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “it’s been a crazy week. Rest, if you like. I’ll see you for dinner. Eight o’clock.”

  He left without another word.

  Now what was that all about? Although she wasn’t going to complain, since at least he’d left the tray. Taking another cookie from the plate, Belle looked out at the leafy green trees moving softly in an unseen breeze, dappled with golden afternoon light. He’d gone to all that trouble to drag her to his ranch, and now, instead of threatening her into marriage or trying to boss her around, he’d just fed her sweet tea and home-baked cookies, then left her to relax?

  But then, people had continually surprised her in life, starting with her own family. Belle couldn’t remember her father, who’d died when she was a baby. She’d grown up in that house on the edge of the sagebrush prairie with a stepfather, two younger half brothers and her sad-eyed mother, who tried unsuccessfully to shield her children from both her sorrow and her terminal illness. Belle’s stepfather, a wiry, laconic welder, never showed much interest in any of the children. He worked long hours then spent his evenings smoking cigarettes, drinking his nightly six-pack and yelling at his wife.

  But when Belle was twelve, her mother died, and everything changed. Her stepfather started yelling at her instead, threatening to kick her out of the house, “Because you’re none of mine.”

  So she’d anxiously tried to earn her keep by taking care of the young boys, by cooking and cleaning. By always being cheerful and smiling. By making sure she was never any trouble to anyone.

  A week after Belle graduated from high school, her stepfather died suddenly of a brain aneurysm. Ray was thirteen, Joe just eleven. There were no other relatives, no life insurance and almost no savings. Rather than let her little brothers be turned over to foster care, Belle gave up a college scholarship to stay in Bluebell and work as a waitress to support them, raising them until they were grown.

  It hadn’t been easy. As teenagers, her orphaned brothers had gotten into fights at school, and Ray had briefly gotten into drugs. Those years had been filled with slammed doors, yells of “I hate you!” and her homemade dinners thrown to the floor.

  Barely more than a teenager herself, Belle had struggled to get through it. Heartsick, exhausted and alone, she’d dreamed about falling in love with a man who was handsome and kind. A man who would take care of her.

  Then, at twenty-one, she had. And it had nearly destroyed her.

  “Miss Langtry?” The plump, gray-haired housekeeper appeared in the doorway with her ever-present smile. “If you’re done, I can show you to your room.”

  Glancing at the empty tray, Belle said dryly, “I guess I’m done.”

  Pushing herself up from the sofa—a simple act that was getting harder by the day as her belly expanded—she followed the housekeeper down the hall of the ranch house. They turned down another hallway, then Mrs. Carlson pushed open a door. “Here’s your bedroom, miss.”

  The room was enormous, with a tall ceiling, a walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom. This, too, had a wall of windows overlooking the river. But that wasn’t the bedroom’s most notable characteristic.

  Belle stared at the enormous bed.

  “Is something wrong, Miss Langtry?”

  “Um...” Looking around the enormous bedroom, Belle managed, “This is a really nice guest room.”

  Her worst fears were realized when the older woman replied with a laugh, “Guest room? I know they say everything’s bigger in Texas, but honey, that would be crazy. This bedroom suite is bigger than most houses. It’s the master bedroom.”

  Belle gulped. But before she could think of a good reply to explain there was no way she was going to be sleeping with the master in this bedroom, the housekeeper continued to the bathroom, proudly showing off the marble tub, sparkling silver fixtures and fresh flowers, with a skylight overhead. Now this, Belle could appreciate.

  “You’ll find everything you could need or want... Mr. Velazquez said you were weary and dusty after traveling. We have everything you need for a nice, long bath.”

  She showed Belle all the perfumes, French soaps, creams, shampoos so expensive that she’d only read about them in celebrity magazines. Belle had always thought rich people must be fools for spending fifty dollars on shampoo when the cheap generic brand got your hair just as clean. But as she sniffed the expensive shampoo tentatively, it did smell nice.

  “Mr. Velazquez trusts you’ll be comfortable while he conducts some business this afternoon.” She opened a door. Belle followed her into a huge closet, with a chandelier and a white sofa.

  The housekeeper indicated a red dress hanging alone in the closet. “He requests that you wear this tonight. Dinner will be served on the terrace at eight.”

  Looking at the dress, Belle breathed, “It’s beautiful.”

  “There are shoes to match, two-inch heels so you won’t be uncomfortable or off balance.” She smiled in the direction of Belle’s belly. “And also new lingerie.” She opened one of the drawers. “Silk. Here. Next to your other things.”

  Lingerie? Belle blushed, suddenly unable to meet the other woman’s eyes. Looking around the huge closet, she saw a few scant clothes that had already been unpacked from her suitcase. But other than that and the red dress, the enormous walk-in closet’s racks and shelves were empty. “Where are Santiago’s clothes?”

  “Mr. Velazquez’s clothes are in the master closet.”

  “Isn’t this the master closet?”

  “Oh, no.” Her friendly, chubby face widened in a broad smile. “This closet is designated just for the mistress of the house, that is, if there ever should be one.” Leaning forward, she confided, “You’re the first woman he’s ever brought to the ranch.”

  “I am?”

  “Goodness. Getting late.” Mrs. Carlson looked at her watch. “Everything you’ll need is here. We arranged toiletries, lotions, lipsticks, everything we could think of that you might want. My grandson is in a school play down at Alford Elementary tonight. The rest of the staff will be gone by eight.”

  “You all don’t live here?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. There are staff cottages on the other side of the lake. You and Mr. Velazquez can be completely alone.” Was it her imagination, or did the housekeeper wink? “Good night, miss.”

  Belle stared indignantly after her. Why had she winked? What did she think would happen if she and Santiago were alone?

  Nothing, she thought firmly, and locked the bedroom door to prove it. She glanced at the enormous bed. As comfortable as it looked, she would never share it with Santiago. But since he wasn’t here right now...

  She climbed onto the soft, comfortable bed as days of worry and weariness caught up with her. Her head hit the pillow and she closed her eyes just for a moment.

  When she woke, she realized by the fading sunlight that she’d accidentally slept for hours.

  Rising from the bed, Belle saw the red dress hanging in the walk-in closet across the bedroom. Going to it, she let her fingertips stroke the soft fabric. She saw the designer tag and gulped. She didn’t know fashion, but even she had heard of that famous designer. And the shoes!

  But it would be bad manners not to wear it.
Especially since it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in real life, much less worn on her body.

  Taking the dress and silk lingerie, she went to the enormous en suite bathroom and took a shower. As she stepped naked beneath the hot, steaming water, with six different spigots coming at her from all sides, she sighed in pleasure as the dust and heartbreak of the last three days were swept away. She tried the shampoo. Maybe the fifty dollars was worth it, she thought in a blissful haze. Though even a bargain shampoo would have been great in a shower like this.

  Wrapping herself in a towel, she brushed out her long, wet hair. Opening a drawer, she found boxes of brand-new makeup, the high-end kind from department stores with the nice packaging, all lined up for her use, next to a variety of brand-new perfumes and pricey scented lotions. She tried it all, then put on the silk bra and panties. She almost moaned. So sensual. So soft.

  Finally, she pulled on the red knit dress, which fit perfectly over her swollen breasts and baby bump. The soft fabric felt like heaven against her perfumed skin. Even her hands, which for the last year and a half had always been red and chapped from working as a waitress at the diner, felt soft, from all the lotions. She looked in the bathroom mirror.

  Her hair now gleamed, tumbling down her shoulders, dark against her creamy caramel skin. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the heat of the shower. Her lips were ruby red to match the dress. Her brown eyes gleamed in the shadows beneath dark kohl and mascara.

  Even to her own eyes, she looked...different.

  Was it this place? The dress? The extravagant shampoo?

  Or was it being around Santiago, being pregnant with his child, being the first woman he’d ever brought to this famous ranch, spread across five counties of south Texas?

  “Most of South Texas was once claimed by the Spanish Empire, in the time of the conquistadors...my father is a Zoya. The eighth Duque de Sangovia.”

  Santiago, the son of a duke? That surprised her. He didn’t seem like a man who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Oh, he was arrogant enough. But he seemed too rough, like a man who’d had to fight so hard for everything that he no longer gave a damn about the judgment of lesser mortals.