The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride

by Maisey Yates

  He had known only one thing in that moment. Want. He had wanted her with a deep, feral desire that had transcended anything else. It had transcended reason. It had transcended decency. He had wanted nothing to spoil the moment. And so, when he had approached her, he had prevented her from speaking. He had not said a single word to her. He had not wanted to lose whatever spell had been cast over them.

  He should have known that it was witchcraft. And that he would burn for it.

  One indulgence in a lifetime of obedience and he had destroyed everything.

  “I fear you are wrong on that score,” he said, schooling his tone into a bored, steady rhythm. “Chemistry like this is undeniable.”

  She waved a hand. “Look at me. Denying it.”

  “Your denial is empty as you carry my child in your womb.”

  “Only because I didn’t know it was you that I was...with that night at the ball,” she shot back.

  “So you say.”

  “A marriage between us will not work,” she said, her words brittle.

  “Oh, I have no doubt that it won’t. But you will marry me before the child is born, and you will stay married to me for what appears to be a suitable amount of time. Afterward, divorce me. As quickly and painlessly as you would like.”

  “There will never be anything painless about a divorce where my parents are concerned.”

  “I imagine not. They are very Catholic, are they not?”

  She frowned. “I shall be married to you until the end of time in their eyes.”

  “And yet, I find that my need for an heir transcends my concerns for your sense of family.”

  “There is nothing simple about this, that’s my point. Anyway, you’re acting as though I can just take a couple of years out of my life to molder away in some Spanish castle.”

  “It’s more of a villa.”

  “And you’re only a duke. I was supposed to marry a prince.”

  “It was not the prince who had you up against a wall, Allegra. I doubt you’re regretful of the fact that you can no longer marry Prince Raphael.”

  “That’s almost like admitting you’re wrong, isn’t it?” she asked, her tone baiting. “Seeing as you essentially arranged our engagement.”

  “I was not wrong about it being advantageous. Chemistry, on the other hand, is harder to predict. You clearly have no great passion with him.”

  Her cheeks colored. “What makes you think that?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “You didn’t think for one moment the child could be his. Otherwise, you would not have broken off your engagement. What other conclusion can I draw but one which suggests you are not actively sleeping with him?”

  She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Maybe it isn’t yours. Maybe I make love to all manner of strange men in corridors at parties. Maybe the only thing I’m certain about is that it isn’t Raphael’s because he’s such a gentleman that he wouldn’t touch me.”

  “Still trying that story out?”

  “Perhaps it’s the truth. Perhaps, I am the very whore of Babylon.” She lifted her chin and shook her head, her dark hair shimmering in the light. “You don’t know me, Cristian. Not really. At least, you don’t know the woman I have grown into. You have this idea that I’m a child, but I am in my twenties.”

  He laughed, suddenly feeling quite old. “Ancient.”

  “I only mean that I am a woman. Whatever you might think.”

  “I am under no illusions about your femininity, Allegra.”

  He was gratified to see her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, however, there was a cost to the victory. It made his stomach tighten with hunger. Made his body ache with need.

  For Allegra.

  It was unacceptable.

  “Well, there are a great many men who have no illusion about it,” she sniffed. “They know about it. Personally.”

  He didn’t believe her. And yet, the thought of Allegra with other men angered him. He could only attribute the possessiveness to the fact that she was having his baby. Perhaps combined with the fact that she was the first woman he had been with in quite some time.

  “Or perhaps,” Cristian said, watching her face closely, “you are so certain about it because you were a virgin.”

  He relived the moment that he had pushed inside her body. She had been tight, there was no doubt about that. He had attributed the cry she’d made at the time to pleasure. Now, he wondered.

  The realization was...intoxicating. He should be disgusted with himself. But he was...triumphant. He wondered about himself. At whether or not he was still under some kind of black magic spell.

  The color in her face deepened. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Closer to the truth, I think.”

  “Who would lose their virginity that way?” She sounded close to hysterical.

  “Perhaps a woman who is being married off to a man she doesn’t love?”

  She said nothing. Satisfaction surged through him, and he gritted his teeth to hold back a growl of triumph. “The child is mine then. For certain.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He kept his eyes trained on her, trying to ignore the riot of heat that was coursing through him. “You will give me my heir, my legitimate heir, and preserve the reputation of the child, and then you can move on as though none of this happened.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything yet! And are you suggesting I leave our child with you?”

  “The Acosta heir should be raised in Spain, I should think.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. Helplessly, he found his gaze drawn to the soft swells. “I’m not leaving my child. Regardless of our arrangements.”

  “Perhaps I can install you in the servants’ quarters once our divorce is finalized.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You have ample evidence that I dare quite a few things, and yet, still you challenge me?”

  She turned away from him, all shimmering indignity. It wasn’t that he had never noticed she was beautiful. That much was obvious. She had been beautiful ever since she had been a sullen teenager. He had the feeling that her family missed her moods. Missed the subtle pout in her face whenever her upcoming marriage was mentioned. Or the storm that flashed in her eyes whenever her future was discussed.

  Even as he had disapproved of her attitude, he had found her pretty. But that was different than the way he saw her now. Now, he could look at her and see nothing other than the temptress that had greeted him in the ballroom. Who had touched him as though he was some sort of new miracle to her.

  You were. She was a virgin.

  He gritted his teeth, leaning back against his own seat. How was it that he felt like the villain in this situation?

  “When we get to Spain I will arrange for you to get an engagement ring. And we will begin arrangements for the wedding.”

  “I didn’t agree to this. You seem to be missing that.”

  “I’m not waiting for your agreement. I do not require it.”

  “Yes, you do. My former fiancé was a prince, and not even he could force me into marriage. You certainly aren’t going to.”

  “Let us discuss your choices. The choices you seem to feel you have in abundance. You could go back to Italy, an unwed mother who would have to enter into a custody battle with me. And I do believe that your mother and father would likely take my side.” He watched as she paled. He nearly felt like a bastard. Nearly. “If you want access to your child, if you want anything other than a life of disgrace where you will certainly be ostracized by your parents as they make room for their grandchild, the grandchild you rejected because you refused to marry the father, then by all means. We can land the plane early and I can allow you to disembark. Otherwise, I suggest that you come to terms with the fact that you have simply traded one arranged marriage for another. But I, at least, will not require the use of your body again.”

  She said nothing. In
stead, she stared straight ahead, blinking furiously, as though she was trying to keep herself from crying. And again, he felt like the villain. He was not being villainous. He was merely being practical.

  He imagined that if he told Allegra that, she would not find it to be the same.

  “Nothing to say?” he asked.

  “As you have made it perfectly clear there is nothing to say. Except that I’ll marry you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALMOST AS SOON as they touched down in Spain, they were whisked away from the airport and to a luxurious car that spirited them up a winding road leading to the hills that overlooked Barcelona.

  Cristian was right, it was much more villa than palace, and there was absolutely nothing offensive or moldy about it. Allegra found that she was wholly irritated by the fact that the setting did not match its owner.

  In fact, the entire place was airy and bright, with large windows that overlooked the sea, letting sun wash light into the room.

  It was very different from her parents’ home in Italy. It possessed none of the old money trappings, and she found herself confused by that. She knew Cristian’s family was as old as her own, and titled on top of it. But here there was a lack of dark, encroaching wood paneling, threadbare rugs that had survived several inquisitions and artwork depicting either scenes from the Bible or portraits of long-dead relatives.

  Everything was white. Everything was crisp. It was borderline modern. Which, considering what a relic Cristian was, seemed laughable.

  “This is not your family home,” she said.

  He laughed. “I said that I was not taking you to a castillo. I did not say we didn’t possess one.”

  “What was all that about your son needing to be on your hallowed family grounds, and all of that?”

  “I’m Spanish. Sometimes we exaggerate for dramatic effect. Mostly, I require my child be born in Spain. And I require them to be born during my marriage. Whether or not it’s here or in my family’s ancient ruin is beside the point.”

  “You have a ruin?” she asked. “That sounds...well, archeologically significant if nothing else.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure if it’s a ruin, exactly. More a large plot of land centered around an ancient castle I have no desire to inhabit. I keep a full staff on to take care of the castle and the grounds. I also have a steward for the land who helps manage the farms and tenants. But my mother has long since fled, and—as you know—my father is long since dead.”

  He spoke of his parents with such studied neutrality that she knew it wasn’t accidental. It was hiding the truth, whatever that was.

  “My parents are wedded to the old halls of our family estate. They would never dream of leaving. In fact, if my parents died and Renzo left it to rot, I can assure you my father would haunt him from beyond the grave and rattle his chains over the unpolished silver.”

  Cristian studied her closely, a strange light in his eyes. “Do you imagine your father will be in chains in the afterlife?”

  “I was being dramatic. I’m Italian. We are also capable of exaggerating for dramatic effect, if you didn’t realize.”

  He looked up, somewhere past her, the sunlight shining in his eyes, revealing the deep, rich coffee color of his eyes, revealing that they weren’t pure black. That there was humanity behind them. “My father is most certainly in chains. If there is justice in the next life, that is.”

  “I certainly hope there is. There is rarely justice in this one.”

  He looked around the room. “Do you find this situation unjust?”

  “How could I find it anything else?”

  He lifted a hand. “You are in a multimillion-dollar home in one of the most beautiful parts of Spain. You have a man with a title—and several billion dollars—willing to marry you and give your child legitimacy. I would say many people would not feel quite so persecuted.”

  She arched a brow, not to be undone. She would never be undone by Cristian again. “Those who would not feel persecuted by the situation couldn’t possibly know you as well as I do.”

  He took a step toward her, his eyes glittering like black diamonds. “Ah yes, and you do know me, don’t you? Intimately.”

  She despised the heat that washed over her face, and the color that no doubt accompanied it. She despised that he could affect her so. “I don’t think that counts. As far as I knew, you were Death.”

  “Very romantic. Conquering Death by taming him. However—” he rubbed his hand over his chin, the sound of his whiskers whispering over his skin strangely arousing “—I was not tamed.”

  “I’m actually fine with that. Were you ever to be tamed, Cristian, I should hope that it isn’t by me. I don’t wish to be stuck with you as a child might be stuck with a dog that followed them home.”

  She knew, the moment those words left her hot mouth, that she had made a mistake. She knew it, even as he advanced on her, but she found herself frozen, unable to move. Then, as he drew closer, she took a step backward, then another step. Her back came into contact with the wall behind her, and she was thrown back into a flash of memory. From that night. From when Cristian had put his hands all over her, from when he had made her lose her mind, and her purity, in that one brilliant blaze of shameful glory in a quiet palace corridor.

  “I am not a dog,” he said, his voice low. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, but he didn’t touch her. Shamefully, wantonly, she felt her body begin to soften for him. Felt a dull ache begin to grow beneath her thighs, beating a tattoo in time with her heartbeat.

  “I think it much more likely, Allegra, that I should tame you. I think it is you who could be brought to heel.” He tilted his head to the side, studying her closely. “Yes. Even now, you want me. You can say you didn’t know who I was, you can talk of despising me all you like. But you want me. As much now as you wanted me then. You want me now, even knowing who I am.” He pushed away from her, and she let out a breath, feeling nearly dizzy with the effort that had been put into holding it before. “Interesting.”

  “There is nothing interesting about this,” she said, holding her jaw tight as she spoke. “Disgusting is more like it.”

  She and Cristian had always fought. Always. But this had a new edge to it. So sharp she feared it might cut her straight through.

  “So disgusting that you wish to be filled with me even now. What does that say about you?”

  She gritted her teeth against the rising heat and humiliation inside of her. “I do not understand the point of you baiting me, Cristian. I will agree to the marriage, but you will not touch me. And you will not wed me in a church. Even I have my limits.”

  “Pity. I find that I don’t.”

  “The state of your eternal soul is your affair. I would like mine to remain as unscathed as possible.” She didn’t want to lie in front of her parents, but she would. Lying in a cathedral was a step too far.

  “I’ll do my best. Though, it’s entirely possible you will leave your association with me terribly scathed.”

  She huffed out a breath and walked across the room, folding her arms across her chest and holding on to her elbows tightly. “At least with post-baby weight.”

  “Yes,” he said gravely. “That is entirely possible.”

  “We’re going to have to tell my family.”

  “Your parents are quite fond of me.”

  “I think they were more fond of the prince I was going to marry. You’re a duke. It’s a bit of a downgrade.”

  He shrugged. “Spain is a much larger country than Santa Firenze. I would say if anything you broke even.”

  And in spite of herself, she laughed. Really, there was nothing funny about the situation, and his comment was so dark she could scarcely find humor in it. But she found herself too filled with tension to do anything else. If she didn’t allow herself the release she would shatter completely.

  “If you are intent on withholding your body from me, you must know that I will seek pleasure with o
ther women,” he said. He sounded so bored with it all, and she felt like she was on fire.

  That brought to mind an entirely different vision. A vision of Cristian with another woman. A blonde, someone pale and very different from herself. Would he press her against the wall? Would he unleash his passion upon her?

  There was no doubt that in that corridor, with her, he had been passionate. Passionate enough to forget a condom when he was, by his own admission, experienced. Anyway, he had been married, so she’d known he had experience.

  But now, she was thinking of him with other women. More women. It filled her mouth with bile. It shouldn’t. She should be thrilled. Happy that he would seek his release elsewhere, rather than foisting his demands on her. However, she did not feel happy about it.

  “It makes no difference to me,” she said, sniffing with indignation. “I don’t care at all what you do. Or who you do it with.”

  “You do not look so neutral.” And he sounded amused by her lack of neutrality.

  “If it serves your ego to believe that, Cristian, you’re welcome to your fiction. However, I don’t care what you do with other women. As long as I’m not involved.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I have never seen sex as a group activity, but my mind could be changed, Allegra.” He leaned in, his voice getting deeper, huskier. “Last time all we had was a few moments against a wall. Just think of all that a man like me could accomplish with a large, soft mattress. I could have you beneath me...over me...in front of me.”

  She stiffened, her face so hot she was certain she was going to burst into flame at any moment. It was enraging and humiliating. Enraging because he was trying to get a reaction out of her. And humiliating for the same reason. He didn’t want her. He wanted to one-up her. Wanted to enrage her, as he always had.

  She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t care at all.

  “Absolutely not,” she sniffed. “I will not be a carnal accessory that you drape over your body like a mink.”