Housekeeper in the Headlines

by Chantelle Shaw

  But the main reason why her emotions felt like a wrung-out dishcloth was the memory of Carlos being so attentive to her throughout their wedding day, and holding her close when they’d danced the first dance at the evening reception. She’d almost been fooled into thinking that he cared about her.

  More tears filled her eyes and she covered her face with her forearm, feeling exposed and stupid.

  For a heartbeat Carlos did not move, but then he grabbed the bolster and hurled it off the bed. ‘Come,’ he murmured, reaching for her and drawing her across the mattress.

  The warmth of his body was irresistible, and Betsy succumbed without a struggle. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed when her hand brushed against the silk boxers he was wearing.

  ‘Don’t cry, pequeña.’

  He spoke softly, as if she was a small child needing to be comforted, and stroked his hand over her hair. She had seen his gentleness with Sebastian, but now he was being kind to her, and she cried harder.

  ‘Why is our marriage ridiculous?’ he asked.

  ‘You...hate me.’

  ‘I don’t hate you.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘I admit I was angry at first, but I have never hated you.’

  She sniffed. ‘You can’t forgive me for keeping your son a secret.’

  Once again Carlos hesitated for a heartbeat before he said gruffly, ‘I understand why you were afraid to tell me. Your childhood experiences when your parents wanted you to choose between them made you determined to protect Sebastian.’ He slid his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘We may not have married for conventional reasons, but I believe we can make it work, querida.’ He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and tucked her head on his shoulder. Go to sleep now. Things will seem better in the morning.’

  Carlos meant, of course, that they had not married for love—and she was fine with that, Betsy assured herself. Her parents had proved that love could be a destructive emotion. And it seemed as though he had forgiven her for keeping Sebastian a secret, but she still felt guilty. Somehow, they had to make a success of their marriage for their son’s sake.

  Her thoughts blurred as she slipped into sleep. She didn’t wish that Carlos would fall in love with her. Really, she didn’t.

  * * *

  ‘Have you seen my wife?’ Carlos asked the nanny, who had just emerged from the nursery.

  ‘I believe she has gone into the city. She often goes shopping for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Sebastian has dropped his morning nap, but he still sleeps after he’s had his lunch,’ Ginette explained. ‘If I’d known you were back I would have kept him up so that you could see him,’ she said apologetically. ‘Betsy thought you wouldn’t return from your business trip until later this evening.’

  ‘I’ll spend time with him when he wakes up.’

  Carlos stepped quietly into the nursery and leaned over the cot to kiss his son’s downy cheek. His heart swelled with love for Sebastian and he gave a rueful sigh. In his careless bachelor days he had been adamant that he did not want children. But now he had a child and would willingly give his life for his precious little boy.

  Leaving Sebastian to nap, Carlos walked down the corridor and into the master bedroom. Betsy’s scent was everywhere in the house, but it was strongest here, in the bedroom they shared, and his gut clenched. He slung his jacket on the chair and tugged off his tie. Picking up his phone, he logged on to internet banking and checked the account that Betsy withdrew money and made payments from. The balance had not changed in the two weeks since he’d given her a bank card in her married name.

  Carlos was fairly sure that Betsy did not have any savings of her own, so how did she pay for whatever she was buying on her shopping trips?

  He sat on the edge of the bed, wondering how much longer their marriage could continue to be a Cold War, with both of them entrenched on either side of a goddamned bolster. Cursing, he grabbed the bolster off the bed and threw it out into the corridor. He’d tell the maid to get rid of it.

  But the barrier between him and Betsy was more than just the pillow that she placed down the centre of the bed every night. Her tears on their wedding night had made him feel uncomfortable. The evidence of her vulnerability had exacerbated his guilt that he’d forced her into a marriage which she had openly admitted she did not want.

  But what other choice had either of them had? Carlos brooded. He had been utterly determined that his son would be legitimate. For Sebastian’s sake, he and Betsy must try to make a success of their marriage, but so far it was a disaster for which he must accept most of the blame.

  His plan had been that they would have a short period of time while they adjusted to living together, and that this would lead naturally to them beginning a sexual relationship. But Carlos was being hampered by two things. The first was his rampant desire for Betsy, that made it impossible for him to be near her without wanting to haul her off to bed and make love to her until they were both sated. The second but greater problem was his discovery on their wedding night that she could easily be hurt—by him.

  He wanted to have sex with her, but he did not want emotional sex. It wasn’t his thing. And Carlos sensed that Betsy would want more than he was prepared to give her. Wasn’t that always the way with women? he thought frustratedly. He had given Betsy his name, his home and his promise of commitment. But when she’d cried, he’d felt as if his insides had been ripped out. He’d wanted to protect her.

  Por Dios! His track record was not good in that department. And so he had kept his distance from his new wife. He’d gone away on business trips and spent several nights at the penthouse in Madrid, so that he didn’t have to lie beside Betsy, fantasising about unbuttoning the pyjamas that she wore like a suit of armour. She seemed equally keen to avoid him, and when he was at home she spent a lot of time in her old bedroom.

  Carlos decided that he needed to try a new approach. They had done everything the wrong way around. They’d had a baby, then they’d got married, but they had never had a chance to get to know each other. He remembered that Betsy had mentioned she would like to visit the El Greco museum in Toledo. He would meet her and take her there, he thought as he picked up his phone and called her.

  She did not answer, nor reply to his text. But Carlos was a man on a mission as he went downstairs and found his driver in the kitchen.

  ‘Do you know which shops Señora Segarra intended to go to?’ he asked Pablo.

  ‘Sí. La señora always visits the art supplies shop on Calle Santa Tomé.’ For some reason the driver looked uncomfortable.

  Carlos remembered that Betsy had painted pets’ portraits when she’d lived in Dorset. He was puzzled that Pablo avoided his gaze. ‘Does she go to the art shop often?’

  ‘Very often. And only to that place. She has asked me to collect her in one hour.’

  ‘Give me directions to the art shop,’ Carlos requested. ‘I’ll drive myself there to meet my wife.’

  It did not take him long to reach the city walls, and he parked in a car park that most tourists hadn’t discovered. The narrow, cobbled streets of Toledo were thronged with visitors in the summer, but the art shop was tucked down an alleyway where few people ventured.

  Carlos walked through the door and glanced at the artists’ materials displayed rather haphazardly around the shop. There was no one behind the serving counter, but there was a bell that had a sign next to it saying Presiona.

  At the rear of the shop was a door which opened on to a courtyard. Carlos felt an odd sensation, as if his heart had performed a somersault, when he saw Betsy through the doorway. Her hair was loose on her shoulders and shone like raw silk in the sunshine. She’d gained a light golden tan since coming to Spain, and she seemed to grow sexier and more beautiful every day.

  She was standing by a small fountain in the courtyard, and with her was a long-haired young man whose arms were c
overed in tattoos and a couple of other arty types. Someone was strumming on a guitar and there was a low hum of easy conversation.

  Betsy suddenly gave a shriek as Tattoo Guy splashed her with water. ‘That’s not fair!’ She laughed and shook her hair back from her face. Her wet shirt clung to her breasts—a fact that had not gone unnoticed by Tattoo Guy.

  Something hot and rancid flared in Carlos’s gut. Possessiveness ran like wildfire through his veins as the sound of Betsy’s laughter drifted into the shop. She had never laughed or been so carefree with him, he thought darkly. The sense of betrayal felt like a knife through his heart. She was his wife, goddammit, and the mother of his son. They were meant to be a family.

  It struck him then how badly he wanted a family to replace the one he had destroyed. But his guilt had made him think that he did not deserve one, and he acknowledged that he had kept Betsy at a distance because she was the only woman who threatened to dismantle the barriers he had erected around his emotions.

  * * *

  Betsy looked at her watch. Pablo would come to collect her soon, and her heart sank at the prospect of returning to Fortaleza Aguila. Of course she loved being with Sebastian, but she wished she could meet some other mothers with toddlers, so that he could mix with children of his age. She thought wistfully of the baby group in Fraddlington, where she’d made some good friends.

  Coming to see Hector at the art shop made a welcome change, though, from the stiff formality of the dinner parties she attended with Carlos. None of his close friends had children, and the women were all incredibly glamourous. Betsy found them intimidating.

  Her skin prickled and a sixth sense made her turn her head in the direction of the shop. Her heart gave a jolt when she saw Carlos step into the courtyard. To anyone who did not know him he’d appear to be relaxed. But the hard gleam in his eyes and the tense line of his jaw warned her that he was furious.

  She was conscious that her wet shirt was clinging to her breasts. Hector had just been fooling around, but she had a feeling that Carlos would not see it that way. His eyes roamed over her short denim skirt before returning to her breasts. Predictably, she felt her nipples jerk to attention. This inability to control her reaction to her husband was one reason why she spent as little time alone with him as possible.

  Hector and his friends Antonio and Sofia were staring at Carlos with awed expressions. Even though he had retired from playing tennis professionally, he was still a national hero in Spain.

  ‘Holà! Can I help you?’ Hector said in Spanish.

  ‘I’m here to take my wife home.’ The Jaguar smiled, baring his teeth.

  Hector shot Betsy a rueful look. ‘You forgot to mention that your husband is the great Carlos Segarra.’

  She bit her lip, unable to explain that she had wanted to make friends on her own merits, rather than impress people by revealing who she was married to.

  ‘Come, querida,’ Carlos ordered.

  Betsy bristled at his arrogance, but his slashing frown warned her against making a scene. ‘See you soon,’ she told Hector, and swept past Carlos without looking at him.

  When they emerged into the street he caught hold of her arm and steered her to where he’d parked his car. Betsy’s temper fizzed.

  ‘There’s no need to manhandle me,’ she muttered, glancing at his scowling face. ‘What’s biting you?’ she demanded when he opened the door of his sports car and she slid into the passenger seat.

  ‘This discussion will wait until we are home,’ he growled.

  Betsy felt like a naughty schoolgirl, and when they reached the house she half expected Carlos to march her into his study.

  She walked quickly ahead of him towards the stairs. ‘I’m going to get changed.’

  She stopped at the nursery to check on Sebastian and found he was still asleep. Ginette looked up from her book. ‘I’ll pick him up when he stirs,’ the nanny whispered.

  In the master bedroom, Betsy stripped off her damp shirt and dropped it in the laundry basket. Carlos’s voice sounded from the doorway and she spun round to face him. Her pink lacy bra was no more revealing that the bikini top he’d seen her wearing in the pool, she told herself, but she still felt self-conscious that she was half undressed, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  He stepped into the room and shut the door with suppressed violence. ‘You are not to see him again.’

  She blinked. ‘Who?’

  ‘Your boyfriend with the body art.’

  ‘Hector is a friend—he’s not my boyfriend. I can’t believe you’re accusing me...’

  ‘I saw the way he looked at you.’ Carlos’s jaw clenched. ‘You were flirting with him and laughing.’

  ‘I wasn’t flirting. Hector has a girlfriend.’ She threw her hands up in exasperation. ‘And laughing isn’t a crime. The only time I feel like laughing is when I’m with the friends I’ve made at the art shop. Hector lived in England for a while, and it’s such a relief to be able to talk to him without a Spanish phrasebook.’

  Betsy’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘I’ve been so lonely since I came to live in Spain... The staff keep themselves to themselves. We socialise with your friends and I have nothing in common with them.’ She could not hide the tremor in her voice. ‘I’m trying to learn Spanish, but it’s hard speaking a new language and living in a new country where I’m an outsider. The staff run the house and we have a nanny to look after Sebastian. It feels like I don’t have a role here.’

  ‘Your role is as my wife,’ Carlos said tersely.

  ‘You never wanted a wife and our marriage is a...a farce. You’re hardly ever at home.’ Betsy had opened the floodgates now, and her unhappiness and dissatisfaction poured out. ‘How dare you accuse me of flirting with Hector when you have spent more nights at your penthouse than here with me in the bedroom you insisted we share? I don’t suppose you sleep alone at your bachelor pad in Madrid.’

  Carlos swore. ‘Do you think I have a mistress?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’ It crucified her to imagine him making love to another woman. ‘You said you wanted to make our marriage work, but we don’t spend time together or have any kind of relationship. At least Hector is interested in me. And he’s supportive of my pet portrait business, which happens to be doing very well—as I would have told you if you ever paid me any attention.’

  Carlos strode across the room and halted in front of her. He was so close that Betsy felt the warmth of his body through his black silk shirt. His male scent evoked a molten heat low in her pelvis.

  ‘I don’t have a mistress,’ he ground out. ‘I haven’t slept with any woman since you.’

  Her eyes widened and he gave her a sardonic look.

  ‘It’s the truth. I couldn’t get you out of my mind for two years.’

  He lowered his head and she felt his breath graze her cheek.

  ‘If you want my attention you only have to ask, mi belleza,’ he said roughly, before he claimed her mouth and kissed her with fierce possession.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THERE WAS FURY in his kiss and Betsy’s temper blazed. Anger and desire were an explosive mix. She welcomed the thrust of his tongue inside her mouth as she parted her lips beneath his and kissed him with all the pent-up frustration that had simmered inside her for weeks.

  Every night, when she’d kept to her side of the mattress and Carlos had stayed on the opposite side, she had lacked the nerve to move the wretched bolster from the centre of the bed. She had been responsible for putting the barrier between them and she understood that he would not remove it.

  Carlos was proud, but he was also a virile male, and his hunger for her was evident when she pressed herself against him and felt the hard length of his arousal nudge her thigh. A shudder of longing ran through her and she tugged open the buttons on his shirt and skimmed her hands over his bare chest. His olive skin wa
s warm, and she loved the springy feel of his dark chest hair against her palms as she explored the ridges of his powerful muscles.

  He muttered something in Spanish, and then the world tilted as he lifted her off her feet and dumped her unceremoniously on the bed. Betsy thought she should care that he was the most arrogant man she’d ever met. But he was Carlos, and she could not fool herself any longer that she had any control where this man was concerned.

  He was her husband, and yet not her husband. Not in any way that counted. She had turned him down on their wedding night because she had been afraid that he would destroy her if she had sex with him. Now she knew he would destroy her if he did not make love to her.

  He knelt on the bed and loomed over her. ‘Am I paying you enough attention now, querida?’

  His eyes glittered as Betsy traced her fingers over his hard jaw. She was so weak for him. But instead of seeing desire as a weakness, perhaps there was strength in admitting what she wanted.

  ‘Not enough attention,’ she said huskily. ‘I want more.’

  ‘You will be the death of me,’ he muttered as he slipped his hands beneath her back and unclipped her bra. He tossed it aside and captured her wrists in one of his hands, holding them above her head. Dull colour winged along his cheekbones as he studied her bare breasts. Betsy felt her nipples grow tight beneath his intent gaze. His features sharpened with a predatory hunger that made the ache in her pelvis so much worse—or better?

  She made a choked sound when he bent his head to one breast and flicked his tongue across its rosy peak. Sensation spiralled through her and she arched towards him as he tormented her with delicate licks across her nipple. She tried to tug her hands free, but he held her pinioned against the mattress while he drew her nipple into his mouth.