The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride. Maisey Yates
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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. Instead, 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.”
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