Bride in a Gilded Cage. ABBY GREEN
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bachelor in Buenos Aires was effortlessly living up to his arrogant and ruthless name. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his expertly tailored black trousers. Rafael Romero was a truly magnificent specimen of virile masculinity.
The threat of no escape and a forced marriage made Isobel’s chest constrict with fear, but she felt a flash of fire in her belly and said through gritted teeth, ‘I’m not little or naive, and it is positively medieval in this day and age to expect people to agree to an arranged marriage like this.’
Isobel had followed her parents into the hall earlier when he’d arrived. The front door had remained open momentarily, along with the back door of his chauffeur-driven car. Isobel had caught a glimpse of a long, sleek leg, a seductively high-heeled shoe, before his driver had shut the door on the view.
Looking at photos of this man in the press had done little to prepare Isobel for his effect on her face to face. His skin was a deep dark olive, his hair as black as midnight, and his eyes were like two pools of dark sin. His face was hard and uncompromising, with an almost cruel aspect that was softened only by the most decadently sensual mouth she’d ever seen on a man—even when it was set in a grim line. She shook herself inwardly. She’d looked him up once on the Internet, with a sick fascination, and had read that his business methods had been praised and lambasted in equal measures for being cutthroat.
He was a rich playboy tycoon, used to riding roughshod over people. She had to stand up to him—make him see that she wouldn’t just succumb like some sacrificial lamb.
He’d dismissed her fawning parents just moments before, with a curt, ‘Leave us. I’ve come here tonight to speak to your daughter alone.’
She hitched up her chin now. ‘Why did you come here tonight? I didn’t invite you.’
His mouth quirked, mocking her attempt at bravado. ‘You must have known that we’d meet sooner or later. Why do you think your parents insisted on your return from England?’
That panic surged back, gripping Isobel tight inside her belly. The fact that her mother hadn’t even warned her that he was coming made her go cold inside. She must have anticipated how Isobel might react.
‘We’re not getting married,’ she denied desperately.
He shrugged minutely, unconcerned. ‘Not right now, no. But in three years’ time we will become man and wife.’
The walls of her life were encroaching around Isobel. This was her worst fear: being marched into a life she had no control over, being forced into a marriage of convenience with someone she didn’t love, and growing cynical and bitter just like her own parents. Her vision of a future in Europe, far away from here, was quickly crumbling.
She could feel the colour draining from her face. ‘But I don’t want to marry you. I don’t even know you.’ She looked at him then, feeling a little wild. ‘I don’t want this life. And I don’t care if you believe me or not. I would be quite happy to walk away right now and never see you, or this house or Buenos Aires ever again.’
She gestured with a shaking hand, horror taking hold now, alongside her escalating panic at the thought of succumbing to a life with this cold man. ‘How can you be so blasé about this? Coming here to meet your future wife when you’re quite obviously in the middle of a date? Does that woman out there know that you’re in here discussing your marriage?’
He smiled again, a hard smile, and drawled, ‘A date? That’s cute. The date you refer to took place earlier this evening, but I can assure you that the woman in my car will be perfectly happy once she’s in my bed and underneath me. She doesn’t care about marriage any more than I do. She’s already been twice divorced.’
‘You’re disgusting.’ And yet his words had sent another deeply betraying quiver of awareness through her body.
Rafael shook his head and came closer to Isobel. She stood her ground.
‘No, not disgusting. Realistic. Two consenting adults coming together to enjoy one another without any of the barefaced lies most lovers indulge in.’ His eyes flicked Isobel up and down insultingly. ‘When you become an adult you might appreciate that a little better than you do now. Clearly you haven’t moved beyond slushy teen romances.’
Isobel had never felt so angry in all her life. Red spots danced before her eyes. ‘It’s a pity you never married the fiancée you were prepared to risk this union for. If you had, we wouldn’t be discussing this now. Was it your charming cynicism that sent her packing?’
Isobel saw his face darken at her provocation, but she didn’t care. She was referring to the fact that he’d ignored the legal agreement between their families to get engaged some eight years previously. Isobel had not known then of his significance in her future life, and she could remember looking at pictures of the gorgeous passionate couple, and thinking how impossibly romantic they had seemed.
But the engagement had died a quick death in a blaze of publicity. There hadn’t even been time for Isobel’s family’s legal team to use the potential marriage as an excuse to get the money owed them from the estancia. As soon as the engagement was off, the agreement stood again. And then, when she’d turned sixteen, her parents had broken the news to her.
When she’d researched him, she’d looked up all the old press reports of Rafael’s engagement to the stunningly beautiful Ana Perez, and for the first time, to her mortification, had realised that the reason for their break-up must have been her. Reports alluded to an arranged marriage but never revealed between whom. And since then his reputation with women had invariably been compared with how he dealt with his business concerns: merciless precision, no woman ever lasting longer than a few months.
‘No,’ Rafael said coldly now, more than a little stunned at how this girl before him was turning his preconceptions of her on their head. ‘It’s not a pity at all that my engagement didn’t work out. It was a blessing in disguise. When we marry it’ll be like any other business arrangement—which is exactly what a good marriage should be.’
He hadn’t expected the words to come out so easily, but declaring to this girl that they would marry felt right on a level that disturbed him. His voice became harsh. ‘There is no escaping this fate. I’ve learnt that, Isobel, and you will, too.’
Suddenly, in that instant, something undefinable solidified in Rafael’s chest. A sense of inevitability. He’d come here tonight to meet for himself his bride-to-be. He’d come with his mistress in tow, which he knew was reprehensible, but it had made him feel somehow protected.
The fact was, he’d blocked out the reality of this marriage successfully for years—until his solicitor, an old and trusted friend, had rung him earlier that day and said bluntly, ‘It’s Isobel Miller’s eighteenth birthday today. Don’t you think you should acknowledge the fact that her parents have been begging an audience for months now? This isn’t going to go away, Rafael. You need to deal with it, with her, and the fact that you’re not getting any younger. The longer you remain single, the more unstable you will appear in the eyes of your potential clients and colleagues.’
Rafael had muttered something rude, which his solicitor had wisely ignored. The minute he’d mentioned Isobel Miller something tight had formed in Rafael’s chest—that sense of a trap closing around him. He wasn’t used to being at the mercy of anything. And along with the feeling of entrapment had come the bitter reminder that his ex-fiancée had used that information to expose his one weakness for her own avaricious benefit.
His solicitor had cut in. ‘Do you want to jeopardise the estancia? I’ve warned you before, Rafael, that if you try and get out of this marriage you’ll embroil yourself in a huge and lengthy legal battle, and there’s every chance you could lose. One of our advantages in this situation is that Isobel’s parents seem loath to do battle, too, and that can only be because they need the money so badly.’
Curtly, Rafael had replied, ‘Don’t worry. I’m not about to risk losing one of my most valuable assets.’ His lip had curled. ‘Not for a woman.’