The Spaniard's Marriage Bargain. ABBY GREEN
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of dismay at leaving civilisation behind, but she hadn’t given anything away. If anything she’d seemed uncomfortable with the bustling crowds—jumpy…almost slightly overwhelmed. But then he hadn’t expected her to be so obvious so early.
They were at the top of the town now, overlooking the impressive baroque-style municipal buildings. Isandro took a quiet road which Rowan soon realised was a cul-de-sac. They came to a set of wrought-iron gates, with high walls on either side, overhung with trees. Isandro entered a code into a security pad from the window of the Jeep, the gates swung open and a security guard came out of a hut to greet Isandro, who waved back.
Rowan was not prepared for what appeared around the bend. She’d vaguely expected some kind of hacienda. Instead she saw a huge baroque mansion, emerging like something from a medieval fantasy. Cream-coloured, it seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, windows glinting, a profusion of flowers tumbling from pots along the steps and front of the house. Her jaw dropped. Isandro had parked and was already out of the Jeep, walking around the front to get Zac out of his seat in the back. Zac was bouncing up and down with excitement, having been cooped up for too long and clearly recognising home.
Rowan got out slowly, and the huge front door opened as if by magic, to reveal waiting staff. With trepidation in her breast she followed her husband and son into the house.
After a quick succession of introductions that had left Rowan’s head spinning slightly, Isandro issued a stream of instructions and Rowan found herself being ushered upstairs, the housekeeper following with her bag. Rowan tried to take it from her, but she was having none of it. The chattering of Zac faded behind her as she was shown into her room.
It was a haven of dusky cream and rose. For some reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on at that moment the colours soothed her. And then it hit her. It wasn’t the dreaded white of her nightmares. Of her recent past.
The housekeeper was showing her where everything was, and she welcomed the distraction from her inner demons. After she’d left, Rowan took a deep, steadying breath and explored for herself. A huge antique four-poster double bed had white muslin drapes caught back with ornate ties. The room had typically floral baroque features which were toned down by the simple colours. She went to the open French doors and took in the sight laid out before her with wide eyes, walking out as if in a trance.
A small stone balcony with ancient steps led down to a private inner courtyard, complete with a small pool inlaid with dark green tiles and glittering mosaics. She moved down the steps slowly, in awe of the stillness and beauty. The pool was surrounded by flowering bushes and olive trees. Scent hung heavy on the air. It was like something out of a dream she’d always had but never realised until now. Turning around in a circle, taking it in, she started when she saw Isandro standing with hands in his pockets outside another set of double doors, just feet from her own, with an identical balcony and steps leading down into the courtyard. His room? Her heart seized at that thought.
He came towards her, every step resonating with barely leashed menace. Rowan couldn’t step back or she’d end up in the pool.
‘You like what you see?’ he asked tightly.
Rowan nodded, barely aware of what he was asking, her mouth suddenly dry at seeing him against this backdrop. He looked golden. Vibrant.
‘Youreallymessedup, you know.’ He took one hand out of his pocket and gestured around them abruptly. ‘You could have had all this the last two years, and now it will never be yours.’
Rowan’s heart twisted in her chest. He thought she wanted this—the material evidence of his wealth. She started to shake her head, but couldn’t get a word out. The sneer on his face stopped her.
‘Just don’t forget, dearest wife, that you are here purely at my behest and on the advice of my lawyers. They think it will serve me well to show how magnanimous I’m being in allowing you to get to know Zac, despite what you did. So don’t get greedy and imagine for a second that you are entitled to a square inch of this place. You will not make a move that isn’t watched and controlled. You will see Zac when and only when I allow it.’
Rowan forced her mouth to work, wanting to stop his words. ‘That’s all I want. I’m not here to take anything from you, Isandro. I don’t have any interest in anything you own. My interest lies purely in Zac.’
He made a small rude sound. ‘And in what you can make from the spoils of a divorce. Give me a break, Rowan. If I’d been less blinkered, less taken in by your innocent act of naivety, I would have realised long ago—’
‘You’d have realised what?’ she interjected bitterly, her emotions bubbling up, ‘That the woman you married purely to raise your own standing in English society was just that—nothing but a trophy wife?’ She’d known her actions when leaving would paint her in the worst possible light, and she knew she was being irrational, but the fact that he so easily believed her to be that kind of person lacerated her insides.
Isandro was momentarily taken aback. Her words brought back all his own humiliation—and he hated to admit it—his disappointment. And yet as she stood here now in front of him, a faint line of perspiration along her upper lip, her arms crossed defensively, pushing her breasts up, all he could think of was the desire pooling low in his abdomen. As much as he wanted to reject her in every way possible, he knew that with each moment spent together desire was growing stronger…
The disturbing arrow of lust he felt firmed his resolve. If he had but known it, he would have realised that the hot passion lying in wait beneath her cool exterior was a sign of things to come. She might have been a virgin on their wedding night, but he’d awoken her, and as soon as she’d been free of her baby she’d run. He’d never planned on their marriage being consummated, but when it had it had felt so right. And then when she’d become pregnant—He cut off his runaway thoughts and let hard ruthlessness rise. This woman in front of him represented his one fatal weakness.
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