Counterfeit Bride. Sara Craven
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had informed his cousin that his future wife was a submissive doormat of a girl who would speak when spoken to, then Don Ramón de Costanza had just had the shock of his life, she thought with satisfaction. She was pleased to see that he did look taken aback.
‘My apologies, Señorita Dominguez. I was detained. And of course I could not know—I was not warned what a vision of loveliness awaited me.’
No one warned me about you either, she thought silently. And Don Luis must be off his head to let you out of your cage to prowl round the girl he’s going to marry, cousin or no cousin.
She primmed her mouth disapprovingly as he came up the steps to her side. ‘Don Ramón, must I remind you who I am?’
‘Indeed no, señorita. You are the novia of Don Luis Alvarado de Montalba, the most fortunate man in Mexico. Welcome to our family, Teresita—if I may call you that?’ He lifted her hand as if to kiss it lightly, then at the last moment turned it over, and brushed his mouth swiftly and sensuously across the palm instead.
‘Señor.’ Nicola snatched her hand away, aware that she did not have to pretend the note of shock in her voice. Her flesh tingled as if it had been in contact with a live electric current. ‘I hope I do not have to inform Don Luis of your behaviour.’
‘Forgive me.’ He didn’t sound particularly repentant. ‘I forgot myself. You will have nothing further to complain of in my conduct, I swear. Will you allow me to put your cases in the car?’
She assented with a cool nod, and followed him down the steps, her heart still thumping.
‘And your bag?’
She swallowed, shaking her head and taking a firm hold on the strap.
‘I prefer to keep it with me.’
He surveyed the bag in silence for a moment. ‘It lacks the charm and elegance of the rest of your appearance.’
‘It has sentimental value,’ she said shortly.
‘I’m glad it has something,’ he said smoothly. The chauffeur was holding the rear door open, and she climbed in, taking pains to do so without displaying too much leg. The door was shut and she saw her travelling companion detain the man with a hand on his arm and tell him something which clearly caused the chauffeur some surprise before he nodded and turned away.
The next minute Ramón came round and also got in the back of the car beside her. She saw the chauffeur watching covertly in the mirror, his face deliberately stolid and expressionless.
Keep your eyes on that mirror, amigo, she addressed him silently, and if he puts a hand on me anywhere, call in the army.
She leaned back in her seat, forcing herself to relax, reminding herself that she was occupying a very spacious, luxurious air-conditioned vehicle, and the fact that it felt crowded was purely imaginary.
The car began to move, and she felt tiny beads of perspiration break out on her top lip. They were on their way. So far so good, she thought, then stole a glance at her travelling companion and realised that there was absolutely no room for complacency on this journey. And she had promised Teresita that she would use delaying tactics, and make it last as long as possible. She swallowed, and turned her attention as resolutely as possible to the scenery outside the car.
They had been travelling for over half an hour when he said, ‘You are very quiet.’
It was her chance. She produced a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her bag, and dabbed her lips with it.
‘I am not a good traveller, Don Ramón. You must excuse me.’
She hiccuped realistically, and settled further into her corner of the seat, relishing the slightly alarmed expression on his face. She closed her eyes and pretended to doze, and eventually pretence was overtaken by reality, and, lulled by the smooth motion of the car, she slept.
She awoke with a start some time later. Her eyes flew open and she saw that he was watching her, the dark face curiously hard and speculative. As she looked at him uncertainly, the expression faded, and there was nothing but that former charm.
‘Welcome back, señorita. Are you feeling better?’
She said, ‘A little,’ and sat up, her hands automatically smoothing some of the creases out of the skirt of her dress. His eyes followed her movements, observing the rounded shape of her thighs beneath the clinging material, and she flushed slightly, thankful that her bag was on the seat between them, an actual physical barricade.
‘Where are we?’ They seemed to be passing through a town. He mentioned a name, but it meant nothing.
‘I had intended to stop here for lunch,’ he said, after a pause. ‘But as you are unwell, perhaps it would be unwise.’
Nicola groaned inwardly. She could hardly confess the truth, that she was starving. Tension seemed to be giving her an appetite.
‘Please don’t let my indisposition interfere with your plans, Don Ramón,’ she said meekly. ‘While you eat, I can always go for a walk. The—the fresh air might do me good.’
Again she was conscious of the speculative stare, then he said, ‘As you wish, señorita.’
The chauffeur, whose name was Lopez, parked in a small square behind the church.
Ramón helped her out. ‘Are you sure you will be all right?’ He paused. ‘It is only a small place, you can hardly get lost.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she assured him, reaching for the strap of her bag.
‘You don’t wish to take that heavy thing with you. Leave it in the car,’ he suggested.
Rather at a loss, she said, ‘I’m used to carrying it. It—it doesn’t worry me.’
‘Clearly you are not as frail as you seem,’ he murmured.
She waited to see what direction he took with Lopez, and made sure she went the other way. In one of the streets off the square a small market was in full swing, and there were food stalls, she saw thankfully. Black bean soup, she decided with relish, and sopes to follow. She had learned to love the little corn dough boats filled with chili and topped with cheese and vegetables and spiced sausage which were to be found cooking on griddles at so many roadside foodstalls. She ate every scrap, and licked her fingers.
She felt far more relaxed, and in a much better temper as she sauntered back to the car. Ramón de Costanza was standing outside the car, looking at his watch and tapping his foot with impatience as she approached.
‘I wondered if I would have to come and find you,’ he said silkily. ‘Did you enjoy your stroll?’
‘Gracias, señor. Did you enjoy your lunch?’
‘It was delicious.’ He looked faintly amused as he surveyed her and Nicola wondered uneasily whether she had left any traces of black bean soup round her mouth.
As he took his seat beside her in the car, Ramon said, ‘I have a business call to make a few kilometres ahead, and then we will find somewhere to stay for the night.’
‘Already?’ she asked with a frown.
He looked surprised. ‘It will soon be the time for siesta. You don’t want to continue our journey through the full heat of the day, or ask Lopez to do so.’
‘No, of course not,’ she said, feeling a fool. ‘I—I wasn’t thinking.’ That had to count as a slip, she thought. Surely by now she should be used to the way life in Mexico slowed to a crawl in the late afternoon. She was taking too much for granted, losing her edge, and it couldn’t happen again, or he might begin to suspect.
They eventually arrived at a motel, a large rambling white building surrounded by lush gardens, fountains and even a swimming pool. Nicola stared at it longingly, and then banished even the thought regretfully. Ladies wearing wigs stayed on dry land. Besides, her bikinis were all