The Marriage Arrangement. HELEN BIANCHIN
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from the road. Spanish in design, with thick cream-plastered walls, high arched windows, and a terracotta-tiled roof.
Hannah urged the white Porsche up the curved driveway at speed, and brought the vehicle to a swift halt beneath the wide portico.
Heavy panelled double doors opened the instant she slid from behind the wheel, and she spared the housekeeper Miguel employed a warm smile as she entered the foyer.
‘Thanks, Sofia.’ It had saved her fumbling for her key and bypassing the security alarm system. ‘Would you mind asking Antonio to garage my car?’ Sofia’s husband took care of the grounds and the cars while Sofia tended to the meals and the house five days out of seven.
‘Miguel is already upstairs?’ At Sofia’s verbal affirmative, she moved quickly towards the wide curving stairs leading to the upper floor.
Seconds later she gained the semi-circular gallery bounded by ornately designed balustrades. Five bedrooms, each with en suite, plus a large informal sitting room comprised the upper level. Original paintings were strategically placed on the walls, and there were occasional tables, magnificent ceramic urns and arte-facts set in majestic splendour along the entire gallery.
The main bedroom was situated at the front of the house, and she moved quickly towards it, freeing the buttons on her jacket with one hand while slipping off one heeled shoe with the other.
Seconds later she entered the spacious bedroom with its elegant furniture and separate walk-in robes.
Miguel was in the process of fixing a cuff-link, and she took in the look of him, his stance, the superbly tailored trousers, white shirt, his broad, chiselled features, and the dark well-groomed hair.
Beneath his sophisticated façade there lay the heart of a warrior. Compelling, dangerous, she added silently.
At that moment he glanced towards her, caught her expression, and raised one eyebrow in silent query.
Eyes so dark, they were almost black, met hers, and she fought to control the way her blood coursed through her veins like quicksilver.
Was he aware how he affected her? Sexually, without a doubt, she acknowledged wryly. He had the touch, the skill, to turn her into a mindless wanton, for in his arms she lacked the power to be anything else.
Get a grip, she mentally chastised as she crossed towards her wardrobe.
‘Twenty minutes?’ Hannah intimated, extracting a black knee-length gown with a fine lace-patterned overlay. Stiletto-heeled black shoes, sheer black stockings. The effect would be understated style, and offset her honey-coloured skin and blonde hair.
‘Try for fifteen.’
She made it in just under twenty, emerging into the bedroom freshly showered, dressed, her make-up complete. It took only minutes to step into her gown and close the zip fastener, then add minimum jewellery.
‘Done.’ She caught up an evening purse, and offered Miguel a sparkling smile. ‘Shall we leave?’
Together they traversed the gallery and began descending the stairs. Even though she was in heels, her head barely topped his shoulders.
‘New perfume?’
Hannah met his faintly quizzical expression and matched it with one of her own. ‘A woman’s weapon,’ she asserted solemnly, and suppressed the feather-light shiver that slid across the surface of her skin as Miguel reached out and traced a slow finger along her collar-bone.
‘You have no need of one.’
Her smile tilted the edge of her mouth. ‘Are you seducing me?’
One eyebrow arched, and his teeth gleamed white as he slanted her a teasing look. ‘Am I succeeding?’
Oh yes. But she wasn’t about to tell him so. ‘We have a dinner party to attend, remember?’
His husky chuckle almost undid her. ‘Anticipation, querida,’ he drawled. ‘Is a game lovers play.’
‘Is that how you regard our marriage?’ Hannah queried lightly. ‘As a game?’
Together they crossed the splendid foyer and made their way along a hallway leading to the internal garage.
‘You know better than that.’
‘Do I?’ The words slipped out before she thought to stop them.
‘You want I should show you?’ Miguel countered with silky indolence as he paused to face her.
‘I imagine you will, later.’
There was something in her voice, some indefinable quality that caused his eyes to narrow slightly and search for something beyond her carefully composed features.
She possessed a vulnerability beneath the sophisticated façade, a genuine empathy that held no artifice. A rare trait among the women of his acquaintance. He doubted she was aware he could define each tone of her voice, every expression, no matter how fleeting.
Tonight, for whatever reason, she was on edge, and he sought to alleviate it a little.
He lifted a hand and cupped her nape, tilting her head, then he covered her mouth with his own in an evocative tasting that brought forth a faint sighing sound as she leaned into him and kissed him back.
How long did it last? Seconds, minutes? She had no sense of time, only the feeling of regret as he broke contact.
His eyes were dark, unfathomable, and she was conscious of every breath she took, each beat of her heart as it thudded in her breast.
‘There’s a difference between sex and lovemaking, mi mujer,’ Miguel said gently. ‘You might do well to remember it.’ He smoothed the pad of his thumb along the lower curve of her lip, and proffered a faint smile. ‘You have no lipstick.’
Hannah gathered her wits together quickly. ‘While you, hombre, have a mouth rimmed with hazelnut noisette.’ She considered him carefully. ‘It’s not a good look.’
He laughed, a soft, deep, husky sound that curled round her heart and tugged a little. ‘Minx. I don’t suppose you have a tissue in that minuscule bag you carry?’
‘Of course,’ she said solemnly, extracting a tissue and handing it to him. ‘I am always prepared for any eventuality.’
He used the tissue and discarded it, deactivated the car alarm, then unlocked the door and she slid into the passenger seat. Restoring colour to her lips took only seconds, and it was done by the time Miguel slipped behind the wheel.
Minutes later he eased the powerful Jaguar towards the remote-controlled gates, picking up speed as he gained the street.
Summer daylight saving time bathed their surroundings with a soft golden glow, and while the heat of the day still hovered it was offset by the car’s air-conditioning.
The rain-storm had passed, the wet bitumen the only evidence of its brief intensity.
‘Who are our fellow guests? Do you know?’ Hannah queried idly.
‘Forewarned is forearmed?’ Miguel posed as he paused at an intersection, and she offered him a faintly wry smile.
‘Something like that.’ There were a few socialites of her acquaintance who delighted in setting a cat among the pigeons, then observing the result. It was very cleverly orchestrated, and provided amusing entertainment to the perpetrators.
A few years ago she had been an object of their speculation. Gossip, she amended, was unavoidable, but she detested any deliberate attempt to hurt or offend.
‘Graziella mentioned Angelina and Roberto Moro, Suzanne and Peter Trenton,’ Miguel relayed, shooting her a quick glance as the lights changed and traffic began to move. ‘Esteban also has an invitation.’
Two partners in a prominent law firm and their wives, Hannah mused, together with Miguel’s widowed father.
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