The Spaniard's Blackmailed Bride. Trish Morey
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Only then common sense prevailed. If his terms for this marriage could be in writing, so too could hers. Two could play at that game.
‘Of course, you’re right,’ she conceded, feeling a surge of confidence. ‘A pre-nuptial agreement would be for the best. Then we both know where we stand.’
He downed the rest of his drink in one mouthful and she watched as he swirled the smooth liquor around his mouth and kick back his jaw as he sent it southwards. And through it all his eyes smouldered, never shifting from her, as if weighing her up, evaluating her.
‘Sí, exactly. So tell me, Briar, where do you stand? What terms would you like included in the arrangement that outlines our future life together?’
‘You mean our marriage together,’ she corrected.
He smiled in a way that made her shiver. ‘I said what I meant. Now it’s your turn.’
She swung around and laced her fingers together, taking a couple of breaths before she was ready to face that bottomless dark gaze once more. She could feel her colour rising again and gave thanks for the low lighting. What she had to say was difficult enough without one hundred watts to illuminate it. ‘It’s really quite simple,’ she began, turning. ‘As you agreed, this marriage is hardly a love match. And, in that case, I think it’s sensible that we understand what we bring to the marriage—in your case, it’s money. In mine, it’s my family connections.’
She hesitated. Diablo’s body language as he sprawled into one of the wing-chairs and looked up at her was not giving anything away.
‘You think all you have to offer is your family connections?’
‘Isn’t that the reason you came up with this plan?’
He said nothing. Just surveyed her some more. In apparently excruciating detail. Her skin bristled with irritation under his deep-seated gaze, her senses fusing.
‘Go on,’ he urged at last, without bothering to answer her question.
‘So I’ve come up with a plan as to how we’re going to work this out. Clearly, we have no choice now but to go ahead with this marriage but, equally clearly, it’s obvious that neither of us is completely happy about the arrangement.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says both of us! We’re both doing this out of necessity, nothing more. And, like the performance I put on tonight, I want you to know that I’m prepared to put on a public face after we’re married that says we’re man and wife.’
‘How accommodating of you.’
‘Well, I understand how important this is to you—and to me and my family. I’ll do my best to make it work, to give a convincing performance as your wife.’
‘And in private?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You talked about how things would be in public. I’m wondering what you have in mind for our private life, when nobody else is watching.’
The heat continued to build under her skin. Of course, he wasn’t about to make this easy for her. She stiffened her back, kicking up her chin resolutely. ‘Then we live our lives separately, just as we have until entering this sham of a marriage. In public I agree to play your wife, even your adoring wife on the occasions that demand it. Out of the public eye we will lead separate lives. If you want this marriage of convenience to satisfy your need for connections, then so you shall have it, but you can’t expect anything more.’
His only response was a blink of his eyes, slow and loaded. Then he leaned forward.
‘And just how separate a life do you expect to lead while you occupy my bed?’
She snorted, outraged at the idea. ‘That’s just it. I won’t be. Given your track record, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding yourself someone who is more willing in that department. All that I ask is that you be discreet about it.’
He brushed aside her slur with a shake of his head. ‘You haven’t thought this through.’
‘Of course I have…’
‘No. Clearly you have missed something. For how are you to bear my children if you won’t at least share my bed? Or are you merely suggesting a much kinkier way of getting pregnant?’
The heat under her skin flared into a sizzle, spreading its warming tentacles out to her furthest regions. He wanted her pregnant? He wanted her to bear his children? But that would mean making love with him!
Making love with Diablo. What would that be like? All olive skin and lean muscled limbs, control and power and heat. She shivered.
‘In your dreams!’
Because there must be no children to complicate this marriage, no fallout for when they divorced, as she’d already decided they would.
His smile started and ended at his lips, his eyes refusing to get involved. ‘So you know about my dreams? How convenient. Because soon I won’t just have you in my dreams. Soon I will have you underneath me, in my bed—or out of it, as you clearly seem to be advocating.’
She battled with shredded senses to regain some kind of foothold in this argument. But she was slipping, losing grip. She was supposed to be stating her terms. When had this become a discussion about where the act of sex itself would take place?
‘Why do you try to twist everything I say? I’m trying to be reasonable here.’
‘And you think it’s not reasonable for a wife to bear her husband his child?’
‘In normal circumstances, certainly. But this marriage is in no way normal. You know as well as I do that this arrangement is no more than a contrivance, to pay off my father’s debts and to make you look better in the world.’
He paused, his eyes narrowing. ‘If you say so. But think how much better I will look with a wife and a clutch of children. They will be half Davenports after all, socially acceptable, born into the same society that tried to keep me out for so long. Because I’m not operating under any misapprehensions—tonight I was accepted because you were on my arm. But people don’t change their colours so quickly. If anything were to happen between you and me, if our marriage was to end acrimoniously without children, I have no doubt the door to Sydney high society would soon be slammed in my face once again. And I have no intention of that happening. Children are what I want and children are what you will give me.’
‘So that’s why you want me—as some kind of brood mare, to bear your devil’s spawn.’
The corners of his mouth curved up. ‘Are you so disappointed it’s not for your sweet nature?’
She fumed with irritation. ‘You can’t make me sleep with you.’
He was out of his chair and before her in an instant, his stance dangerous, confronting. He reached out to her and his attitude suddenly softened. He touched fingertips to her cheek, trailing down below her chin and raising it closer. His other hand slipped around her neck.
‘No,’ he whispered, so close to her face she was sure he must hear the slam of her blood in her veins. ‘But maybe I can convince you.’
She could hardly breathe, let alone respond, as his fingers stirred into a slow caress at her neck that left her dizzy and swaying on her heels, her headache all but forgotten under his searing touch on her bare skin. She gasped in air, his face so close that the taste of him filled her senses, and memories of those lips and a stolen kiss resurfaced into a solid, shocking need for a replay.
‘You’re trembling,’ he said.
‘I…I’m cold,’ she lied.
He drew her closer, pressing his lips first to one cheek and then the other before drawing back.
‘I think,’ he whispered, ‘it could be fun warming you up, convincing you that making love would not be such a bad