Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love: Ramirez's Woman / Her Royal Bodyguard / Protecting the Princess. BEVERLY BARTON
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I’ve known would much prefer to share my bed.”
“You’ll find that I’m not like most women.”
“I have already discovered that fact.”
She gave him a sharp nod. “Very well. I’ll go quietly upstairs to our room for the evening, but beginning tomorrow morning, I’ll be stuck to your side like glue, twenty-four-seven.”
He bowed graciously, then smiled at her. “I look forward to every moment. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll send Ramona to see you to our room, then she’ll bring your dinner up on a tray. And I’ll see that Paco takes care of your and Mr. Shea’s luggage.”
“Perhaps you should call us Dom and Jennifer, even in private,” she told him. “It will help you become accustomed to our names. After all, you wouldn’t want to slip up and call your cousin Mr. Shea or your beloved fiancée, Ms. Blair.”
“Point taken…Jennifer. Or would you prefer that I call you querida?”
“You choose, depending on your mood.”
If he called her what his present mood dictated, his grandmother would come down from heaven and wash his mouth out with soap, as she had done when he was a child and had dared to use foul language in her presence.
With Señorita Blair—Jennifer—ensconced in his suite upstairs and his “cousin” Dom regaling his friends with a completely fictitious story of how Miguel had contacted him on his most recent trip to Miami, Miguel breathed a sigh of relief as he rejoined the others in the dining room.
“You’ve missed dessert,” Dolores told him, then eyed him inquiringly. “Or perhaps you consider time alone with your future wife sweeter than any of Ramona’s delicious pastries?”
“Well put, little sister,” Miguel said, but his gaze connected with Zita’s. Her expression told him that she was displeased, that she had come here tonight expecting this to be the first evening of many they would share. He could hardly tell her that he, too, had wanted the same. But those plans had been altered by circumstances beyond his control. First and foremost, his loyalty and dedication belonged to the people of Mocorito. Any personal happiness had to come second.
He turned to Roberto. “My dear friend, will you please see Señora Fuentes home? I’m afraid the sudden arrival of my darling Jennifer and Cousin Domingo must, of necessity, bring our evening to an early close.”
“Of course, Miguel, I would be delighted to escort the señora home.” Roberto walked over and held out his hand to Zita, who smiled graciously and rose to her feet.
“I shall say good night, also,” Dr. Esteban said. “I have early rounds at St. Augustine’s in the morning and will be rising before dawn.”
“Juan, thank you for coming tonight.” Miguel shook hands with his old friend, a man who shared his hopes and dreams for a true democracy in Mocorito.
“You must bring your lovely fiancée to dine with Aunt Josephina and me one evening soon, before the two of you are flooded with invitations,” Juan said. “Everyone in Nava will be eager to meet Señorita Blair.”
“And naturally, I would be honored to receive an invitation to your engagement party,” Zita told him as Roberto led her past Miguel.
“Of course. How very gracious of you, my dear Zita.” Miguel was not sure she would ever forgive him for this farce, even if he explained everything to her when the danger had passed and he had been elected president. It was possible that this evening’s events had destroyed any possible future he might have had with the charming young widow.
“Since all of you are making it an early evening, I think I’ll do the same,” Dom said. “If you will have someone show me to my room, I’ll call it a night.”
“I have sent Paco for your and Jennifer’s bags,” Miguel said. “Once he has delivered Jennifer’s luggage, I’ll have him show you upstairs.”
“In the meantime, why don’t you walk Emilio and me to the door?” Dolores said to her cousin.
Miguel would have preferred to avoid being drilled by Dolores. But better to get it over with tonight and hope he could persuade her of his sincerity. His little cousin knew him too well and even if he swore to her on his mother’s grave, she would still have some doubts. Whenever she was around, he would have to be doubly careful because she would watch him with Jennifer Blair as a hawk watches a chicken.
They had no sooner exited the dining room than Dolores checked to make sure Roberto and Zita were not within earshot, then she began the inquisition.
“She does not look pregnant, your fiancée,” Dolores said. “So why are you marrying this woman you barely know? An American woman! Is she Catholic? Is she willing to give up her United States citizenship? Do you truly love her or is it just great sex that has you acting like a fool?”
Emilio mumbled under his breath, evoking God to take pity on them—he and Miguel. “Dolores, querida, have faith in Miguel. Everything he does, he does for the right reasons.”
Halting before reaching the foyer, she snapped her head around and glared at her husband. “Exactly what does that mean?”
Miguel put his arm around her shoulders. “It means that I am engaged to be married to a woman who will be sharing my life these next few weeks as she stands at my side and helps me win the presidency. Jennifer has come to me to help me, not harm me in any way. She understands the duties she must perform as my fiancée and she will not fail me. I trust her with my life.”
Dolores studied Miguel contemplatively. “Do you have any objection to my spending time with her? To our becoming better acquainted?”
“None whatsoever,” Miguel replied. “As long as you treat her with the respect she deserves as my future wife.”
“Do you love her?”
“Would I ever ask a woman to marry me if I did not love her?”
Dolores sighed, then reached up and caressed his cheek. “Then I pray that she loves you as much as you do her.”
Emilio emitted a nervous chuckle. “As far as you are concerned, no woman would ever be good enough for Miguel.”
“Perhaps that is true,” she agreed.
“Come, come. We must go and get you to bed, little mother. You need your rest.” Emilio hovered over his wife, petting and soothing her as best he could.
Miguel stood on the veranda and watched his guests leave. First Roberto and Zita, then Juan Esteban and finally Emilio and Dolores. The evening had not gone as he had hoped due to the unexpected arrival of his American guests.
“Lovely evening,” Dom Shea came up beside Miguel.
“It was.”
“Sorry that we stormed in on you without warning, but our orders were to get here as quickly as possible.”
“Will Pierce’s idea, no doubt.”
Dom glanced all around, then asked in English, “Do your servants speak English?”
“No, they do not,” Miguel replied.
“Then I suggest that whenever we need to talk concerning private matters here in your home, that you, J.J. and I speak English.”
“J.J.?”
“Her name is Jennifer,” Dom replied. “But no one calls her that.”
Miguel nodded. “Was she the only female agent available?”
Dom chuckled. “She’s a handful, isn’t she? But she’s good at her job. You’ll be in safe hands with her.” Dom took a deep breath of fresh evening air. “To answer your question, no she wasn’t the only female Dundee agent available, but she was the best-qualified for this assignment. As you must have noticed, she speaks fluent