The Arrogant Duke

The Duque had changed now into a cream silk lounge suit, that enhanced the swarthy cast of his complexion. The close-fitting trousers suited the muscular length of his legs, while Juliet was surprised to see that the jacket was quite modern in design with a long centre back vent. She supposed she had expected Venterra to be quite out of touch with civilization, but a man like Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro was hardly likely to allow anyone but a Savile Row tailor to dress him. Trying to view him emotionlessly was difficult; his personality was such that she was intensely aware of him as a force to be reckoned with.

Teresa had paused now, and he straightened from the lounging position he had adopted near Teresa’s chair, and looked straight at Juliet.

‘So, senhorita,’ he murmured, taking out a case of cheroots and placing one between his firm lips, ‘you have perhaps discovered that not everything you read in the newspapers is true.’ His tone was cool, but mocking.

Juliet frowned, resisting the impulse to jump to her feet. ‘Do you mean the advertisement, senhor?’ she questioned, at last.

The Duque inclined his head, lighting his cheroot from a slim gold lighter. ‘Of course. You have been – how shall I put it? – misled! I regret the circumstance, of course, but …’ He shrugged his broad shoulders.

Juliet digested this, and then deemed she would feel at less of a disadvantage if she did stand up. Getting to her feet, she said, rather unsteadily: ‘You – you regret the circumstance, senhor! Are you trying to tell me my services are not required?’

‘How perceptive of you, Senhorita Summers,’ he murmured lazily. ‘That is exactly what I mean.’

Juliet took a deep breath. So much for Estelle Vinceiro’s influence, she thought gloomily.

‘Might – might I ask why?’ she said, rather tremulously.

The Duque frowned now. He was obviously not used to having anyone question his commands. He glanced down at Teresa thoughtfully, and then said:

‘I think, senhorita, we might discuss this in my study. I realize you feel annoyed and inconvenienced, but I trust I can compensate you financially for any inconvenience caused. Come!’ His tone was peremptory now, and Juliet obeyed, even while she felt furious that he should imagine he could buy her off.

He led the way through the marble-floored hall, along a corridor whose windows faced a rose garden, into a room furnished austerely in dark wood and leather, and whose walls were lined with leather-tooled books. He walked round to the far side of the desk which commanded a central position after he had closed the door and indicated that Juliet should sit in the chair opposite. She did so with some trepidation, which increased when he himself did not sit down but stood regarding her with dark, sombre eyes. If he found anything attractive in Juliet’s smooth, lightly tanned features, in the widely spaced depths of her eyes, or in the sun-kissed lustre of her hair, he did not show it, and merely seemed to be absorbed with some inner thoughts.

‘Now,’ he said, at last, when the tension Juliet was • feeling had become almost a tangible thing, ‘it is too late today for you to consider making the journey back to Barbados, and from there home to England. However, tomorrow I will have the hydroplane ready and waiting for you at ten o’clock.’

Something inside Juliet snapped at his words. She had been accustomed all her life to fighting for anything she wanted, and she saw no reason to stop now. This chance would never come her way again. Once her father discovered what she had done he would never trust her completely again. She would never be sure, wherever she went, that he had not got someone tailing her, monitoring her every movement. It was already too late to get back without his finding out what she had done. Rosemary had a letter to post two days after her departure which explained a little of her actions, without actually giving her whereabouts away. It would put both Mandy and her father’s minds at rest, and prevent Robert Lindsay from calling the police.

But this man, this arrogant Duque, was attempting, with casual apologies, to ruin everything she had struggled to achieve, as well as turning a blind eye to the situation that was developing under his very nose. Couldn’t he see what was happening to Teresa? Didn’t he feel the emotion she was harbouring for him? Or did he indeed know what was going on, and found it satisfying to his ego?

Juliet wasn’t sure, all she was sure of was that in this, at least, Estelle Vinceiro was right. She linked her fingers, bent her head, and exploded her bombshell.

‘Are you aware that your niece is in love with you?’

The Duque had been waiting for her reply, flicking through the correspondence on his desk idly, but at her words, his head jerked up, and he stared at her with incensed dark eyes. Juliet shivered, and returned her own gaze to her fingers, wondering however she had dared suggest such a thing.

‘Senhorita, your remarks may be a product of your indignation at your dismissal, but they are in extremely bad taste!’

Juliet bit her lip hard. What the hell, he was firing her anyway, what had she got to lose?

‘Bad taste or not, they’re true,’ she retorted, allowing her eyes to meet his momentarily. ‘Why do you suppose she objects to a companion? Because it limits the time you might spend with her!’

‘Enough! Deus! No one has ever spoken to me like this! How do you know these things? You have been here less than twelve hours! Have you, in that time, assimilated our positions so perfectly?’

The Duque walked round the desk restlessly, making Juliet acutely aware of him as a man, with a man’s powers, and she was treading on dangerous ground, even if she was leaving in the morning. Here, the Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro was all powerful. Who would help her, if he chose to punish her for her outspokenness? She shivered, and wished she had a cigarette.

He returned to his position behind the desk at last, relieving a little of her tension, and again studied her intently.

‘Senhorita, I have considered what you have said, and I find I simply cannot believe you. Por Deus, Teresa is but sixteen years of age; I am nearing my fortieth birthday. Such a liaison can never have occurred to a child like that. I have never, at any time, given her any reason—’ He halted, and stiffened. ‘Wait! I will not explain myself to you. You will leave tomorrow, as I have said.’

Juliet sighed, and rose to her feet. ‘Very well, senhor,’ she said, not without some annoyance. ‘Maybe the next – companion – you employ will not be treated so carelessly.’

‘There will be no more companions,’ replied the Duque coldly.

‘There may have to be,’ retorted Juliet, her cheeks flushed. ‘In another year, regardless of her disablement, Teresa will be ready for marriage, and you may find your position less tenable!’ She marched to the door, but despite his greater weight he was there before her, leaning against the door, preventing her escape.

‘Wait!’ he muttered sombrely. ‘Wait! Maybe I have been too hasty. Maybe you are right. Maybe Teresa does need a companion after all. You are not the first person to tell me so. Does not my own cousin-in-law advocate your arguments also?’ He straightened, looking down at her with enigmatic eyes. ‘Very well, senhorita, you may stay. At least for a month. We will discover at the end of that time whether your presence has created any special improvement. Sim?’

Juliet’s legs felt weak. She didn’t know whether it was the relief at knowing she was staying, or the Duque’s proximity, but she suddenly seemed breathless and completely enervated.

‘Ver – very well, senhor,’ she murmured, and then, as though common sense asserted itself, she said: ‘What – what are you going to tell Teresa?’ She moved slightly away from him, pressing her hands together, as a demon of disobedience urged her to continue: ‘This is always supposing I agree.’

The Duque caught his breath in an angry gasp. ‘Are you even daring to suggest you might not stay?’ he ground out.

Juliet shrugged, maintaining her calm attitude with the utmost difficulty. ‘Well, after all, you seem to imagine you can dismiss me and then re-employ me without even considering my feelings. ‘Oh, I agree, I did suggest that Teresa did require a companion, and I was angry that you should think you could return me to London like some unwanted parcel, senhor, but even I have feelings, and as a woman I deserve a little more consideration!’

‘O que hei-de eu fazer? You are the most exasperating creature I have ever met!’ he muttered angrily. ‘As for you being a woman, you are little more than a child yourself!’

‘I am twenty-one, senhor, and no more a child than your — your cousin’s widow, Senhora Vinceiro!’ Juliet disliked his assumption intensely.

The Duque pressed out his cheroot violently in a copper ashtray, and then stared at her coldly. ‘So, senhorita! May I have your decision? Or do you require time to think about it? I warn you, I may yet change my own opinion!’

Juliet felt her cheeks burning. ‘I’ll stay—’ then, as he would have spoken, she went on, ‘providing you tell me a little more about Teresa, and her condition, and the reasons for your antipathy towards a companion for her!’

She was amazed at her own temerity, and so apparently was the Duque. He lit another cheroot, and then crossed to a tray of drinks on a nearby table. He poured himself a large whisky, but drank it at one gulp before turning to Juliet and asking her whether she would care for a drink herself. Juliet shook her head, and he raised his eyebrows mockingly.

‘Surely English women are completely emancipated, are they not?’

‘I’ve just drank two cups of tea, senhor,’ replied Juliet coolly, marvelling at her own composure.

‘Touché!’ He half-smiled, revealing even white teeth, and Juliet felt a strange sensation disturb the pit of her stomach. It was not an unpleasant sensation, and yet it frightened her a little, and she was glad when he seated himself behind the desk, and resumed his lazy scrutiny of the papers on his desk.

Juliet hovered uncertainly by the door, and he nodded to the chair opposite him. ‘Do sit down, senhorita, or I shall have to stand myself, and this may take a few minutes.’

Juliet subsided into the chair again, and linked her hands in her lap, the demure attitude belying the strength of her convictions.

‘So, senhorita,’ he began, ‘I will tell you about Teresa. As you know she is sixteen years of age, and reasonably intelligent. Prior to the accident she attended an academy in Lisbon, my brother lived near there, you understand, but on her parents’ death, and her own subsequent disability, she was brought here — by me.’ He drew on his cheroot. ‘Teresa was not my brother’s child, but the child of his wife, and her first husband.’

‘Yes, Teresa told me,’ replied Juliet, and he frowned.

‘I see. She must have been singularly confiding this afternoon. Still – as I have said, after the accident, I brought her here. There was no one else. Her mother’s family – parents, at least, were dead, she had no brothers or sisters. The child was quite alone. Naturally, as she had taken my brother’s name, she was as much his child as any blood relation could be.’

‘I see.’

‘The accident – it was tragic. The usual motorway pile-up, with Teresa trapped in the wreckage for hours. Hours when she was conscious, and suffered much mental torture.’ He sighed. ‘The hospital could find little wrong with her; there is no injury to her legs, no spinal damage, she simply refuses to walk! It is as simple – or maybe, as difficult – as that!’ He leant forward. ‘And that is why I do not wish her to become emotionally disturbed, in any direction! She already is disturbed, and only time, and affection, and patience can cure her. She has a nurse, Miss Madison is a very capable woman. But she is old, in her fifties, and consequently can provide little companionship to a girl of Teresa’s age.’

Juliet sighed. ‘Then why create so much difficulty about employing a companion for her?’ she exclaimed.

The Duque frowned. ‘You are a very curious young woman, Miss Summers. I do not know that I care for your attitude!’