Claiming His Wife

She fingered the stem of her wine glass and, as if noting the unconsciously nervous gesture, Don˜a Elvira said, ‘It is an uncomfortable time for all of us.’

And wasn’t that the truth? Cassie speared a sliver of tender pork fillet. Her twin was conspicuous by his absence. House arrest, he’d told her. He probably had to eat in the kitchen with the servants. She laid down her fork, the food unwanted.

‘I’ll be returning to England tomorrow,’ she stated, squashing the wicked impulse to tell her mother-in-law of her son’s attempt to blackmail her into resuming their marriage. Only for three short months—but, even so, Don˜a Elvira and the aunts would hate that. They were probably already counting down to when Roman could be free of his unsuitable, hopeless wife and they could begin pressing him to marry someone of his own nationality, someone with breeding and lots of lovely old money!

Something clicked inside her brain. Of course! She could see it all now. Roy’s fall from grace had given Roman the leverage he needed. It wasn’t just sexual curiosity about her, as he’d so insultingly claimed—his family must be nagging him again to produce an heir, and this time he could put them off if it appeared that he was having another stab at making his marriage work!

Sharply, her mind skidded back to the afternoon Roman had proposed to her. The older family members had been taking a siesta; Roy and Guy—Cindy’s older brother—had taken a couple of horses out onto the campos while Cindy and her mother were upstairs packing. About to follow suit—the month-long holiday was over and they were leaving for home the next day—she’d been halfway up the handsomely carved staircase when Roman’s softly voiced request had stopped her in her tracks.

‘Cassie, got a few minutes to spare?’

Her hand had shot out and tightened on the polished banister until her knuckles stood out like white sea-shells as a wave of raw heat flooded her body. She had been sure she was in love with him, helplessly and hopelessly in love, and it had turned her into a gibbering idiot when he was around.

Cindy had said, ‘Mucho macho!’, pretending to swoon. ‘He doesn’t even notice me but he follows you with his eyes, you lucky pig!’

Trying not to think of the gross stupidity of that remark—why should a man as gorgeous, as self-assured and wildly wealthy as Roman spare a very ordinary woman with no social skills and about as much sex appeal as a carrot a second glance?—she had waited until the gauche heat ebbed from her face before slowly turning.

He had been watching her from the foot of the stairs. Watching. Waiting. Her throat muscles had gone into spasm.

‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Yes?’ Had her expression been intelligent, or just plain dumb? The latter, she suspected, because the slight shake of his dark, handsome head, the very slight abrasiveness of his voice had suggested impatience.

‘Not here. In the courtyard, for privacy. Come down.’

She’d gone; of course she had. If he’d asked her to walk to the North Pole with him she’d have gone without a murmur. And the sun-soaked courtyard had been deserted except for just the two of them, the scent of the rosemary and lavender planted in the centre perfuming the hot air. And his proposal had been the very last thing she’d expected.

‘As my mother and aunts never tire of telling me, it’s time I married and sired an heir. They’ve been dangling suitable females under my nose for the past five years and now that I’ve reached the venerable age of thirty-three they’ve stepped up their campaign.

‘I tell them to hold their meddling tongues, to put the succession of simpering creatures back into the boxes they dug them out of; I tell them that I will marry the woman of my choosing, not theirs. It makes no difference and, quite frankly, Cass, I am tired of it.’

At that point he had taken her hand and her whole body had melted, turning her into an amorphous mass of sensation, blanking out every last one of her brain cells. What else could explain the unseemly haste, the total lack of logical thought that had accompanied her acceptance when he’d increased the pressure of his fingers on hers and murmured, ‘I think we could make a successful marriage. You’re young for your years. Don’t take that as a criticism—you lack the guile and artifice that bores me in other women, and I find that very appealing. I do need an heir, and for that I need to marry. I want a woman I can live with, a woman whose primary concerns aren’t the perfection of her appearance, attending parties that take her days to prepare for, or empty-headed gossip.’

His mouth had indented wryly. ‘The bargain wouldn’t be one-sided. Since the death of your father you’re a ship without a rudder; I gather that he had you convent-educated then used emotional blackmail to keep you at home acting as an unpaid housekeeper. Cass, marriage and motherhood would give you the direction you want. And no need to worry about the debts waiting for you at home—naturally, as your husband, I would discharge them. And for me—’ his eyes had softened as he’d smiled into hers ‘—I would be free of the endless carping from my female relatives. In time, there would be our children to take their meddling minds away from me, and I could get on with my life in peace. And, more importantly, I would have a wife I’d chosen for myself. Will you think about it, dear Cassie?’

She hadn’t, she thought now, defiantly draining her wine glass. She’d simply accepted him and thought about it later, when it was too late to do anything other than acknowledge the fact that he had married her because she was biddable, undemanding, a creature of no consequence, and someone he could hide in a corner and forget about. Someone to provide him with the heirs the vast Fernandez estates needed.

Only it hadn’t worked out like that, had it?

‘I see Delfina still visits you,’ she remarked coolly to her mother-in-law. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she added, ‘So kind, don’t you think, when sophisticated social events, glitzy restaurants and expensive shops are her natural milieu? Or so she always led me to believe.’

Before, she would never have dreamed of saying such a thing. She had almost literally withered away whenever her mother-in-law or the aunts had spoken to her, almost always with some criticism or other—the way she dressed, her apparent inability to conceive or keep her husband at her side, her weight loss.

‘She has always been fond of my son.’ Don˜a Elvira dabbed her mouth with her napkin. ‘As I said, it has been an uncomfortable time for all of us.’

Was that sympathy in the older woman’s eyes? Cassie thought so. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Formerly, had she only listened to the words, failing to see the concern for her well-being and happiness that lay behind the apparent criticisms?

She laid down her napkin, made her excuses, and left the room without even glancing at Roman. Sympathy from a most unexpected quarter wasn’t worth thinking about. Not now. It was over.

‘Sis!’

As Cassie closed the door to the formal dining room behind her Roy emerged from beneath the stone arch that led to the kitchen quarters. It took her two seconds to reach him. She wanted to shake him but he looked so wretched she hugged him instead.

‘I couldn’t sit through dinner, not knowing whether you’d persuaded Roman to give me another chance.’

She had meant to tell him that she’d tried and failed, that he was on his own now and had to take the consequences of his dishonesty, but she could feel his wiry body shaking. Her heart lurched. Her eyes filled with tears.

In the past she’d fought all his battles for him. Maybe he would have been a stronger character if she hadn’t. Maybe she was to blame for the way he’d messed up his life.

But how could she fail him now, when he needed her most?

‘It will be all right,’ she told him unsteadily. ‘You’ll be given another chance. Make the most of it, though, because it will be your last.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE kitchen was in the older, original part of the house; the stone walls were painted white and the huge black range added to the warmth of the early morning. Asunción, who ran the household and catered for the unmarried estate workers with unruffled efficiency, was kneading dough; two of the maids sat at the other end of the central table, chattering over their toasted rolls and coffee.

‘Have you seen Señor Fernandez?’ Cassie asked as her appearance made the housekeeper stop pummelling and the maids fall silent.

Unless they’d changed their habits during the past twelve months, Don˜a Elvira and the aunts wouldn’t surface until after they’d breakfasted in their rooms at ten. But when he was here Roman was always out on the estate soon after sunrise; she didn’t want to miss him and hang around until lunchtime, getting more nervous and downhearted with every passing second. She wanted to get this over with.

‘No, not this morning, señora.’ Asunción planted her floury hands on her wide hips, her small dark eyes sparking with curiosity. ‘Señorita Delfina waits for him also.’ One of the maids smothered a giggle, earning a quick dark look from the housekeeper. ‘If you join her in the courtyard, someone will bring coffee out for you.’

‘Thank you, Asunción.’ Cassie retreated smartly, her cheeks burning. Las Colinas Verdes was like a small village; everyone knew everyone else’s business and the affairs of the family were the subject of eternal gossip and conjecture.

They would all be wondering why the runaway, unsuitable English wife had returned and why el patrón had taken his young brother-in-law out of his comfortable office in Jerez and put him to work like a labourer in the fields. Uncomfortably, she wondered what answers they’d come up with.

She had no wish to join Delfina but she really did need that coffee. Her night had been restless, tormented by the knowledge of what she’d let herself in for. She couldn’t go back on her promise to Roy, but if Roman wanted her to pretend that they were making a fresh start, and get his relatives off his back, then she had a condition of her own to make, she thought firmly.

Delfina was sitting in the shade of the sprawling fig tree which grew against one of the high stone walls of the courtyard. She was wearing form-fitting stretch jodhpurs and a cream-coloured, heavy silk shirt; the long sleeves were casually rolled up to just beneath her elbows, displaying lightly tanned forearms and a matching pair of thin gold chain bracelets.

She looked every inch the aristocrat, as if she belonged here. Cassandra couldn’t understand why Roman was going to such lengths to pretend he wanted another shot at making his marriage to an average-looking nobody like her work, when surely he could see that this beautiful, sophisticated daughter of a wealthy sherry family would make him a perfect wife. Or had he really meant it when he’d said that Delfina’s type bored him?

‘If you’re looking for Roman, you’re out of luck,’ Delfina snapped. ‘We had a date to go riding but he must have left without me.’ The lovely, perfectly made-up face was petulant, the scarlet mouth drooping sulkily. ‘He always did head for the hills rather than spend time around you, so I guess that’s what’s happened now.’

‘Is that so?’ Cassie slid on to the bench seat on the opposite side of the table, in the full glare of the already hot sun, noting that the other woman had barely touched her coffee or her juice. Roman might enjoy the flirtatious attentions of Delfina, and the way she hung around him would boost his already considerable ego. But he certainly wouldn’t want to marry her, and not only because her shallowness would bore him.

Delfina had been born to elegance and style, and was accustomed to the high life. She certainly wouldn’t allow herself to be isolated here, seeing her husband only when he felt like dropping by for a week or two, producing babies and closely chaperoned by his mother and aunts while he swanned off, free as a bird. She would make a demanding wife, while he had wanted a dutiful, self-effacing one, one who didn’t ask questions or demand a single thing of him.

Roman Fernandez was far too selfish to completely tie himself down to a woman; he enjoyed the pleasures of a bachelor-style life far too much. But at least, Cassie knew, he wouldn’t seduce the other woman. She came from an important family and he wouldn’t compromise her; his Spanish code of honour wouldn’t let him. Though why she should see that as a consolation, Cassie couldn’t imagine. She no longer cared what he did.

‘I can’t think why you came back after all this time,’ Delfina said pettishly. ‘You’re wasting your time if you expect Roman to take you back—because he won’t, you know. How long are you staying, anyway?’ she wanted to know. ‘It can’t be too long if the only thing you’ve got with you is the same old suit you wore to dinner last night,’ Delfina added disparagingly. ‘And you really shouldn’t sit in the sun, not with your ginger colouring. You’ll get covered in ghastly freckles, just like your brother. And what’s he doing working here? I thought Roman had given him an easy life back in the office in Jerez.’

‘He’s learning estate management from the bottom up,’ Roman’s dark, velvety voice supplied. He was standing in the shadow of the pillared arcade that surrounded the courtyard on three sides. ‘And you never know, if he’s not otherwise engaged when Miguel retires in six years’ time, Roy might make manager.’

Cassie got the message. Roy could make something of himself here on the estate, or go to prison. She shivered, despite the warmth of the sun. At least Roman hadn’t confided the true situation to Delfina. She offered up a silent word of thanks for his tact.

‘We had a date,’ the Spanish woman cooed as Roman stepped out of the shadows. The petulance gone, she was all smiling welcome. She stood up, smoothing her hands over her prettily curved hips. ‘I’ve waited for ages, but at least you’re here now—so just this once I’ve decided to forgive you!’