The Society Bride

  “Nena,” he whispered. “Let me love you—let me be your husband.”

  “I—I can’t…” she responded hoarsely, only too conscious of his scent, of the maleness of him, of everything about him that drew her, while she tried desperately to remind herself of all the reasons she couldn’t let it happen.

  “I promise not to hurt you,” he said reasonably, leaning his hands on each side of her on the balustrade, his tanned face and sensual lips only inches from hers.

  She realized with a tingling shudder that left her weak, that he was about to kiss her.

  Scottish author FIONA HOOD-STEWART has led a cosmopolitan life from the day she was born. Schooled in Europe and fluent in seven languages, she draws on her own experiences in the world of old money, big business and the international jet set for inspiration in creating her books. She now lives in Switzerland with her two teenage sons.

  You can visit Fiona’s Web site at www.fionahood-stewart.com.

  Fiona is also one of the international collection of bestselling authors writing for MIRA® Books. Her latest novel, Southern Belle, is available next month. Look out for a tempting extract at the end of this book.

  Her other titles include:

  The Stolen Years

  “A feast for anyone who yearns for a long, rich read.”

  —Romantic Times

  The Journey Home

  “Well told…with plot twist and powerful emotions.”

  —Romantic Times

  Fiona Hood-Stewart

  THE SOCIETY BRIDE

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  HE’D been summoned, Ramon Villalba realised. He frowned as he sat astride his fine Passo Fino and stared across the wide, green open spaces where several thousand heads of cattle—all belonging to him—grazed, oblivious of the fact that their owner was once again about to board his company jet in Buenos Aires and head for London.

  It was rare these days that his father summoned him. After all, Ramon was thirty-two, and had cut his eye-teeth a long while ago. So the matter must be extremely important and the summons immediately met.

  He experienced a moment’s concern. Could it be the health of one of his parents’ that was the issue here? Surely not. His mother, with whom he had an exceptionally close relationship, would have confided in him. Still, he wasted no time in galloping back to the gracious hacienda, its ancient terracotta walls bathed in late-afternoon sunlight, and having Juanito, his manservant, pack his bags in readiness for the journey.

  Twenty-four hours later he was sitting in the book-lined study of his family’s home in Eaton Square, trying to absorb the impact of what his father had just said.

  ‘But that’s utterly preposterous!’ Ramon exclaimed, dragging his fingers through his thick black hair and shaking his head. ‘As I recollect, Nena Carvajal is not twenty yet—a mere girl. How can you and old Don Rodrigo even contemplate marriage for her?’

  ‘Really, Ramon. Stop being prissy. You sound as if you’ve never heard of a marriage of convenience.’

  ‘Well, certainly not one like this,’ Ramon countered with feeling, letting his long legs stretch before him and crossing his ankles. His bronzed brow creased. ‘I don’t know what’s got into your heads. If Nena thinks of me as anything at all it’s probably in the light of an—’

  ‘Rubbish.’ His father, a well-dressed man in his late seventies, cut him short briskly. ‘I doubt if she remembers you at all—which may be for the best.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘There is a very strong reason for this arrangement.’

  ‘Oh? And what might that be?’ Ramon raised a haughty brow.

  ‘Simply put, Don Rodrigo, her grandfather, is dying.’

  Ramon frowned and sat up straighter. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘The big C, I’m afraid. He has six months at the most. Now, can you imagine what might happen to that girl if she’s let loose on the world with the kind of money she will inherit? Not to mention the running of Rodrigo’s empire,’ he added, with a quick, sharp look at his son.

  ‘So that’s what this is all about,’ Ramon said slowly. ‘Rodrigo thinks I might be a suitable candidate to take over, does he?’

  ‘I would say that is a great compliment, considering the vastness and complexity of his empire.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,’ Ramon conceded irritably. ‘There’s only one problem.’

  ‘Oh?’ Don Pedro raised an eyebrow and waited.

  ‘I have no desire to be married.’

  A moment’s silence followed before the older man answered. ‘Ramon, this marriage to Nena—’

  ‘Who could practically be my daughter,’ Ramon dismissed disparagingly.

  ‘Hardly. Unless you plan to enter the Guinness Book of Records as a very young father,’ his parent murmured with a touch of wry humour. ‘Now, this marriage—as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me—will hardly curtail your er—lifestyle. I’m sure that Nena has been brought up to expect a marriage of this kind. I haven’t, I admit, seen her for several years. She has been at boarding school—the Convent of the Sacré Coeur,’ he continued with a small satisfied smile. ‘That in itself is a good omen.’

  ‘Father, this whole notion is totally absurd!’ Ramon exploded. He jumped up from the chair, his lean, athletic figure clad in an exquisitely cut Italian navy silk suit, and began pacing the study. ‘You’d think it was the Middle Ages. I cannot agree to such a plan.’

  ‘At least give it some thought—think about it,’ Don Pedro said reasonably. ‘It would, of course, be an incredible opportunity for you. Businesswise, I mean.’

  Ramon’s eyes flashed and he drew himself up taller. ‘If you think, Father, that I would get myself tangled up in a marriage of convenience out of a desire to improve my already not so shabby business ventures, then let me relieve you of the notion immediately,’ he replied witheringly.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Don Pedro responded carefully, measuring his son’s reaction. ‘Think of your mother and I. We barely knew one another before our marriage. And look how wonderfully it has turned out. The truth is I have never looked at another woman since, and I can assure you I was quite a lad in my day.’ He let out a long, low laugh. ‘And as for age—why, your mother’s twenty years my junior. You are barely thirteen years older than Nena. I cannot take that as a consideration. And besides, at thirty-two it is time you thought of setting up your nursery.’

  ‘Whatever, Father,’ Ramon growled, suddenly needing to be alone, to think, to straighten this mess out.

  ‘May I tell my old friend Don Rodrigo that you will at least think about the proposal? To turn it down out of hand would be nothing short of an insult.’

  This last was true. The honour of being selected by one of the richest men in the world to be his future grandson-in-law, heir to all his responsibilities, was no light matter. Handled wrongly, this could affect a lifelong friendship.

  Reluctantly Ramon nodded. ‘Very well, Father. But on one condition,’ he declared, his chin jutting firmly, ‘that I get to see Nena. I presume she has been made aware of the circumstances?’

  ‘Uh, not that I’m aware of,’ Don Pedro murmured, carefully shuffling a pile of papers on his desk. ‘All in good time.’

  ‘Great,’ Ramon replied cynically, rolling his eyes. Then, for some inexplicable reason, he avoided delivering the rest of the sentence about to escape his lips.

&nbs
p; ‘The Villalbas?’ Nena’s well-shaped brows creased and she tilted her lovely, lightly tanned face to one side, her flashing green eyes fixed on her grandfather. ‘I don’t seem to remember them. Did we know them back in Argentina?’

  ‘Of course, my love. But it has been quite a while since they last visited. Certainly not since you went off to school. Pedro Villalba is an old and trusted friend of mine, and his wife Augusta is in some way related to your late grandmother’s family.’

  ‘Ah.’ Nena nodded and smiled. Everyone was always somehow related to the family.

  ‘They are coming to tea tomorrow with their son, Ramon, whom you may remember. He came over once or twice when he was at Eton and then Oxford.’

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t a clue who he is.’ She shook her tawny gold-flecked hair, highlighted by two weeks of playing tennis every day in the South of France, and jumped up. ‘I’m off to the tournament now. Do you need anything before I go? Water for your pills?’ she asked, suddenly concerned.

  Her grandfather seemed to have aged much during the past weeks, and she worried about him. Not for nothing had she inherited her deceased French mother’s perception and innate capability for running Thurston Manor, their lovely country house near Windsor, and for making sure that her beloved grandfather was cosseted.

  ‘No, no, my child. Off you run. Just make sure to be back on time for tea tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll try. But we have the semi-finals, and if I get through today I may be playing.’

  Don Rodrigo smiled at her benignly. He loved her so dearly, and wished—oh, how he wished—that he could live to see her bloom into the flower he perceived emerging, watch as she travelled towards womanhood. But that was not to be, he reminded himself with an inner sigh, accepting the soft kiss on his withered old cheek. And he must make sure she was safely provided for. Not just financially—there she was only too well provided for. If anything that was half the worry. In fact what truly concerned him were the fortune-hunters that he knew would hover like anxious vultures from here to Tierra del Fuego the minute he was dead and buried.

  It was four by the time the Bentley drew up on the gravel drive before the splendid country house. Ramon experienced another wave of distaste. The whole thing was utterly absurd, and left him feeling as though he were participating in a very bad B movie. Still, he’d listened to his mother’s urgings and his father’s request to at least honour the visit. And he would, he supposed, alighting from the vehicle. At least after this he might be able to bring his father and Don Rodrigo to reason.

  Several minutes later they were being conducted by the dignified white-haired butler onto the lawn, where Don Rodrigo heaved himself with some difficulty out of a wicker chair.

  ‘Amigos,’ he said, embracing Pedro and kissing Augusta. ‘What a pleasure it is to receive you in my home.’ Then he turned towards Ramon and eyed him closely. ‘How do you do, Ramon? It is several years since we last met, but I’ve followed your may I say rather brilliant progress?’ He quirked a brow and smiled. ‘Knowing your father, I am not surprised. But impressed. Very impressed.’

  ‘Coming from you, that is a compliment indeed,’ Ramon murmured, shaking the other man’s hand. He sensed the slight shaking and frailty in the fingers and realised that the sharp grey eyes belied failing health. He also realised that Don Pedro would not easily be fobbed off. As he sat down next to his mother at the table, already laid for afternoon tea, he wondered just how hard it was going to be to get out of this marriage. There was no sign of Nena, he observed a sudden spark of hope flashing. Perhaps she’d been told and had refused to agree to the arrangement. She was, after all, nearly twenty.

  If so, all the better.

  He was quite willing to help her out, advise her financially—even be a trustee, if Don Rodrigo so wished.

  The thought began to take shape. Perhaps that was the way to work the situation, he mused, his quick brain already solving the matter. If Nena didn’t agree to the marriage then he could bow out gracefully and not be blamed, and it would all work out for the best. It was, he reflected, allowing wishful thinking to take the upper hand, a mere question of initiating the correct strategy.

  ‘Have they arrived?’ Nena asked breathlessly as she jumped out of her new Audi TT. After throwing her tennis racket onto one of the hall chairs, she glanced at herself in the gilt mirror. ‘I look a mess. But I suppose I’d better dash out and say hello, or Grandfather will kill me,’ she exclaimed to Worthing, the butler, who was eyeing her severely as he closed the door.

  ‘Don Rodrigo and the guests are on the lawn, Miss Nena.’ He still called her by her childhood name.

  ‘Good. Well, do see that tea is served, won’t you? Oh, and Worthing? Please ask Cook to serve both China and Ceylon. I don’t know which the guests would prefer.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Nena,’ he replied, pursing his lips and shaking his head fondly as she flew across the hall, through the drawing room, and down the steps to the lawn, where the group was seated under the chestnut tree facing the lake.

  Smoothing her hair back, she hurried across the grass. How nice for her grandfather to have some people to entertain. He saw so few nowadays. She was sure it wasn’t good for him to lead such a solitary existence, she reflected as she drew up on them from behind, but perhaps a lot of social activity might tire him.

  ‘Hello, I’m so sorry I’m late.’

  Ramon turned.

  ‘Aunt Augusta, Uncle Rodrigo, it’s been ages,’ she said, kissing Ramon’s parents while he looked in frank admiration at the gorgeous, lithe young woman—at her never-ending long bronzed legs that eradicated for ever the fuzzy image he’d formed of a rather dowdy, plump adolescent. Her smile, he reflected, was dazzling, her teeth white and perfect, and her lightly tanned skin set off the beauty of her huge almond-shaped green eyes in a manner fit to leave even a seasoned womaniser like himself dazed.

  And her hair…

  It fell in feathery wisps from a ponytail, giving her the air of having tumbled straight out of bed, and leaving him in dire danger of an embarrassing physical reaction.

  Pulling himself together, Ramon rose and shook hands, hoping none of these untoward emotions showed, and reminded himself of the true nature of their visit here.

  ‘Will you excuse me if I pop upstairs and change?’ she was saying to his mother in a charmingly assured manner that belied her youth. ‘I look a dreadful fright.’

  He watched as she retreated swiftly across the lawn, trying to suppress the delightful image of that long, curved, slim body uncoiling amongst bedsheets, finding himself distressingly prey to a sensual twisting tug. He must not, he realised, removing his eyes from her, lose track of reality here. He caught his father’s approving eye and quickly concentrated once more on the conversation.

  But if his father thought that Nena’s astonishing beauty and charm might make the marriage any more acceptable he was wrong. Instead it somehow made it worse. It was one thing to do a poor dowdy creature a favour, another to place under his protection a paragon whom, when she found her feet, would be the toast of society in every city they visited. The thought was strangely disturbing and he banished it.

  ‘Ramon, I hope you have thought about your father’s and my proposition,’ Don Rodrigo said, easing himself with obvious difficulty in the wicker chair, reminding Ramon of just how much was at stake here. ‘After one look at my lovely granddaughter I’m sure you are aware how impossible it would be for me to allow her to go out alone and unchaperoned into the world.’

  ‘Well, I don’t altogether agree, no,’ Ramon countered. ‘After all, sir, we are in the twenty-first century. A well-selected board of trustees could easily take care of her affairs. She seems a confident young woman, quite able to look after herself,’ he added.

  ‘Ha!’ Don Rodrigo let out a harsh exclamation. ‘Much you know about it. Oh, she’s got confidence and charm and excellent manners, of course. But she would be swept off her feet by the first fortune-hunter that walked into her life
. And, believe me, they’re already lining up,’ he said darkly.

  ‘That I can believe,’ Pedro Villalba replied, sending his son a meaningful look from under his thick silver brows.

  ‘And it’s not only my little Nena I’m concerned about,’ Don Pedro continued, meeting Ramon’s eyes with a look as steady as his own. ‘It’s the future of all I’ve built up over a lifetime. I have no intention for that to go to rack and ruin, frittered away by some spendthrift. Trustees, as you mentioned earlier, are all fine and dandy, but they will not direct her sentimental life, look after her as a woman needs looking after.’

  ‘Excuse me for being so bold,’ Ramon said, leaning forward, ‘but does Nena have any idea of what’s going on here?’

  ‘Up until now I deemed it preferable to stay silent. After all, I do not want her to be unduly upset. And when she learns of my illness,’ he said stifling a sigh, ‘she will be most upset.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ramon looked down. ‘Don Rodrigo, although I would be more than willing to accept a role in an advisory capacity, I don’t feel that—’

  ‘One moment, young man. I am aware that all this has been thrust upon you in a most impromptu manner. But will you not at least take the opportunity, now that you have come all this way, of getting to know my granddaughter a little better? I am not suggesting that the two of you fall in love, or anything of that nature, merely that together you establish a well-balanced relationship. Nena has been brought up in the strictest possible manner. She would make you a good wife.

  ‘Many marriages work out very well under these conditions,’ he added with a thin, tired smile. ‘I know that in this day and age you young people all believe in Hollywood-style relationships—marriage one day, divorce the next. But real life, my boy, is very different. Look rather at your parents, and at myself. Our marriages were planned, and they worked out brilliantly.’