At the Spanish Duke's Command Read online

  And she, Georgiana, was the other guilty party, she reminded herself, cheeks flaming. The minute she placed the situation in its true context it seemed sordid. To think that she’d been a major part of it all was even more horrifying. If she had heard of anyone else involved in similar circumstances she would have been up in arms. Yet she had been a willing participant.

  Had been being the operative words, she reminded herself savagely. Never again would she allow Juan into her bed.

  As the taxi wove in and out of traffic Georgiana composed herself. She must come up with a valid excuse for Leticia. The more she thought about the situation the more aware she became that she had no right to hurt the woman. It occurred to her that perhaps Juan was right when he said Leticia expected him to have affairs. For, however strange that might seem to Georgiana, with her British upbringing, it was true that here in Spain things were conducted differently. She sighed and looked out at the busy street, aware suddenly that she might be doing Leticia more harm than good by blurting out the truth.

  By the time the black and red-striped taxi drew up before the smart apartment building in Velazquez, where Leticia resided, she’d come up with a brilliant excuse: the bridesmaid’s dress. She would justify her sudden visit by saying that she was so worried that she’d come straight from the airport to sort out the details. After all, Leticia had told her mother the dresses had already been delivered to her but needed a last fitting, so that the designer could be called immediately.

  But as she stood on the pavement after paying off the cab Georgiana’s confidence dwindled. She let out a deep, sad sigh and warded off the pain that threatened to engulf her once more. In a few short weeks her life had gone from the happy carefree existence of a young girl to the excruciatingly complicated existence of a woman facing one of life’s hardest dilemmas.

  Picking up her bag, she moved towards the front of the building and stepped inside the glass doors. A porter sat behind a desk in the beige marble entrance. Two large tropical plants flanked the chrome elevator doors.

  “I would like to see Señorita de Sandoval, please,” she said, plastering on a smile.

  “I will call up at once,” the porter replied graciously. “Whom should I announce?”

  Georgiana gave her name and waited, suddenly conscious of exactly where she was and how odd it would seem to Leticia. Thanks to Juan’s deviousness and her own stupidity she was about to play the most hypocritical role of her short career.

  As the man smiled and led her to the lift, Georgiana felt thoroughly ashamed.

  How odd that Georgiana had come directly from the airport to her apartment, Leticia thought. Then she shrugged and smiled, too used to seeing Pablito’s students to be surprised by anything this generation did.

  She had been looking forward to a quiet evening at home, for she needed some time to think by herself, but so be it. She’d been trying to deceive herself for a while now, but in the last few days life had become increasingly complicated. With a sigh, and determined to ignore the niggling headache that had tormented her for the past couple of days, Leticia mustered a welcoming smile and opened the front door herself, since Lola, her maid, had the night off.

  But when the lift doors opened she gazed in shock at the wisp of a girl before her. Georgiana looked exhausted.

  “Georgiana—gusto en ver te,” she said, moving forward and taking her into a welcoming embrace. Then she drew back keeping her hands on the girl’s shoulders, and frowned. “I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, querida, but is something the matter? You look so pale and tired.”

  For an instant Georgiana was tempted to fall into Leticia’s sympathetic arms and pour out the whole story. Then reason intervened just in time and she knew she had no right to confide her misery to this woman. Rallying a smile, she shook her head.

  “I’m fine. Just a bit tired. Too much partying in London,” she lied, following her hostess into the apartment, noting how prettily and tastefully decorated it was.

  “Put your bag down there—” Leticia pointed to the hall chair “—and we’ll have something to eat. Do you mind slumming it in the kitchen? It’s Lola’s night off and I was planning on whipping up something simple, like an omelette or a sandwich.”

  “Please don’t feel obliged to get anything for me,” Georgiana murmured uncomfortably, knowing what an intrusion this must be. She hadn’t even phoned Leticia to say she was coming. Now the spontaneous idea that in the taxi had seemed so sound left her embarrassed.

  “Rubbish.” Leticia laughed, tweaking her brown hair behind her ears and smiling. “I gather you’ve come straight from the airport?” She raised a surprised brow and glanced at the bag.

  “Uh, yes. Well, you see, I felt so bad about the bridesmaid’s dress,” Georgiana mumbled, desperately trying to mask her confusion. “You told my mother that the fittings were already delayed, so I thought it might be better if I came right away and—well, I hope I’m not disturbing you. I didn’t realise it was quite so late,” she continued uncomfortably; it sounded awfully lame.

  “Not at all. I’m glad you did.” Leticia sent her a warm smile. “You can come over any time you like. This is such fun,” she said, taking Georgiana’s arm and leading her to the kitchen. “After all, we haven’t really had a chance to get to know one another properly, have we? When we see each other it’s always with the Condessa—whom I love dearly, of course—or Juan. But now we can have a real chat.”

  “Yes, of course.” Georgiana smiled weakly and swallowed. The last thing she wanted was a heart-to-heart chat with her hostess.

  The kitchen was bright and up-to-date, with chrome and teak cupboards and a sleek bar counter creating sophisticated yet welcoming surroundings.

  Leticia pointed to one of the bar chairs. “Sit down and make yourself at home and I’ll see what there is in the fridge. But first, a glass of wine.”

  Not knowing how she could refuse the offer of alcohol, Georgiana did as she was told and watched Leticia, very much at ease in a pair of old jeans and a long jersey that looked as if it might have had several previous owners, move about the kitchen.

  She seemed so different from the sophisticated woman who’d appeared on Juan’s arm the night of the dinner they’d attended at the palace. Even when Leticia had come to the Castellana she’d always appeared very groomed. Yet here she looked like a university student, wandering around in socks and moccasins, her glasses perched on her head. All at once Georgiana wondered whether Juan appreciated this side of his fiancée or if he was only interested in the role she was supposed to play in his life. The thought made her blush again. It was none of her business. She must stop thinking about it.

  “Right.” Leticia looked over at her and laughed. “I’m a rotten cook, I’m afraid, so perhaps our best bet would be some Serrano ham sandwiches. But I’m happy to say,” she added, grimacing and lifting up a bottle, “that this is an excellent bottle of Rioja that I’ve been keeping for a special occasion. It seems appropriate that I should share it with my future bridesmaid.”

  Again Georgiana’s cheeks flamed, and a shudder ran through her at the thought of what poor Leticia would think if she knew the truth. She didn’t want to talk to her, or share a bottle of wine. All she wanted was to disappear, have the floor gobble her up.

  “That’s terribly kind of you,” she said weakly, a wave of dizziness gripping her. “But do you think I could have some water?”

  “Of course.” Leticia poured a glass of mineral water for her, then, turning, frowned. “Georgiana, are you sure you’re all right? You really look awfully drained. I do wish you’d tell me if something is wrong. I promise it won’t go any further.” She came over to Georgiana’s side and, handing her the glass, rubbed the girl’s shoulder.

  The kind gesture was more than Georgiana could bear. All at once the flood of tears so long contained burst forth and she let out a sob. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered between sobs. “I d-didn’t m-mean to, b-but—”

  “Shush, querida
, everything will be all right. Whatever it is we’ll sort it out.” Leticia wrapped her arms around her and soothed her while Georgiana cried harder.

  Never had she felt so anguished, so guilty or so duplicitous. What a cruel joke life had played, leading her to the one person she couldn’t—wouldn’t—confide in. From the moment she’d set eyes on Leticia again Georgiana had known instinctively that to share her pain and remorse with her would be to destroy the other woman’s happiness. And she had no right to do that. No right at all.

  Then all at once, between Leticia’s soothing and Georgiana’s subsiding sobs, the sound of the doorbell rang.

  “Damn,” Leticia exclaimed, exasperated, “Who on earth can be calling at this time? I’m so sorry, querida, but I’m afraid I have to answer it. Please just stay here and I’ll be back in a second. It’s probably some wretched delivery.”

  Georgiana dabbed her face with the tissue that Leticia had kindly offered her. It was now a soggy damp ball. Gulping, she stretched her stiff back and took a deep breath. She felt utterly washed out but a little calmer now that she’d had a good cry. Bracing herself, she took a gulp of water, dragged her fingers through her hair and waited for Leticia to return, determined to be brave and not cause anyone any unnecessary pain. She would deal with her problem herself, however difficult or hard it was to bear.

  “Dios mio, what on earth are you doing here?” Leticia exclaimed, eyeing Juan askance as he stood on the threshold.

  “You don’t seem too glad to see me,” he murmured dryly.

  “Well, of course I’m glad to see you,” Leticia answered in a harassed voice. “It’s just that right now isn’t the best moment.”

  “I’m sorry,” Juan said stiffly. “Had I been aware that you were entertaining guests I would naturally not have come.”

  “Oh, Juan!” she exclaimed, maddened. “I’m not entertaining in the real sense of the word. You only need to look at me to realise that,” she added, pointing to her attire with a rueful smile. “But I do have an unexpected visitor who—who is a little out of sorts.”

  “Oh?” Juan raised a brow.

  Knowing very well that his macho mind had immediately assumed she had a male caller, Leticia rolled her eyes and shook her head. “No, querido,” she said in a cajoling tone. “I am sorry to disappoint you but I have no secret lover hiding in the closet.”

  “I never thought such a thing,” he replied haughtily.

  “Yeah, right.” Leticia grinned at him, unbelieving. “You men are all the same. Actually, it’s Georgiana who has dropped in for a drink. She’s a little upset, but I still haven’t gathered about what.”

  “Georgiana?” His expression changed so radically that Leticia frowned.

  “Yes, she very sweetly came here straight from the airport. She was worried about the fitting for her bridesmaid’s dress and—”

  “Where is she?” he snapped, entering the hall uninvited.

  “Why, in the kitchen. But perhaps you’d better—”

  Her words died into thin air as Juan marched across the hall and entered the kitchen.

  “What in hell’s name do you think you are doing here?” he muttered in a tight, low voice that left Georgiana shuddering. He sounded cold and angry, and all at once she thought her heart would burst.

  “Oh, hello, Juan,” she said, for Leticia’s benefit. “Please don’t be angry that I left that day without saying goodbye. I had some things I needed to do in London. Then Leticia called my mother and said the dress fittings were late, so I dropped by here on my way back and…” Sensing she was getting caught up in her own lie, Georgiana shrugged, managed a weak smile and turned to Leticia. “Letti, please may I have some more water?”

  “Of course.” Leticia went behind the counter and retrieved the bottle of mineral water from the fridge. Taking out a third glass, she poured wine for Juan while glancing from him to Georgiana. She frowned inwardly. Since Juan’s unexpected entrance a strange tenseness had permeated the atmosphere.

  Telling herself she must be dreaming, she turned to him and smiled. “Since you’re here, querido, won’t you join us? Then you can drive Georgiana back to the Castellana.” She handed them each their glasses. “I was just telling Georgiana that it’s Lola’s night off, so I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me and eat in the kitchen. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. But I don’t want to interrupt your tête-à-tête.” He threw a quick harsh glance at Georgiana.

  “Not at all. You don’t mind, do you, Georgiana?”

  “Of course not,” she acquiesced. Actually Juan’s presence made matters easier. There would be no danger of having to fabricate a confidence for Leticia’s benefit.

  “Very well. Is there anything I can do to help?” Juan said, throwing Georgiana a measured glance that did not escape Leticia’s notice.

  What was going on? she wondered, exercising her smart brain. Had she missed something? A sudden thought crossed her mind, but she banished it as quickly as it came. Impossible. Juan would never seduce a young woman living under his own roof.

  Or would he?

  As he settled on the bar stool next to Georgiana, Juan masked his relief at having discovered her whereabouts. He’d spent several horrifying minutes wondering where she was headed. Now at least he had her back where he could take charge. Still, she could not have chosen a more inappropriate spot to have taken refuge.

  All at once he wondered what had driven him to Leticia’s. It must have been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Perhaps because he considered her a good friend?

  He tried to remain oblivious to Georgiana’s presence next to him. But it was impossible. He felt irrefutably drawn to her, wished he could slip his arms around her and wipe away that tired, wan expression. A sudden rush of guilt overtook him as he recognised that he was probably responsible for whatever it was ailing her. What right had he to put her through so much agony when he was engaged to the woman opposite? Why, he wondered, annoyed, couldn’t he feel for Leticia the passionate desire that gripped him the minute he set eyes on Georgiana? And why did life in its infinite cynicism have to play such twisted, torturous games?

  It was eleven o’clock by the time they’d finished supper, and despite the initial tension Georgiana was surprised at what a pleasant time they’d ended up spending. She felt calmer and more able to face the upcoming ordeal of driving home with Juan. As they took their leave she thanked Leticia and promised to call the next day to set up a fitting with Geraldo, the dress designer, and his team.

  Then she and Juan entered the lift and a tense silence descended upon them. For a moment Georgiana shifted nervously, wanting to say something—anything—to break the tension. Suddenly she decided she was too tired, and had too much to deal with, to be worried about Juan and whether he was cross or not. He would just have to bear with her as she was, silent and unforthcoming. It was bad enough that she was carrying his child and couldn’t tell him.

  The thought made tears rush to her eyes once more, and she turned away lest he see how distraught she’d become.

  Juan watched her closely, saw the tears welling and clenched his fingers. His heart seethed with anger and frustration. If he leaned closer and wiped them from her cheeks he was aware of what was likely to follow—knew he would not resist taking her into his arms with all the inevitable consequences.

  “Why are you crying?” he said harshly as the doors of the lift opened at the garage floor.

  “Why should you care?” she replied in a tense, muffled voice.

  “Because I care for what you feel,” he said in a cold, haughty tone, masking his inner emotion.

  “You could have fooled me,” Georgiana responded, gulping a sob, trying desperately to control the tears that wouldn’t stop pouring down her cheeks.

  “Georgiana, stop. This is ridiculous.” Juan grabbed her arm and whirled her around so that she faced him. “I refuse to let you remain in this state,” he cried, his dark eyes searching her wet green ones anxiously.

&n
bsp; “You refuse?” she repeated, shaking her head, anguished. “You, Juan—always you, you, you. Never poor Leticia upstairs, whom you’re deceiving, or even me. How do you think I feel about all this? Do you think I’m proud of myself? That I feel good going behind the back of one of the kindest, nicest women I’ve ever met? What do you think she would say if she knew what had happened between us a month before her wedding?” she threw, glaring up at him through her tears.

  Juan hesitated. “Georgiana,” he murmured, his voice softening. He was unable to resist her pleading eyes, the righteous anger and the mixed emotions churning in her breast. “I don’t feel proud of myself either. In fact, very much the opposite. But tell me, my little one—” his hand reached out, despite his determination to keep her at arm’s length “—can you truthfully say that you regret the moments we spent in each other’s arms? I know I should think it wrong. But I’m afraid I can’t. But neither can I put an end to my engagement. That too would be wrong. So you see, querida, I’m caught entre la cruz y la espada—between the devil and the deep blue sea, as you would say in English. I want you. More than I’ve wanted anyone or anything for a very long time. I can’t begin to tell you my feelings. By the same token I know I mustn’t, shouldn’t allow this to continue, for in the end you are the one who will get hurt.”

  “I already am hurt, Juan. Far more than you will ever know,” she said bitterly.

  “Mi niña, you must believe me when I say that I would do anything to avoid this pain you are enduring. But there is unfortunately nothing I can do.” He drew her close and held her in his arms, feeling her resistance wane as he stroked her back, brought her head gently onto his shoulder and held it there, soothing, wishing for the life of him that things could be otherwise.

  But they weren’t. And the sooner he faced this unalterable fact the better.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FEELING his arms around her was too much to bear, and Georgiana let out a long shaky sigh.