At the Spanish Duke's Command Read online

  Without more ado, Juan pulled her roughly into his arms and his lips began their raid, a passionate, sensuous path of kisses feathering her face, her throat, up to her lips and back again, hands roaming, his thumb seeking her taut, aching nipples knowingly, until she cried out with suppressed longing.

  Before she could protest he undressed her deftly. Not gently or kindly, but tearing the clothes from her, still expertly taunting and caressing her until she lay writhing on the rug before the hearth, sighing his name, begging for his tongue, his fingers to cover every inch of her flesh until she could bear it no more. Soon they were lying naked, their bodies entwined, sensing, touching, discovering once again their deep, unfettered need for one another, too overwhelming to deny.

  Juan murmured to her softly, passionate words of love and desire that she barely understood but absorbed as his cunning fingers flicked her breasts again, wreaking their magic, before coursing tantalisingly south. When he finally reached between her thighs, rediscovered the throbbing heat she held hidden there, he sighed and, lowering his lips to her, set out to cause havoc, until, aching wildly, she was begging for him to bring her to completion.

  Then and only then, when he was certain she was his for the taking, did he enter her, thrusting hard and possessive, delighting in the torrid damp heat of her.

  Hips arching to meet him, Georgiana let out a cry of pain, love, fear and primal longing. For him, for her, for the child they had created in a similar act to this one.

  When it was over he cradled her in his arms.

  “I will never let you go,” he muttered into her hair. “The past is the past. The future lies ahead. We can make of it what we want. It’s up to us. The choices are ours for the taking.”

  “Are they?” she murmured, trailing her fingers across his broad tanned chest. “Do you really believe that we make all our choices?”

  “Why, of course,” he said arrogantly, moving her head back and staring down amused into her eyes. “We can do whatever we like now. Nothing and nobody can dictate to us what we should or shouldn’t do. We’re free, Georgiana. Nothing and nobody can stop us.”

  Georgiana heaved a sigh and moved away from him. “You make everything sound so easy,” she said, gathering his shirt from the floor and slipping it over her.

  Should she tell him the truth? Was this the moment to reveal her deepest, most precious secret? Was he ready to receive it, cherish it as she did? Or would he want her to—? The sudden thought that crossed her mind hurt so badly she cringed. And the truth was she didn’t entirely trust him—not after he’d told her quite plainly that he would have been willing to go through with the wedding if Letti hadn’t cried off.

  Just remembering the words still left her cold inside.

  And all at once she knew she needed more time.

  Time on her own.

  Just as he had taken decisions in his life, she had to take decisions in hers. Maybe it was wrong to deny their baby a father, but she could take care of their child by herself, she argued.

  “Juan, I need to be alone,” she said suddenly, turning away, pulling the shirt about her and moving towards the stairs. “There’s a spare room upstairs. You can sleep in it for the night and we’ll talk in the morning.”

  Then, running up the stairs before he could protest, she closed the bedroom door and threw herself onto the bed, too confused, too anguished to do more than lie there, hot tears seeping into her pillow.

  Juan rose slowly. He couldn’t believe her reaction. Why was she behaving in this strange manner? Surely it must be obvious to her that they had to be together? He’d held her in his arms, felt the passion of her orgasm. He knew she loved him. So what was all this ridiculous nonsense about? Surely she couldn’t still be upset about his engagement? After all, it was something which had occurred before he’d even met her. The fact that he hadn’t given his fiancée the boot had nothing to do with his true desires, and had been prompted only by his deep sense of honour. Surely Georgiana could understand and respect that now it was all over?

  Angrily, Juan flung on his jeans and the jersey he’d been wearing and went in search of the kitchen. There he found a bottle of wine and a glass. Picking them up, he returned to the living room and, flinging his legs up on an old leather ottoman, sipped slowly, staring gloomily into the flames, wondering where to go from here. He was tired and hurt and disappointed at his reception. For a moment he glanced at the stairs, then thought better of it. Better let things be. In the morning they’d talk it over and hopefully she would be more reasonable.

  Several hours later he woke and sat up stiffly. The fire was barely alive; only a few crackling embers shifted in the grate. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch. Two a.m. He’d better, he supposed, seek out the bed Georgiana had offered him, and try and get some sleep before sorting matters out in the morning.

  Wearily Juan mounted the old wooden staircase. On the creaking landing he stopped and glanced at the doors. There was one closed one, which instinctively he sensed was Georgiana’s. He hesitated. Should he go in? Hold her and try to put an end to this absurd situation? Or would he do better to wait until daylight to reason with her?

  But as he was about to follow this last course of action and enter the other bedroom a moan from behind the closed door made him stop dead in his tracks. He listened carefully for a moment. Then he heard another. Without hesitating Juan flung open the door of her bedroom, shocked when he saw Georgiana curled in a ball on the bed, crying.

  “Mi amor!” He rushed to the bed. “What is it? What is wrong, my love?”

  “I—I think I’m losing it,” she whispered, gripping her stomach as pain slashed through her once more.

  “Losing what? What are you talking of?” Juan took her in his arms and held her to him, the sight of her pale face and obvious pain leaving him anguished.

  “The baby,” she said at last.

  “The baby?” He looked at her blankly. Then all at once truth dawned and he gazed down at her in wonder. “You mean, you’re pregnant—and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, convulsing once more. “I think something’s happening. I need to get to a hospital.”

  Without more ado Juan lifted her in his arms and, kicking the door aside, rushed hastily down the stairs. Grabbing his keys from the pocket of his jeans, he carried her to the car, where he laid her carefully in the passenger seat before hurrying to the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

  “There must be a hospital near here somewhere,” he muttered, desperate, unable to think straight. The news that she was carrying his child and that she might lose it if he didn’t hurry to get her to safety warred in his agitated mind.

  As the car rushed down the bumpy road towards the village Georgiana was in too much pain, too worried about her baby, to care that she’d just told Juan the truth. They screeched around the last corners, heading towards the village lights, and she suddenly remembered where the hospital was. She’d asked Patsy, knowing she needed to find a doctor for her prenatal care.

  She directed Juan past the piazza, then on up a sharp incline to the top of the village, where a small but modern clinic had been built only five years earlier.

  By the time they stopped in the car park Juan was paler than Georgiana. He jumped out of the car and came around to help her. Leaning against the car, she tried to take a few faltering steps but failed. The pain was excruciating. Without hesitation Juan scooped her up once more and carried her quickly to the entrance of the clinic.

  “It’ll be all right, mi niña,” he muttered nervously as he hurried into the building.

  Even though it was the middle of the night, the place was busy. A few people sat on plastic chairs near the entrance, obviously waiting to be treated.

  “Per favore.” Juan stopped a woman who looked like a doctor. “Please, we need immediate help. My wife is losing our baby.”

  The woman—dark-haired, bespectacled—reacted immediately. Next thing Georgiana knew she was bei
ng wheeled on a trolley with a nurse inserting a drip in her hand and Juan hurrying beside it. But all she could register were his words: my wife.

  “Will she be all right, Doctor?” he asked, never taking his eyes from Georgiana.

  “I’m afraid it’s too soon to say,” the doctor said, placing a hand on his arm. “Your wife is very pale, and her heart rate is too fast. I can only tell you after examining her.”

  Your wife. Again the words echoed as Juan’s lips touched her brow before she was wheeled into a small examination room.

  Juan watched the doors close behind the trolley. He leaned back against the whitewashed wall and closed his eyes. His head drooped. If anything happened to her he would never forgive himself. No wonder she had been so distraught, so anguished.

  She was carrying his child.

  The thought both overwhelmed and excited him. He should have guessed something was different about her. All at once he worried that their passionate lovemaking had somehow caused the present problem. Then he dropped his head in his hands and wished he’d been less blind, less arrogant and less of a fool. So much for his duty and his honour. Right now the woman he loved and their child were in danger, and his duty lay right here—with them.

  He’d been blind not to realise that Georgiana and their life together were more important than anything else. He hadn’t bothered to understand what her feelings must be, believing he would sacrifice her for another woman. Or that the consequences of their lovemaking could end up like this.

  Now all he prayed for was that both mother and child would be safe. The rest he could deal with.

  An hour later he was still standing in the same position, waiting. At last the doors opened and the doctor reappeared.

  “I’m happy to tell you that both mother and baby are well,” she said, smiling. “I’m afraid she’ll have to stay in for a couple of days, though—”

  “Are you sure she’s all right?” Juan went pale as a sheet. If anything had happened to Georgiana he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

  “Your wife will be perfectly fine. And so will the child. But she must be very careful.”

  “Oh, my God.” Juan swallowed, horrified at how easily the good news could have turned tragic. What mattered above all was that Georgiana was safe.

  “She should be fine in a few days,” the doctor continued. “That is, physically. Though she must take things easy and be monitored for the rest of her pregnancy. Of course you must be prepared for her to be fragile emotionally. She was shocked psychologically. She may feel very shaken for a while, and will need your full attention.”

  “Of course, Doctor. Grazie,” he said, recovering a semblance of normality. “Can I see her?”

  “I’m afraid she needs to rest until morning.” Seeing Juan was about to protest, she continued, “If you like, I can arrange for a collapsible bed to be put in the room.”

  “Any chair will do,” he said abstractedly, as the doctor led him down the corridor to the room where Georgiana had been wheeled.

  Juan stepped quietly into the room. It was dark and quiet. Georgiana’s pale face lay motionless on the pillow lit only by the moonlight filtering through the half-closed curtains.

  Juan carefully took a chair and placed it next to the bed. Then, laying his hand over hers, he began a silent vigil. He would take care of her and their child, love them, and never let them go. And as soon as she was able to he would marry her—whether she liked it or not.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  GEORGIANA was woken by soft autumn sun dancing on the white hospital coverlet. She blinked. Then a slight pain in her abdomen reminded her of all that had happened the night before.

  Opening her eyes, she saw Juan seated next to her, asleep in the chair, his hand still holding hers.

  Tears flooded her eyes and caught in her throat. Thank God the baby was saved—her precious baby, the one for whom she was willing to sacrifice so much, even change her life.

  Carefully she drew her hand out of Juan’s, but the movement woke him and he stirred.

  “Mi amor…” He yawned, shook his head and sat up next to her on the bed. “Are you all right, my love?”

  She nodded silently, stifling the tears that for some reason surfaced.

  “Ay, mi niña,” he said, folding her in his arms. “Cry, my darling. You have every right to. I have been a monster. But I am so glad you and the baby are safe. And this is just the first,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “There will be many more babies. As many as you want,” he murmured, a crooked smile covering his face as he stroked her hair. And Georgiana let the tears she’d been holding and all the pain of the past weeks go.

  “Can you forgive me, little one? You know you should have told me at once,” he murmured, still holding her head close to his chest.

  “Juan, I couldn’t tell you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his sweater. “Not when you were about to marry someone else.”

  “I understand that, my darling. But now everything is different. You are going to marry me.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Georgiana,” he commanded, drawing her head back and looking at her, his eyes filled with love and determination. “As soon as you can get out of this bed I will arrange for the local priest to marry us. I’m sure Carlo can arrange it.”

  “But what about—?”

  “Shush. I won’t tolerate any dissension in the ranks,” he said, kissing her mouth very thoroughly.

  At that moment a knock on the door announced the arrival of Dottore Savona—the doctor who had attended Georgiana the night before.

  “Good morning,” she said, obviously amused to catch the couple romantically embracing. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” Georgiana smiled shakily at the doctor. Then she asked the question that had been in her mind ever since waking. “Doctor, are you sure the baby is okay?”

  “Why, of course. What happened has not affected the baby in any way. You must rest, though, and take it easy until the birth. But I’m sure your husband will take care of you.”

  “Future husband,” Juan corrected with a wicked smile. “Dottore, you can be the first to congratulate us. We are going to be married as soon as Georgiana can leave the hospital.”

  “Ah, many congratulations,” she said, shaking his hand and smiling down at Georgiana. “Are you planning a wedding here in the village?”

  “Yes,” Juan answered in an authoritative tone. “And you are all invited.”

  Georgiana was about to protest, to say that he was impossibly bossy and that she wanted to plan her wedding herself, when all at once she realised that this was exactly what she would like. Closing her eyes, she acquiesced. There would probably be quite a few battles and crossings of wills with Juan, but then that too was part of their relationship. Or maybe, she reflected, in the way women had, for as long as mankind had existed, she’d learn to manage him…

  “Is that not an excellent plan?” he said, turning towards the bed and looking down at her possessively.

  “Excellent, my love. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

  Georgiana caught the doctor’s wink and they exchanged a quiet smile. And, later, once the door was closed and Juan had taken her in his arms again, she knew that the baby had joined them in a way nothing else ever could.

  “I will never leave you ever again,” Juan declared, holding her tight.

  “Nor I you,” she said, adding with a touch of humour, “After all, we don’t know where your duty might lead you, do we?”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6348-6

  AT THE SPANISH DUKE’S COMMAND

  First North American Publication 2005.

  Copyright © 2005 by Fiona Hood-Stewart.

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