At the Spanish Duke's Command Page 8

  “Georgiana, mi amor, come here,” he ordered sleepily, reaching out and pulling her back into his arms.

  Moments later they were kissing tenderly, their bodies entwined, feeling the warmth of one another, caressing lazily as, half asleep, they sought each other once more. She allowed Juan to turn her firmly until she lay on her side, cuddled up in the crook of his body, his arms surrounding her, his hands caressing her breasts, while he nibbled the back of her neck.

  Then to her utter surprise he entered her, slowly, tenderly, in a delicious, warm, slow movement that had her gasping, pressing herself up against him, accommodating her body to his so that he could enter her fully. Again the exquisite sensations soared, and she moaned with pleasure as expertly Juan brought her to the peak, then held her wrapped against him as though he would never let her go.

  “Go back to sleep,” he commanded in a whisper, stroking the hair from her face.

  And, closing her eyes, she did.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Leticia murmured down the phone.

  “What was that?” Juan frowned, swivelled in his office chair and handed his secretary the pile of documents he’d just signed, indicating to her to close the door.

  “What you said about the wedding.”

  “What did I say?” Juan tried to concentrate on the conversation. He’d been having a hard time concentrating on anything since his return from Seville and the two disturbing nights spent in Georgiana’s arms.

  “Well,” Leticia reminded him, “you said you’d like to advance the date of the wedding ceremony.”

  “I did?” He grimaced, remembering.

  “Yes, and now I’ve had time to think a bit about it I’ve decided that you’re right. It’s a good idea. In fact, the sooner we get on with it the better,” she said in a rush. “I’ve talked to my mother, and although at first she was reticent she’s agreed to start preparations immediately.”

  There was a moment’s silence while Juan digested the information.

  “Juan? Are you there?”

  “Yes—yes, of course I’m here. That is—well, that’s wonderful news, Letti.”

  “You don’t sound too delighted, querido.”

  “But I am. Of course I’m delighted. I mean, it was my suggestion, wasn’t it?” he said, a bitter twist to his lips.

  Why on earth had he come up with the absurd notion of bringing forward the wedding? he asked himself bitterly. It seemed ridiculous now. Yet it was only a short while since he’d wanted to get married to Letti as soon as possible…to avoid the possibility of an affair with Georgiana!

  “When exactly were you thinking of?” he asked finally, trying to accustom himself to the idea.

  “I thought the first week in November seemed appropriate. It works well for me if it does for you. I’ll have less of a workload just then. You weren’t planning on a long honeymoon, were you?” Leticia asked anxiously.

  “Uh, no. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your working schedule,” he said automatically. How could he possibly go on honeymoon with Leticia—make love to Leticia—when all the while he could think of nothing but Georgiana writhing deliciously in his arms?

  Damn, damn, damn. Dios mio, what a mess. Surely he was too old to be getting involved in anything so tasteless and absurd?

  After he’d placed the receiver back in its cradle, Juan rose impatiently and walked to the window of his large office overlooking Serrano. How could he possibly have imagined that Georgiana would get to him so much? That she would touch a part of his being he’d believed buried with Leonora those many years ago.

  But she had.

  And now he was going to have to deal with the consequences of his folly. He hadn’t seen her since their return to Madrid—he had avoided the Castellana residence and stayed at his bachelor flat over the past few days. What was she up to? he wondered. And how was she feeling?

  For a moment he thought of phoning her. Then, remembering all that rested on his shoulders, he resisted. He simply must let her go—before he messed up more than just his own life.

  Georgiana sat abstractedly through her Spanish literature class and dreamed of Juan. It was impossible not to remember the magical days they’d spent together at the finca. Even the arrival of her classmates for their dinner of paella had done nothing to counter the romantic haze in which she’d floated.

  Then she’d returned to Madrid, and reality had hit home.

  It was over. The fantasy weekend had been nothing but that.

  She and Juan had even tried to have a sensible, grownup conversation before returning to town, with Georgiana desperately attempting to appear nonchalant and sophisticated when all she’d felt was her heart wrenching inside. Suddenly, the thought of Juan in Leticia’s arms, which before then had been nothing but a remote concept, had been enough to render her breathless with agonising envy.

  Worse, Leticia herself had appeared today at the Madrid apartment, and Georgiana had been forced to smile and be polite while feeling a complete hypocrite. She’d agreed to fittings for her bridesmaid’s dress and listened to Leticia’s plans for the wedding. The final blow had hit when Leticia had announced that, instead of taking place next spring, as initially planned, the wedding was to be next month.

  Doodling on her pad, Georgiana decided to go home after this class. It was impossible to concentrate on the adventures of Don Quixote and Dulcinea when all she wanted to do was go to bed, crawl under the covers and hide from the world.

  She was experiencing a plethora of new emotions so diverse she was hard put to it to keep track of them. They ranged from sexual satisfaction to shame at her own moral behaviour. Leticia’s presence in the apartment had brought her situation home with a bang. Instead of the happy fulfilled woman of hours earlier, she’d felt suddenly sordid, wicked and deceitful. Now those feelings alternated every few minutes—disgust at herself countered with elation, leaving her in a state of emotional exhaustion.

  Juan hadn’t been near the house, which only proved that her first instinct had been right. Now that he’d satisfied his desire to go to bed with her he would avoid her like the plague and move on. Not only did Georgiana feel ashamed, she felt used—even though she recognised that she had only herself to blame. She’d been aware of the circumstances right from the start and, to give him his due, Juan had never pretended anything different. But still she resented him.

  Finally the bell rang to signal the end of class and she picked up her things. Outside it was a beautiful early October day. A mild breeze blew and she swept her hair from her face. All of a sudden she saw a red Ferrari pulling up. Seconds later Juan jumped out, and, ignoring the envious looks from a group of young men who were staring at the vehicle, came immediately to her side.

  “Georgiana. I’ve come to take you home,” he said in that familiar commanding tone that had once so annoyed her.

  “You needn’t bother,” she said coolly. “I can find my own way.”

  “Well, I’m here now. You might as well take advantage of the ride,” he said, opening the door, making it impossible for her to refuse without appearing churlish. Reluctantly Georgiana sat in the passenger seat, horrified to feel her hands shaking. Just the sight of Juan was enough to leave her breathless. His flashing black eyes were looking at her so arrogantly, stripping her, letting her know that he’d possessed each nook and cranny of her being. It left her devastated.

  “Georgiana, we need to talk,” he said, as the car swerved out of the university car park and on to the road.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, looking stonily ahead.

  “I think there is.”

  “Really? About your wedding, perhaps? Your fiancée was over at the apartment today. I gather the ceremony is to take place next month. You must be excited.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic, Georgiana. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “It may not suit me, but it expresses exactly how I feel.”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied stiffly, changing g
ears.

  “Are you? You could have fooled me,” she threw, suddenly bitter that this man, to whom she’d given so much of herself, was about to abandon her for another woman in a question of days. “I don’t know how you have the nerve to pretend to Leticia like this,” she said suddenly, a knot forming in her throat. “In fact I feel sorry for her.”

  “We’ll leave Leticia out of this, if you please.”

  “Oh, will we?” She whirled round, facing him now, eyes ablaze with anger. “I don’t suppose she deserves anything as commonplace as a truthful explanation? Poor woman. What kind of a marriage is she getting into?”

  “The kind of marriage she expects to get into,” he replied matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes off the road while weaving his way through the afternoon traffic.

  “I doubt it,” she threw back. “I can’t believe that any woman would want to marry a man ready to subject her to the kind of humiliation you obviously have in store for her. Which reminds me of something else I have to tell you.”

  “What’s that?” He stopped as they reached traffic lights and looked at her.

  “I’m leaving,” she said, her voice trembling despite every effort to contain her emotions. “I’m going back to England.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said harshly.

  “No, it’s not. I’ve had enough. I don’t want to remain here a minute longer. In fact I’ll leave tonight, if I can get a ticket.”

  “You will do no such thing,” he retorted firmly.

  Then, to Georgiana’s horror, the light turned green and Juan took a sharp right turn, in the opposite direction from the Avenida Castellana.

  “Where are you going?” she muttered nervously.

  “You’ll see.”

  “Juan, I demand to be taken home immediately.”

  “In due course,” he said, ignoring her frustrated gesture.

  “I want to go back now,” she cried.

  “Do you?” Juan sent her a quick sidelong look. “Can you look me in the eye, querida, and swear you don’t want to be in my arms just as much as I want to be in yours?”

  Their eyes met, locked, and against her will Georgiana melted. How could she pretend that she wanted to leave when the mere presence of him next to her left her filled with throbbing desire?

  Without another word Juan drove on. Several minutes later they entered the chic suburb of La Moraleja, where they stopped in front of a large wrought-iron gate. Taking out an electronic remote control pad, Juan clicked it and the gates parted slowly.

  “Where are we?” she asked, eyeing the well-tended flower-beds and hedges as the car moved slowly up the drive.

  “This was my mother’s house. I still haven’t decided whether to sell it or keep it. I was thinking perhaps—” He stopped.

  “You were thinking of keeping it for you and Leticia?” she asked sweetly. “For when you have a family? What a perfect setting. I can just imagine you surrounded by frolicking children. How fatherly. How sweet.” Fury ripped through her again. “What a pity that it will only be a part-time job,” she added scathingly. “And now that you’ve so kindly shown me your future residence, will you please take me home?” she said icily.

  Juan stopped the car abruptly. They still hadn’t reached the house, visible among the trees.

  “Will you stop this ridiculous ranting?” he said finally. “Don’t you understand that I have to marry Leticia? That I must fulfil certain duties? It has nothing to do with my feelings for you,” he added, reaching across and grabbing her hands, pulling her firmly towards him. “Ah, Georgiana, mi linda Georgiana.”

  Before she could react he brought his lips firmly down on hers, pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her as he never had before, with a harsh, determined passion that left her breathless. Uncontrollable searing heat burst through her like a bullet, lodging low in her abdomen, and that same coiling spiral of desire mounted, rising like volcanic lava, ready to erupt at his touch.

  She felt his fingers seeking her breast.

  She mustn’t, couldn’t, let him do this.

  Yet even as her mind protested her body begged for his touch, for the delight that his fingers wrought, grazing her strained, aching nipples.

  She moaned, unable to pretend any longer, and gave way, revelling in his caresses, in his hands unbuttoning her jeans, seeking further. Soon she was writhing, head thrown back in wanton abandon as expertly he pleasured each part of her. Finally Georgiana let out a small cry and collapsed in his arms.

  “This is wrong—so wrong,” she whispered, tears knotting her throat. “This can’t be right, Juan. You mustn’t do this to me. Not any more. It’s not fair on any of us—you, me, or Leticia.”

  “I know,” he murmured, stroking her hair, threading his fingers through the golden mass. “But I can’t help it.”

  She was right, of course. He knew that he would have to respect her wish, knew that putting an end to the relationship was the only way to proceed. But still he found it impossible to let her go. Even though he hadn’t assuaged his own hunger, just seeing her lying saturated and limp in his arms left him fulfilled.

  The realisation shocked him, and abruptly he straightened, pulling her clothes back into place. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he dragged his hand through his hair.

  “You’re right. We’d better be getting back. It’s getting late.”

  Georgiana rearranged her clothes silently. She felt deliciously fulfilled, yet so sad. She had no desire to speak. For she knew, deep down, that this was the last encounter she and Juan would have. She would leave later tonight. Get out before it was too late. She would invent some excuse for the Condessa and her mother. She didn’t know what yet, but she’d come up with something. She had to. To stay would be to court disaster.

  Three hours later Georgiana sat at Barajas airport, waiting for the London flight to be called. She had left a message for the Condessa saying that a friend of hers in England had been suddenly taken ill and that she would be in touch once she arrived home. For a moment Georgiana thought of her course, how she’d longed to come here to Madrid to study and how disastrously it was all ending. She let out a stifled sigh. It was too late for any regrets. She knew she was making the right decision.

  For both of them.

  Juan would realise that sooner or later, and come to terms with it. After all, he could hardly expect to have his cake and eat it. As for the wedding—she would find an excuse not to attend, and tell Leticia that she couldn’t be a bridesmaid. The thought of being present while the two of them exchanged vows was too painful to even think about.

  At last her flight was called and Georgiana made her way sadly to the gate with the other passengers. She hadn’t told her mother of her arrival, and hoped that perhaps she’d gone to their house in the countryside. That way Georgiana could stay at the London flat in Wilton Crescent without having to give an immediate explanation for her sudden return.

  As the plane took off she looked out of the window and tears caught in her throat. She’d come here so full of life and illusion. Now she was departing, and leaving behind a broken heart.

  “What do you mean, ‘She just disappeared’?” Juan exclaimed, marching across the living room to take the note the Condessa was extending to him. He experienced a rush of fear and anger. How dare she disappear without so much as a goodbye?

  His eyes scanned the note. A friend of hers in England had become ill? What rubbish! But, knowing he could hardly take his elderly cousin into his confidence, he pretended to accept the excuse.

  “I see. A friend is ill. Oh, well. She will probably return in a few days, once the friend has recovered.”

  “Yes. I believe that will be the case. You seem upset, Juan. Is anything wrong?” The Condessa laid a gentle hand on his arm and looked questioningly into his eyes. He hesitated a moment, wishing he could pour out his woes. Then he thought better of it, looked down at her and smiled.

  “I’m fine, Tia.”

  “Good. Then I am
relieved. I got the impression you were under some kind of stress. You’ve seemed rather worried of late.” She sat down on the couch and patted it invitingly.

  “Everything is perfectly all right,” he said, joining her and squeezing her hand. “There’s just a lot to do in the office at the moment.”

  “I hear from Leticia that you are bringing the date of the wedding forward,” the Condessa said slowly, picking up the embroidery that was never far from her side.

  “Yes. The sooner we get it over with, the better.”

  “That, dear Juan, is hardly a suitable attitude for a bridegroom,” the Condessa murmured pointedly, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

  “What I meant was, the sooner we get married, the happier both of us will be,” he rectified hastily.

  “Are you sure?” The Condessa looked straight at him now. “I know that your private life is none of my concern, querido, but as someone who holds your interests dear to heart I sometimes get the impression that you and Leticia are—I don’t quite know how to put this—perhaps not as fond of one another as a couple should be.”

  “I’m sure Leticia and I shall do very well,” Juan replied, his tone neutral.

  “But that is not the same as loving one’s spouse,” the Condessa replied quietly. “You see, my husband and I were very much in love. It was that love that got us through the difficult times when things weren’t so bright. Had there not been that love, that deep attraction for each other, I don’t know how we would have fared.”

  Juan hesitated. His own thoughts were fraught with similar preoccupations. But it was too late to retract, even if he’d wanted to. He would never humiliate Leticia by refusing to marry her now that the date had been fixed and the arrangements for the wedding were well under way. It was unthinkable.

  “You are very silent, Juan. May I ask you a question?”

  “No, Tia. It is better that you do not.” He laid his hand firmly on her arm and looked straight into her perceptive dark eyes. “All is well. Have no fear. Leticia and I will be married as planned. And I will endeavour to make her happy.”