Housekeeper at His Command: The Spaniard's Virgin Housekeeper / His Pregnant Housekeeper / The Maid and the Millionaire

‘I’m sure your companion is most suitably impressed,’ Cayo said drily, before she could respond, and immediately cursed himself for the sarcastic tone. He was going to have to try harder—to act in a duplicitous manner completely foreign to his straightforward nature if he was to have a hope in hell of persuading her that of the two vast fortunes she could see dangling in front of her greedy eyes his was the one to aim for.

‘Ramona—my housekeeper—will show you to the rooms that have been readied for you, Tio,’ Cayo imparted. Izzy trailed after them as they entered a vast marble-paved hall. ‘They are on the ground floor, close to the library. You will have no need to use stairs or find your way about the warren of passages—unless you wish to reacquaint yourself with your childhood home.’ His austere features softened in a smile that made him seem human and just impossibly handsome, Izzy thought, deploring the toe-curling effect it had on her as he went on, ‘And don’t worry. Your books and papers have not been unpacked. No one will touch or muddle them,’ he assured the older man gently. ‘You may arrange them in the library at your leisure.’

He really cared about his uncle, Izzy granted as introductions were made to the housekeeper and a handful of wide-eyed maids. Cayo gave instructions in rapid Spanish which sent the super-efficient-looking housekeeper leading Miguel to an arched doorway at the far side of the great hall and the maids scurrying to do his bidding. He spoke and things happened.

He firmly believed that she was up to no good—had attached herself to his uncle for mercenary reasons—and he cared enough for the old gentleman to make sure she took herself off with her tail between her legs. Now that she knew that her impoverished and neglected old gentleman was nothing of the sort, she could understand where he was coming from. Especially since he’d heard the del Amos’ lies.

She shivered, and nearly leapt out of her skin when he touched the bare flesh of her arm, making her feel as if she’d been prodded by an electrically charged pin. It fuzzed up her brain to such an extent that she couldn’t take in what he was saying until the pressure of those lean bronzed fingers around her arm increased and he repeated, ‘I will show you to your suite of rooms and see you settled.’

‘What? Oh, right—’ She attempted to claim back her arm, but the pressure of his fingers simply increased as he led her to an enormous stone staircase. Mounting it, she felt like a prisoner being led to a cell and her mouth went dry. She had to explain. Had to. But, remembering her earlier faux-pas, she knew she had to wait and not launch forth when members of his staff were crisscrossing the hall below, well within earshot.

Partway up the soaring staircase, a corridor led off to the right, dimly lit, its stone walls hung with ancient and probably priceless tapestries. Ahead, the corridor branched in three directions. The whole place was an intimidating mystery.

Izzy wished she’d never agreed to come here. She only had because she had thought then that it was the right thing to do for the sake of Miguel and his future wellbeing, believing as she had that he was existing on a mere pittance and it was time that his selfish, wealthy nephew took care of him.

But it hadn’t been necessary. Miguel, had he been so minded, could have lived in luxury. She knew that now. Too late.

A blinding flash of insight had her digging her heels into the cool marble flooring and accusing, ‘As you’re so fond of calling the shots, why didn’t you just go ahead and arrange for your uncle to have a properly paid, decent housekeeper years ago? You pretend to care for him, so you could have done that. It took me, a total stranger, about ten minutes to realise he’s so wrapped up in his work he can’t be bothered about taking proper care of himself!’

She met his black gaze without flinching. She knew the answer—didn’t she just! He’d only muscled into his relative’s life now, taken over, because he believed—wrongly—that she was about to weasel her way into taking his inheritance. As if he weren’t already eye-wateringly wealthy in his own right! Greedy, or what?

He lifted his proud head, centuries of Spanish high breeding carved into the unforgettably handsome features. ‘You will moderate your tone and keep your skewed opinions to yourself while you are a guest in my home,’ he advised, as smooth and cold as glass.

He did not take personal attacks—especially not from a mouthy little madam who was no better than she should be. Seducing her away from her plans to get the naïve Miguel firmly in her clutches, the devious but necessary assignment he’d set himself, suddenly felt too far beneath his honourable nature to be contemplated. There had to be another way.

Acidly polite, he stepped ahead and suggested, ‘Perhaps we may proceed?’

Cringing at that put-down, Izzy followed, engulfed by frustration. He was really good at making out she was an ill-mannered boor—not fit to sully his splendid home, where he was insulated by fabulous wealth and had an army of servants to cater to his slightest whim. But then he was labouring under the misapprehension that she was some sleazy sort of career mistress—that, having failed with the oily banker, she’d set her sights on his uncle.

Time to set the record straight. Convince him that she wasn’t what he thought she was. A huge smile wreathed her expressive features as she imagined his grovelling apology—which she would consider and finally accept with dignity, giving herself the high moral ground for once!

On that cheering thought she pattered on, catching up with him as he flung open a door and stepped just inside the threshold of the loveliest room she’d ever set eyes on.

‘Wow!’ Her big eyes widened. Acres of luxurious white carpet, panelled walls painted a delicate misty primrose-yellow, tall windows with gauzy white drapes, a group of three comfy chairs upholstered in yellow silk placed around a low coffee table, bowls of beautifully arranged roses to perfume the air, and what looked like a fully stocked drinks cabinet.

Cayo dug his hands into the pockets of stylish chinos and drawled, ‘Your sitting room. The bedroom is through that door, with en suite bathroom, of course. I’ll leave you to relax and will see you at dinner.’

Her own bathroom. Of course—what else? The urge to explore was almost overwhelming, but the imperative to put Cayo Garcia straight was stronger. Smartly stepping in front of him, she folded her arms across her slender middle, lifting her face to his. ‘Hang on a tick. I have to say something. It’s really important.’

‘Sí?’ Strongly marked brows drew together as his eyes met hers. So deep a blue, with the almost childlike clarity of innocence. Deeply misleading. He sucked in a sharp breath. She had an exquisite face. Taken individually, her features were not perfect, but they added up to an exquisitely fascinating whole, framed by wayward strands of silver-gilt that looked as soft as silk.

’Tis a Pity She’s a Whore, he thought with mental dryness, then, inexplicably, felt his heart lurch with a spasm of sadness at the waste of all this luscious loveliness, packaging, as it did, a mercenary and immoral soul.

‘Listen—’ Izzy knew she sounded breathless. She was having difficulty stringing words together in her head, never mind getting them out of her mouth. It was the way he was looking at her that was so dreadfully unsettling. It made her tummy squirm, then tense, her mouth run dry.

‘Well?’ Cayo murmured without intonation, grimly amused as he pondered on what she was going to come up with—what was now so important. Something as twisted as her last outburst, at a guess.

Izzy just stared, moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, fighting the awful dart of heat in the pit of her tummy that looking into his dark eyes always produced. Eyes as beautiful as his commanding masculine features …

Making a huge effort, she got out, ‘I know what you think of me, and I don’t blame you. I guess you’d always take the word of a big-wheel banker and his wife over a lowly domestic servant. But I promise you it wasn’t like that. I’m sorry to have to say this about your friend, a man you obviously respect, but Señor del Amo was the one trying it on, not the other way around.’

Once she’d launched forth, the words just came tumbling out. ‘And I had no idea that Miguel wasn’t dirt-poor until he told me on the way here. Truly! He told me that he was born here, that the family wealth had been divided between him and your father. It was the first I knew of it—and you could have knocked me down with a feather!’

Nice try. But not nearly good enough. Cayo’s eyes followed the movement as she brushed a silvery strand back from her forehead, pink with effort. His thick black lashes drifted down over sparkling jet eyes as he took in the taut expectancy of her voluptuous body. She was waiting for him to say he believed her, to treat her as if she was all sweetness and light, take the heat off and leave her free to wheedle her way even further into Miguel’s affections. Did she think he’d been born yesterday?

‘I see.’ He was almost purring now. ‘So let’s recap.’ His smile was devastatingly challenging. ‘You took pity on a poor old man, and agreed to keep house for him for the sort of miserable wages that would have had any normal working girl heading for the hills, out of the goodness of your heart?’

Izzy shifted uncomfortably. From his point of view her decision would look suspect, she recognised sickly. It was up to her to make him understand. She squared her slim shoulders and said, with far more confidence than she felt, ‘I was in a fix, and so was he. He needed someone to keep house. I needed a job and a roof over my head. And, yes, the wages he offered were even less than I received from the del Amos—and, believe me, they were nothing to write home about. I was sorry for him, and anyway I only intended to stay until something could be arranged for his future care. You know how not with-it he is when it comes to noticing what goes on around him—remembering to eat—that sort of stuff.’

‘Indeed.’

Izzy let out a huff of relief. He was beginning to believe her. She hated it when people thought badly of her—particularly him. Why him particularly? she wondered dazedly—and then the beginnings of exultation took a smart nose-dive.

‘Yet you are here. Still with him. Even though you know his future wellbeing is secure, and when you have already said you intended to leave as soon as that situation arose. I wonder why that is?’

She could recognise the note of sarcasm when she heard it. Izzy felt her skin crawl with the heat of discomfiture. Believing that honesty was the only policy, she mumbled, ‘Well, I guess it might look odd. Only you did invite me. I told your uncle that as I was no longer needed I wouldn’t tag along. But he refused to come if I didn’t.’ She raised her head, her eyes very wide, willing him to understand. ‘You see, as I felt responsible for him, I guess he feels responsible for me.’

His gaze was calmly assessing. ‘I see.’

Izzy swallowed jerkily. Did that mean he believed her? Had decided not to make her regret the day she was born?

Her bones turned to water when he gave her the benefit of his high-voltage smile and told her, ‘I suggest you make yourself at home—rest until we meet at dinner. I will have a pot of English tea sent up to you.’

He walked out, his smile vanishing as he closed the door behind him.

She was devious and clever. She’d got her ingenuous patter down to a fine art. She could put on that look of earnest innocence and talk her way out of a double-locked and barred dungeon!

Only he wasn’t gullible. His firm jaw set, he strode down to check on how his uncle was settling in, reflecting that her look of wide-eyed innocence didn’t gel with the sexy body that oozed temptation.

His mouth tightened. Time to put his plan into action. Show her the sort of luxury she could only have dreamed of. Dangle the prospect of great wealth in front of her pretty nose. No need to actually bed her—just let her believe he wanted to, give her the impression that he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of his uncle’s companion. He would wait for her to get desperate enough to secure a massive fortune and openly encourage him, then make sure Miguel saw and understood what was happening—saw her in her true colours. Saw her as the greedy little sex-pot she was and hardened his highly moralistic heart against her.

Then Izzy Makepeace would be history!

Cayo laid down his dessert fork and leaned back in his chair, his smile just slightly apologetic. ‘I asked for a simple meal. It’s been a long day for you, Tio. Which is why I decided we wouldn’t dress for dinner.’

Izzy, her mouth full of delicious ice cream layer cake, widened her eyes. If this had been a simple meal, then what would a lavish spread have been like?

Too hungry to be nervous—her stomach had been rumbling alarmingly when one of the maids had appeared at nine o’clock to escort her down to dinner—she had tucked in to a salad of roast peppers, then turbot fillets poached in wine, followed by slices of guinea fowl on a bed of tomatoes and onions, and ended with a pudding that had practically made her swoon!

And as for dressing down instead of up, as would seem usual—well, she was already wearing her best: a plain blue cotton shift. Now she did feel nervous—even more so when Cayo remarked, apparently idly, as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass, ‘As you might remember, Tio, at the end of this month I host the annual ball for my tenant farmers and estate workers, my business associates and their wives.’

‘Indeed.’ Miguel pushed his do-it-yourself repaired spectacles back up his nose. ‘Am I expected to—as Izzy would doubtless say—strut my stuff?’ He beamed at her and she gave back a hesitant smile, dreading the thought that she would be expected to put in an appearance at what would be a glittering event, and wondering if his High and Mighty Cayoness was busily chalking up another black mark against her for teaching his scholarly relative low-grade slang.

But, far from giving her that look of cold displeasure, he was actually smiling at her—just as he’d done before he’d left her room earlier. Maybe, she thought with a swoop of optimism, he had really thought about what she’d said and did believe her side of the story!

Her optimism increased by leaps and bounds when Cayo informed Miguel gently, ‘It would be nice if you showed your face in the afternoon, when the locals are being entertained—you are often in their thoughts, and seeing you in your home setting at long last would give them pleasure. But if the evening events are too much for you to endure you may retire with my blessing.’ His smile widened as his stunning eyes sought hers and held. ‘No, I was thinking more about Izzy when I mentioned the coming celebrations. With the ball coming up in a fortnight she’ll want to choose something glamorous to wear, and I need to be in Madrid tomorrow. I suggest she comes with me to find something suitable—that’s if you can spare your companion for a couple of days?’

‘Of course—an excellent suggestion! I shall be unpacking my papers and shall neither need nor want any help.’

So he was expecting Cinderella to go to the ball! Her heart headed for the soles of her feet, and with difficulty Izzy broke eye contact, biting down on her full lower lip. She could drown in those eyes, and was ashamed of the way he could make something pulse wickedly in the most secret part of her anatomy—especially when he was being nice to her, she thought in consternation as she felt her generous breasts tingle and push against the cotton barrier of her dress.

Aware that she was expected to say something, she wriggled uncomfortably in her chair and mumbled in agitation, ‘Nice thought. But I’ll pass. Thanks all the same.’

Refusing to be trapped by those dark Spanish eyes again, she gave her attention to Miguel as he asked, with his usual gentle humour, ‘And why is that, cara? Do you carry a choice of sumptuous ballgowns in your rucksack?’

Mortified, Izzy’s face blazed with embarrassed colour. ‘You know I don’t! I can’t afford glamorous gear. But as I’ll give the fancy ball a miss, there’s no problem.’

Cayo’s eyes swept her pink and mutinous face. Still playing games. Waiting for Miguel. He hadn’t missed that telltale endearment; it had made his hackles rise. Well, he would give her what she was obviously waiting for. And then some.

He drained the last of his wine and set the glass back on the table, drawling, ‘I don’t live in the Dark Ages, expecting a relative’s companion to be kept firmly out of sight on such an occasion! And as for your lack of funds—’ A lean, tanned hand swept dismissively. ‘Forget it. All that is necessary will be provided.’ He sent her a look of sparkling challenge. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

Izzy’s tummy looped the loop, her face flushing. By the sound of it he had thought it over and decided to believe her side of the story! The hot surge of relief left her feeling weak. Although, she admitted, she shouldn’t really care what he thought of her. They were nothing to each other. But at least it meant that he’d forgotten his hateful threat to make her regret the day she’d been born. He wouldn’t be offering to take her to Madrid with him and buy her something suitable to wear if that was still on his agenda, would he?

Even so … ‘I don’t accept charity, señor.’ Pride brought her chin up, leading to a collision course with those brilliant dark eyes. She compressed her soft, wide mouth as a throb of sexual awareness pulsed deep within her. She hated the physical effect he was having on her, but knew she could do nothing about it.

Her silly crush on Marcus had never left her feeling so helpless and out of control. Marcus had made her feel soft and gooey—motherly, even—worrying over whether he was feeding himself properly and wrapping up warmly when the north wind blew. She only had to look into Cayo’s magnificent eyes to turn into a molten wreck!

‘Charity doesn’t come into it,’ Miguel injected swiftly. ‘You have been kind beyond words to a foolish old man. I am in your debt. And as I am still your employer I insist that you accompany my nephew.’ He laid a gentle hand over hers in an affectionate gesture not unnoticed by Cayo’s darkly glittering eyes. ‘When you stepped in as my housekeeper I did you a grave disservice, as Cayo rightly pointed out. I was thoughtless and selfish. You will go to Madrid and allow Cayo to make amends on my behalf—to please me.’

Touched by that entreaty, Izzy felt her spine sag. She had grown very fond of the elderly man, and he was obviously beating himself up over his earlier absent-mindedness. The way she’d had to struggle to keep his household going on a pittance would have made a cat laugh. It had been a situation born not out of necessity or meanness, but out of his lack of interest in or knowledge of the world as it was today.

‘Okay,’ she agreed grudgingly. ‘If it pleases you.’ She flushed with discomfiture as Miguel gave her hand a final squeeze and laid aside his linen napkin.

‘Excellent! That’s settled, then!’

But Izzy felt far from settled. Nerves were tingling all over her body. The prospect of spending time in Cayo’s sole company made her feel dreadfully uneasy. And not because he harboured an ill will towards her, as had been the case until they’d had that talk earlier, but because for the first time in her life she was consumed by a deplorable lust for a man who was as far out of her league as the moon!

CHAPTER SIX

LUST could be conquered. Couldn’t it?

Of course it could, Izzy reassured herself wildly as Cayo entered the sumptuous suite she’d been given through an interconnecting door that led, presumably, to his rooms. It was an intimacy she wasn’t in the least ready for.

No need to get all hot and bothered, she assured herself shakily, trying her best not to look as agitated as she felt. He was now wearing a pale grey silk-sheened suit that screamed top designer and enhanced his wide shoulders, narrow waist, snaky hips and long, powerful legs with classy and understated elegance.

He took her breath away.

Tearing her eyes from him with difficulty, she stared down at her toes. When he’d piloted the helicopter from Las Palomas to a private airstrip on the outskirts of Madrid he’d been wearing cargo pants and a torso-hugging sweatshirt, and she’d thought that she’d never seen a man who exuded such raw sexuality. She had spent most of the flight listening to his occasional comments through the headphones and telling herself to start thinking like a sensible adult. Admiring such a fine specimen of manhood was perfectly natural. But wanting—literally aching—to get up close and personal was right out of order.

Now, dressed as he was, the raw sexuality was still there in spades, but there was something extra. Power. Mastery. And that was scary—especially as her heart was racing, her pulses fluttering alarmingly, shameful hunger coiling deep in her pelvis.

She wished he’d say something to break the tension she could feel all around her, but when he did she wished he hadn’t.

‘If you’re rested and ready, we’ll go. I have a car waiting.’

Rested? Some hope!

She’d been pacing her room as if her legs had discovered the secret of perpetual motion ever since she’d arrived at this eye-poppingly luxurious hotel, which he’d casually informed her he owned—among loads of others. Part of his property portfolio, apparently. She’d been wondering what she was doing here, and beating herself up for so weakly agreeing to come in the first place. The leopard, it seemed, had changed his spots, and was being really, really nice to her. And she didn’t think she could handle that because she could only just about keep her lustful yearnings under control when he was being vile.

And now he was suggesting—still in that warmly considerate tone—that if she was ready they were to go somewhere together.

She parted her lips to ask where, but all that emerged was an embarrassing croak. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, avoided his stunning eyes and managed, ‘I’ll pass. You go. Wherever.’

Nice try, Cayo admitted grudgingly. Conversation had been limited on the helicopter flight, but she’d hung on his every word when he’d pointed out places and buildings of interest as the chauffeur-driven limo had whisked them through the suburbs and into the centre of the city. She had only withdrawn into her secret thoughts when he’d made sure she knew he owned the hotel they were to stay at. One of many throughout the world, and all of the same exquisite quality, he’d told her, as if he were used to vulgar boasting when nothing could be further from the truth.

In any other domestic servant he would have put her current subdued mood down to being out of her depth. But with Izzy Makepeace he knew better. She would be mentally totting up the value of this prime property, multiplying it by many, adding it to his export empire and licking her lips and planning tactics!

His chiselled mouth twisted wryly. But his drawl was smooth and soft as silk as he advanced, ‘I don’t think Madame Fornier would appreciate if it I attempted to try on the clothes she’s laid aside in your stead.’

In dire danger of totally losing it, Izzy struggled to contain a sudden and alarmingly hysterical explosion of giggles at the picture that immediately presented itself—this ultra-masculine Spanish aristo trying to shoehorn himself into something several sizes too small, silky and slinky. Her eyes were sparkling with dancing laughter lights as she plucked her bulgy padded cotton handbag from the bed and slung it over her shoulder, stuffed her feet back into the spiky high heels she’d worn as a much-needed confidence booster, and announced, ‘Fine. Let’s go.’

Grab the first halfway suitable dress to wear to a ball she didn’t want to attend and her ordeal would be over. They could head back to the castle and Miguel’s easy, safe company. There was only so much of the magnificent Cayo Garcia’s undiluted, sexy presence she could take without turning into a gibbering wreck of raging hormones.