Postcards From Madrid: Married by Arrangement / Valdez's Bartered Bride / The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride

Antonio decided to prove his maturity by not responding to that taunt. ‘I think it would be less upsetting for the baby if she was…resting when I call tomorrow.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to think about how much Lydia will be upset if I suddenly vanish out of her life,’ Sophie retorted thickly.

Antonio was sufficiently impressed by that warning to glance at the baby. He could not evade the suspicion that his brother’s child had inherited Sophie’s overly emotional temperament and was more sensitive than most. He had only lifted the child and it had gone off like a burglar alarm on hyper alert. For a split second he imagined carrying the baby away with both Sophie and the baby screaming and sobbing at high volume and he barely managed to repress a very masculine shudder.

Discovering a depth of imagination that he had not known he possessed, he even considered the risk of tabloid headlines and interference. Baby thief. No, he would be careful to do nothing likely to rouse such hysterical publicity. He was, he reminded himself, a highly intelligent and shrewd businessman. He was renowned for his logic and subtlety and his willingness to consider fresh and innovative approaches to find workable solutions. He was confident that he would find a way to persuade Sophie to accept the inevitable with good grace.

‘You don’t care about how I feel or how she feels, do you?’ Sophie accused as she thrust wide the front door, descended the steps and proceeded to buckle Sophie into her buggy.

‘I care enough to want to ensure that my niece does not grow up with your disadvantages.’

Shooting him a shocked glance from pain-filled green eyes, Sophie lifted her head high. ‘Isn’t it strange that even with all your advantages—your money and title and education and success—you are a ruthless bastard with no consideration for anyone’s feelings but your own?’

Hot temper unleashing, Antonio surveyed her with thickly lashed eyes that shimmered a biting gold. ‘But then I’m not a hypocrite. I know that you’re not the fragile little flower that you look, querida. You’re the same sleazy little liar who told me she was ill and then went out to get drunk and shag some loser on the beach,’ he reminded her with icy derision. ‘What you could never grasp about a guy like me is my good manners.’

‘Excuse me? You? Good manners?’ Sophie slung back at him in a hissing undertone selected to bypass Lydia’s hearing.

‘You said you were unwell. Naturally I went to see you to offer you my assistance.’

‘Nah…that wasn’t good manners, Antonio. You didn’t trust me, so you called round to check up on me and you couldn’t wait to jump to the wrong conclusions about me!’ Sophie hurled with the bitterness she had never managed to shake off. ‘Well, for your information, I told a polite lie to avoid embarrassing you with the truth of why I couldn’t see you that night. And by the way, that loser you refer to was Terry, the son of my father’s girlfriend, and he might have been very tall for his age but he was only fourteen years old! Not my lover, not my anything, just a scared kid worried sick about his mum!’

Having delivered that final rebuttal with spirit, Sophie stalked down the path with the buggy. To Antonio’s eyes, she seemed to dance as she moved. Her golden corkscrew curls bounced and tumbled round her shoulders and down her narrow back. The worn fabric of her jeans accentuated the suggestion of a pert swing to her small, heart-shaped derrière. She did not have much of any particular attribute, but what she did have had an explosive effect on his libido. He was not proud of his base instincts. Willing his inappropriate arousal to hell and back, Antonio breathed in very slow and deep.

But he still wanted to haul her back and voice his scorn for that foolish story that only an intellectually challenged male would swallow. He wanted to ask her where she got off speaking to him in that impertinent tone. He wanted her to listen to his every word when he spoke to her. He wanted to teach her respect. He wanted to drag her into his arms and demonstrate sexual skills that he had never practised on a beach…at least, not a public one. Being who he was, however, and proud of his tough self-discipline, he chose instead to watch her walk away. He could no longer ignore the obvious: shameful though it was, it could only be her sluttish qualities that attracted him.

CHAPTER THREE

ANTONIO was planning to take Lydia from her and bring her up in Spain, Sophie reflected in agonised panic. How dared he start telling her how the baby that she loved should be brought up?

Frantically determined to keep herself busy so that she did not have time to fret, Sophie fed Lydia and put her to bed. She tidied up the static caravan that had been her home for over three years. She would make an early start tomorrow to finish that mobile home. She opened the box of cardigans the mail order firm had sent her to be embroidered and sat down to begin work on the intricate flowers.

How was she supposed to fight Antonio? A real live aristocrat? Was her lifestyle really one of appalling poverty? They had a secure roof over their heads and enough to eat. Admittedly the mobile home could be rather cold in winter and their clothes were rarely new, but Lydia was a happy, thriving child. How was she supposed to demand equal rights over her niece when Antonio could offer so much more in every material way?

Norah Moore called in at nine that evening. As soon as the older woman realised that Antonio was returning the next day, she offered to take care of Lydia while he was there. ‘That way you’ll be able to talk in peace. Where did you say this Antonio was staying?’

‘I didn’t say…the card’s on the table,’ Sophie mumbled, dimly wondering why the older woman wanted to know.

‘Quite a way away…the hotel looks very fancy,’ Norah remarked. ‘You should take yourself off for a walk along the beach. That always calms you down. I’ll mind Lydia.’

‘How can I calm down? Antonio is going to take Lydia off me,’ Sophie breathed in a tormented whisper. ‘He’s already made up his mind.’

‘You can’t be sure of that. Wait and see what happens. You might be surprised,’ Norah remarked cryptically.

‘I don’t think so. Antonio was pretty blunt.’

The older woman gave Sophie’s arm a comforting squeeze and departed without further comment.

Sophie trudged down to the beach and let the breeze toss her hair into a wild mass. Antonio had not changed one atom, she thought feverishly. He had not had a clue how to handle Lydia, but had been far too arrogant to admit it. In fact he appeared to know precious little about young children, a reality he had been happy to ignore while picking on her shortcomings. And, worse still, Antonio was still as prejudiced against her as he had been at their last meeting in Spain almost three years earlier…

Her memories of that period in her life were still surprisingly fresh and raw and her thoughts swept her back in time. Her sister’s wedding had turned into a dream event for Sophie as well as the bride. Throughout that day, Antonio had smoothed Sophie’s passage in a whole host of ways. He had complimented her on her appearance in the fussy purple dress that she had secretly absolutely detested. He had chatted to her while the photographs were being taken, arranged to have her sit near him at the reception and acted as interpreter and translator so that she could mix with the other guests. He had introduced her to lots of people, danced with her and acted as if her pleasure was his primary objective.

All that attention had been a very heady experience for Sophie, who would have felt vastly out of her depth in such smart company without Antonio’s support. Her feet had barely touched the ground.

Belinda had been concerned enough to take Sophie aside to warn her off. ‘Antonio’s being very kind to you, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about him—’

‘I’m not getting any ideas about him,’ Sophie protested in severe embarrassment, wondering if she had been making a fool of herself. After all, she had been doing all those despicable girlie things like batting her eyelashes at him and going for the giggle rather than the belly laugh.

‘There’s no way that Antonio would be attracted to you. Pablo says his brother’s standards are so high that a saint couldn’t make the grade with him,’ her sister pointed out apologetically. ‘But Antonio does have fantastic manners. Obviously he felt sorry for you when he found you on your own last night. I’m sure that’s why he’s making so much effort to ensure that you have a good time today.’

‘Push off,’ Sophie told Antonio when he next asked her to dance. ‘When I need the sympathy vote, I’ll let you know.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Antonio demanded with incredulity.

‘I hear you’re being kind to me because you took pity on me last night—’

‘No, I’m really not that nice and unselfish.’ His shimmering dark golden eyes connected with hers and held her entrapped. For the space of thirty seconds she was as out of touch with planet earth as a rocket powering into space. ‘Was it your sister who told you that? I did notice her anxious looks. It’s natural for her to want to protect you.’

Having driven her back to the apartment complex that night, he insisted on escorting her right into the shabby reception area. Once there, he quite casually suggested taking her out to eat the following evening and giving her a tour of a less busy part of the coast. Striving hard to match his cool, she accepted with a shrug and went into the lift with a light wave. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed that she was so dizzy with excitement that she bumped her nose on the back wall of the lift.

Like Cinderella without the fairy godmother to help, Sophie toiled from dawn to dusk the next day striving to beautify herself for Antonio’s benefit. Early that evening, however, her father and his girlfriend, Miriam split up. Miriam found Sophie’s father with another woman and a huge argument took place. After listening wretchedly from the balcony to the fight that concluded in their separate departures, Sophie crept back indoors.

Ten minutes later Miriam’s teenaged son, Terry, appeared. The boy was desperate to find his mother and prevent her from drowning her sorrows in drink. Only then did Sophie learn that Miriam was a recovering alcoholic. She was bitterly ashamed of her father’s behaviour towards the poor woman. She also knew that she would not be able to live with her conscience if she did not help Terry look for his distraught parent.

Telling Antonio the full sordid truth of the goings-on at the apartment that day was not an option as far as Sophie was concerned. It broke her heart to phone him and cancel their night out with the polite fiction that she had taken ill. He made no mention of an alternative arrangement and time was running out fast, for her flight home was only twenty-four hours away.

That search for Miriam through all the many bars in the resort was long and unsuccessful. Footsore, exhausted and too broke to afford a taxi, Sophie and Terry walked home by the beach in the early hours of the morning. Her heart leapt with joy when Antonio stepped out of a car parked across the street from the entrance. She told Terry to go on up to bed.

‘I was so scared that I wasn’t going to see you again,’ she confided, too delighted by his appearance even to remember that she had pleaded sickness as an excuse for not seeing him earlier.

‘You won’t see me again.’ Lean bronzed face hard, Antonio raked contemptuous dark-as-jet eyes over her.

Bewildered, she stared up at him, suddenly horribly conscious that she was looking even less glam than usual. ‘But…but you’re here now—why not?’

‘How many reasons do you need? That you pretend to be ill when there’s nothing wrong with you?’

‘There was a reason for that—’

‘Sí. I saw you with your arm round the young man in the Union Jack shirt. You’ve been on the beach with him,’ Antonio murmured with mesmerising sibilance, letting a brown forefinger casually flick a stain on her vest top. ‘And rolling in sand. I don’t have to be a detective to know that you’ve been screwing outdoors.’

An argumentative drunk on the beach had kicked wet sand at her and soiled her white top and shorts. ‘No, you’ve got it wrong—’

‘De veras? I’m not into liars or tattoos.’ Antonio angled a brief look of derision at the tiny colourful butterfly etched into the skin of her bare shoulder before concluding with succinct bite, ‘Or for that matter, sluts.’

Sophie did not like to recall that she had been so keen on him that even after that rejection she had tried to contact him by phone to plead her innocence. Her initial calls had been unsuccessful and then he had phoned her to dismiss the whole situation with galling casualness.

‘Stop worrying about this,’ Antonio advised with nonchalant cool. ‘There is no need for you to make any explanations to me. I had no right to criticise your behaviour. You went out on a date and told me a little white lie. It was nothing and now that we are related by marriage, even less than nothing.’

She discovered that his good manners could be the unyielding equivalent of an immoveable stone wall. He was equally firm about wishing her a good trip home and ending that brief conversation. It was a very long time before Sophie recovered from that disappointment. Foolish though it was, she had fallen madly in love within the space of forty-eight hours. So many times after that she wished that she had never laid eyes on Antonio Rocha. What she had never known she could not have missed. Nor would she have found herself pointlessly comparing the rough-and-ready males she met with a high-born Spanish noble.

Drifting back to the present, Sophie rediscovered her sense of purpose and hope. She was being too pessimistic. She had not really tried to reason with Antonio. Why should he want to take on the burden of a baby? He was a single guy, for goodness’ sake! When Lydia had begun crying, Antonio had been totally unnerved. All she had to do was convince Antonio that she was capable of giving Lydia a loving and secure home. Maybe she would have to find fancier accommodation to please him, but if he was willing to contribute even a small amount towards Lydia’s upkeep that would be possible. Surely then a compromise could be reached?

Antonio had decided to breakfast in the public restaurant rather than in the isolation of his suite. He had just finished eating when the head waiter approached his secluded table to inform him that he had a visitor waiting to see him in the lounge.

A gaunt older woman with grey hair scrambled up to introduce herself as Norah Moore. ‘You don’t know me, but I’ve known Sophie for years,’ she proclaimed nervously. ‘I know it’s early but I wanted the chance to have a private word with you before you saw Sophie again.’

Antonio extended his hand. ‘Antonio Rocha. Please sit down. Would you like something to drink? Perhaps tea?’

‘Sophie said you had lovely manners…she was right. I don’t need tea…thanks,’ Norah told him anxiously. ‘I’m here because I’m worried about Sophie.’

‘How may I help you?’ Antonio enquired.

‘Sophie’s wonderful with Lydia and terribly fond of the kiddie. You mustn’t try to part them.’

‘I only want what is best for my niece,’ Antonio fielded gently.

‘Sophie and your niece are as close as any mother and child. There’s also the fact that Lydia’s own mother wanted her sister to keep her child for good. I was a witness to that being said by Belinda,’ the older woman continued squarely. ‘Were you aware of that?’

‘No, I was not,’ Antonio conceded.

‘There’s something else too,’ Norah continued heavily. ‘Something I don’t want to tell you but I feel I should tell you for Sophie’s sake.’

‘I can be discreet.’

‘Well, Sophie can’t have children of her own. She had leukaemia when she was a kid and the treatment messed her up. Did you know about that?’

‘No, I was not aware of it,’ Antonio said flatly, his strong bone structure tightening, the pallor of shock spreading below his bronzed skin.

Indeed he felt almost sick at that revelation. He was appalled to think of how she must have suffered as a child. He also knew how much Sophie would have loathed his knowledge of such a very personal matter. He did not question how he knew that. He was both angry and relieved that the older woman had decided to betray Sophie’s confidence. His ignorance of just how vulnerable Sophie was had made him behave like a cruel bastard.

‘So obviously that baby is very precious to Sophie. She’s had a rotten life, you know,’ Norah Moore continued accusingly. ‘She works her fingers to the bone seven days a week trying to give that baby something better than she had herself. It may not look like much on your terms, but don’t underestimate the sacrifices she’s made. She looked after that daft sister of hers as well—’

‘You have made your point, Mrs Moore.’

Having escorted the older woman out to her car, Antonio strode back into the hotel. What had Sophie said? I honestly think I will die if you take her away from me. He had preferred to be cynical about the depth of her affection for the child. Now, and thanks only to a stranger’s intervention, he was being forced to face the probability that Sophie was very deeply attached to the child and with good reason if she could not have a baby of her own. He was dealing with a much more complex situation than he had appreciated. If he was to deprive Sophie of Lydia, might grief drive her into doing something foolish? He breathed in slow and deep and then out again in a measured hiss of acceptance. That was not a risk he felt it would be reasonable for him to take. For the first time he acknowledged that Lydia was as much Sophie’s niece as his.

CHAPTER FOUR

LATER that morning, Sophie saw the limousine first. Antonio swung out and unfolded to his full intimidating height and she had eyes only for him. Immaculate in appearance and stunningly handsome, he was wearing a formal charcoal-grey suit teamed with a white shirt and a blue silk tie. Dragging her enthralled attention from him, she smoothed damp palms down over her most presentable T-shirt.

She was so nervous she started talking before she even had the door properly open. ‘A friend is looking after Lydia for me…I thought we could talk on the beach… It’s a lovely day.’

Lovely? Antonio thought the sky was cloudy, the wind rather strong and the temperature distinctly on the cool side. But then even at its best the British climate could not compete with the sun-drenched heat of his own country, he conceded ruefully.

‘We would have more privacy indoors,’ he suggested.

Sophie tensed. ‘I don’t want you to see where I live,’ she admitted.

Antonio raised a bemused brow. ‘Por qué…why?’

Sophie began walking along the path that led down to the strand. ‘After that crack you made about poverty, I just wouldn’t feel comfortable entertaining you in my home. It may not be much but I like it. Why should I have to put up with you acting like I’m living in a hovel?’

‘I hope I would not be so rude,’ Antonio drawled flatly.

‘Well, you were yesterday,’ Sophie could not resist telling him. ‘On the beach, we’ll be equal.’

Antonio was not dressed for the beach. He wondered if that was supposed to be part of the great levelling exercise or if she was secretly hoping that he would freak out when he got sand on his shoes. He watched her race to the edge of the water like an eager child, her every movement fired with mercurial energy. Beautiful to look at, but almost impossible to handle. She was unpredictable, hot-tempered, impulsive, wildly emotional: she was driving him mad. The proposition he was about to outline, however, would restore the status quo. She would become much more amenable to his guidance when she was living in Spain…

‘I’ve worked out a compromise since we talked last night,’ Antonio imparted in his smooth honeyed drawl.

‘Oh…?’ Her spirits lifted by the bright reflection of the sun on the sea, Sophie pinned hopeful eyes to his bold bronzed profile.

‘You can move to Spain.’

‘No way!’ Sophie gasped in disconcertion.

‘Try not to interrupt me.’ Dark golden eyes levelled on her mutinous face. ‘Lydia will have to live at the castillo with me, but I own many properties nearby. Finding you accommodation would not be a problem and it would be free. You could see the child whenever you liked and she would find it easier to adapt to her new home if you were there to provide support.’

Sophie folded her arms with a jerk. She could not believe his nerve. ‘So I give up my life here, move abroad and live in limbo on your property like some charity case. Thanks, but no, thanks! I’m not unreasonable. I’m happy to share Lydia with you but I refuse to hand her over to you lock, stock, and barrel. I mean, what are you planning to do with her?’

‘Engage childcare professionals to take care of her every need.’

Her green eyes flamed. ‘That really says it all, doesn’t it? Why can’t you just be honest? You haven’t the slightest personal interest in your brother’s child. You think it’s your duty to give her a home, but you resent it—’

‘That is not true.’ But there was enough of a grain of truth in that accusation to flick Antonio on the raw.

‘You’ll never love Lydia the way I do because you’re always going to see her as a burden!’

‘You’re wrong,’ Antonio incised almost fiercely.

‘Of course you will. She’s not your baby and you didn’t ask for her and you’re not that fussed about kids anyway…and if you get married Lydia’s likely to be as popular as rat poison with your wife!’

‘I have no intention of getting married—’

Adrenalin pounding through her veins, Sophie stalked over to him to look up at him, her eyes bright with conviction. ‘But she needs a mother, Antonio. Not people you pay to wash and feed her.’

‘I’m not ready for marriage.’

‘Then let Lydia and I alone and send us the occasional postcard!’ Sophie advised thinly, her temper rising at her inability to gain an emotional reaction from him. ‘You’re too selfish to take charge of a baby. You’ll neglect her. You’ll be too busy wheeling and dealing at the office and socialising with your harem of women to make time for her!’

Brilliant eyes shimmering into a hot golden blaze, Antonio closed long fingers round Sophie’s wrist to urge her closer. ‘Harem?’ he prompted with subdued mockery.

Angry, mortified colour burnished Sophie’s cheeks. ‘Pablo used to tell Belinda all about your exploits with your string of women.’

‘Pablo would have known nothing. We were not close. I did not confide in him. But while I may not talk of my conquests I’m not ashamed of my sex life. Did you think I would be?’ Arrogant dark head high, Antonio gazed down at her, lush black lashes semi-screening his disturbingly intent gaze.

‘I don’t give two hoots about your flippin’ sex life!’ Sophie flung in affronted denial, her cheeks burning.

‘I think you do…’ Antonio breathed soft and low, the dark timbre of his deep, rich drawl feathering down her slender spine like a hurricane warning. ‘I think that nearly three years ago I was too much of a gentleman for your tastes—’

‘Gentleman is not a word I would label you with,’ Sophie cut in unevenly, a hunger she could not suppress licking up in her pelvis and freezing her where she stood bare inches from him. Every inch of her was taut and screaming with so powerful an awareness of her own body that she felt light-headed. All she needed from him was one kiss, she was telling herself. One kiss just to see what all the fuss was about and she was convinced that he would be as much of a disappointment as every other guy she had kissed. But in Antonio’s case, it would be a glorious, wonderful disappointment that would for ever banish her unease around him.

‘But, whatever the label, you’re still hot for me, mi cielo,’ Antonio murmured huskily.

Sophie trembled. ‘Curious…’ she admitted in a breath of sound, her throat dry and tight.