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

To his knowledge no Rocha wife had ever been unfaithful, although there had been a few rather unexpected deaths over the centuries. Death before dishonour. For the very first time Antonio found himself in sympathy with distant ancestors who had ridden off to war for months on end leaving young and beautiful wives behind at home. How was he supposed to go away for weeks on business? In the space of a moment, a new horrific dimension had been added to Antonio’s outlook on matrimony. He tried to regard the potential problem of his bride’s future behaviour as a basic security issue. Careful supervision and geographical location would reduce the chances of any similar offence occurring.

When Sophie returned to the main cabin, Antonio slid upright with the grace of a panther ready to spring at an unwary prey. Having looked her fill at his bold bronzed profile before he registered her reappearance, Sophie ostentatiously ignored him, screened a fake yawn and picked up a magazine for good measure.

‘I saw you with Norah Moore’s son at the airport,’ Antonio murmured with icy cool.

‘Did you?’ Sophie was surprised but not concerned. ‘Matt can be so kind and thoughtful. Maybe you assumed that I bought those flowers for myself. I didn’t,’ she declared with emphasis. ‘Matt gave them to me.’

Antonio listened to that irrelevant and aggravating response with an amount of disbelief that did nothing to cool his ire. ‘Do you seriously think that I am interested in where the flowers came from?’ he enquired grittily.

‘Oh, no, I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested,’ Sophie countered with a hint of acidity, still without having deigned to glance in his direction.

‘Put the magazine down and look at me when you speak to me,’ Antonio instructed grimly.

Sophie kept her attention on the magazine and turned a page very slowly and carefully. Antonio brought out a defiant streak in Sophie that had remained dormant and unknown even to her until she had met him. She wondered why it was that he had only to address her in a certain tone or raise an aristocratic eyebrow to excite her even temper to screaming pitch.

Provoked beyond bearing, Antonio swept up the magazine and slung it aside.

‘So now you’re going to add bullying to all your other sins,’ Sophie commented in a tone of immense martyrdom. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised—’

‘What other sins?’ Antonio raked at her incredulously.

‘Oh, let’s not get into that right now,’ Sophie advised, rising to her full, unimposing height and pausing to hurriedly cram her feet back into the high heels she had removed. ‘Unless you’ve got all day to listen. And, of course, even if you did magically have the time or the good manners to listen, I might drop dead from hunger first.’

‘Hunger?’ Antonio growled, black brows pleating.

‘Obviously I shall have to get used to my comfort being ignored in favour of yours. I haven’t eaten since eight this morning and I am starving,’ Sophie tossed back at him accusingly. ‘And you couldn’t care less, could you? Because you’ve made it very clear that if you’re not hungry, I’m not supposed to be hungry either!’

‘The detour back to the hotel for the photographic session meant that there wasn’t time for lunch,’ Antonio informed her drily, striving not to notice how the vivid colour of anger enhanced the brightness of her eyes.

Sophie folded her arms and sent a flashing look of scorn at him. ‘So, in other words, starving me was deliberate—’

‘How the hell do you make that out?’ Antonio launched back at her wrathfully.

‘I argued about the photographs being cancelled and that annoyed you and so lunch went off the menu—’

‘How could you think that I am capable of being that petty?’ Antonio’s disgust at the allegation was convincing. ‘I did not wish to reschedule our flight. For that reason I arranged for a meal to be served to us now.’

Chagrin rather than relief at that news gripped Sophie. ‘Couldn’t you have explained that to me back at the hotel?’

‘You were sulking—’

‘I don’t sulk!’ Sophie hurled.

‘—and if you want to sulk like a little girl you will be treated like one,’ Antonio completed without hesitation, while wondering how she would react if he just lifted her off her absurdly high-heeled shoes and kissed her into merciful silence.

‘Try that on me again and you’ll see what happens!’ Sophie threw feverishly.

Infuriated by the weird thoughts and ideas interfering with his concentration, Antonio resisted the temptation to rise to her bait. Stunning dark eyes cool as a winter lake, he surveyed her with intimidating self-command. ‘I believe you think that you can distract me from your own inexcusable behaviour at the airport. You haven’t a prayer on that score. I saw you kissing Norah Moore’s son.’

Sophie went pink and jerked a thin shoulder and studied the floor for about twenty seconds. That sufficed for the amount of discomfiture she experienced at that assurance. Indeed after the heartbreakingly hurtful day she had endured she was actually quite pleased that he had been forced to register that one man at least had thought her worthy of his attention. She glanced up again, green eyes rebellious. ‘So?’ she queried.

Antonio was incredulous at that unapologetic reaction. ‘Do not dare to treat it as nothing,’ he warned her, his accent thick with anger. ‘Sharing a very public embrace with your lover on the day you became my wife is not acceptable behaviour by any standards.’

Her defiance ebbed a little and she squirmed, no longer able to meet his proud dark golden eyes. ‘For goodness’ sake, Matt’s not my lover or my anything—’

‘I know what I saw,’ Antonio incised icily.

‘Matt’s fancied me for ages but I only ever thought of him as a friend,’ Sophie admitted reluctantly, angry at being forced to make an explanation. ‘He was upset about me marrying you and he came to the airport to say goodbye. I couldn’t face rejecting him again. I like him and I felt sorry for him, so I put up with him kissing me!’

‘I might have found that a convincing story if you hadn’t been weeping all over him when I saw you,’ Antonio derided with a curled lip.

In that instant, temper and hurt reached flashpoint inside Sophie. ‘I was crying because you had made me so miserable!’

‘I had made you miserable?’ Antonio repeated in thunderous disbelief. ‘What had I done?’

‘Matt being upset about me leaving and giving me those flowers was the first nice thing that happened to me today. Think about that, Antonio…this was supposed to be my wedding day. And it’s been totally horrible!’ Sophie condemned tearfully, all the wounded feelings she had suppressed throughout the day suddenly coalescing and finally making sense to her.

‘How has it been horrible?’ Antonio demanded fiercely.

‘I’ll probably never have another wedding day,’ Sophie proclaimed grittily, pride helping her to swallow back the tears that had been threatening. ‘I know it couldn’t have been romantic in the circumstances, but you could at least have made it pleasant and friendly. I spent two whole days trailing round London finding this outfit and you couldn’t even tell me that I looked OK—’

Dark blood had risen to emphasise the sculpted line of his hard cheekbones. ‘I—’

‘It’s OK…don’t worry about it. Do you think I haven’t worked out for myself that I couldn’t ever reach your standards? But I made the effort; I tried. You didn’t even try to be nice. You accused me of tipping off the reporters at the church. You didn’t give me flowers or anything and the entire time you acted like being with me and Lydia was just one big, awful bore. Matt was so sweet and the comparison between you and him was too much—’

‘The comparison between me and that gorilla?’ Antonio grated between clenched teeth, seizing on that line because her previous comments had hit too many raw nerves in succession to even be considered in the midst of an argument.

‘You’re a hateful snob,’ Sophie told him fiercely. ‘You treat me like dirt…but he treats me like I’m something special!’

A brisk knock sounded on the door and broke the silence that fell in the wake of that last bitter rebuke. A flight attendant entered with a trolley of food. Sophie dropped her head, heavy curls tumbling across her delicate profile to conceal her tear-wet eyes from notice. Trembling with emotion, she sank back down into her seat and cringed over the last revealing words she had flung at him. You treat me like dirt…he treats me like I’m something special!

Why don’t you be honest with yourself? a snide little voice was mocking inside her head. The truth, which she only recognised in retrospect, cut her pride to ribbons. Her wedding day had been a disaster because she had forgotten it was a ‘deal’ rather than a joyous occasion to be celebrated. She had got carried away with bridal fervour. She had absolutely craved personal attention and notice from Antonio. She would have crawled over broken glass for a single compliment. Her distress had stemmed from her pain and disappointment when he had neglected to meet her unrealistic hopes and treated her like wallpaper instead.

Did she have the right to complain about the way he had treated her? Or was she being unfair to him? After all, it hadn’t been a real wedding for two people who cared about each other. Antonio didn’t care two straws about her and she had to learn to live with that, didn’t she? Someone like him was never, ever going to think of someone like her as special, she thought wretchedly. Having to put up with her all day had probably been a taxing enough challenge for him. Her aching throat convulsed. She stared down at the inviting meal that had been laid before her and discovered that she was no longer hungry. A tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the plate.

‘Sophie…’ Antonio breathed tautly.

‘Leave me alone!’ she gasped strickenly and, scrambling up, she fled down the aisle and vanished into the sleeping compartment.

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE time that Antonio entered the compartment Sophie was fast asleep. Curled up in a ball, tawny-blonde curls tumbling over a delicate cheekbone, she looked very young, incredibly pretty and alarmingly vulnerable.

She was also his wife. His wife. It was a disturbing moment of truth for Antonio. She was now Sophie Cunningham de Rocha, the Marquesa de Salazar. She had had grounds for complaint, he acknowledged, his handsome mouth hardening on that admission of self-blame. He was not accustomed to finding himself in the wrong. But he had censured her behaviour as his wife without once accepting her right to be treated as though she was his wife.

A slight movement in the cot attracted his attention. He glanced down and met Lydia’s big hopeful brown eyes. The baby flashed him a huge gummy smile of welcome and wriggled with excess energy. Without words, Lydia was letting him know that she wanted out of the cot and that she was expecting him to supply the means of her escape from captivity. He was amused until the baby let out a little bleating cry of disappointment when he turned back to the door.

‘If I took you out of there, I wouldn’t know what to do with you,’ Antonio pointed out in his own defence.

The melting brown eyes stayed pinned to him.

‘Yes, of course I can learn, but in easy stages,’ Antonio murmured in what he was hoped was a soothing tone that might send her back to sleep. He took another step away from the cot.

The brown eyes glistened and the rosebud mouth trembled piteously.

At the threat of tears, Antonio tensed. He glanced back at Sophie, who was clearly enjoying the very sound sleep of exhaustion. Breathing in deep and mustering his legendary ability to deal with the unexpected, he reached down to lift Lydia out of the cot. She wriggled with pleasure and smiled like mad at him in return.

‘You know how to get your own way,’ Antonio informed the baby wryly. ‘But success is not always followed by the reward you expect. We’re going to watch the business news together.’

Sophie wakened only when her shoulder was gently shaken. Feathery lashes lifting, she focused slowly on Antonio’s darkly handsome face and her mouth ran dry. Try as she might, she could not suppress her response to his mesmeric attraction.

‘You may want to get up,’ he murmured softly. ‘We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes. Did you sleep well?’

‘I don’t remember even putting my head down,’ she confided, glancing down at her watch. ‘I’m amazed Lydia let me sleep this long!’

‘I’ve been entertaining her.’

Before she could comment on that surprising information, he had gone. Ten minutes later she joined him in the main cabin. Lydia was enjoying a peaceful nap in her baby harness, a sure-fire sign of contentment.

‘How did you manage with her?’ Sophie asked uncomfortably.

‘Consuela, one of the crew, is a parent. She lent me some assistance when Lydia needed a drink,’ Antonio admitted modestly. ‘But Lydia was very good and easily amused.’

‘Thanks for letting me sleep.’ Sophie studied her linked hands and cleared her throat. ‘I owe you an apology for the way I lost my temper earlier.’

‘No, you don’t owe me anything,’ Antonio contradicted with quiet assurance. ‘You were right to complain and I am sorry that I made the day a difficult one. I must confess that I was nourishing a certain resentment of the situation which I needed to deal with.’

It came entirely naturally to Sophie to reach across the aisle to touch his lean brown hand with her own in an instinctive gesture of sympathetic understanding. ‘Of course you felt bitter, but you don’t have to apologise for being human. It must’ve been so hard for someone like you to put up with a brother like Pablo. Then to be landed with responsibility for Lydia into the bargain, well, obviously you felt fed up.’

That sudden gush of generosity from her corner was too much for Antonio’s innate reserve about his own feelings. His expression of regret, honest admission of fault and the explanation he had believed she was due had cost him dearly. Her unexpected compassion stung his strong pride like acid.

‘You mistook my meaning,’ Antonio replied icily. ‘Never at any time since I learned of my niece’s existence have I wished that her care fell to someone else. There is no more proper person than I to undertake that task and I would never attempt to avoid the responsibility. I don’t expect you to understand it, but loyalty to my family is as integral a part of me as my honour.’

Sophie coloured hot pink and then white, mortification at that unabashed snub biting at her frail self-esteem. No matter how hard she tried she always seemed to say or do the wrong thing with Antonio, she reflected wretchedly. He appeared to believe that she was too vulgar and common to comprehend the more refined sensibilities of a Spanish aristocrat.

‘That’s a hateful thing to say,’ she whispered with scorching fervour, for once again he had hurt her. ‘I was every bit as loyal to Belinda as you are to your precious family!’

An hour later, she was seated in a long, opulent limousine being driven through the Andalusian countryside. Up until that point she had rigorously ignored or crushed Antonio’s conversational attempts to redeem himself.

When he tried to tell her a little about the history of Spain, Sophie said tartly, ‘Save yourself the trouble. Buy me the book!’

When the country road wended through silvery olive groves, Antonio informed her that they were now on the family estate. After what felt like a very long time to Sophie, the olive trees gave way to orange orchards and a picturesque whitewashed village straggling over the lower slopes of forested hills. Locals peered out of the houses and stopped in the narrow, winding street to stare at the limousine and wave acknowledgement.

‘Are we still on your family estate?’ Rampant curiosity finally forced Sophie to abandon her stony silence and ask that question as the limo traversed a shaded road surrounded on all sides by dense evergreen woods.

‘Sí. My great-great-grandfather planted those oak trees,’ Antonio told her with unhidden pride.

‘It’s like the fairy tale of Puss-in-Boots,’ Sophie muttered helplessly and, when Antonio angled a look of incomprehension at her, added, ‘Puss-in-Boots wanted to impress the king with the idea that his master was hugely important and rich. So, he pretended all the land they passed belonged to this character he made up called the Marquis of Carabas.’

‘The Marquis of Carabas,’ Antonio repeated with only the slightest tremor of amusement disturbing his dark deep drawl.

‘Of course that marquis belongs in the fairy story and he was only for pretend and you’re real,’ Sophie conceded absently. ‘But all this feels very unreal to me…’

There was a reason for the way she suddenly fell silent. The limousine had turned a corner and through the trees she caught a glimpse of an ancient stone building. Adorned with as many towers and turrets as any palace in a fairy tale, it sat in an oasis of lush green vegetation. It was indescribably beautiful and she was enchanted from that first moment.

‘What do you think?’

Sophie veiled her stunned eyes and shrugged with studied casualness, too self-conscious to display her true reactions. ‘It’s very big…I’m not going to be tripping over you every five minutes, am I?’

‘It’s unlikely. Perhaps I should have mentioned before now that a nanny has been engaged to help you care for Lydia,’ Antonio advanced with caution.

‘As long as I like the nanny, that’s fine with me.’ Sophie was grateful that an extra pair of hands would be available. All too often she had been forced to rely on Norah Moore’s good nature. A nanny to help out with Lydia would be a real luxury.

The limo came to a halt in a timeless courtyard ornamented with palm trees in vast pots. The soft sunlight of evening illuminated the stone arches and columns that made an arcade on three sides. Water droplets sparkled and fell from the fountain that played near the massive wooden doors that stood ajar on a floor that, even at a distance of several feet, was clearly polished to a mirror finish.

Lydia supported on one slight hip, Sophie crossed the threshold and froze at the sight of the throng of people filling the giant entrance hall.

With wonderful assurance, Antonio cupped a light hand below her elbow and drew her on to greet an elegant little old lady who might have been chipped out of frozen granite.

‘My grandmother, Doña Ernesta…Sophie.’

Doña Ernesta gave a regal nod and said that it was a great joy to welcome her grandson, his bride and her great-granddaughter home. Sophie was not deceived. She knew that she was about as welcome in her role as Antonio’s bride as the bad fairy. Attention was quickly focused on Lydia, who was greeted with a sincere warmth that quite transformed her great-grandmother’s frozen granite exterior. A young smiling nanny was brought forward, introduced, and Lydia was handed over to an enthusiastic reception.

‘Come and meet the rest of the staff,’ Antonio urged Sophie then, ignoring her dismay as she registered just how many people appeared to fall within that category.

Everyone who worked inside the castillo was waiting to pay their respects. Antonio carried her through the introductions with the sure confidence that seemed to accompany everything he did and she really appreciated his support.

Afterwards he closed his hand over hers and walked her up the carved stone staircase. ‘You must be incredibly hungry,’ he murmured.

‘Yes…I should’ve eaten when I got the chance.’ Sophie sighed, her attention locking to the ancient stone walls and gothic arches surrounding them. It was a real castle, a one hundred per cent genuine medieval castle, and she was fascinated by it.

His handsome mouth quirked at her fatalistic outlook. ‘I upset you. In the hope that you’ll forgive that I’ve arranged for a meal to be served in your suite. I want you to be happy here at the castillo.’

‘Your grandmother wouldn’t agree with you.’

‘It’s a shame that she didn’t have the opportunity to get to know you at your sister’s wedding, querida. She would never be unkind and will soon become accustomed to our marriage.’

Sophie was less confident.

‘By the way, I should warn you that I have told no one of our marital agreement. Secrets shared soon lead to a wider circle becoming acquainted with what was once private—’

‘You mean Doña Ernesta thinks we’re like…really married?’ Sophie interrupted in dismay. ‘You should tell her the truth!’

‘It would only complicate matters. Allow me to know my own family best. To all intents and purposes it is wisest if at this point at least our marriage appears to be normal,’ Antonio decreed.

Sophie disagreed but took the hint. It was obvious to her that Doña Ernesta was hopping with rage and disappointment over the fact that her grandson appeared to have thrown his title, his wealth and his giant castle away on a penniless nobody from England. Sophie did not blame his grandmother one little bit for her annoyance. Antonio was just about the equivalent of a prince and a prince deserved a princess.

Upstairs, Antonio showed her into a beautifully furnished and enormous sitting room, which led into a huge bedroom that in turn had a fabulous bathroom and dressing room attached.

‘All this is just for me?’ she gasped.

‘Dinner will be served here in forty minutes,’ he imparted.

‘Here…? ‘ Her relief was palpable. She had been afraid that she might have to dress up to eat in some fancy dining room and she had nothing suitable to change into.

‘Sí. I’ve organised an informal meal of your favourite foods—’

‘But you don’t know what I like…’

‘I phoned Mrs Moore to find out, querida.’ Antonio gazed down at her, stunning dark golden eyes very serious. ‘You have eaten hardly anything today. That’s my fault. I want you to relax and feel comfortable at the castillo.’

Sophie vented an awkward laugh. ‘I’m never going to relax in a place like this!’

‘Of course you will,’ Antonio declared, long brown fingers tilting up her chin to persuade her to look up again. ‘You’re my wife and this is your home and you must treat it as such. Your comfort is of prime importance to me and to our staff.’

For a long, timeless moment, she was conscious only of the spectacular power of his gaze. His concern for her sent a sudden dangerous flare of happiness winging through her slight frame. The faint citrusy aroma of the shaving lotion he used flared her nostrils. She wanted to drink the scent in like a drug, for it was already wonderfully familiar to her. Something tightened low in her pelvis and an awareness so acute it hurt seemed to make every inch of her feel unbearably sensitive. She wanted to lean closer to him, retain that fleeting physical contact of his fingers against her throat. But she rebelled against her weakness and literally forced herself back for him with a brittle smile fixed to her flushed face. ‘Right, so if I’m to make myself at home, I’ll have a bath before the food arrives,’ she framed not quite steadily. ‘So first you’d better tell me where Lydia is, because I want to check she’s OK without me.’

For a split second, Antonio was very taut as he mastered the raw hunger that had leapt as high as a burning brand in him. All it had taken was her proximity and that reference to a bath and his imagination had gone crazy. His gleaming gaze veiled while he fought an outrageous desire to simply grab her like a Neanderthal cave dweller. Lust had never controlled him to such an extent that he almost forgot who he was. Exhilarated by the very power of that sensation, he suspended all rational thought on the issue.

It was sex, just sex, nothing to get worked up about. She was amazingly sexy and the very fact that she didn’t even seem to appreciate the strength of her own attraction only added to her appeal. He could not recall when he had last been with a woman capable of walking past a mirror without looking in it. Not to mention one so devoted to a baby’s interests that her own needs took second billing.