At the Spanish Duke's Command (15 page)

Banishing the thought, Georgiana smiled at Patsy and they drove the last kilometre up to the house. The girl was talking excitedly, telling her details about the house and the garden, and Mariella, the lady who came in and cleaned twice a week.

“We thought you'd probably be a bit lost this first day, so we wondered if you'd like to come down to the village and have supper at our place?” Patsy said as they reached the lovely terracotta building, its sagging tiles and gentle pink hue all that Georgiana had anticipated.

“Thank you, I'd love to,” she said, accepting the invitation, grateful not to be by herself on her first night. For, although it was delicious to be here on her own, it was also daunting to know that she and the tiny bit of life inside her had no one but themselves to look to if anything went wrong.

Several minutes later Georgiana had been shown all the features and specifics of the house. Where the linen cupboard was, how the electricity and the gas worked. And Patsy had given her a list of phone numbers to call in case of any emergency.

“You've been wonderful,” Georgiana exclaimed after they'd finished the tour. “I don't know how to thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the other girl replied, smiling. “Now, I'll wait while you unpack and shower, and then we can
return together to the village and meet Carlo for a drink in the
piazza
before dinner. You'll see—soon you'll be a part of this place.”

“Thank you.” Georgiana turned and walked up the stairs with tears in her eyes. She had not expected such a warm welcome from strangers. Somehow it touched the increasingly sensitive part of her being. Her emotions seemed so acute these days.

Bracing herself, she unpacked her suitcase, walked into the shower, and afterwards prepared to become a part of her new home.

 

“I'm afraid I don't have her address,” Lady Cavendish answered Juan's enquiry. “All I have is the name of the village. But you have her cellphone number, don't you? I'm so sorry, Juan, that Georgiana desisted from being your bridesmaid. It was really very rude to decline at the last minute. I hope Leticia wasn't upset.”

“There is no need to be sorry, Lady Cavendish. As it happens, the wedding has been cancelled.”

“Cancelled? Good gracious, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I was preparing to make the trip.”

“I know. And I'm sorry. But I assure you it was for the best. Both Leticia and I feel we've taken the right decision, and we are happy about it.”

“Well…' Lady Cavendish murmured, not quite knowing what to say. “As long as you're all happy with your choices then I'm sure it's for the best. As for Georgiana, she's off to some place in Tuscany that I've never heard of. You'd be best to try her mobile, as I said.”

“I already have. She doesn't seem to be picking up her messages. I'm afraid I can only get through to her voicemail.”

“Well, in that case I really don't know how to help you. Is it something urgent?”

Juan hesitated. He didn't know how much Georgiana had told her mother. By the looks of it, not much. “Not urgent, exactly, just something I wanted to talk over with her. I wonder, where precisely is this village you mentioned?” he asked casually, wondering what the hell Georgiana had gone to a Tuscan village for.

“Oh, if you hold on a minute I'll find the name,” Lady Cavendish murmured. He could hear the rustle of paper as she flipped through notes. “Ah. Here we are. It's called Gianella. Never heard of it. But apparently it's about an hour or so from Florence. I hope that may be of some help to you.”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you very much, Lady Cavendish. And if Georgiana happens to phone, would you tell her that I called and ask her to get in touch with me as soon as possible?”

“Certainly. But I have no idea when that will be. I'm afraid Georgiana's behaviour of late has been erratic, to say the least.”

As he laid down the phone Juan experienced a moment's irritation. He'd been certain Georgiana would be at home in London. That all he'd have to do was jump on a plane and be with her in a couple of hours. Now the process had become more complicated. Gianella. He looked at the name and frowned. What in God's name could have induced her to go to an Italian village in the middle of nowhere?

Just when he most needed her to be available.

It was frustrating not being able to tell her the news, let her know that all their problems were resolved, that at last they could be together. Wipe away the pain and sorrow he was certain she must be experiencing and plan their future.

Juan sighed, swivelled in his office chair and tried Geor
giana's mobile number again. Only to end up with the same monotonous voicemail message. He supposed if she didn't answer her phone any time soon it would mean travelling to Gianella himself. At least the initial rumpus over the cancellation of the wedding had died down now, and he could take a few days off without letting Letti down.

 

Georgiana checked her messages. When she saw several calls from Juan listed, she swallowed. It was typical, she thought, angered now, that on his wedding day he should be phoning
her
.

What for? she wondered, gripped by fury and frustration. To turn the knife in the wound? Surely he must realise how much it hurt her to know he was marrying another woman? She didn't need to be reminded of it again and again.

Throwing the phone down on the gnarled kitchen table, Georgiana determined not to think about him or the wedding.

Going about her business, she picked up one of the pretty wicker baskets hanging on the kitchen wall and went out into the herb garden. Its subtle aroma soothed her frazzled nerves as she concentrated on what herbs to pick for the dish she planned to cook for Patsy and Carlo.

Dinner on the night she'd arrived had proved great fun with her new English friend and her delightful husband, a painter, in their gorgeous village house. For the first time in weeks Georgiana had truly relaxed and enjoyed herself. Now, three days later, and installed in the villa, she wanted to return the hospitality. At least cooking and preparing a meal for her guests would take her mind off the wedding, stop her from counting the hours, from constantly glancing at her watch, imagining exactly what stage the wedding preparations had reached.

Six o'clock.

And the wedding was planned for eight.

And there was Juan, cheerfully phoning
her
only hours before he took his vows with another woman. The thought left her seething. She wanted to weep with impotent rage.

How cynical could he get? she wondered, savagely snipping stalks of basil, her fingers shaking as she tossed them into the basket. How dared he play fast and loose with Leticia
and
her? She didn't care how much a marriage of convenience—or whatever he liked to call it—the ceremony was. At least he could have the decency to be loyal to his bride on their wedding day.

In fact, Georgiana decided, marching back towards the kitchen, she was actually very well rid of him.

As she opened the back door her phone rang again. In her agitated state she picked it up without checking the number.

“Georgiana,
querida
—at last.”

She froze, dropped the basket, and held the edge of the table, hit by a sandstorm of feelings rushing unbridled to the fore: anger, pain, rage, longing—all soared within her.

“How dare you?” she cried, cutting him off mid-sentence. “How do you have the audacity to ring me when in less than two hours you'll be marrying Leticia?” she hissed, hands trembling. “You're beyond belief, Juan, totally unscrupulous. I hate you. I never want to hear from you again—ever,” she ended, tears stifling her voice as she turned off the phone and threw it into the fallen basket of herbs, before sinking onto the nearest chair and collapsing in a flood of tears.

 

What on earth was the matter with her? Hadn't Lady Cavendish told her the wedding was off? And to make it worse Georgiana hadn't allowed him to speak.
Dios mio
, what a damn mess. Juan paced his study, worried, pressing the
repeat button on his cellphone for the umpteenth time, hoping beyond hope that Georgiana would pick up and allow him to explain what was going on before judging him so harshly. There must be some way of explaining to her that she was mistaken, that he had no intention of marrying Letti.

That he intended to marry her.

It was so obvious, so cut and dried for him. But of course if she still believed he was marrying Letti that explained it. Of course, he consoled himself confidently, as soon as she knew the truth everything would be resolved.

When finally he gave up ringing Juan sat down and called his secretary. The best thing to do was make immediate travel arrangements. The sooner he got to Gianella and made Georgiana listen to reason, the better it would be. Then matters would be settled and life could move on.

After reserving a first-class ticket to Italy, Juan felt better. It would of course be easy once he reached the village to find her. And after that there would be no problem making her see the light. He smiled. It was natural for her to have been angry that he'd phoned if she still believed he was marrying another woman. But all that would be easily smoothed over as soon as he arrived and explained matters.

He glanced at his watch. He would have to get ready if he was going to be on the evening flight to Rome, where he would connect to Florence.

Rising, Juan marched confidently to his apartments. There he found his valet. After instructing the man on what he needed for the journey, Juan went in search of the Condessa. With a bit of luck Georgiana could be persuaded to return with him. She could stay here under the Condessa's chaperonage while they made plans for the future. All in all, life would work out very well.

With a smile and a nod Juan entered the living room, content in the knowledge that from now on it would all be plain sailing.

B
Y THE
time Juan drove the last few miles to Gianella the following day he was tired, irritated, and glad to be arriving at his journey's end. First the flight from Madrid had been delayed due to bad weather. Then in Rome he'd been obliged to hire a plane to get him to Florence, since all the internal airlines were on strike that day.

Now, at last, he'd reached the village. All he needed was for one of the residents to give him directions to Georgiana's villa and then he'd have reached his destination and the woman he loved. It was still unclear to him why she should have chosen to bury herself in the middle of the Tuscan countryside, but so be it. That also was something he planned to rectify very promptly.

He had a number of ideas on how to spend the next few days. A lot of hours, he hoped, a smile ghosting on his lips, would be spent in bed, loving her, catching up, caressing her as he'd dreamed of so often over the past weeks.

Arriving in the
piazza
, he parked the smart Alfa Romeo he'd picked up at the airport and made his way across the street to the nearest bar.

“Ah, you are looking for the
signorina
Inglesa?” The bartender nodded, leaning across the old wood and marble counter to answer his enquiry.
“La signorina, e bellissima,”
the man enthused, kissing his fingers in an expressive gesture.

“Per piacere,”
Juan replied, smiling, and ordered a
café machiatto
. “Do you know where I might find her?”

“Va bene.”
The man rubbed his brow thoughtfully, then turned towards the coffee machine and shrugged in a manner only Italians knew how. “She might be at the Villa Collina. On the other hand she might be with the other Inglesa.”

“What other Inglesa?”

“Signora Patsy. Another lovely example of womanhood. Carlo the artist's wife,” the man said, in a tone that implied Juan should know these obvious facts. Then he laid down the coffee on the bar with a flourish.

“Who is she? The other lady, I mean?” Juan asked, wondering if Georgiana had come with a friend. Lady Cavendish hadn't mentioned her travelling with anyone else. In fact he'd got the impression Lady C was annoyed that Georgiana was on her own.

“The
signora
Inglesa lives over there, in that house you can see to the left. The one with the dark wooden shutters.” The man pointed across the
piazza
down to a house in a nearby street.

Downing his coffee, Juan placed a note on the counter and, thanking the man for his assistance, headed across the square to the house, where he knocked smartly on the door. Seconds later it was opened by an attractive chestnut-haired girl with big blue eyes.

“Hi, I'm sorry to bother you,” he said, smiling his seductive lazy smile, “but I'm looking for Georgiana Cavendish. The man at the bar seemed to think you might know where I could find her.”

The girl sent him a speculative look. “And who are you?” she asked coldly.

Juan felt like telling her it was none of her damn business. Then, realising that wouldn't get him very far, he
smothered his pride. “I'm an old friend of hers. Juan Monsanto. I've come to pay her a visit.”

“Really?” The girl raised a brow and looked him up and down in what Juan considered a most impertinent manner. “Are you sure Georgiana wants to see you?”

“Look, this is a ridiculous conversation,” he said, losing his patience. “Kindly tell me where I can find Georgiana. It's very important. I need to speak to her at once.”

“The point,” Patsy replied, crossing her arms firmly, “is not whether you want to see her, but if
she
wants to see
you
.”

“I can't think why she shouldn't,” he exclaimed angrily.

“Can't you?”

“Look, I don't mean to be rude, Signora, but frankly my reasons for wanting to see Georgiana are none of your business.”

“Sir, you made them my business when you came knocking at my door asking for her. Georgiana happens to be my friend. From her description of you I get the strong impression you're the last person on the planet she wants to see.”

Juan stood in patent astonishment as the door was summarily slammed in his face. He was about to lift his hand to knock again angrily when a hand came down on his shoulder.

“I wouldn't do that if I was you.”

He spun round to meet the amused dark gaze of a young Italian man of medium height, smiling ruefully.

“What have you to do with this?” Juan snapped. He'd had just about enough of people interfering in his personal life for one day.

“Oh, I'm her husband,” Carlo said, with a smile and a jerk of the head towards the reverberating door. “Terrible
temper, that one, when she loses it. I heard you were looking for Georgiana?”

“Yes,” Juan muttered in a measured tone, “I am. I don't suppose
you
can tell me where I can find her?”

“I might,” Carlo responded, the slow smile spreading across his handsome features. “But I suggest we cross the road and have a drink first. I get the feeling my
bellissima
Patsy may have her wires crossed. She can be very loyal and passionate about friendship. It's one of the things I like about her,” he added with a wink, and a nod in the direction of the bar. “But you know women—they sometimes don't see things in their proper perspective.”

“How very true,” Juan replied with feeling. Slipping off his jacket, he threw it over his shoulder and fell into step with this young man who at least seemed open to helping him. “I'm Juan Monsanto,” he said, stretching out his hand.

“Carlo Bagnoli.
Piacere.
”

The two men strode across the
piazza
and entered the bar. Juan ordered a cold beer and Carlo a Negroni.

“So, you're the wicked lover who dumped Georgiana for another woman,” Carlo said, raising his glass and taking a long, appraising sip.

“What?” Juan's head jerked up in astonishment. “
Dios mio.
Is that how she sees me?”

“That's pretty much how it came over when Patsy described the story to me. Aren't you meant to be married and on your honeymoon or something?”

“Yes. No. I damn well am not.” Juan brought the glass down on the table with a bang and let out an oath. “This is all perfectly ridiculous.”

“Must be some kind of confusion,” Carlo said, taking another long sip. “Pasty got the impression you were on your way to some exotic island with your bride.”

“Look, this is absurd. The truth is, I was going to marry someone else, but we called off the wedding as we both realised we were in love with other people. Please, Carlo, I must see Georgiana at once and tidy up this terrible misunderstanding.”

“Well, if you like I can show you the way to the villa.”

“Finally.” Juan cast his eyes to heaven, then smiled at his new friend. “I don't know how to thank you enough. God, women can be difficult.”

“Can't they just?” Carlo rolled his eyes as Juan slapped a note down on the table and the two men made their way out into the night.

 

The flash of headlights made Georgiana look up from the book she'd been trying to concentrate upon unsuccessfully for the past half-hour. Laying it down on the coffee-table, Georgiana rose and, moving into the ample hall of the villa, went to the window next to the front door.

Who could possibly be visiting her at this hour? Carlo and Patsy hadn't said they were coming over this evening.

For a moment a flash of anxiety gripped her. Then she pulled herself together. Nothing happened in Gianella that the neighbours didn't know all about. Somebody would have seen a strange car passing through the village. Georgiana warily opened the door, unable to distinguish the vehicle in the glare of headlights.

Juan saw her as she stood, eyes narrowed, trying to tell who was coming, her beautiful long blonde mane flowing about her shoulders, her face etched in the glow of the headlights. Slowly he came to a stop only a few feet from where she stood. Then, before she had a chance to take in who it was, he switched off the car's engine, jumped out and crossed the few steps that separated them before she could react.

“Mi amor,”
he muttered in a low growl, taking her possessively into his arms. “At long last I've found you.”

“Juan!” she cried, straining in his arms and pulling away. “What are you doing here? How dare you come here? You have no right to disturb my peace. Don't you have any feelings for anyone? Surely even you didn't have the nerve to leave Leticia on her honeymoon and come looking for another woman?” she spat.

“Georgiana, if you'll just let me explain I—”

“Explain? I despise everything about you.” She drew back into the safe angle of the open door and looked him over, her eyes filled with hot anger.

“Georgiana, if you'd at least allow me to explain,” he repeated, “perhaps you'd understand that none of what you're saying makes any sense.” He spoke calmly, raising his arms and moving towards her.

“Oh, doesn't it?” she jeered, throwing her hair back, eyes blazing. “Don't think you can come here cajoling me with your sweet talk, Juan. I've had enough. I know how you operate and I'm not prepared to tolerate it. You're a married man. Go back to your wife.”

As she made to slam the door in his face he caught it, moving so swiftly she couldn't counter it.

“You have a pretty poor opinion of me if this is what you think,” he threw harshly, grabbing her arm as her hand swung towards his cheek. “Oh, no,
señorita
, I will not allow any temper tantrums. And now, like it or not, you will listen to me,” he said, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Leave me alone,” she said, overwhelmed, hot tears rushing to her eyes as he held her fast. “I won't listen to a word you have to say. I can't believe you've come here,” she said, breaking down, crumpling.

Juan held her, shocked, but determined to have his way.

“
Amor mio
, please—just hear me out.” In one swift
movement he swept her into his arms and entered the house, moving instinctively towards the living room.

A fire blazed in the huge stone hearth and the soft glow of lamplight encompassed the low-beamed room. Juan sat down on the couch, still holding her in his arms.

“I will not let go of you until you hear everything I have to say,” he insisted, feeling her struggle. Then, before she could react further, he pressed his lips on hers. His fingers smoothed her hair gently, and his hands coursed reassuringly down her back. “Georgiana,” he whispered hoarsely, “my beautiful, wilful Georgiana. Did you really believe that I would come here to you straight from the arms of another woman?”

“You certainly had no qualms about it before,” she murmured, wanting so hard to resist, but entranced by the scent of him, the delicious feel of his body cleaving to hers, the sheer delight of knowing his arms were around her.

“Georgiana, will you please listen for once? Leticia and I broke off our engagement.”

“You
what
?” She sat up straight and perched on his knee, staring at him unbelieving.

“We broke off our engagement,” he repeated patiently. “You see, it boiled down to this: both of us are in love with someone else.”

“Leticia? In love with someone else?” she whispered amazed. “But who?”

“Pablito Sanchez, at the university. He'd never had the courage to speak his mind—thought she was too good for him and all that. But then, when he realised he was really going to lose her to someone else, everything came out and she realised she loved him. Poor Letti. She was so caught up between doing her duty to the family by marrying me and wishing she could follow her heart that she hardly had the courage to tell me.”

“But you…” Georgiana said warily. “You would have gone through with the wedding anyway, wouldn't you?”

He hesitated, then, looking deep into her eyes, knew he must speak the truth. “Yes. I would. I almost told her the truth before she revealed her heart to me. But I couldn't. I felt it would be so utterly wrong, so hurtful. After all, I had offered her marriage. How could I go back on my word?”

“So you would have been prepared to marry her and carry on an affair with me? Is that right?”

“That isn't what I really wanted,” he said, aware that he was treading on quicksand.

“No, but you would have done it all the same, wouldn't you?” she insisted, head high.

Juan sighed. This was harder than he'd expected. When she slipped from his arms and rose to stand near the fire he didn't stop her.

“Georgiana, I did what I had to do. Try and see this from my point of view. I am a man of honour. I couldn't break my word.”

“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” she said, the fire blazing in her large green eyes belying her conversational tone. “To tell Leticia the truth about us wasn't okay, but to carry on an affair behind her back was? I'm afraid I'm having a hard time understanding.” She crossed her arms and looked him straight in the eye, pain and anger battling with the overwhelming desire to feel his arms about her, his body on hers.

Yet she knew that she mustn't. Couldn't. Would regret it for ever if she did. She had the baby to think of now. She couldn't give way to her own desires, but must think of the better good for them all.

Juan looked across at her, then into the flames. “I know you find it almost impossible to understand the way I was brought up. In England you think differently. But you see,
had Leticia not been in love with another man, had she married me as planned, she never would have expected me to be faithful to her. This was no love match, Georgiana. Letti and I are friends, but we've never so much as exchanged more than a peck on the cheek.
Dios mio,
” he exclaimed, losing his patience as the desire to possess her engulfed him, “can't you see that it is all over? Finished? That all that is behind us, and now we can begin our life together?”