At the Spanish Duke's Command (9 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

For both of them.

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

“I'm fine,
Tia
.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” the old lady murmured, letting out a deep sigh. “I truly hope so.”

“B
UT
why this sudden return home?” Lady Cavendish said, after embracing Georgiana fondly. Her daughter looked thinner, and rather peaky, she thought. But she was too wise to ask what was wrong. That, she hoped, would reveal itself.

“I just felt homesick. I thought I'd spend a few days here, then—then go back,” Georgiana lied, dropping onto the deep chintz sofa, knowing she would have to find a valid excuse not to return to Spain. But she couldn't think of one right now. She was simply too exhausted and emotionally distraught.

Why did she have to fall so deeply in love with Juan? Why couldn't she be like her friend, Emma, who had romantic adventures without ever falling head over heels as Georgiana had? What made it worse was having no one she could share her pain with, no one she could talk to about it. Her emotions were too tied up. Love, anger, pain, sorrow—so many feelings churning inside that she couldn't define. And overriding them all was the cynicism of Juan's implacable attitude. How could he live his life in this cold calculated manner? Surely he would be miserable living with one woman when he cared for another?

A sudden thought struck her, leaving her even more devastated than she already was. Perhaps it was only she who loved him, not vice versa. Maybe she was just a passing fancy in his life, a toy to be played with for a while before
being set aside in favour of a more important relationship. She clenched her hands and restrained burning tears. If truth be told, she'd been a fool. A stupid idiotic little fool. A virgin whom it had amused him to seduce. And now she was paying the price for her own folly.

Georgiana sighed and tried to look cheerful, lest her mother suspect things were not right. She couldn't tell her the truth. Not now, anyway. Lady Cavendish would be so disappointed in Juan that it would likely affect the longstanding relationship the families had entertained for years. She just hoped she could keep up the façade, pretend for as long as it took to come up with a very good excuse not to return to Madrid.

 

“But why did she leave so suddenly?” Leticia asked nervously. The fittings for the bridesmaid dresses were the next day, and she needed Georgiana to be present. It was difficult enough to organise all these details without having absentees.

“I have no idea,” Juan said, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. “She went back to England. Apparently an old friend of hers was taken ill. I can't tell you more.”

“But I must speak with her at once,” Leticia said, frowning. “She must have a mobile number.”

“I presume the Condessa must have it,” Juan responded with a noncommittal shrug. It was bad enough knowing he was the cause of Georgiana's absence. And the truth was he must face the future.

He looked over at Leticia who, in the past days, had seemed increasingly nervous. He would almost go to the extent of saying unhappy. Was something wrong with her? He had spent so much time worrying about his own private affairs that he'd had little time to think of hers.

“Are you okay, Letti?” he asked, slipping an arm around
her shoulders. Strangely, he felt her stiffen. “Tell me—is something bothering you?”

“No, no,” she answered hastily, sending him a quick nervous smile. “I'm fine. Just a bit tired, with all my work and the arrangements for the wedding. A week in the Bahamas will do me good.”

“Perhaps we should make it two,” he said, looking down at her. He'd never seen Letti look so concerned and so obviously worried. Surely she hadn't learned about the episode with Georgiana?

For a moment he frowned. No. She couldn't have. He'd told her about Georgiana coming to stay in Seville, and that her friends had been invited for
paella
; she hadn't blinked an eye.

Juan dropped his arm and went over to the window. He had never in the course of his thirty-year existence felt so utterly conflicted. Up until now he'd made his choices freely. And since Leonora had died he had indulged in sophisticated relationships that demanded no ties and from which he could walk away with no damage done.

But Georgiana was different.

He was well aware of the damage he'd done, and he regretted it. Not the actual moments they'd spent together—those he would never regret or forget, for they had awoken a part of him that for too long had lain dormant. But the pain Georgiana must certainly be experiencing and which he could do nothing to alleviate. That he could not forgive himself easily. How could he have allowed his selfish desires to overcome his sense of chivalry?

“Juan, you asked me if something is wrong,” Leticia said from across the room, reminding him that she was still there. “But the impression I get is that maybe you're the one with a problem?”

He spun around and faced her, tempted for a crazy mo
ment to tell her the truth. Then common sense prevailed and he smiled. “Of course nothing is wrong, Letti. Perhaps we are both having prenuptial qualms. I believe it is quite usual.” He grinned beguilingly at her. “Now, how about dinner tonight? We could even fit in a movie if you like?”

“Uh, I'm afraid I can't,” she said with a regretful smile. “You see, Pablito Sanchez promised he would look over all the briefs I have for tomorrow's court cases with me. Then there's the—”

“Don't tell me. I know,” he interrupted with a brief smile. “You have masses of work to do and Pablito Sanchez is the one who will be taking time out from his university job to help you out when we go away on our honeymoon. He is very helpful, apparently.”

“Yes, he is. I don't know what I'd do without him.”

Juan looked at her and frowned, but said nothing.

“Very well, then we shall leave the movies for another evening.”

“But I still don't know what to do about Georgiana,” Leticia murmured, perplexed. “You don't think she's backing out, do you? It would make the wedding party all wrong.”

“I have no idea. As you said, you had better phone her and find out,” he said, his tone indifferent.

“Very well. I shall get her number from the Condessa and call.”

 

“Georgiana? No, I'm afraid she's not in,” Lady Cavendish replied. “Who would like to speak to her?”

“This is Leticia, Juan Monsanto's fiancée.”

“Oh, hello. How nice to speak to you. I received your kind invitation yesterday.”

“And that is why I am calling. As I'm sure you know, Georgiana is going to be a bridesmaid.”

“Georgiana? A bridesmaid? But how extraordinary. She never mentioned it.”

“No? Well, it's rather difficult, you see, because of the dress fittings. I wonder when she is returning to Madrid?”

“I imagine in the next few days. But I shall tell her to call you, Leticia, as soon as she gets in.”

“Thank you, Lady Cavendish. I would appreciate it. Juan sends his best.”

“Thank you. I look forward to seeing you both in Madrid.”

Lady Cavendish laid the phone handset down pensively. It was almost two weeks since Georgiana had returned to London and she showed no signs of wanting to go back to Spain. In fact every time she mentioned the matter her daughter came up with increasingly pathetic excuses not to return. What had happened, she wondered, to make her child run away? And why wasn't she confiding in her?

Lady Cavendish had been forty-five when she'd had Georgiana, making her an elderly parent, but she prided herself on the close relationship she and her daughter had always maintained. Now she frowned. Like it or not, she must sit Georgiana down as soon as she came in and find out what exactly was going on. This could not be allowed to fester any longer.

 

Clutching the envelope given to her by the doctor, Georgiana hurried out of the Harley Street clinic and hailed the first free taxi. Giving her home address in Wilton Crescent, she collapsed on the back seat of the cab and closed her eyes.

Pregnant.

She should have guessed when she'd begun to feel dizzy. This nightmare, she realised, had only just begun. How could this have happened? They had made love only during
those two days together. But of course, as it had been so unexpected, she'd taken no precautions. And now she was pregnant with Juan's baby.

A sob rushed to her throat. If only things had been different she would be thrilled at the news. But the thought of Juan's child inside her made her tremble. What was she going to do?

A plethora of turbulent thoughts and emotions swept over her as she absorbed the news and wondered what on earth the future held.

She couldn't possibly tell her mother.

Nor could she tell Juan.

Upon her arrival at Wilton Crescent, Georgiana's mother was waiting in the drawing room. Trying to appear her usual self, and straighten out her confused thoughts, Georgiana smiled and went through the motions of normal conversation. Tea was served, and automatically she sat down and accepted a cup.

“A scone, darling?” Lady Cavendish offered.

“Oh, no. I couldn't.” Georgiana paled with nausea at the thought.

“Darling, are you all right?” Lady Cavendish asked. “You look rather off-colour.”

“I'm fine,” she lied. “Just a touch of indigestion. Must be the curry I ate at lunch.”

“By the way, I got a call from Leticia this afternoon. You never told me she had invited you to be a bridesmaid?” Lady Cavendish said, raising a surprised brow.

“Didn't I? I must have forgotten. Terribly sweet of her, isn't it?” Georgiana downed some tea and tried to look relaxed.

“Very kind indeed. But Leticia seemed worried about the fittings for your bridesmaid dress. She says there is so
little time. I wasn't aware they'd brought forward the wedding date. It seems rather odd. You don't think she's expecting, do you?”

Oh, God, this was all she needed. Georgiana cried inwardly, wondering how much more she would have to cope with.

“I don't think that's the reason.” She glanced at her parent. “Do you think it would be terribly rude if I found an excuse not to attend the wedding?”

“What? Not attend when you've been asked to be a bridesmaid? And at this late stage? I think it would be totally unacceptable,” Lady Cavendish replied, shocked. “Darling, is something wrong? If so, do tell me. Otherwise I think you must pull yourself together and return to Madrid. It would be most unfair to poor Leticia, and most bad-mannered to Juan and the Condessa to let them down at the last minute.”

Overwhelmed by a dreadful sinking feeling, Georgiana sipped her tea absently and gazed out of the window at the grey sky beyond. There really was no way out. Either she told her mother the truth—and that she knew would cause the most awful rumpus—or she braved it out, faced this situation of her own making, and went through with the ordeal. There wasn't much else she could do without upsetting everybody concerned.

With a sigh, she laid her cup in the saucer. “Very well. You're right. I'll go back to Madrid in a couple of days.”

“So I should hope,” Lady Cavendish admonished. “You've already missed a lot of classes. I hope you can catch up.”

“I will,” Georgiana murmured.

But Spanish literature was the last thing on her mind right now. It was the thought of facing Juan, carrying on
the pretence that was occupying her mind at every moment.

For how, she wondered, suddenly desperate, was she going to do it?

 

“I will pick her up at the airport,” Juan remarked, relieved when the Condessa told him of Georgiana's imminent arrival. Too often he'd picked up the phone to call her, then thought better of it.

Now she was returning.

The knowledge that Georgiana really would be walking up the aisle as attendant to his bride-to-be had come as something of a shock. And for the first time in his life Juan felt trapped in a noose of his own making. But the thought of seeing her again sent a new and invigorating energy coursing through him, enough to wipe all else from his mind.

But she was not to be his.

Juan realised reluctantly that he'd been spoiled. He had always got exactly what he wanted. Yet now the one woman he most desired was out of reach.

It frustrated and annoyed him beyond reason. For of course there had to be a way. In fact, he realised suddenly, there was! But whether Georgiana would accept the idea or not was another question. It was one thing to marry one woman and carry on an affair with another when she too was sophisticated, perhaps married herself. Quite another to expect the same of an innocent nineteen-year-old. He did, he acknowledged unenthusiastically, have a moral responsibility towards her.

 

Georgiana disembarked at Barajas Airport, head in turmoil. She felt sick in the mornings, and although by midday she was usually better she still didn't feel her usual self. What was she to do? she wondered, heading towards the exit.

What could she do?

There were only two options open to her. Either keep the baby or have an abortion. And she didn't think she could face this last—didn't think she could deal with the pain and guilt of ridding herself of her baby.

Their baby.

At that moment the glass doors opened and she looked up to see Juan standing only a few feet away, a newspaper casually tucked under the arm of his navy blazer, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Reality hit. For a moment Georgiana thought her legs would collapse beneath her. She slowed her pace. How could she face him now?

But before she could react he was at her side, taking her arm and her tote bag, frowning at her pale countenance.

“Are you all right,
querida
, did something go wrong in England?” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing is wrong,” she snapped, wrenching her arm from his. “And I don't know why you bothered to come to the airport to pick me up. It was quite unnecessary. I can easily take a cab.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said, taken aback by her attitude. “You know how I feel about you using public transport.”