Bride in a Gilded Cage (12 page)

Tight-lipped with fury, Isobel bent down and swept all the property brochures off the table. She stalked over to a bin in the corner where she deposited the lot. She turned around, stiffbacked, and said curtly, ‘I’m glad we got this sorted. Now I know exactly how small the cage is that I’m supposed to live in. From now on I’ll be sure to be appropriately attired every day and remember my Ps and Qs and not to think for myself again. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. I’ve lost my appetite.’

She walked out of the room and Rafael sat down on the sofa, arms resting on his knees. For the first time in his life he had to admit to feeling out of his depth. The photo in the paper caught his eye. Isobel was smiling warmly into the man’s face. He hadn’t seen her smile like that at
him
once…

She’d smiled at the
estancia,
but that had been after the exhilaration of riding in the great stretches of the pampas and hadn’t been anything to do with him.

He flicked the pages over and saw another headline, which mocked him now. Clearly Isobel didn’t care enough to investigate what Rafael was really up to. Her opinion was based on an erroneous newspaper report published weeks ago. He had to concede he hadn’t exactly done anything to change that opinion, but he’d told himself that he would not let her opinion get to him, that he didn’t care what she thought, because if he did it would mean that he’d learnt absolutely nothing about self-protection. That he was as potentially weak and vulnerable as he had been all those years before, when Ana Perez had nearly destroyed him.

One thing he had to admit made a curious form of dread trickle through him: when he’d believed himself in love with Ana, he’d never cared this much about her opinion of him. Wearily, he took the paper and put it in the bin, and then went to find Juanita to ask her if she’d take some food up to Isobel’s room.

T
HE
following day was a Saturday, and they were going to the polo tournament, and then later to a charity dinner, with Rafael’s business associate Bob and his wife. Isobel was still feeling bruised and hurt by the evidence of how far Rafael was willing to go to control her. Her plan had been a bright glimmer of hope and he’d doused it.

Determined not to let him see how hurt she felt, she put her armour on. She wore a white designer trouser suit, stiletto heels and dark glasses. She was waiting for him at the front door and didn’t turn around when she heard him behind her.

He strode past her and opened the passenger door of the fourwheel drive. Isobel walked over to get in, ignoring Rafael’s helping hand. She thought she heard him sigh impatiently.

He strode around the front of the car, darkly handsome in a charcoal suit, white shirt and slim tie. Her heart clenched despite herself when she noticed that he looked tired, and she fought down the concern that came out of nowhere to grip her. What was wrong with her? she wailed inwardly. If anything, last night should have given her ample reason to hate Rafael. He’d been unbearably snobbish, priggish and controlling.

To have her worst suspicions of him confirmed like this made her feel unaccountably bleak inside, and Isobel didn’t
attempt to make conversation on the way to the polo ground. As soon as they got there, Rafael swept her along in his wake to the exclusive VIP area, where they were greeted by uniformed waiters carrying trays of champagne.

A little later Isobel was making polite conversation with Rita. She’d noticed how the woman had glanced nervously at Isobel’s drink and Isobel had winced inwardly, still mortified to know she’d caused a scene of any kind.

The polo match went on in the background, but it was obvious from Rafael’s intense conversation with Bob that this was just a backdrop for more negotiations. Rita chattered inanely about the shopping in Buenos Aires being so much better than in Texas, where they were from, and Isobel tried her best to look interested.

When Rita excused herself to go to the bathroom Isobel breathed a sigh of relief, wondering how much longer this torture was likely to last. She pulled distractedly at her jacket, realising that a tag must still be attached somewhere as something was scratching against her skin.

Just then Rafael’s arm snaked around her waist and he drew her in to his side. He bent his head and said quietly,
‘Stop
fidgeting.’

Isobel looked up, and heat flooded her belly when she saw the lazy smile on his mouth and the latent heat in his eyes. She couldn’t believe it. Even now, after his behaviour last night, she
still
reacted to him. At the last second, before his charisma could suck her under, she reminded herself it was just because they were in public and he was putting on an act. She wished she was immune to it by now.

Rafael had been trying to keep his attention on his conversation but it was impossible with Isobel beside him. When he’d come down this morning to greet her she’d been at the breakfast table, pale-faced and impassive.

She’d flicked him a glance and said quickly, gesturing to her tracksuit, ‘Don’t worry—I’m not planning on wearing this to the polo tournament. I’ve been working out in the gym.’

‘Isobel—’ he’d started to say, but she’d cut him off.

‘Really, Rafael, you don’t have to say anything. I’m glad we know where we stand. I know my place and I’m firmly in it now. That’s all you want from me, isn’t it? How hard can it be?’ She’d laughed, but it had sounded brittle. ‘I mean, in a country where most of the population has to struggle just to make ends meet I’ve got nothing to complain about, have I?’ She’d wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood up. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

Her words came back to him, and his belly clenched again in self-disgust. He pulled her in even closer but could feel subtle resistance in her body. He didn’t want her like this. Everything he’d said last night had been wrong. And, however vulnerable it made him feel now, he had to do whatever it took to bring back the Isobel he knew—the wife he knew he wanted.

Isobel was gritting her teeth not to respond to the way her body seemed to want to mould into Rafael’s. His hand was making soothing circular motions against her waist and she fought not to let it affect her.

And then Rafael said to Bob, sending Isobel a quick, enigmatic glance, ‘You may have seen pictures of my wife in the paper yesterday?’

Isobel tensed all over and her stomach plummeted. She saw Bob flush brick-red and mutter something incoherent, and realised then that Rafael had been right. The looks and whispers she’d thought she’d noticed on their arrival
had
been in large part because of the picture in the paper.

But now something much bigger was making her belly tighten with dread. She couldn’t help but think that Rafael
meant to ridicule her, here in front of this man—tell him about his wife’s grand plan and send her up while protecting his own reputation. She should have known that someone like him would never have endorsed her plan.

She tried to pull away from him and the dread mounted. He was opening his mouth to speak, and she hissed, ‘Rafael…please don’t do this.’

Tears prickled at the back of her eyes to think that she’d not anticipated his cruelty.

But then he started speaking. ‘I’m very proud to say that Isobel has decided to open up a dance studio in La Boca. It’s always been known locally as a bit of a no-go area, so I think she’s made a strategic and generous decision in choosing to open up there.’

Shock rippled through Isobel. She wondered for a second if she’d misheard and looked up questioningly. Bob, whose face had flushed so tellingly when he’d all but admitted to reading a piece of tabloid fluff, now said jovially, ‘
Two
bleeding hearts in one marriage? Rafael, you’d better watch that reputation of yours. If you weren’t such an astute businessman you’d be in serious danger of becoming the pin-up boy of liberals everywhere! Especially now that your wife is clearly cut of the same cloth.’

Isobel’s gaze swung back to her husband. She could feel the tension come into his body, saw him grimace and then quirk a small smile. ‘This isn’t the time or place for that conversation, Bob. We’ll discuss it later.’

Bob turned to Isobel. ‘Have you found a property you like yet?’

Rita had returned, picked up the conversation, and was joining in enthusiastically, rhapsodising again about the tango show they’d seen.

Rafael cut in. ‘Isobel’s plans are a little more far-reaching than just a standard dance studio…’ He looked down at her indulgently, for all the world the doting husband. ‘Why don’t you tell them what you want to do?’

Dumbfounded, and dying to know what Rafael had cut Bob off from talking about, she found it hard to take her eyes away from Rafael, still wondering was going on. Hesitantly, she started to tell the others of her plans, half expecting to hear Rafael burst out laughing and ridicule her. But when he didn’t, she found herself becoming more enthusiastic, until she’d almost forgotten Rafael’s initial reaction.

It was only later, when they were in the car and driving home, that Isobel realised the day had passed quickly after that, and had been surprisingly enjoyable. She turned to face Rafael. ‘Are you going to tell me what that was all about?’

He flashed her a look and his jaw tightened. ‘I owe you an apology. I completely overreacted last night. I think your idea does have merit, and normally I’d be one of the first people to encourage bringing growth and investment into an area like La Boca.’

Isobel saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

‘When I heard that the security men had lost you and then that photograph surfaced…I just saw red.’

‘I did try to tell you…’ Isobel pointed out quietly, stunned to hear Rafael saying this.

His mouth quirked. ‘I know. I’ve learnt my lesson. I won’t miss one of your calls again.’

Isobel sat back and felt a very ominous fluttering in her chest. ‘Thank you for your support today.’

He cast her another quick look as they pulled into the forecourt of the house. ‘I’ll take some time off work on Monday and come with you to see some properties.’

Isobel blustered, not sure why that idea was so threatening. ‘No, you don’t have to. You’re far too busy.’

Rafael smiled wryly. ‘How much did that man in the photograph quote you for the building you’d just viewed?’

Isobel named a figure, and Rafael winced and shook his head. ‘He saw you coming a mile away. He probably knew exactly who you were, too, which would have tripled his quote. No, I’m coming with you next time. Let him try and do a deal with
me
.’

They were walking through the front door when Isobel couldn’t keep it back any more. ‘What was Bob talking about earlier, when he called you a bleeding heart liberal?’

Rafael turned around slowly. Isobel could see his face tighten up, his expression shutter. ‘He was referring to a headline in the paper.’

‘What paper?’ Isobel asked now, getting impatient with Rafael’s obvious reluctance to explain himself.

His jaw tightened. ‘The same paper you yourself appeared in. Just a few pages on.’

Isobel waited, but clearly Rafael wasn’t about to enlighten her, so with an impatient sigh she went into the lounge and to her relief saw that the paper was still in the bin. She pulled it out and flicked through the pages until her eye caught on a headline with an article below.

Rafael Romero and his bleeding heart try to do a deal to encourage hundreds of skilled illegal immigrants to come home by buying out a failed electronics plant…

She scanned the piece quickly, feeling her insides constrict more and more as she did so. Bob Caruthers was Rafael’s US partner in negotiations for reopening the plant in
Argentina with the same workers who’d originally gone to the US seeking work. Anyone who wanted to stay on in the States was going to be offered free legal aid to obtain legitimate work visas, and Rafael was taking personal responsibility for every one of the immigrants.

The paper dropped out of Isobel’s hands. She felt sick, but this time for entirely different reasons. She felt shamed. She could hardly meet Rafael’s eyes. She’d been labouring under a very erroneous misapprehension over Rafael’s work ethics from the very first moment she’d met him.

He looked as defiant as she felt humbled, and somewhere she recognised that he hated this—being in this position.

‘I’m sorry, Rafael. I had no right to judge what you do on the basis of the one report I read.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I can’t entirely blame you. We needed to keep it quiet for as long as possible to ensure the protection of the immigrants. I’m involved in a programme with the government to try and create jobs here, to dissuade our young skilled workers from leaving. Bob Caruthers is based in the US; it’s Bob I have to deal with over the demise and rebuilding of the company. It’s been a delicate negotiation so far, and Bob still hasn’t signed the last contract to seal the deal. He’s under no obligation to sanction the move of operations to here.’

Isobel just looked at Rafael, and felt the earth shift and sway under her feet.

Rafael’s chest felt tight with the way Isobel was looking at him. Her gaze was so…penetrating, and full of some indefinable emotion. Something was rising within him and he knew only one way to avoid looking at what that was.

In three long strides he’d crossed the room and cupped Isobel’s face in his hands. He felt her startled breath against
his palms and his body tightened with need. Her eyes were huge and intensely dark. She opened her mouth, and the desire rushing through Rafael’s blood made him say, more curtly than he’d intended, ‘
No.
I don’t want to hear it. Enough. Tonight you’ll be in my bed, Isobel.’

A short while later, changed for the charity function, Isobel had herself rigidly in control. She was aware of Rafael flicking her glances in the back seat of the car, and each one fell like a hot caress on her bared and too sensitive skin.

She wore a strapless cocktail dress, fitted to the knee, and her legs were primly together, slanted to the side, as far away from Rafael as possible. She was still reeling from the revelation of finding out exactly what Rafael had been working on and how wrong she’d been. It made her feel now as if a layer of protective skin had been ripped away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Too exposed and vulnerable to face the prospect of sleeping with Rafael that night.

She cast him a quick, surreptitious glance. He was looking ahead, coolly remote, and Isobel shivered. She couldn’t hide any longer.

After a short journey they pulled up outside one of Buenos Aires’s oldest and grandest hotels. Isobel’s door was opened by a liveried doorman and she stepped out to be greeted by Rafael taking her hand in a firm grip. Quashing the urge to pull away, she gritted her teeth against the sensations shooting up her arm and let him lead her into the thronged and glittering function room.

Hundreds of dinner tables were set around a dance floor, which was currently occupied by tables showing off the lots for the charity auction. After dinner, when the lots had been auctioned off—Rafael having spent a ludicrous
amount of money—the staff started clearing the dance floor.

Despite herself, Isobel’s distaste for this superficial social scene rose up again. Rafael leant close, and it took all her restraint not to move back. His evocative scent was teasing her nostrils mercilessly.

‘What is wrong with you? You look like you’ve swallowed a lemon.’

Isobel tightened her jaw. ‘I just find it hard to sit here and watch the elite throwing their money around when the charity in question probably gets a bare percentage just for the privilege of having its name mentioned in such exalted circles.’

Rafael’s voice was deep and close, lightly mocking. ‘You’re too quick to judge again.’

Isobel burned at being reminded of how quick and absolute her judgment had been.

‘It’s all a game, just like everything else. The people you see here are the most powerful in the country. To a large extent you’re right in your assessment. But you’re discounting what goes on in tandem with this—for instance, the fact that I’ve donated a disgustingly large amount of money to a cancer charity chaired by the Marquesa Consuela Valderosa, who is holding court on the table over there, means that she will now feel compelled, in the nicest possible way, of course, to lend her illustrious name and support to a much less monied charity of my own choice. It’s all about getting what you want from people. You just have to know how to play the game, Isobel.’