Bride in a Gilded Cage (9 page)

Rafael turned to face her then, and Isobel had to steel herself not to be distracted by him.

‘Drink?’

She shook her head, and then changed her mind because her throat felt dry. ‘A sparkling water, please.’ What was it about this man that instantly reduced her to something so primal?

She accepted the glass, careful not to let their fingers touch, and took a deep gulp, moving so she too could look out on
the view. That nausea seemed to grow inside her. She felt stiff and cold. She could see now how everything had fallen into place for him so easily. He’d decided he wanted a convenient wife, and a legal agreement had dictated it should be her. Rafael was happy because he had achieved the respectability and stability he needed. Isobel had nothing—not one atom of what she’d ever really wanted.

She could feel Rafael looking at her, and then he said tightly, ‘It wouldn’t kill you to smile, Isobel, and at least
look
like you’re the happy bride.’

‘What’s the point?’ she said in a brittle voice. She turned to look up at him. ‘I mean, seriously, what’s the point?’ She waved a hand outwards. ‘Who is going to see us here? I can understand back in Buenos Aires it might be necessary, but
who
cares here?’

She was growing more and more agitated as the reality of everything seemed to be hitting her all at once. The luxurious feel of her clothes against her skin chafed like a hair shirt.

Rafael’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘I care, Isobel. I care about this marriage. I believe it can work, that we can be good together, but not if you walk around looking as if you’re going to your own funeral all the time. This is your life now. You have to come to terms with that.’

Rafael looked down at the woman beside him and a violent need throbbed through him, hardening his body. She looked like a sexily tousled elf, all slim limbs and shadows and hollows. Her mouth was tight and tension radiated off her. It irked him how well he seemed to be able to read her when no other woman had inspired that ability within him…not even Ana, the one woman he had thought he’d loved. His mouth tightened at the thought of his ex-fiancée and the humiliation he’d suffered at her hands.

‘I never asked for this,’ Isobel said faintly now, mesmerised despite herself by Rafael’s eyes.

His jaw clenched. ‘Neither did I—or has that escaped your notice?’

Isobel’s nausea surged again. Of
course
he wouldn’t be married to her if he had a choice—no matter how conveniently things had worked out. Suddenly to think of him hating this as much as her, despite their very real reasons for needing to marry, was no comfort.

She tore her eyes from his and put down her glass of water jerkily. ‘You could divorce me, Rafael. You won’t want to stay married to me. You don’t love me.’

Rafael grabbed her wrist in a burning hold and pulled her close to him again. ‘Of course I don’t love you. This has nothing to do with love. And you’re wrong. I’m quite happy with my new wife. I told you before, we will not be getting divorced. So whatever little plan you have, you can forget it. Do you think that by teasing me, leading me on only to deny me at the last moment, I’ll grow impatient enough to seek another woman’s arms and give you grounds for divorce?’

Isobel was genuinely confused, and she couldn’t understand the lancing pain she felt at the thought of him going to another woman. ‘What are you talking about?’

His mouth was a grim line. ‘I mean the way you look at me, with those big expressive eyes which tell me you want me. Only then you plead for
space,
as if you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t have that power over me. No woman does. The only reason you’ve been given space is because
I’ve
allowed it. We both know you go up in flames the minute I touch you.’

Isobel moved away jerkily, realising they were standing too close, but he wasn’t relaxing his grip for one second. She
couldn’t speak. She felt breathless, completely distracted. What was he talking about? She wouldn’t know how to tease a man if her life depended on it. She was caught again by Rafael’s eyes, which glowed molten brown. She could see the flecks of green, enticing and mysterious.

‘It’s time to give up your romantic dreams, Isobel. I’m the only man you’re going to be married to, so you’d be wise to invest your energy in me. Do you forget so easily that without our marriage your parents would be facing financial ruin and social ostracism?’

His words hit her like body blows, but before she could betray the soft, tender core of her that pulsed to a very secret beat that spoke of her deep desire to find true love, she pulled herself together. She hadn’t needed Rafael to spell out in no uncertain terms that her chances of finding that kind of relationship were all but gone.

She finally ripped her wrist from his grip and glared up at him. ‘You will never truly know me or have me, Rafael. You make me sick. You’ve been handed everything your whole life, been pampered and waited on hand and foot. I hate everything you represent, and I hate
you!
You think you can just snap your fingers and it will all fall into place. I could never fall in love with someone like you. And as for teasing—’

Isobel’s words were cut off under Rafael’s brutal kiss. His arms were around her like steel bands and she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Slowly, though, her treacherous reaction to his touch started. She tried to remain stiff and unresponsive, but it was impossible. Especially when his mouth softened, broke away for a moment and then came back, firm and yet soft. Coaxing and seducing her to respond.

If Isobel had been offered all she wanted in that very moment she wouldn’t have been able to articulate it. She was
in Rafael’s arms, and her world was quickly shrinking to the way he was making her feel. Things seemed to escalate with scary swiftness. His hand was spearing through her short hair, massaging her skull, his tongue sliding deep to duel with hers.

She could feel his other hand reach under her baggy top and explore upwards to the bare skin above her trousers, curving over her waist and hip. As if on cue her breasts tightened and swelled, hungry for his touch. Against his mouth Isobel’s breath came quick and fast, as if she couldn’t contain it.

His hand was finally there, cupping her breast, and then almost roughly he pulled down the lace cup of her bra and his thumb found her puckered nipple, sliding back and forth, making Isobel wrench her mouth away completely to suck in air. Her arms were locked around Rafael’s neck, and she had no idea how or when she’d done that.

All she knew was that there was a fire in her blood and only one person capable of putting it out. She felt all at once slumberous and yet as energised as she’d ever felt. Rafael’s dark eyes held her captive. His hand dropped from her head and reached down for her leg, lifting it up so that it hooked slightly around his waist. And then, with a big hand on her bottom, he pulled her right into him—into where she could feel the throbbing, hard heat of his arousal.

His other hand was still on her breast, teasing that aching, tingling tip. And then reality hit. The very hard reality of just how much she wanted him. How easily he’d seduced her.

Everything
he’d just thrown at her had been true. She was weak. She had no control. Immediately, Isobel started to struggle, and struggled even harder when she saw the mocking look of triumph cross Rafael’s flushed face. He dropped her leg and let her go. To Isobel’s intense embarrassment, she could barely stand on two legs.

He reached behind him for his drink, which he had put down, and drained the glass in one gulp. He arched a dark brow. ‘I rest my case, Isobel. The only reason we’re not horizontal on that carpet right now with the door locked against interruption is because of me. Your control is just an illusion. And next time you try this game we won’t be stopping.’

Isobel felt wrung out, utterly exposed. He thought she was playing with him? He couldn’t be further from the truth. She was terrified that sleeping with him would crash through her already flimsy defences. The problem was, she only seemed to be able to come to her senses when things had already gone too far. And he was right. He’d just shown her exactly who wielded the control and it wasn’t her.

‘You kissed
me
just now. I never asked for it. I hate you, Rafael.’ But her voice trembled and her conscience struck her, telling her that the person she really hated was herself, for not being able to resist him even though he embodied all the greed and excess of a world she never wanted to be a part of.

‘You did ask for it—with those big expressive eyes, Isobel. Perhaps you need to work on hiding your true desires a little better.’

Isobel opened her mouth to refute his words, but just then a discreet cough sounded nearby, and they both looked around to see a uniformed man waiting. ‘Señor and Señora Romero, your dinner is served. If you’d like to come through to the dining room…’

‘Y
OU’RE
wrong, you know.’

Isobel looked up from her dinner plate warily. She still felt a little sick to her stomach, but it was directed at herself for being so monumentally weak—exactly as Rafael had accused.

Rafael was not looking at her. He was cradling a halffinished glass of wine, looking into its ruby-red depths.

His mouth thinned. ‘Although I can’t deny I had a life of privilege, it was much the same as you had…’

Isobel winced inwardly. She
did
deserve that. She’d had no less a privileged upbringing than he. ‘Rafael, I—’

He ignored her, continuing, ‘My father, however, liked to play fast and loose on the stock market. A couple of times he lost almost everything, only to make it back within twenty-four hours. One of those times was after a tip your grandfather gave him, and my father—being the suspicious, resentful man he was—made sure he got his revenge. Hence the deal regarding the
estancia.
I think it sent my mother a little crazy. But from a young age my brother and I were aware of how fickle wealth was, how it could be taken away from you in seconds…’

Isobel was a little blindsided to hear this. She twisted her napkin in her hand and asked hesitantly, ‘What happened to Rico’s father?’

Rafael took a sip of wine and looked at her. His eyes were very dark and hard and seemed to bore right through her. No emotion.

‘My brother’s father was a rich Greek tycoon. He seduced our mother and disappeared back to Europe when she fell pregnant, not wanting to get tied down in marriage. In a bid to save her reputation a marriage was brokered between my parents. My father’s family needed the status of being married into an elite family, and my mother needed to have her baby in wedlock.’

A muscle twitched in Rafael’s jaw. ‘However, once Rico was born, it was clear he was nothing like my fair father. It was too much for him to take, so he used to beat him. And then when I came along and took after our mother’s darker colouring he beat me, too, irrationally believing that I could be anyone’s son. When Rico was sixteen he took a belt to him. I was in the room, too, due to be next. He beat Rico so badly that Rico turned on him and beat him back. He told him that if he ever lifted a hand to me again he’d come back and kill him. Rico left that day and went to Europe to look for his father.’

Isobel gasped softly. ‘But you must have been just—’

‘Twelve years old. My father never touched me again after that day.’

Isobel’s throat hurt. Remorse filled her. ‘Rafael, I’m sorry for what I said…I had no right to assume anything.’

Rafael’s face was stark. ‘I’m telling you this now because we’re man and wife and you should know these things, but I don’t want to speak of it again.’

Isobel bit her lip and then said in a rush, because she had to know, ‘But how can you of all people be happy with a marriage of convenience when you came from what you did?’

His eyes flashed at her for her impudence, but Isobel wouldn’t back down. She was his wife and she deserved to know.

‘I’m happy with a marriage of convenience precisely
because
I realised a long time ago not to look for love in a marriage. The only kind of marriage I want is a marriage just like this, where we both know where we stand, with no emotions in the way to cloud things. Just because our parents didn’t provide us with good examples it doesn’t mean that we can’t forge a successful partnership based on mutual respect.’

His eyes held hers captive and Isobel quivered inwardly when he added throatily, ‘And desire.’

Isobel knew right then that Rafael’s threat hadn’t been an empty one. The next time he touched her they wouldn’t be stopping—no matter how much she denied what her body screamed for.

The following evening Isobel sat on the far bank of the small lake behind the house and sighed deeply. The sky was a glorious twilight-infused blue backdrop, and a full moon already hung low in the sky. Golden lights flooded out from the long windows at the back of the
estancia
and threw a glittering reflection on the still surface of the dark lake.

It was so magically beautiful that her heart ached. She still reeled from her conversation with Rafael last night. Things had got heated so quickly, and she hadn’t been able to control her emotions
or
her mouth. Or her physical reaction. It was becoming rapidly clear that when Rafael touched her she went up in flames, and she was terrified of getting badly burnt in the process. He shouldn’t have the ability to be touching her emotionally. But she knew he did and that was very scary. The only way she could protect herself would be to try and maintain her distance, even if ultimately she was unsuccessful.

She thought again of what he’d revealed about his childhood and her heart ached. And he’d obviously hated telling
her…She wondered why he had—he didn’t strike her as the kind of person who cared what people thought of him, and she knew for a fact that this information was not common knowledge, even though Rico had re-emerged on the other side of the world with another man’s name.

It made her own largely sterile upbringing pale in comparison. She’d never been subjected to the virulent hatred or violence that he had. No wonder there had been that atmosphere between Rico, Rafael and their mother at the wedding. It was as if she was looking at Rafael through refracted glass now, seeing a dozen new images of him reflected back, and it scared her—because she suspected that the Rafael she’d got a glimpse of last night had the potential to do a lot of damage to her equilibrium.

She could see now where his intense ruthlessness came from. The need to amass great wealth at any cost—even at the cost of innocent people. Financial stability must mean everything to him. She still felt sick when she thought of his business ethics, but having got some insight into his family, she couldn’t help but empathise in a tiny way and that felt very dangerous.

The rest of their dinner last night had been stilted, and Isobel had escaped as soon as she could. That morning the housekeeper had told her that Señor Romero would be out all day, inspecting the estate by helicopter and on horseback. The time alone hadn’t served to give Isobel any sense of regaining control of her emotions. She’d been on edge all day.

She couldn’t help the sensation of having been flayed inside, as if strips had been torn off her own tender inner body.

Just then a movement caught her eye, and her gaze snagged on the tall, powerful figure of Rafael emerging from the golden light of the house. Isobel shrank back, but knew logically that he couldn’t possibly see her across the lake. Her
body tightened in a far too familiar way as she drank him in almost hungrily. The broad strength in his shoulders tapered down to a lean waist and those long, long legs. Even from here she could see the unleashed power in his tautly muscled form. She could tell that he was tense, and the fact that she could do so spoke of a kinship that she felt deepening every day.

With extreme reluctance Isobel finally got up and made her way back to the
estancia,
feeling very much as if she were voluntarily walking into the lion’s den.

Rafael waited in the lounge that evening for Isobel to come in for dinner. He took a sip of whisky and relished the burn of velvet-smooth liquid as it slipped down his throat.

The previous evening had left a bitter taste in his mouth all day; he hadn’t been able to get Isobel’s face out of his mind, nor the flash of something achingly vulnerable in her eyes when he’d spilled his guts. And when he’d set her back from him after kissing her senseless. He grimaced. Who was he kidding? He’d almost been senseless, too. He was the one who lacked any control. Within touching distance of Isobel he turned into something feral, and the way she consistently pushed him away sent him into orbit with frustration.

He couldn’t fathom why on earth he’d felt compelled to share something with her that up until now had been between him, his brother and his deceased father. Nor how the sympathy in her liquid brown gaze had got him right between the eyes. So much so that he’d told her curtly that he wouldn’t discuss it again.

His hand clenched around the glass as he stared unseeingly out through the open patio doors. Yesterday he’d teased her for being a romantic. She’d blushed and then scowled at him, showing none of the guile or finesse he was used to in that
situation. He’d obviously hit on a nerve. How could she be so different? How could she want something that clearly didn’t exist? A cottage with a white picket fence, two people living without a care in the world…It was ridiculous. It didn’t exist.

At the hands of his father he’d learnt an early lesson not to expect love or support, and yet he’d revealed a mortifying streak of vulnerability and had foolishly thrown caution to the wind when Ana Perez had whispered lies in his ears about how much she loved him. She’d loved his money and his social status. Never again would he be so deceived. And he had the ultimate protection now, in the form of this marriage.

A sound came from behind him, and Rafael forced his tense muscles to relax. He turned around. Isobel stood in the doorway, and as soon as her image registered on Rafael’s retina his blood ran hot in his veins.

But he just smiled urbanely, and saw her react as colour tinged her cheeks. He gestured for her to come in. ‘Drink?’

Isobel walked in and immediately felt hot under the collar—literally. She’d instinctively covered herself up with an unflattering silk shirt, buttoned all the way to her neck, and now she felt ridiculous. As if clothes could protect her like armour around
this
man…

She nodded, that heat climbing up into her face. In comparison to her, Rafael looked cool as a cucumber. ‘Water, please.’

Before he handed her the glass he took her hand, and Isobel jumped. She looked at him warily. His eyes were molten and dark.

‘Let’s call a truce for now. Try to get on. Give this a chance. I’m giving you space…’

His eyes dropped down her body, and to Isobel’s mortification she could feel her breasts swell and peak into hard points against the silk of the voluminous shirt.

‘But I warn you now that if you ever come before me dressed like this again I’ll strip the clothes off you and redress you myself. Dressing like that only makes me want to uncover the secrets of your delectable body even more.’

Heat and fire rushed through Isobel, and she felt in serious danger of falling down. She pulled her hand free with an effort and nodded jerkily. ‘Fine. A truce.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing at all wrong with what I’m wearing. It was part of the trousseau.’

Rafael growled. ‘If that’s the case, the stylist is getting sacked. I’m warning you, Isobel, don’t push me. I’m prepared to give you your precious space, but only for a finite time…’ He finally gave her the glass of water, lifting his own glass high. ‘To a truce—and a long and successful marriage.’

With the utmost reluctance Isobel touched her glass to his and took a drink, thankful that she didn’t choke.

The following morning at breakfast Isobel felt gritty-eyed after a restless night. Rafael, however, looked as fresh as a daisy.

‘I thought you might like to come around the estate with me today—get a proper feel for it. We can go on horseback.’

Isobel could feel herself go pale at the thought of taking in all that expanse again, and she put down her coffee cup with a clatter. She darted a look to Rafael. ‘I don’t know if I’m—’

He cut her off. ‘You’re going to have to get to grips with it some time. I’m sorry for giving you such a whirlwind tour the first day. I can see how overwhelming it must have been. But perhaps this way it’ll be a little more manageable.’

Isobel felt torn. Of course she wanted nothing more than to get to know the
estancia
—but an entire day alone with Rafael? She’d already avoided something like this the day
before. But now…she had no excuse. Her cowardly heart beat fast. She nodded abruptly. ‘Okay. That sounds nice.’

A couple of hours later, astride a huge horse, with a widebrimmed
gaucho
hat on her head, following Rafael, she knew
nice
didn’t do it justice.

Isobel couldn’t help a burgeoning feeling of something scarily like joy from expanding her chest. And pride to know that everything in sight had belonged to her grandmother and was now partly hers again…Paris and the life she’d led there seemed like a far distant memory.

An assertion gripped her: she belonged here. It rushed through her blood, stunning in its intensity. Up till now she’d never had that feeling.

The pampas stretched out around her, and the Sierras Chicas rose majestically in the distance. A lump, unbidden, constricted her throat. Just then Rafael stopped his horse and looked back. He sat with easy grace in his saddle, lean and awe-inspiring. Faded jeans moulded to hard thigh muscles. Isobel gripped her reins hard. She’d been avoiding looking at him ever since she’d watched him swing all too lithely into his saddle.

He smiled. ‘Do you want to give these boys their heads?’

Isobel just nodded, incapable of speech, and followed Rafael’s lead as he spurred his horse into a trot, and then faster, into a full-on gallop. She could feel her own mount bristle and move restlessly, and, taking a deep breath, she urged her horse on until he too was cutting through the wind like a bullet.

It was exhilarating. Isobel hadn’t ridden like this in years—bent low over her horse’s back, feeling as though they were joined as one. She even pulled past Rafael, and felt a helpless
gurgle of delighted laughter break out. But of course he didn’t let her beat him for long, effortlessly catching up and taking hold of her reins to slow them both down.

When she got her breath back Isobel could see outbuildings, and Rafael explained that they were training grounds for the polo horses. A man on horseback came to meet them, and Rafael introduced him as Miguel Cortez, head trainer.

By the time the sun was setting that evening Isobel’s head was spinning—but not in that sickly way it had the first day. It was buzzing with information. She’d found out that they hosted two world-class polo events there every year, and she’d looked at the plans Rafael had made to expand the grounds even further.