for riding. Wearing narrow fawn-coloured cotton trousers topped by a black shirt in the finest lawn, he looked fantastic, all raw male sexuality—and then some. Cassie knew exactly why Delfina couldn’t keep away from him; she could imagine how the Spanish woman’s hopes would have soared when she’d learned that his failure of a wife had left him.
Cassie almost felt sorry for her!
‘You’re going to have to ride alone this morning,’ Roman stated abruptly, as if his patience was running out. ‘I have urgent business with my wife. But,’ he added as a palliative, ‘I had Demetrio saddle up for you. The mare’s ready and waiting in the stable yard.’
His cool smile seemed to soften what was obviously a blow and pushed what petulant words Delfina might have been about to say back down her throat. Asunción, bearing down on them with a huge tray, did the rest.
As the housekeeper, with a murmured, ‘Señor, Señora,’ set out breakfast for two and cleared away the offerings Delfina had barely touched, the Spanish girl swept her eyes dismissively over Cassie, gave Roman a commiserating smile and drawled, ‘I’ll leave you to your boring business then, caro. You can make amends for letting me down when you’ve finished with it.’ Another pointed glance in Cassie’s direction and then she was walking away, leaving the sultry perfume that was her trademark behind in the hot summer air.
As Asunción left, Roman took the seat Delfina had vacated and Cassie eyed the crispy rolls, honey, fresh fruit and coffee and felt her throat close up. Alone with him, she felt wound up enough to explode, and he made it a thousand times worse when he reached out a hand and ran the back of his fingers lightly down the side of her face.
‘Unlike your unidentical twin, your skin doesn’t freckle.’ His voice was slow, sexy and smooth, the smoky eyes following the movement of his fingers as they rested briefly on the corner of her mouth. ‘And I wouldn’t describe your hair as ginger—far more like burnished chestnuts, Cassie.’
After those first few disastrous days of their honeymoon he’d never touched her, except perhaps by accident. He’d certainly never touched her skin deliberately, lingeringly, seductively. So why touch her now? Why was he trying to contradict Delfina’s earlier insults? Her huge eyes were bewildered.
She tried to move, to jerk her head away from the gentle stroke of his fingers, the warmth that was setting fire to her skin—but she was mesmerised, trapped beneath the intimacy of his eyes, for all the world as if she were twenty-one years old again. Vulnerable, gullible, innocent and still traumatised by recent happenings.
‘Awwwk—’ The sound that emerged from her painfully tight throat was more like a croak than the opening for a sensible statement. As if he knew he could sweet-talk her into a state of feeble submission where his threats had failed, one dark brow quirked upwards; a slight smile curved his sensual mouth as he dropped his hand and lifted the coffee pot.
But it wasn’t that; it really wasn’t. She was beyond all that self-serving charm. It was just that she dreaded having to commit herself, but knew she had to if she were to save her twin.
And now—apart from that condition she was determined to make—the time had come to tell him she agreed to accept his monstrous offer.
She could hardly believe this was happening to her. It had taken courage to walk out on him, and a whole lot of determination to put him and what he had meant to her right out of her mind.
Her throat jerking, she swallowed around the constriction in her throat, stared into the rich, steaming coffee he had placed in front of her and stated as evenly as she could manage, ‘If you must use me to divert your family from pestering you to provide an heir then I’ll stay with you for the three months you stipulated. But—’
‘A diversion? Interesting…’ Roman looked almost amused.
‘What other reason could you have?’ Suddenly, Cassie was wary.
‘None.’ A glint of wickedness in the dark eyes belied the blunt disclaimer, but she was reassured by his, ‘You catch on quickly; well done! You are my wife, you’re here, and you suit my purposes—but don’t forget, the deal includes you sleeping with me, as a good wife should…’
Cassie swallowed hard and forced an edge into her voice, ‘Point taken. You don’t have to paint a picture. I’ll keep my part of the bargain, but not here.’
‘Is that an ultimatum, mi esposa?’
‘Take it or leave it.’ She echoed his former words, trying to blank out the knowledge that he was not a man to be coerced, trying to look as if she wouldn’t back down while all the time knowing that she would have to if he didn’t agree.
‘I wonder what it is about Las Colinas Verdes that you dislike so much?’ he queried idly. Cassie shot him a suspicious glance from beneath her lashes. Buttering a roll, spreading it with honey, he gave every appearance of being totally relaxed about the whole surreal situation. ‘I seem to recall a previous time when you asked if we might make a home somewhere else.’
She hadn’t simply asked, she’d begged—practically pleaded with him on her knees! She hadn’t been able to bear being left here, watched over and criticised by his mother and his aunts, enduring Delfina’s visits—visits which had always miraculously coincided with Roman’s own.
But he had barely listened. But then why should he have when her misery—the feeling of being abandoned, a prisoner—hadn’t been important to him? After their disastrous wedding night, it had suited him to have her out of sight and out of mind.
‘It isn’t the place,’ she corrected sharply. ‘It’s the people.’ And if that was insulting to his family, tough! She had grown out of pussy-footing around him, trying to please him, vainly hoping he would start to feel something for her beyond indifference. ‘If we were here, they’d be watching like hawks to see if I got pregnant. I’ve been there, done that. And I don’t want a repetition.’
‘You could have told them they were wasting their time,’ he said coldly. ‘That the likelihood of your conceiving my child was non-existent because you couldn’t bear me to touch you.’
Cassie swallowed the instinctive, vehement response that the blame for that was just as much his as hers. After all, she’d broached this subject yesterday; the snap of his eyes and the tightening of his jaw line had showed her that her criticism of his family had made him angry.
She took a deliberate sip of coffee, then took a deep breath and made her tone entirely reasonable as she told him, ‘I don’t want to get into a fight, Roman. Our marriage was a mistake. It didn’t work for all sorts of reasons. The past is best forgotten; it’s no longer important. What matters right now is deciding how we’re going to handle the next three months, and where we’ll spend them.’
Another few sips while she weathered the startling frisson that racketed through her body at the mere thought of the coming three months. And, if anything, her prosaic words—meant to pour oil on waters that were beginning to look ominously turbulent—seemed to have worsened the situation, because his black brows were drawn together, his haughty Spanish disdain sharp enough to cut.
‘We’ll spend them together. That was the bargain.’ He got to his feet, the dappled shade reinforcing the mystery of the man. He was a complex character, many-faceted; she had never been able to understand him. ‘I will break the news of our reconciliation to my family. Be ready to leave in an hour.’
His mouth pulled back against his teeth, he stared down at her, as if daring her to say another word, then swung round and walked away. He left her wondering at his change of mood.
Set to charm the socks off her to start with—most probably in an attempt to persuade her to fall in with his wishes. Then showing flashes of simmering black temper after she’d agreed to what he wanted: the pretence of a reconciliation!
No, she never had been able to understand him. But it really didn’t matter now, did it?
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