the windows, across our naked, intertwined bodies spread across the bed, the white cotton sheets twisted and tangled at our feet. My first thought when I woke was to think it all had been a dream. Then I saw Alejandro, still sleeping in my arms, a soft smile on his chiseled face.
I caught my breath. My heart beat faster, in a rhythm like music, because joy—pleasure—everything I’d ever wanted had all come true at once.
Slowly, Alejandro opened his eyes, and his smile widened. His expression was open, and young, and he, too, seemed to be shining with happiness. “Buenos días,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss me tenderly on the forehead, “mi corazon.”
“Good morning.” I blushed, looking away, feeling oddly shy.
Reaching out, he lifted my chin and kissed me, until all thoughts of shyness disappeared beneath the mutual hunger building anew between us.
How was it possible? We’d made love three times last night—three times!—and yet he was still brand new. I gloried in his touch, in the feel of his naked, hard-muscled body against mine, his arms holding me as if I were truly the precious names he’d called me. My pleasure, my duchess, my wife. My lover.
And now something more. Something new he’d called me for the first time.
My heart...
We made love once more, hot, hard and fast—and good thing about that last bit, because thirty seconds after we’d both collapsed in a sweaty, gasping heap on top of each other, I heard an indignant cry from the nursery.
We looked at each other and laughed.
“I’ll get him,” I said, starting to rise from the bed.
“No.” He put his hand on my shoulder, pressing me back against the soft sheets, and rose from the bed, pulling on a white terry-cloth robe over his hard-muscled body. “You got up last time. Relax. Go take a shower. Take your time.”
I came out, hot and clean and pink-cheeked and happy. I got dressed in a soft pink shirt and skirt, and fed the baby as my husband had a shower in his turn.
This was just as I’d always dreamed. No. It was better. Just the three of us...
For now.
My hand slowly fell on my belly. I want to fill you with my child. Was I afraid? Yes. But did I also want, desperately want, another baby? Also yes.
So much had changed since the last time I was pregnant. Instead of being a fearful fugitive, I was married now. Settled. With a home.
Would it be so wrong to just let myself be happy? Alejandro was a good father. He was proving to be a good husband. He wanted to take care of me forever. He wanted us to be a family. And the way he made love to me... I shuddered at the memory of ecstasy.
Would it be so forbidden, so foolish, to trust my husband with my heart?
If only I knew the lie he was telling me, or had told, or would tell. He said he’d been faithful to me for a year, that he’d never be disloyal.
Of course, that could be the lie....
My lips pressed together, and I grimly pushed the thought away. I told myself that, since he’d shared so much of his body, surely he’d soon find it irresistible to share the secrets of his heart. And then I forced myself not to think about it.
Denial is a beautiful thing. A woman in love can be very good at focusing on the rose and ignoring the thorn—at least until it draws blood. Over breakfast, I kept smiling at Alejandro over my plate of eggs and jamón, my coffee diluted with tons of cream and sugar. And instead of treating me like a lovesick fool, as I no doubt looked like, Alejandro, the dark, dangerous, ruthless duke, did the unthinkable.
He kept smiling back.
“I’d like to take you around the estate today,” he said, sipping his black coffee and reading the morning newspaper, “to meet my tenants.”
“What?” I nearly dropped the baby rattle I’d been holding out for Miguel, who was sitting in my lap. Chortling, the baby grabbed it in his fat little fist and triumphantly began to shake. “I thought I’d meet them at the wedding reception.”
“Abuela told me it will take her two months to plan the reception. We cannot wait that long.” His eyes met mine. He seemed to sense my fear, because he gave me an encouraging smile. “You are my wife. It is right that I introduce you to the tenants on the estate. That is the merest good manners.”
“But...”
“Besides. Knowing Abuela, the reception will be a lavish affair, to impress acquaintances and friends. I want the first introduction to be private. Personal.” He paused. “Many of them have been farming this land for generations. They might have heard rumors. They might think that having a baby first, and getting married second, is a little...”
“Modern?” I supplied.
“Yes. Modern. I don’t want them to wonder if this is a real marriage, or if we’ll stand the test of time.”
“Will we?” I whispered.
“We will,” he said seriously, looking straight into my eyes. “And I want them to have no doubt you are here to stay.” Leaning forward, he took my hand in his own. “I want them to think well of you, as I do.” He looked at me. “Will you meet them?”
Having Alejandro look at me with his deep dark eyes, and hold my hand, and ask me something, in his husky voice, there was no possibility of resistance. No matter how the thought of trying to impress a bunch of strangers and convince them I would make an excellent duquesa filled me with dread. What if they thought I wasn’t good enough? What if they had such deep doubts, Alejandro changed his mind about me and decided to find some other wife more worthy? “All right,” I said hesitantly. “If you think it truly necessary.”
“I do.” Alejandro’s eyes softened as he looked at our baby. “I’d like Miguel to come, as well. Because he is their future. And they are his.”
I bit my lip, trying my best not to look nervous. “Right. Four hundred years on this land, right? So it’s in Miguel’s blood.”
“Something like that.” Alejandro put down his napkin and rose to his feet. “We’ll see the Widow Ramirez first. She was my governess, once.”
The thought warmed my heart. “She taught you as a child?”
“Both me and the...housekeeper’s son.”
“You mean Miguel,” I said softly. “Your friend.”
“Yes. We played together as children, studied together, fought. It didn’t matter that one of us was a future duke and the other just the housekeeper’s son. We studied the same subjects, lived in the same house. We both loved Abuela. We were friends. Until Miguel died that day.”
“And you survived,” I said gently, touching his shoulder.
“Yes. I survived.” He turned away. “I’ll get the keys.”
I finished my breakfast and my orange juice. When Alejandro returned, he said, “Señora Ramirez is no longer as sharp as she used to be, but she still has a lot of influence with the other tenants.”
“No pressure,” I muttered, my heart suddenly cold with fear. I looked down at my pink shirt and floppy cotton skirt. “Maybe I should change.”
He barely glanced at me. “You’re fine.”
“I want them to like me....”
Alejandro laughed. “Fancy clothes won’t make them like you. In fact, if you showed up in a designer dress and five-inch stiletto heels, they’d like you less. The farmers respect honesty, hard work and kindness when it’s called for. Bluntness when it’s not.” His dark eyes gleamed. “You should get along just fine.”
“Oh, all right,” I sighed, sure he was wrong.
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