The Duke's Secret Wife

Which begged the question why was he here, like this, with her? A man like Luis, with the title he possessed, the fortune that was his to command, could have had anyone. All he had to do was to click his fingers and women fell into line, just waiting for him to pick them. There must have been dozens in the years since she had last seen him. Rich, sophisticated, beautiful women, like Catalina, the only one of his former lovers she had ever met. Women who would have been only too happy to grace his life, be photographed on his arm, warm his bed…

The sudden shiver that ran down her spine at the thought made her twist nervously in her seat.

‘Turn left here.’

Her voice was strained and tight with the emotions she was struggling to hold back, and she made herself stare straight ahead, forcing away the hot, bitter tears that threatened. She would not let them fall!

‘Go right to the end of the street. It’s the last house.’

‘I know.’

The quiet comment stunned her, making her heart stop dead in astonishment. But then she remembered.

‘You said I didn’t answer my door… You’ve been here before?’

His dark head moved in a curt nod.

‘You’ve been watching me!’

‘You said you’d been away,’ he explained with overly patient reasonableness. ‘I could hardly watch you if you weren’t there. Where did you go?’

‘To Lynette’s. If you remember, she…’

No, reminding him of her friend was a bad mistake. Talking about Lynette meant turning his thoughts towards Rob, Lynn’s brother-in-law, and the man Luis thought she’d betrayed him with. The reason why he’d walked out on their brief marriage years before.

‘You can park here,’ she muttered hastily.

Luis swung the car to the side of the road with a suddenness that had her glancing at him in surprise. This husband of hers usually prided himself on his driving, handling his expensive vehicles with practised skill. The mention of Lynn had changed the atmosphere in the car. The tension between them had thickened suddenly until it was almost impossible for her to breathe.

‘I’ll go and open the door,’ she said, scrambling inelegantly in her haste to be out of the car. ‘That way you won’t have to stand out in the cold too long.’

Luis watched her walk up the short path to the lighted porch, willing himself to calm down, to get a grip on himself. Strong fingers drummed a restless tattoo on the rim of the steering wheel in an outward expression of the inner turmoil of his thoughts.

The drive from the city centre had been a particularly sophisticated sort of torment, with every cell in his body reacting urgently and painfully to the presence of Isabelle’s slim form so close to his after all this time.

She was so familiar and yet so unknown. Dios! She still wore the same perfume as she had done then, the mixture of rose and sandalwood tantalising his nostrils and making him harden instantly. And then, while he’d still been struggling to control the hungry need that simply being with her had sparked off, she had had to mention Lynette Michaels.

‘No!’

He muttered the word aloud as he pulled his key from the ignition and pushed the door open. He would not think about it. Wouldn’t even let the memory of Rob Michaels into his thoughts. If that happened then he would turn and leave, heading away from here like a bat out of hell.

So he made himself walk down the road towards her, follow her into the small, narrow hallway. He watched in astonishment as she took out another key and pushed it into the first door on the right.

‘What? You have a flat here?’

Her face was turned to him sharply, confusion stamped clearly on it.

‘Of course—what did you think? You didn’t think I owned the whole house, did you?’

‘I thought…I sent you money.’

‘I didn’t want your money.’

‘Evidently.’

The door was open now and those golden tiger’s eyes were scanning the small, slightly shabby room, taking in the deep brown, well-worn settee and chairs, the equally elderly table and dresser. The only saving graces in what was a rather ugly place were the clean, freshly painted cream walls, and the pretty floral-patterned curtains and cushion covers. Isabelle had made those herself in an attempt to brighten the place up.

‘I would have kept you better than this.’

‘You wouldn’t have kept me at all, Luis! I can look after myself. And you made it only too plain that you never wanted to see me again, that you wanted me out of your life for good.’

‘And does that surprise you? You slept with another man while you were married to me.’

‘I did no such thing. I didn’t!’ she emphasised as he eyed her sceptically, obvious disbelief darkening his eyes. ‘It never happened, Luis.’

Was he listening to her? He had to listen to her!

Two years before, he had refused even to hear a word she’d tried to say. He’d simply turned and walked out of her life without a backward glance. He had cut himself off from her so completely that it had been as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. Her phone calls had gone unanswered, her letters had been returned unopened.

That was why, in the end, she had resorted to sending him a solicitor’s letter telling him that she wanted to legalise their separation. It had been the most painful decision she had ever had to make.

‘I didn’t do it. I was innocent of everything you accused me of. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how Rob got there.’

He almost believed her. When she turned that pleading face on him, green eyes wide, the disturbing thing was that the sudden kick of his heart told him that he was still weak enough for it to matter. That, blind stupid fool that he was, he wanted to believe her.

But that was forgetting that she was an actress. That she had spent years training to do just this. To deceive an audience into believing that what she did, what she said, was the truth. He had seen her act, knew how good she was at it. But he had never expected to see that skill of hers turned against him.

‘Luis, you have to understand…’

He had hesitated just long enough to light a tiny flame of hope inside her. A hope that flickered, steadied, grew for a moment…then died painfully abruptly as he shook his dark head, scowling savagely.

‘I have to do nothing!’ he snarled.

But then, another second later, a disturbing change came over his face. The burn of anger disappeared from his eyes, leaving them cold and opaque, and his shrug was cool, totally indifferent. And Isabelle found that even more frightening than his icy rage.

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. It doesn’t affect the present.’

‘But it has to.’

‘I told you, there is no “has to” about this.’

Another pause, even more deliberate this time. The bronze eyes watched her coldly, assessing her like some specimen on a laboratory table, one he was just about to dissect.

‘You have to understand about that night—’

‘What you have to understand,’ Luis inserted in a savage undertone, ‘is that you are wearing my patience very thin. I do not want to talk about that night—and if you are wise, then neither will you! Why do you persist in this?’

‘In—in what?’

‘In reminding me of that night—of all nights? Do you want to make me think of it—remember every disgusting detail? Do you want to etch it even more clearly in my mind so that I cannot forget it? Believe me, mi belleza, if you do that then you are risking my turning round and walking out of here and never coming back.’

‘No—please…’ Not a second time.

‘If you want me to stay,’ he swept on furiously, overriding her whispered protest, ‘then you would do better to help me forget. Never to mention it again and let the memory fade. Otherwise I can never take you back—my pride would not allow it.’

‘And can you do that? Can you really put it to the back of your mind?’

She didn’t believe he could. How could he push away all memory of that appalling night when the anger, the betrayal he must have felt then had kept him apart from her ever since? And as for his stubborn pride, she really couldn’t imagine that he could swallow it hard enough to start over again.

‘Can you pretend it never happened and let us have a new beginning?’

He had to struggle with himself to answer her. The fight he was having was there in the taut, drawn lines of his face, the tension in his jaw, the darkness of his eyes.

‘I have to,’ he said flatly, all emotion drained from his voice.

‘What?’ She couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. ‘Luis—what did you say?’

But his mood had changed again.

‘I believe you offered me coffee.’

And that was clearly as much as she was going to get from him, for now at least.

‘Of course. But first let me try and make things more comfortable in here.’

He watched silently as she lit the small, spluttering gas fire.

‘Do you want to take off your coat? It will get warmer—eventually.’

And she might feel a little easier, more able to talk, if he didn’t look as if staying was the last thing on his mind. As if he was about to get up and walk out at the soonest possible opportunity.

‘Do you promise me that?’

She remembered that dry tone of old, her heart jerking in her breast at the memory. And the bitter-sweet sensations were intensified sharply as he shrugged himself out of his coat and handed it to her. The jacket was of the finest, softest wool, still warm from the heat of his body, and the scent of the subtle cologne he wore rose from the expensive fabric, tormenting her with the memories it evoked.

‘W-well, I wouldn’t move too far away from it.’

It was the first time she had really seen him in the light and, having looked once, she found it impossible to drag her eyes away from him again. He had always had this effect on her. Had always possessed a hard-core sexuality that produced a kick like a mule in the pit of her stomach.

The worst thing was that he was completely unaware of it. He never even considered the effect that sleek black hair, gleaming bronze eyes and smooth olive skin might have on the opposite sex. And when his naturally dramatic colouring was combined with a fiercely carved bone structure, all angles and planes, hard chin and a devastatingly sensual mouth, then the whole effect was as potent as a crate of explosives.

There were new lines on his stunning face, etched there more by experience than the passage of time. She knew of the death of his brother a year before, and her heart ached for the loss he must have felt. He and Diego had always been so close, almost like twins rather than siblings separated by four and a half years in age. Luis would have missed his older brother terribly.

‘I—I’ll make the coffee!’ she said, as much to persuade herself to move as to inform him of anything.

Unnervingly, he prowled after her, coming to lounge in the narrow doorway, one broad shoulder propped against the frame. Just knowing he was there made Isabelle’s hands shake as she filled the kettle, splashing water everywhere. He was too big, too strong, too dark—too much, especially when in the confines of her tiny kitchen. Prickling awareness fizzed over her skin, making her heart lurch into a rapid staccato beat.

‘So what brought about this change of—of attitude?’

‘Change of heart’ didn’t describe it properly. There seemed to be no bit of his heart involved in the decision to take her back, if the bald, blunt declaration he had made was anything to go by.

‘It’s not so much—Isabella—atención!’

It was hard and sharp, sounding a note of warning, and it froze her to the spot.

‘What?’

The word was still on her tongue when Luis grabbed her, powerful hands clamping tight over her arms, and twisted her around and away from the stove. The movement took her into his arms, close up against the hard wall of his chest so that she gasped in sudden shock, not sure whether it was the unexpectedness of his reaction or the pounding of her heart as a result of being so close to him that was making her feel this way.

‘L-Luis… What are you doing?’

Her voice sharpened as she felt his hands at her throat, fumbling for and finding the clasp that held the long, swirling cloak fastened.

‘No, Isabella.’

Roughly he pushed her restraining fingers aside, his dark head bent, attention totally on what he was doing. With an impatient movement he snapped it open, tossing the garment aside with an impatient exclamation.

‘Hey, that…’

Her protest died as she suddenly saw why he had reacted as he had. On one side of the cloak, just at the edge, a long, brown mark showed where the flames from the gas ring had caught it, scorching it to the point where a ragged hole had appeared in the fabric. Another couple of seconds and it would have been alight.

‘Oh—no…’

All the strength seemed to leave her legs at the thought of what might have happened. Visions of the cloak catching fire, the flames taking hold, engulfed her thoughts. She could have been so badly burned.

‘Luis, thank you…’

Or perhaps the way she was feeling had nothing to do with what might have happened, but rather just what was happening now.

His arm was tight around her waist, supporting her with easy strength. She was so close that she could hear the thud of his heart beneath the soft material of his shirt, feel the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, inhale the intensely personal scent of his skin.

And everything stilled, held immobile.

‘Luis…’

She was back where she had been in the past. Back where she belonged. In his arms, held close. And it felt so right. So very, very right.

A tiny adjustment of her position, a small twist of her body, brought them to face each other. Breast to chest, pelvis to pelvis, legs tight against the muscular length of his.

‘Luis…’

He should never have taken off that damn cloak, Luis told himself furiously. Should never have exposed himself to temptation like this!

Oh, it had been bad enough before. Simply seeing her face, the blonde sheen of her hair, the emerald brilliance of her eyes had been hard enough. The sound of her voice, soft and slightly husky in his ears, had awoken memories best left buried. It had set his pulses thudding, reminded him of hunger he preferred not to recall.

But now…

‘What happened to us?’

It was just the faintest thread of sound, so thin that without thinking he dropped his head instinctively to catch her hesitant words.

And immediately regretted it.

His cheek was now lying against the softness of her hair and the temptation to turn, just so, and press his lips to the silky strands was almost more than he could resist. The scent of her body rose towards his nostrils, flowers and rain; the sweet, subtle aroma of her skin, tormented him with the recollection of how it had once been so that his body stirred, hardened, demanded. His senses were swimming, swirling on a warm sea of desire, and deep inside the hunger of physical need clawed at him remorselessly.

He couldn’t fight it any longer. Couldn’t hold back, couldn’t hide the way she affected him.

Slowly his proud head lowered, and, sensing his intention, Isabelle lifted her own face to his, her mouth softening, lips parting instinctively in anticipation of his kiss.

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