One Night in... Rio: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child / Virgin Mistress, Scandalous Love-Child / The Surgeon's Runaway Bride

‘We try to be—what would you say?—sufficient, nao?’ His smile was faintly mocking. ‘Carlos, my manager, would consider any waste of precioso—um, valuable grazing land—a crime.’

They were approaching what appeared to be a small settlement now, and Isobel waited in unwilling anticipation for her first sight of Alejandro’s house.

And, despite the number of outbuildings, the homestead itself was unmistakeable. The two-storeyed building had a wraparound veranda and dark-green shutters folded back from all the windows. Its walls were liberally covered with passionflower vine, and there were numerous tubs of blossoms spilling their beauty in the shade of the first-floor balcony.

Isobel let out a breath she’d hardly known she was holding, and Alejandro cast a glance her way. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Wrong?’ Isobel shook her head. ‘No. It’s—it’s lovely. I don’t know; I thought it would be a little less—less—’

‘Civilised?’ suggested Alejandro drily, bringing the car to a halt on the gravelled forecourt, and she bit her lip.

‘Sophisticated,’ she amended, pushing open her door without thinking what she was doing, only to gasp for air as the unexpected altitude took her breath.

‘Be careful,’ said Alejandro, pushing open his own door and getting out rather less enthusiastically. ‘We are several-hundred feet above sea level, but it is still very hot.’

‘Tell me about it,’ murmured Isobel, pushing out her lips and blowing air up over her hot face. She licked her dry lips. Then, pushing back the damp tendrils of hair that were clinging to her forehead, ‘Do you ever get used to the heat?’

‘In time,’ said Alejandro, seemingly unmoved by the temperature, which even here had to be in the high eighties. ‘Come. We will get some refreshment inside.’

Despite her reluctance to be alone with him, Isobel rounded the car to join him just as another man, a little older than Alejandro, appeared from the back of the house.

‘Ah,’ he said, coming to greet Alejandro with a smile on his face. ‘O que voce esta fazendo?’ His eyes turned to Isobel. ‘Quem isto e?’

‘Ingles, por favor, Carlos,’ said Alejandro wryly. ‘This is Ms Jameson. The young woman I was telling you about.’

‘Ah, Mees Jameson.’

Carlos’s accent was more pronounced than Alejandro’s, but his smile was infinitely more friendly. He held out his hand towards her. ‘Carlos Ferreira, senhorita. I am happy to meet you.’

‘Isobel,’ said Isobel at once, shaking his hand a little too enthusiastically. But it was a relief to know they weren’t alone after all. ‘I understand you do all the work around here.’

Carlos laughed then, white teeth showing below the rim of his dark moustache. ‘I cannot believe this man said that,’ he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. ‘But if you would like a—how do you say?—a tour of the stables, nao? I am your man.’

Isobel glanced at Alejandro, but his expression was unreadable. With a little shrug, she said, ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘But not now, sim?’ suggested Alejandro, his quiet voice as commanding as an order. He smiled at Carlos as if to soften his words. ‘Ms—Isobella—is hot and thirsty. I will ask Consuela if she has something cold and sweet.’

Isobel started to protest, but, after exchanging a few brief words with Alejandro in their own language, Carlos turned way.

‘Until later, Isobella,’ he called, raising his hand in farewell, and Isobel had no choice but to accompany Alejandro across the veranda and through the open doors into the house.

CHAPTER TEN

BEYOND the entry, the wood-blocked floor of a reception hall echoed with the sound of their feet. Shafts of sunlight fell through a series of narrow windows, and the air was sweet with the scent of verbena.

It was very different from the gloomy magnificence of Anita’s villa. Here, colour-washed walls and a beamed ceiling gave the place a much more lived-in appearance. There were paintings on the walls, and a huge central table fairly spilling with vibrant colour. An enormous bowl of tropical flowers formed a brilliant centrepiece, while exotic stems of orchids grew from various pots and planters about the room.

A woman came to meet them as they crossed the hall, a small, dark-skinned woman, dressed all in black, but with pleasant, friendly features. Much different from Sancha, thought Isobel with relief, remembering Anita’s housekeeper’s unsmiling demeanour.

‘This is Elena,’ said Alejandro at once, smiling at the woman. ‘Elena, this is Ms Jameson. A—friend of mine.’

Isobel was fairly sure his hesitation had been deliberate, but Elena didn’t seem to notice. ‘Bemvindo da quinta,

senhora,’ she said, bobbing her head politely. Then, turning back to Alejandro, ‘Voce gostaria um cafe, senhor?’

Isobel’s simple grasp of Portuguese was enough to know that the woman had welcomed her to the estancia. And she wasn’t absolutely sure, but she thought she’d also asked if they’d like coffee.

‘Fruit juice, I think, Elena,’ responded Alejandro, proving she’d been right. He glanced at Isobel. ‘And some iced tea also, sim? We will be in the conservatorio.’

‘Sim, senhor.’

With another bob of her head, Elena departed and Alejandro turned once more to his guest. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I will show you a little of my house.’

Isobel shrugged, aware that she didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, but she was curious nonetheless. This place was so different from the Villa Mimosa. And not just its appearance. The atmosphere was different too.

An open-plan living space led from the hall into a spacious salon with an Italian-tiled floor. The coffered ceiling was supported by veined marble pillars, dividing the room into elegant seating areas with the huge stone-faced hearth as a backdrop.

Isobel couldn’t help moving forward to where long windows overlooked an outdoor patio. Wickerwork chairs were grouped around a glass-topped table, shaded again by the balcony above. And, beyond the patio, a pool sparkled invitingly in the sunlight, with woven, wooden cabanas where Alejandro’s guests could change their clothes.

Isobel’s tongue sought her upper lip. She’d never imagined anything like this. Villiers, her aunt and uncle’s home, was beautiful, but she knew already it didn’t compare with Montevista.

She couldn’t prevent a sudden intake of breath, and at once

Alejandro came to join her. He walked a little stiffly, but it didn’t appear to impede his progress this morning, his tawny eyes assessing her with wary intent.

‘You do not like this place?’

Isobel gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘How could I not?’ she asked drily. ‘It’s very beautiful, and I’m sure you know it.’ She paused. ‘Did you buy it when you were married to Miranda?’

Alejandro’s lips compressed. ‘And why would you think that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Isobel shrugged, very conscious of him standing close beside her. ‘I just thought Senhora Silveira might have told you about it. After all, it’s in the same general area.’

Alejandro expelled a breath. ‘Montevista has been in my family for generations,’ he told her at last. ‘My great-grandfather built it so that my great-grandmother could use it as an escape from the city. There was no air-conditioning in those days and, although it does not seem so at this moment, the mountain air is fresher. It can be cold, too, believe it or not. We have to light the fire from time to time.’

Isobel absorbed this. ‘So you don’t actually own it?’

‘No.’ Alejandro spoke tolerantly, rubbing an impatient hand over his aching thigh. ‘It just so happens that, well, let us say it is a good place to—recuperate, nao? And I have always loved horses. I sometimes think I would rather be a cavaleiro—a horseman—than spend my days in an office.’

Isobel glanced at him then, noticing that he was favouring his injured leg. ‘You had to recuperate,’ she said slowly, aware of a certain sympathy. ‘After the accident. Is that right?’

Alejandro’s lips twisted. ‘As you say.’ He turned then, gesturing that she should precede him through an archway into an adjoining salon, where a formal polished table and a dozen upholstered chairs occupied a central position. ‘The conservatory,’ he added unnecessarily, indicating a huge glass-walled extension beyond sliding-glass doors.

Despite its many windows, the conservatory was kept to an even temperature by air-conditioning and the use of half-drawn blinds. Tubs containing shrubs and climbing plants added their own particular fragrance to the air, and comfortable chairs and cushioned loungers provided plenty of seating space.

‘If you don’t mind …’

Without waiting for her permission, Alejandro lowered himself onto one of the loungers, stretching out his aching leg with real relief. He was overdoing things, he knew, but it still annoyed him to show her any weakness. Her opinion of him mattered, however ridiculous that might be.