The Duke's Secret Wife

But when she still stared at him, blank-faced, her eyes looking bruised, he elaborated further.

‘I want you to come to Spain with me as my wife. Madrede Dios, I did not think that my English was so—’

‘It’s not that!’ Isabelle protested sharply, still unable to believe what she had heard. ‘Your English is perfect and you know it. It’s just that I can’t see what you want with me.’

‘I need you.’

And he hated himself for saying it. That much was there in the tight clench of his jaw, the way the words had to be forced out past lips that would clearly rather be saying anything else.

‘Why?’

‘Do I have to explain here?’

He was every inch the arrogant aristocrat once again, proud head flung back, eyes flashing. She would have sworn that even his nostrils flared in an expression of disapproval.

‘You certainly have to explain. Where you do it is immaterial to me.’

‘Then we will go to your house.’

‘Oh, no…’ That was not what she had meant.

‘Isabella, what I would like right now is to get inside and out of this wind. This damn northern climate is so very different from what I am used to and I need a cup of coffee.’

His shiver was exaggerated for effect, deliberately so, she knew, a reluctant smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

If he had wanted to appeal straight to her heart, using the tug of shared memory, then he couldn’t have chosen a more effective way of doing so. Luis had always hated the colder climate of Yorkshire as opposed to the warmth of his native Andalucia and had complained bitterly about it. So now his gesture, his expression, his tone of voice, all revived images of him doing just the same in far happier times.

And he knew it, damn him! She was sure he had planned it this way.

‘Oh, all right.’

What was she hesitating for anyway? she asked herself. If there really was a chance of the two of them getting back together, then she wanted to know about it. She wanted to hear what he was going to say and find out just why he had changed his mind. So why did it matter where they talked?

‘We’ll go to my place. You said you have a car?’

Of course he had a car. A sleek, powerful, softly growling monster of a vehicle that she couldn’t even name. But she knew that she was sitting in the financial equivalent of the mortgage on her flat—and then some. Luis de Silva loved speed, he loved luxury, and as a result he only ever had the very best of everything.

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.’