The Duke's Secret Wife

‘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?’